#my therapist asked me that and I couldn’t replied

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Long-Distance Call | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: lots of arguing, angst, everyone's saying things they don't mean, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 5056

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For hours most nights recently, you watched Dean sleep. In the dim light coming in through the cheap curtains in motel rooms, you would make out the details of his face and trace your eyes along them. He was just so beautiful, and you considered yourself incredibly lucky for every day you got to spend with him; despite the fact that those days were coming to an end. 

Dean knew you hadn’t been sleeping, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him why. 

Sam was driving himself crazy talking to witch doctors, professors, and demonologists trying to wrap his head around a way to break Dean’s deal. You didn’t get involved, though; you knew it was futile to do so. 

You weren’t sure if feeling helpless and knowing the situation was helpless was better than feeling helpless and trying to gain control of the situation, but you knew Sam probably felt as horribly as you did. 

“Y’know, someday, if we ever get a house— it could happen!” you assured Dean off his skeptical look. “We should get a couch. It’d be better for our backs than sitting on Baby or these shitty mattresses.”

You sat up facing Dean who lounged on the headboard in your shared motel room. Tension had been high between the brothers recently, and you decided it was best for the three of you to bunk separately. 

“You are annoyingly optimistic, you know that?” he replied. 

“I like to think of myself as more of a realist,” you returned. “But I’m trying to be more like you lately.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. His eyes held such an intensity when he looked at you. 

In vulnerable moments like these, you couldn’t bear to look back at him. You opted for looking down at the mattress or, really, anywhere other than his face. “I mean, your whole thing is being annoyingly biting and sarcastic and— I mean, you just have the most amazing sense of humor— even when things suck major ass. And I don’t know how you do it. But… it’s admirable.” When your eyes returned to his face, he was looking at you with such pride and admiration. 

“What?” you asked.

“I just love you,” he said. 

You grinned widely and reached for his hand. You held it for just a moment before speaking again. “When are you gonna tell Sam?”

“What?”

“That we can’t save you.”

He sighed. “(Y/N)—”

“No, Dean, he deserves to know.” You shifted to your knees from your cross-legged position. “He’s on a wild goose chase instead of enjoying the time he has with you.”

“He’s a grown man, he can make his own choices,” Dean insisted, hand retreating from yours. He crossed his arms over his chest.

You gave him a look. “And maybe he’d make different choices if he had all the information about the situation available to him.”

“Alright, professor, no need to lecture me,” he grumbled, getting out of bed.

“Dean—! Don’t get mean just because you’re pissed at yourself and this whole situation,” you said, standing to face him. “Look, I’m only saying something because I don’t want the last few weeks of your life to be spent fighting with your brother.”

“Way to put that in perspective, (Y/N), thank you,” Dean spat. 

“See, this is when your attitude pisses me off beyond belief,” you argued. “I’m trying to have a conversation with you, and you’re being a complete dick. This didn’t have to turn into a fight, and I’m not understanding why it did!”

“Because you’re my girlfriend, not my fucking therapist,” he responded. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life.”

“Okay, this clearly isn’t about me.” You shook your head, turning away from him to grab your shorts and shoes. 

“Then, what’s it about, (Y/N)?” 

You turned back to him. “Clearly, this is about your deal.” “Oh, my god,” Dean scoffed.

“You’re runnin’ out of time. You’re scared, and you’re lashing out. It’s crap. I only wanna help you because I love you,” you told him. “And I’m not gonna tolerate you getting mean with me just because I told you something you didn’t wanna hear.”

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, seeing you stomp toward the door. 

“Out,” you replied. “Don’t follow me.”

***

That night, after yet another argument, you convinced Dean to let you sleep in his car and have him take the bed because you knew you wouldn’t get much sleep anyway. You were hurt and angry, but you missed holding Dean. You missed memorizing his features while he slept and finally seeing him at peace. 

And the next morning, the situation was no better. Now, instead of Dean and Sam fighting, it was you, Dean, and Sam fighting. 

Sam had gone to talk to another person about how to potentially break Dean’s deal. “So, the professor doesn't know crap.”

“Shocking,” Dean commented. “Pack your panties, guys, we're hitting the road.”

“What? What's up?” Sam asked. 

“That was Bobby.” He gestured to the phone he’d just hung up. “Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio, and he thinks there's a spirit involved.”

“So, you two were talking a case?” 

“No, we were actually talking about our feelings. And then our favorite boy bands,” Dean replied dryly. “Yeah, we were talking a case!”

“Dean, stop being an ass,” you scolded. 

“Well, get Sam to stop asking stupid questions.” Sam huffed. “So, a spirit? What?”

“Yeah, the banker was talking about some sort of electrical problems at his pad for like a week. Phone was going haywire, computer was flipping on and off,” Dean explained. “This is not ringing your bell?” He pressed when Sam looked at him skeptically. 

“Well, sure, yeah. But, Dean, we're already on a case,” the younger one replied. 

“Whose?” Dean asked. 

“Yours!”

“Right. Yeah. Well, you coulda fooled me,” the older scoffed. 

“What the hell else have we been doing lately other than trying to break your deal?” Sam protested. 

“Chasing our tails, that's what. Sam, we've talked to every professor, witch, soothsayer and two-bit carny act in the lower forty-eight. Nobody knows squat! And we can't find Bela, we can't find the Colt. So until we actually find something, I'd like to do my job.”

“We should summon Ruby,” Sam suggested. 

“I'm not gonna have this fight with you.” Dean shook his head. 

Sam continued anyway. “She said she knows how to save you.”

“About that, Dean has something he wants to tell you.” You turned to your partner expectantly with your arms folded. 

“What?” Sam asked, looking between the two of you. 

Dean was giving you a glare which you returned. 

“Dean, what?” Sam asked again. 

“She can’t save me,” Dean answered finally, still holding your glare. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam turn back to you. “(Y/N)—?”

“She told us she can’t save him, Sam,” you admitted. 

Sam turned his anger toward you. “Whoa, so you’ve known this whole time and haven’t told me?” 

“It wasn’t mine to tell, Sam!”

“Yeah, but the both of you still kept a secret from me,” he responded. 

“You really wanna talk about who's keeping secrets from who?” Dean snapped. 

You turned to the car. 

“Where are you going?” Dean called after you. 

“Guess we’re going to Ohio.”

***

You were silent for the entirety of the ride to the deceased’s house. Dean and Sam only spoke to make a snarky remark directed at each other or at you, but you refused to respond. 

You asked the woman what happened to her husband, and she reluctantly told you that he kept talking to a woman named Linda on the phone. However, there was no one on the other line when she would pick it up to check. 

Curious about who this woman could have been, you and the brothers returned to the motel to research. 

“Linda's a babe. Or, was,” Dean commented. 

Your heart dropped. You knew he was kidding, but now was so not the time to make jokes like that. “Don’t say shit like that, please.”

“She’s dead, (Y/N),” he replied dryly. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I just think it’s in really poor taste to say that right now considering the state our relationship’s in,” you told him, trying to remain as calm as possible. 

He slammed his laptop shut. “Are you seriously picking a fight with me over this? Right now?”

Sam interrupted before you could respond. “Oh-kay! That’s enough. Who’s Linda?”

“Linda Bateman.” Dean turned his eyes away from you. “She and Ben Waters were high school sweethearts.”

“So what happened?” Sam asked. 

“Drunk driver hit them head on. Ben walked away.”

“So, what then? Dead flame calls to chat?” Sam wondered aloud.

“You would think, but Linda was cremated. So why's she still floating around?”

“You got me,” Sam shrugged. 

“What about that, uh, caller I.D?” Dean asked his brother, referring to the number he’d found on Ben’s phone. 

“Turns out, it's a phone number,” Sam replied. “It's about a century old, back from when phones had cranks.”

“So, why use that number to reach out and touch someone?” Dean returned. 

“Got me there too, but we should put a trace on it.”

“Well how the hell are we going to put a trace on something that's over one-hundred years old?”

Sam suggested that the three of you should head to Ben’s phone company’s local office posing as representatives of their headquarters. 

“You guys go ahead without me,” you said. 

“Oh, c’mon, (Y/N)—”

You cut Dean off. “No. Both of us need space before we kill each other. So, please. Go.”

“Whatever,” Dean grumbled and stormed out of the room.

Sam stayed behind with you for a moment. “I’m sorry about him,” he said.

You sniffled, wiping away tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. “It’s okay. Just a rough patch, I guess. Call me when y’all have something.”

He nodded and pulled you into a hug. Sam placed a quick kiss on the crown of your head before following his brother out of the door. 

***

Sam called to inform you that the number had called over a dozen people multiple times over the last week. So, you and the Winchesters split up to investigate. Without a car, you stayed in the motel room and called the numbers Sam had forwarded to you posing as a representative of the phone company. One of the people you’d spoken to said that he’d been hearing his deceased brother calling him to reconcile the broken relationship they’d had when his brother passed away. 

Just as you hung up the phone with him, Dean burst into the room and immediately started pacing. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

Dean didn’t answer. 

Sam sat at the table in the room. “He said our dad called him.”

“No fucking way,” you breathed out. “You really think it was him?”

“I don't know, maybe,” Dean grunted. 

“Well, what did he sound like?” Sam asked. 

“Like Oprah!” the older brother snapped. “Like Dad; he sounded like Dad, what do you think?”

“What did he say?” you questioned. 

“My name,” Dean replied. 

“That’s it?” Sam pressed. 

“Call dropped out.”

You shook your head and folded your arms, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s bed. After the recent fights with Dean, you’d decided to get a room separate from the two brothers and had been hanging out in their room all day. “Why would he even call in the first place, Dean?”

“I don't know, (Y/N)! I’m not a fucking psychic,” he snarked. “Why are ghosts calling anybody in this town? But I mean, other people are hearing from their loved ones, why can't we? It's at least a possibility, right?”

You wanted to chew him out for snapping at you like that, but you truly had no energy to put up another fight. 

“Yeah, I guess?” Sam replied in your place. 

“Okay, so what if....” Dean trailed off, only looking at his brother. “What if it really is Dad? What happens if he calls back? What do I say?”

“Hello,” you suggested. 

“Hello?” he scoffed. 

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. 

“That's what you come back with. Hello?” Dean continued. 

“Fuck off, Dean,” you sneered. 

Dean huffed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. 

Sam shot you a puppy-dog-eyed look and turned to the door to stare after his brother. 

You sighed and buried your face in your hands. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You picked your head up. 

“What’s happening to you guys?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tearing up. “We started fighting ‘cause I told him to tell you about the whole ‘Ruby’ thing, and I said some mean shit, and he said some mean shit, and it’s just a mess now.”

Sam gave you another puppy-dog-eyed look. 

“It’ll be fine, though. I’m sure it’ll blow over.”

If it was even possible, Sam’s face dropped even further. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you smiled lopsidedly, knowing he just didn’t know how to help. “Can we talk about something other than my boy drama?”

Sam nodded. “Sure.” 

***

For the next few hours, you scoured the internet for information on the “SHA33” number that was calling these poor people. 

Dean returned with caustic remarks to spare. “Find anything?” he asked Sam while pretty much blatantly ignoring you. 

“After three hours, I’ve found no reason why anything supernatural would be going on here,” Sam sighed, shutting his laptop. 

“Me neither, Dean, thanks for asking,” you said. 

“Well, you know, you think a Stanford education and a high school hook up rate of zero-point-zero would produce better results than that,” Dean scoffed at Sam.

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned, hoping to elicit some sort of a response from Dean. 

He shot you a glare, but other than that, he said nothing. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. “Motel pamphlet rack.” He dropped it on the coffee table along with a few books. “Milan, Ohio. Birthplace of Thomas Edison.”

“So what?” you asked. 

Sam grabbed a book and leafed through it. 

Dean just raised his eyebrows at you as Sam looked up from the book. 

“You're kidding,” he said. 

Dean smirked as his brother. 

***

Well, a huge waste of time was the only thing Dean’s suggestion led to. The tour you went on at a museum showed the invention Thomas Edison believed could communicate with spirits and informed you that he was a devout occultist. However, the “spirit phone” didn’t set off the EMF detector. 

Sleep refused to claim you. Your anxiety kept your mind racing through the long hours of the night. You sat at the table in your room staring at the door just waiting for Dean to knock. However, despite it being three in the morning, he hadn’t come yet. Your fights had all been stupid and petty, but both of you were too stubborn to be the first to admit fault. 

And with each passing night, you could feel the clock ticking. You knew Dean was running out of time, and you just wanted him to hold you again. As the sun rose, your heart sank knowing he hadn’t come to make things right with you. 

You stayed in your room upset until Sam called you to come over to theirs. 

“What’s up?” you asked upon entering. 

“That girl Lanie—” Sam was referring to the victim he’d spoken to— “her Mom's ghost spooked her out pretty bad last night.”

“That sucks,” said Dean, typing furiously on his laptop. 

“What… are you doing, Dean?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked at you briefly; the expression on his face confusing. He looked back down at his computer. “I think my dad’s right. I think the demon is here. Check it out.” He handed you some papers and dug around in his bag. 

“What is this, weather reports?” you asked, leafing through the papers.

“Omens. Demonic omens,” he responded. “Electrical storms everywhere we've been for the past two weeks.”

Trepidatiously, you said, “I don't remember any lightning storms.”

“Well, I don't remember you studying meteorology, either,” he snapped.

‘So much for us being civil,’ you thought. 

“But I'm telling you, that bastard's been tailing me; wearing some poor dude's meat,” Dean finished. 

Sam took some of the pressure off you. “And it’s following you because…?” he asked. 

“I guess I'm big game, y’know? My ass is too sweet to let outta sight.” Dean threw a wink at you, and you were getting incredibly thrown off by his changing attitude. 

“Okay. Sure,” Sam snorted.

Dean snatched the papers back from you. “Don't get too excited, Sammy. Might pull something.” He stood from the bed and moved away from you and his brother.

“Dean, look, I wanna believe this man, I really do…”

Dean cut his brother off. “Then believe it! if we get this sucker, it's Miller Time.”

“Yeah, that's another thing. Dad rattles off an exorcism that can kill a demon? I mean, not just send it back to hell, but kill it?” Dean’s eyes lit up. “I've checked it out. This is heavy duty Dark Ages. Fifteenth century.”

“Dean,” you said softly. “I checked on it, too. So did Sam. So did Bobby.”

“Okay, and?” he scoffed. 

Sam jumped in. “Look, it definitely is an exorcism, okay, there's just no evidence it can kill a demon.”

“No evidence it can't,” he rebutted. 

“Dean…” you trailed off, not wanting to start a bigger fight. 

“Hey, as far as I'm aware the only one of us who has actually been to Hell is my dad. And maybe he picked up a couple of tricks down there, like which exorcisms work,” he snapped. 

“Maybe!” you replied. “I hope so; for your sake. But we gotta be sure.”

“Why aren't we sure?” he asked. 

“’Cause I don't know what's going on around here, Dean!” you cried. “I mean, some guy blows his brains out, a little girl is scared out of her wits—”

“Wow, a couple of civvies are freaked out by some ghosts. News flash, (Y/N), people are supposed to be freaked out by ghosts!” he shot back. 

You held his stare venomously. Dean eventually dropped his head in frustration. 

“Dad tell you where to find the demon?” Sam asked carefully. 

“I'm waiting on the call!” he shouted. 

The tension in the room was thick, and you had no idea what to say.

Sam sighed deeply and tried to change the subject. “I told Lanie I'd stop by.”

Dean scoffed. “Oh, good, yeah. No, you go hang out with jailbait. Just, uh, watch out for Chris Hansen. Meanwhile I'll be here getting ready to, y’know, save my life.”

Sam shook his head and turned to the door. You just stared at the floor. 

“You two are unbelievable, y’know that?” Dean shouted. “I mean, for months, we’ve been tryin’ to break this demon deal. Now, Dad’s about to give us the fuckin’ address, and you blink? The man is dead, and you’re still butting heads with the guy?!” He turned his attention to you. “And you? What happened to us? What happened to your ‘unconditional support’?”

“Dean, you still have it!” you replied. “That was never in question! What I’m questioning is where your fuckin’ head’s at. Because this is not you.”

“Oh, god.” He rolled his eyes and began to pace. 

“I’m not gonna mince my words,” you began, anger boiling to the surface. “This is fuckin’ crazy. I mean, there is no proof. At all. All you’re acting on is blind faith.”

“Yeah, well, maybe!” He shouted back. “Y’know, maybe that's all I got, okay?”

You held his stare, the anger melting out of you at his words. When you could see tears forming in his eyes, he looked at the floor. 

Sam piped up. “Please. Just please don't go anywhere until I get back. Okay, Dean? Please.” 

Dean stayed silent. 

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you. 

You looked up at Dean. For the first time that week, he offered you a kind word. “Go. It’s okay.”

You nodded. As you turned to go, you stared over your shoulder back at Dean. 

***

At Lanie’s house, the young girl got you up to speed on what happened to her the night before. 

“Have you told your father about any of this?” Sam asked her.

“And bother him at work?” she replied. “No. He wouldn't believe me anyway, he'd just chuck me into therapy.”

“So what did your mother say?” you asked. 

“She wanted to see me. So at first I thought I was supposed to go to the cemetery,” she sniffled. 

“Did you?” Sam prompted. 

Lanie nodded meekly. “Nothing happened. But then she started asking me to do other things.”

“What sort of things?”

She almost seemed embarrassed to say. “Bad things.”

You crouched down and looked up at her, breaking her gaze from the floor. “Lanie, please. Can you tell me what happened? It’s very important.”

She teared up, young eyes swimming in fear and sadness. “Mom told me to go to Dad's medicine cabinet.”

You waited patiently for her to continue. 

“She wanted me to take his sleeping pills.” She stopped for a minute to gather her courage. “Take all of his sleeping pills.”

“She wanted you to kill yourself?” Sam couldn’t help himself from saying. 

She nodded, crying harder. “Why would my Mom want me to do that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.”

“She just kept saying, ‘come to me,’ like, a million times,” she hiccuped. 

Your eyes widened. “Oh, sweet girl, that's not your mother.” You stood from the ground. 

Sam told Lanie, “Listen to me. Don't answer the phone. Don't use the computer. Don't do anything unless I say to, alright?”

You started down the stairs and listened carefully; just one set of footsteps was following you. You turned back to see Lanie still at the top of the stairs. “You okay?”

Her breathing was quick. “Where's Simon?”

“Simon?” you asked. 

“My little brother,” she responded. 

The next thing you knew, you were watching Sam shove the little boy out of the way of a speeding truck from the porch of Lanie’s house. 

Immediately, you called Dean. “Dean, it’s not your dad,” you rushed out. 

“Then what is it, (Y/N)?” he asked flippantly. 

“A crocotta,” you answered. 

“What is that, a sandwich?” he scoffed. 

“They typically live in filth. Mimic loved ones. Whisper, ‘Come to me,’ then lure you into the dark and swallow your soul,” you stated. 

Sam motioned for you to head to his rental car as soon as he delivered Simon to his sister safely. You followed quickly. 

“A crocotta, right, damn, that makes sense,” he snarkily replied. 

“Dean, c’mon, babe—”

He cut you off. “Hey, don't these things live in filth?”

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“Oh, god, at the phone company there were these flies. Pretty much as soon as we got down to the basement where this guy Stewie was hangin’ out,” he rushed out. 

“Okay, uh, okay,” you nodded. “Meet us there.”

You brought Sam up to speed on the conversation you’d had with Dean, and as night fell, he sped to the phone company. 

***

Despite calling Dean several times, you and Sam had to keep moving forward with the case. You watched as the man Sam described to you as Stewie unlocked his car. Silently, you rushed him with a metal spike. You shoved him down onto the car and held a metal spike to the back of his neck.

Stewie grunted. “What the hell?!”

“I know what you are,” you spat. “And I know how to kill you.”

“Wait, wait— Please! If we're overcharging you for the call waiting or something I- I can fix that. I am your friend!” he stammered. 

Confusion overtook you, and you turned to an equally confused Sam. You suddenly noticed a man standing behind him with a bat. “Sam, look out!” you cried. 

But it was too late. He was hit over the head with a bat, and you released the man in front of you. You threw your spike at him, but he caught it just before it hit him. He stalked toward you, and the man smiled widely. The man you’d been holding down shoved you to the ground from behind, and you were knocked out, too.

***

When you next came to, your wrists and feet were bound; that was the first thing you felt. Your head pounded, and your wrists ached from how tight the bindings were. When you opened your eyes, you turned your head to see Stewie was dead and bleeding profusely from his chest. 

You shrieked in horror, and then, the man who’d knocked you out appeared in front of you. “The fuck is wrong with you?!” you snarled.

He just laughed mockingly as he stalked between you and Sam. 

You realized something. “My last call with Dean. That was you. You led us here.”

“Some calls I make, some calls I take, but you have to admit, I had you fooled for a while. All that Edison phone crap,” he chuckled. He moved over to a telephone exchange cabinet and sighed in ecstasy. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. 

“I’m killing your brother,” he smiled. “Or maybe I'm killing another guy. We'll just have to see how it goes.”

***

The creature removed the knife from the chest of the man beside you. You grimaced at the wet squelching sound it made as he did. 

“Y’know, mimicking Dean's one thing. But my Dad?” Sam complimented mockingly. “That's a hell of a trick.”

“Well, once I made you two as hunters, it was easy. I found Dean's number, then your number, then your father's numbers. Then, emails, voicemails, everything. You see, people think that stuff just gets erased, but it doesn't. You'd be surprised how much of yourself is just floating out there, waiting to be plucked,” the creature grinned. 

“Dean’s not an idiot,” you stated sharply. “He’s not gonna kill that guy.”

“Then the guy kills him,” he shrugged. “And I kill you two. And here I thought I was only getting one hunter.” He stalked toward you, and you struggled harder. “Now, I’ve got another. And a pretty one, at that.”

You reared back and spat in his face. Almost like a reflex, he immediately backslapped you. 

Unfazed, your head returned to a neutral position and you just glared at him. 

“I’m gonna enjoy this,” he said, tracing the knife down your cheek. “Technology. Makes life so much easier. Used to be, I'd hide in the woods for days, weeks, whispering to people, trying to draw them out into the night. But they had community, they all looked out for each other, I'd be lucky to eat one or two souls a year. Now when I'm hungry, I simply make a phone call. You're all so connected. But you've never been so alone.”

Just as the man’s jaw unhinged like a snake to reveal rows of teeth, Sam came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his neck in a chokehold. You sat patiently while Sam and the crocatta struggled for the knife. You watched both men slam each other into various surfaces until they disappeared from view. 

You couldn’t do anything to help yourself, and you anxiously waited for— hopefully— Sam’s return into the room. 

Much to your relief, Sam stumbled back in minutes later. You grinned up at him happily.

***

You were the one to drive Sam’s rental car back to the motel seeing as he was injured and sore from his fight with the monster. You went at least twenty miles-an-hour over the speed limit for the entirety of the drive. 

You burst into Sam and Dean’s room, and you began to panic when you didn’t see him there. 

Then, you checked your room, breathing out in relief when you saw Dean holding a wash cloth to his eye. “Dean!” You ran to him, kneeling down in front of him.

He looked up at you, and you immediately kissed him passionately. He returned your kiss eagerly. When you broke away from him, you took the cloth from Dean’s hands gently to help him clean the wound.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “I— I’m so sorry.”

You placed your free hand on his knee. “We’ll talk in a minute, alright? Let me clean you up first.”

He nodded. 

***

“There,” you told him having placed the final bandage on his assortment of cuts. “That guy kicked the shit out of you.” Although Dean would normally laugh at jokes like that, his countenance was completely serious. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated. 

“I know,” you said softly. “I am, too.”

“I just— I lashed out, and that wasn’t fair to you. You were right,” Dean admitted. “It scares me how well you can fuckin’ read me. And with everything going on, I just—”

“I get it,” you cut him off. “I’m sorry, too. I was being petty. I got mean, too.” You paused for a moment. “I’m sorry it wasn’t really your dad.”

Dean looked down at the ground. “Naw, I gave you a hell of a time on this one.” He huffed. “I wanted to believe so badly that there was a way outta this. I mean, I'm staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell. For real, forever, and I just…” he trailed off, unable to finish. 

Your eyebrows scrunched sadly, and your eyelashes flickered. 

“I’m scared, sweetheart. I’m… I’m really scared.” As tears pooled in his eyes, he couldn’t seem to meet yours. 

You nodded, tearing up as well. “I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything. You know, the last act of a desperate man,” he tried to joke through his stifled cries. 

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with having hope, Dee,” you told him gently. 

“Hope doesn't get you jack squat,” he scoffed. “I can't expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can't expect anybody to, y’know? I mean, the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And I’m right there with you,” you told him. “Every step of the way. To Hell and back.”

Dean offered a lopsided smile. “To Hell and back.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[tastetheoyster]

What do you do to rest?

[totheblood]

in between | s.r.

pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x best friend!reader

summary: things are different, spencer's different. but how he feels about you is the one thing that has never changed. the only problem is now you have a boyfriend.

warnings: smut ! 18+ mdni!! lowkey cheating (lol), cursing, problematic reader, angst.

a/n: i am never beating the star has a cheating kink allegations!! I DO NOT I PROMISE... but yeah... this got away from me, i am touch starved and ovulating. reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses.. PLEASE SEND SPENCER REQUESTS!!!

wc: 5.9k

"I just can't come between 'em, they got their own thing I wish he'd stop pretendin', he won't let his phone ring."

Spencer was different after he got out.

It wasn’t like you could expect any less. Much less would change you for the worse and you knew that, but something about the way Spencer sat slumped over in his desk doing paperwork made your heart sink. He wasn’t as chatty as he used to be, he didn’t have that glimmer in his eyes, and his voice sounded hollow when he spoke. Under his eyes were permanent dark circles and his lips seemed to form a scorn whenever anyone wasn’t looking. Or when he thought no one was looking.

You sat at your desk, pink mug in your hands as you watched him. Watched his eyebrows crease, and watched him flip through the file in his hand as he pressed a free hand to his temple, rubbing it in small circles. Spencer was on edge all the time and he looked like it. You could tell he made an effort with you to be kinder, gentler, but it always came out sounding rehearsed, his face betraying him like it always did. Spencer Reid, your best friend, was now a completely changed person and it killed you that you couldn’t stop it. 

Pushing yourself from your desk chair you approached him, a small smile on your voice as you gently spoke, “Hey.”

He tensed for a second. He still wasn’t used to people sneaking up on him. He made a conscious effort to fix his face before turning to look up at you, his body relaxing upon seeing your face. Placing the file down on the desk, he leaned back in his chair returning your small smile as he spoke, “Hey,”

His voice was quiet as he spoke. He was tired and up close you could just see how much. 

“You, um…” your voice trailed off making his eyebrows raise, “are you okay?” The question was stupid, you knew the answer but it never hurt to ask. Your fingernails gripped the mug handle as you swallowed down the nerves, “are you sleeping?”

Spencer thought of how to answer truthfully. If he was being honest, of course, he wasn’t okay, he hadn’t been okay for a while, but instead, he just gave you a slight nod, “Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice was a little raspy as he spoke, but he turned away from you and back to the file on his desk. He was lying and you both knew it, but you weren’t his therapist and he was not about to open that can of worms on a Thursday. 

“Of course, yeah,” you awkwardly mumbled, “you know I’m still here, right? I’m still me, you know? You’re my best friend… and I, um, miss you.” 

He turned back to you, his face visibly softening as you spoke. He knew you were there for him, you were the only person he would allow to be there for him. He just didn’t know how to open back up or ask for help. Instead, he nodded his head, “I know… and I miss you too.”

“Spence, I-” you spoke but were promptly cut off by none other than Luke Alvez placing a hand on the small of your back as he whispered to you, “We still on for tonight?” 

It felt too intimate, too personal for Spencer to hear, but worst of all it made his stomach sink. He clenched his jaw tightly as he watched the interaction and took note of how you leaned into him. You were comfortable with him, comfortable enough that you should have told Spencer long before now. 

“Yeah,” you whispered back as you smiled sheepishly at Luke, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. 

“Great,” he smiled, removing his hand as he nodded slightly at Spencer before making his way over to his own desk.  

“You guys are going out?” He asked, his tone his own one-off attempt to keep his tone neutral and controlled, but came out more strained than usual. 

“Yeah,” you replied like you were ashamed of it, “it just kind of happened when you were… gone,” you rubbed at the back of your neck nervously, “I was just a mess without you and he was… well, he was there. There for me, I mean.”

Spencer kept his expression neutral, but he felt like a part of him was being taken from him, “So you’re dating now?”

“Kinda,” you squinted your eyes, trying to think of the perfect way to word it, “I mean, yes, like we haven’t labeled it but I think we’re exclusive. I don’t know we haven’t really talked too much about it.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” He said, his voice low and laced with bitterness. He had already felt like he missed out on so much and in a way became an outsider in a team he once called his family. But when it came to you, it struck a different chord. 

“When would that come up, Spence?” you replied, giving half of a laugh to soften the blow, “I wasn’t going to tell you about who I was hooking up with while visiting you in prison. It just didn’t seem fair and then you came back and didn’t seem interested in what I had going on. I just didn’t think you cared to know that.”

“Not interested in what you had going on?” he repeated back, the words sour on his tongue, “You think I didn’t care to know? I was in prison, that didn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

“I know that, Sp-” he cut you off.

“I was in prison, stuck in a cell, for months thinking I was never going to get out and you were… dating,” he didn’t know why he said it, it just kind of spilled out. Like all the bitterness and resentment he had been feeling had finally reached the surface and was spilling over. 

“What was I supposed to do?” you whisper-yelled, “Stop my life forever because you weren’t here? It was hard for me, Spence, and god I missed you more than anything but I needed the pain to stop and he… he stopped it.” 

“Pain? You were in pain? Well, I spent 270 days in a 6 by 8 prison cell. I was the one in pain! You don’t know what it was like!” He knew he was wrong, but it was like all of his anger, pain, and frustration was coming out and he didn’t know how to stop it. He knew it wasn’t a big deal. Logically, he knew that. But right now, all he wanted to do was get it out.

You took a step back suddenly, forcing reality to wash over him as your eyes got slightly glossy, guilt painted all over your face, “I’m sorry… I thought you would be happy for me… I thought…” 

You turned your head from him slightly, avoiding his gaze as you shook your head, “Nevermind, I’ll um, I’ll see you around.”

Spencer watched as you stepped back and saw the hurt look on your face. The anger and irritation faded almost immediately and in its place was guilt and remorse. He had hurt the one person he never wanted to hurt. He reached out a hand to try and stop you from leaving.

"Wait... please don't go," He spoke in a softer and more vulnerable tone.

Your own expression softened at this, like he was a child reaching out for you, scared there were monsters under his bed. His hand linked onto your fingers gently. You could pull away if you wanted to, but didn’t, “What?”

Spencer held onto your hand gently as he stood up from his chair and took a few steps closer to you. He looked at you anxiously, knowing that he needed to explain himself. He didn't want you to leave, especially not like this.

"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I just... I feel left out. I felt forgotten," he explained, trying to keep his voice soft, but there was a hint of worry and jealousy in his tone.

"I know, I know, I mean I'm sorry," you replied, shaking your head, "you're my best friend, I should have told you."

Spencer sighed and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm just... I'm on edge lately and I didn't mean to take it out on you. I shouldn't have acted like an ass to you."

He spoke in a sincere tone, his expression softening as he watched your face. 

You let out a small giggle, taking your hand back from him but gently nudging his shoulder, "You've been through a lot. you deserve to be an ass sometimes," she teased. 

Spencer let out a small breath of relief when he heard you laugh. It was like you were his again, and that part that had been missing found it’s way home.  He managed a small smile at your words, feeling a little lighter.

"Maybe, but not to you. You're probably the only person who I shouldn't take my anger out on. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," you replied almost too quickly, "you won't lose me, I promise."

"You promise?" he asked quietly, his tone filled with vulnerability.

You lifted your pinky finger for him to take with his, "Pinky promise."

Spencer's lips curved into a small smile as he saw your pinky offered to him. He looked at it for a moment before linking his own pinky with yours and giving them a small squeeze.

"Pinky promise."

You smiled up at him, the bright smile you reserved especially for him as you clicked your teeth, “Well, I gotta… get back to paperwork, Spence, but I’m  glad you’re back.”

Spencer smiled faintly at your bright smile, that only you seemed to bring out in him these days. "Yeah, I should get back to work, too. But, um..." He paused for a moment, his expression growing more anxious as he spoke, “Tonight, with Alvez… do you think you could cancel?”

"Why? What's wrong?" you asked, a worried expression clouding your face as you lightly gripped his forearm. It used to be a comforting touch but right now it felt foreign. 

"I just-" He let out a slow breath and paused before continuing, "I just want to spend time with you, alone. I feel like we haven't really had time to connect since I got out, and I miss you."

He wanted to feel guilty, he really did but a part of him couldn’t. He did want to spend time with you, but he also just didn’t want your time to be taken up by Luke. 

“Oh, Spence,” you cooed, voice soft as you took your hand back, “of course I can cancel. My place or  yours?” 

Spencer's expression softened and relief washed over him at your words. He couldn't help but smile faintly as you agreed, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. He thought for a moment before replying, "Your place. I haven't been there in a while, and I need a change of scenery."

"My place it is," you smiled, "I'll go cancel with him right now,"

He watched as you walked over to Alvez and told him you were canceling, and then told him you were canceling for Spencer. Spencer couldn't hear the two of you but it looked like you were fighting. He was talking with his hands, rolling his eyes as you put up a defensive hand. It was clear he was upset and it ended with Alvez throwing down a file on his desk and storming away.

Spencer's expression grew a little more worried as he saw the interaction between you and Alvez. When he saw Alvez throw down the file on his desk and storm away, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew that you had canceled because of him, and it was causing problems between you and Alvez. He watched as Alvez walked away and he let out a slow, heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Later that night, you were in your living room, sprawled out on the couch watching tv as you heard the familiar knocks of Spencer on the door. Opening it up you gave him a bright smile, your PJs in full effect, "Good evening, Doctor," you smiled at him, taking a step to the side to let him in.

Spencer smiled faintly at the sight of you, dressed in your PJs. It was a comfortable and familiar sight to him, and it made him feel at ease. He chuckled softly at your greeting, "Good evening, SSA Y/L/N," he teased in return, his voice a little more relaxed than usual.

You giggled, letting him in, "On a last-name basis, huh?" you laughed again. "I say we watch Doctor Who Series Two, what do you think?"

Spencer chuckled as he walked inside and nodded in agreement. He closed the door behind him and made his way over to her couch, plopping himself down on one end, and resting his arm on the back of the couch. In a way, he hated how well you knew him. He hated how as long as he lived there would be one person in the world to know what he needed and that she would be putting on his favorite season of his favorite show and making it seem like it was her own idea. He hated that you existed and he couldn’t have you. 

"Sounds perfect. Doctor Who marathon it is," he replied with a smile.

"Perfect," you smiled, plopping down on the other end, remote in hand as you moved to put on the show, Spence, who is your favorite companion," you asked absentmindedly as you flipped through the catalog. 

Spencer chuckled at your question and thought for a moment before answering. He shifted around on the couch until he was facing you, his expression pondering.

"Hmm, that's a tough one," he started, his voice thoughtful as he considered the question, "I've always had a soft spot for Donna Noble. She was funny, and her chemistry with the Doctor was hilarious. But Ten and Rose... they'll always have a special place in my heart."

“Ten and Rose are..." you blushed to yourself, "They are endgame to me even though they clearly aren't endgame, but I don't care."

Spencer chuckled at your blushing as you spoke about Ten and Rose, and he nodded in agreement, "Right? They had such incredible chemistry. It's hard not to root for them. The way Ten always looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered. It was like he saw the universe in her eyes," he agreed, his expression growing fond as he spoke.

"Yeah," you smiled, your smile fading as you clicked on the first episode of series two. Spencer noticed your smile fade and he furrowed his eyebrows in concern. He leaned a little closer to you, watching your expression.

"Hey, you okay?"

He spoke quietly, his voice filled with a hint of worry.

“Yeah, it's fine. I just... don't like being in a fight with Luke. it's like why can’t we be more like... Ten and Rose..." you shook your head, "It's stupid, whatever.”

Spencer's expression softened as he listened to you, understanding your frustration. He gave you a reassuring smile and spoke in a gentle tone, "It's not stupid, you're allowed to feel that way. Comparing what you have to some fictional characters... it's natural to yearn for that kind of connection,” He paused for a moment, studying your face, before continuing, "Why do you think you and Alvez can't be like Ten and Rose?"

"I don't know," you shook your head, "it's like I can't do anything right. He's- and I shouldn't be telling you this, but when you were away we would get into so many fights over you. He'd be mad if I went to visit you, or if I was too upset about missing you and he just always kept insinuating that I was like in love with you or something,”

Spencer's expression faltered as you spoke. He could already sense Alvez was jealous of your close friendship, but to hear he had been trying to discourage you from visiting him while he was away... it angered him. But it was the implication that you may have feelings for him that made his heart skip a beat in his chest. But he pushed that feeling down for the moment, trying to focus on what you were saying, "He said you were in love with me?"

"Yea," you whispered, "but I told him it wasn't like that. That we were just friends but he didn't believe it. He still doesn't."

"Why doesn't he believe you?" He asked softly, his eyes studying your face.

"I dont know," you groaned, "I mean we don't have a conventional friendship, me and you, but it was like a piece of me was locked up with you in that prison. I just wasn’t me without you and he saw that and took it as me being in love with you," you replied, ignoring the implications of what that meant.

Spencer couldn't help the pang of guilt that went through him at your words. He knew that being locked up had affected you just as much as it had affected him. He understood that without him, you had felt like a part of you was missing, but it still broke his heart to hear it.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt, "I never wanted to make things difficult for you... or put you in a position like that."

"You didn't, Spence," you sat up quickly, putting your hand over his that was situated in his lap, "You didn't do anything okay, my... partner or whatever he is should be able to trust me."

Spencer's expression softened at your touch, and his heart skipped a beat as you covered his hand with yours. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, feeling a wave of emotions wash over him. Your words made him feel a little better, but he couldn't shake off the guilt entirely, "I know, but..." He trailed off for a moment before continuing in a softer tone, "I just wish I could make things right for you, y'know?"

"Not your job," you smiled in a desperate attempt to comfort him, "I'd rather have you in my life than some man who didn't believe me anyway."

Spencer sighed, feeling a mixture of comfort and guilt at your words. He knew that it wasn't his job to fix things between you and Luke, but he hated seeing you hurt or upset. He gave your hand a small, affectionate squeeze as he spoke, "I'm always going to be in your life, no matter what. You're stuck with me."

"Oh, kill me now," you joked, voice soft as you leaned your head on his shoulder, "Eternity with you though?" you whispered, "Not the worst thing in the world."

Spencer chuckled softly at your joke, and he couldn't help but smile as you rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you a little closer to him, "Eternity with me, huh?" He repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice, "You sure you could handle it?"

"You sure you could handle it?" you giggled, softly pushing him down on the couch causing him to topple over into the couch. If this was anyone else he would have pushed you back immediately, tell you to not push him like that, but it was you. And you could do whatever you wanted to him. 

"Hey, hey, easy on the doctor!” Spencer protested jokingly as he fell backward into the couch. He looked up at you, a hint of playfulness in his eyes, as he sprawled out comfortably, "You're not getting rid of me that easy," he teased with a chuckle.

"Hey, hey, not easy on the doctor," you giggled again, leaning over on top of him, taking a pillow, and pretending to smother him as you climbed on top of him, straddling him. 

Spencer's heart skipped a beat as you straddled him, and he couldn't help blushing slightly at the sudden closeness of your body on top of his. His breathing hitched a little, but he tried to keep his expression playful. He pretended to struggle against you as you leaned over him with the pillow, "Hey now, watch it!” he protested, though his voice was filled with amusement.

You giggled as she pressed the pillow further into his face, "'m putting you out of your misery Doctor,"

Spencer laughed even louder, feigning resistance as you pressed the pillow further into his face, "Mercy! Mercy! I surrender!" He jokingly spoke in a dramatic tone, his voice muffled by the pillow. He tried to pull the pillow away from his face to look up at you.

Pulling the pillow off of his face, you smiled down at him, the laugh slowly dying in your throat as you realized the compromised position, “Oh.”

Spencer was panting slightly from the fake struggle, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he looked up at you. His gaze met yours and he felt a wave of heat wash over him as he fully realized your position, with you straddling him on the couch, hips pressed slightly down into him. He couldn't help but take in the sight of you on top of him, his heart racing.

"I, um… didn't realize,” you spoke quickly, your own self out of breath, panting as you began to move to get off him, "I'm sorry, shit." 

"No, no, wait., "Spencer's hand reached out quickly and gently grabbed your wrist as you tried to move off him. He swallowed, his heart racing a mile a minute. He couldn't deny the tension in the air or the way his body reacted to how close you were. This was straight out of a dream he knew he had, "Please... don't move," he whispered, his voice low.

Your breathing was heavy as you looked down at him, hair tousled and in your PJs, "Spence," you whispered, voice low. 

Spencer looked up at you, feeling his body hum with desire as he took you in. Your tousled hair, the sight of you in your PJs, it was all so real and intimate. It was domestic in nature and it made his heart do a flip. He swallowed, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. At the sound of you whispering his name, his grip on your wrist tightened just a fraction, "Yeah?” He whispered back, his own voice thick and dry. 

"Is that a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me?" you joked, the tension still thick and palatable as it sat it the pit of your stomach.

Spencer's breath hitched at your joke, with the way he was reacting it was clear he hadn’t been touched in months. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound sending shivers down his spine. He shifted beneath you, your body still straddling him, and he could feel the weight of your body against him, the tension between you palpable, "Maybe it's both," he whispered, his voice low and thick with desire.

You breathed out, a shaky breath but still a breath, as you rocked your hips a little bit against him, desperate for friction, "I'm not a cheater," you whispered. 

Spencer's breath caught in his throat as you rocked your hips against him, and it took everything in him not to buck his hips in response. He tried to control his breathing, his body reacting to your touch almost involuntarily. He swallowed, his voice a little rougher than usual as he replied, "I know you're not. You've never been," He placed his hands on your hips, holding you in place lightly, his thumbs slowly stroking the bare skin of your waist under your shirt.

Your skin burned where his hands met your hips. It made you want to do more. It made you want to continue, a soft sigh that sounded like a moan falling from your lips, swallowing quickly as you stared down at him. 

Spencer's heart raced as you let out that small sigh, a mix of a moan, and he couldn't deny the effect it had on him. He could feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room almost tangible, "You're driving me crazy," he breathed out, his thumbs continuing to stroke your skin, his touch growing a little firmer, more possessive. His pupils were blown out, soft brown eyes looking up at you like it was you who held the universe in your hands. 

"I'm not-" you shook your head, "not doing anything," you whispered, hips grinding down slowly as you took another deep breath in. Your brain was telling you to quit while you were ahead, but every bone in your body seemed physically incapable of stopping. 

Spencer's breath hitched at the feel of your hips grinding down against him, and he involuntarily tightened his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin. "Oh, you're doing plenty," he whispered back, his voice low and laced with barely suppressed need. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?”

"No," you whispered, hands trailing up his chest as he held you, "explain it to me."

Spencer let out a ragged breath, trying to form coherent words, "You... you drive me crazy. You always have," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "The way you look at me, talk to me, touch me..." He paused, gathering himself, before continuing. "The way you're straddling me right now, your body pressed against mine, it's... it's like you were made for me."

You closed your eyes, grinding down harder involuntarily. It was okay to dry hump your best friend, right? That didn't count as cheating, right? Your mind tried to convince yourself this was okay, that you weren’t awful, but you were spurred on by his words, your panties dampening as he held you. 

Spencer groaned as you ground down harder against him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opened them again, his gaze filled with undisguised desire, "This... we shouldn't," he managed to say, even as his hands continued to grip your hips, pulling you closer to him, his body responding without even thinking, "You're with Luke... we can't... we can't do this," his words were a whisper, but even he could hear the lack of conviction behind them.

You ground down again, in tandem with him, "You're- you're right," you panted, "maybe we should stop," your own eyes fluttered closed. 

Spencer groaned again, his grip on your hips tightening even more, his body moving in time with yours, almost involuntarily. His heart was racing, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he tried to slow himself down, to think clearly, "Yeah, we... we should stop," he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, but his body betrayed his words, still rocking against you, needing the friction, the closeness.

"Oh god, fuck," you groaned, eyes fluttering closed as you rocked harder, faster, "Yeah... yeah... should stop," you repeated.

"Fuck..." Spencer couldn't help but curse under his breath, his hips bucking up to meet yours with each movement, his body on fire with need. He was losing his mind, his last shred of control slipping away as he felt the heat between you growing more and more intense, "We... we need to stop... now..." he managed to breathe out, his voice barely above a whisper, his hands holding onto your hips like a lifeline, almost desperately.

"Mhm," you moaned in agreement but never stopped your movements. Instead, you continued to rock against him, ignoring how the spaghetti strap of your pajamas had started to fall off your shoulder, "So stop," you whispered, not stopping.

Spencer's eyes were fixed on the spaghetti strap that was falling off your shoulder, his brain nearly short-circuiting at the sight. He groaned, the sound almost guttural, as he tried to steady his breathing. "I'm- I'm trying, I'm trying..." He was trying, he really was, but with your body moving against him like that, your hips rocking in just the right way, he couldn't help but move with you, his body responding on autopilot.

"How hard?" you whispered, a giggle falling from your lips that turned quickly into a strangled moan, as his hands pushed your hips down into him. Spencer's grip on your hips tightened even more, his fingers digging into your skin, as he pushed you down into him. His breathing was ragged now, his body trembling with need, as he felt you against him.

"So goddamn hard," he groaned, his voice strained, as he tried to hold back. "You have no idea how hard you’re making this for me."

"I can," you panted out, "I can feel it… How hard it is for you," you giggled, eyes fluttering shut again as you gripped his shoulder. It was all him at this point, he was pulling you down into him, his hips bucking up. The friction all felt too good, too real, and you weren’t stopping. There was no way you could. 

Spencer was losing himself completely in the feeling of you against him, the sound of your voice, the way your touch burned through him. His head was spinning, his body on fire with need and desire. He pulled you down harder against him, his hips bucking up involuntarily, the friction between you sending sparks through his body. He could feel his cock twitch in his pants, as he pulled you down closer to him, "God... you feel so good," he groaned, his lips brushing against your collarbone, his breath hitched and shallow.

When his lips touched you, you gasped, a loud moan coming from your lips that sounded too much like his name.  You wanted this and you wanted it desperately. It was almost pathetic how much you wanted this.

The sound of your moan, his name on your lips, it was like a punch to the gut. Spencer's grip on your hips involuntarily tightened, his body reacting almost violently to the sound, the need in your voice. "Say it again," he groaned, his lips moving against your skin, leaving a trail of hot, hungry kisses along your collarbone. "Say my name again."

"Fuck," you hissed back a moan, "Spencer," you practically chanted, hand gripping the arm of the couch behind him as you ground together, "Spencer," you chanted again, a lot less coherent as she bit back a moan. 

Each time you said his name, it sounded like a prayer, and Spencer felt like he was losing his mind. His hips bucked up against yours as he heard it again and again, the sound sending shockwaves through his body. He buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in hot, ragged gasps as he fought to keep himself together, "God, say it again," he begged, his voice thick with need and hunger, "Please, say my name again, just like that."

"Spencer- ah, fuck," you cried out, whimpering pathetically as your body moved for you, "Spencer."

Spencer was drowning in you, in the sound of you saying his name. It was the only thing he could hear, the only thing he could focus on. He was coming undone under you, his body reacting involuntarily to your touch and your voice.

"That's it," he breathed against your skin, his lips on your neck, his body moving with yours. "Just like that, baby, just like that. Say my name, say it again."

"Spencer," you cried out as his movements picked up, as they became more aggressive. You just kept chanting it like it was the air you breathed, like it was the only word you knew. Spencer was wild with need, overwhelmed by the sound of his name falling from your lips, the feel of your body against his. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin, as he pulled you down into him, moving against you with a desperate, frenzied rhythm.

"You're killing me," he groaned, his voice thick with desire and frustration. "God, you're going to kill me."

He buried his face in your neck, his lips moving against your skin, his breath hot and labored. He was losing himself completely in the moment, driven by pure need and desire, "I can't- I can't stop," he panted between kisses, his voice ragged and strained. "I need you, I need you so bad."

"Fuck, Spencer," you cried out, body almost shaking on top of him. If this was wrong, why did it feel so good?

Spencer was lost in you, undone by your words, your sounds, your touch. Your body shaking on top of him, the sound of his name falling from your lips was like a drug, addictive and potent. He clutched you tighter, his grip almost bruising, as he moved against you frantically, desperately, chasing the release that was building inside him, "That's it, that's it," he panted, his own body trembling, "Don't stop, baby, don't stop."

He felt the orgasm building inside him, a wave of pleasure and heat rolling through him, his body shaking as he pulled you down into him again and again, "Oh god, I'm- I'm gonna-"

The words were lost in a strangled moan, his body arching up off the couch as he found his release, his grip on you still tight. 

“Oh god, I’m,” you panted, crying out his name like a hymn, “I’m cumming,” you breathed out. It was all too good, like he was made for you just in this moment. 

Spencer's heart felt like it was going to burst as he heard you call his name, the sound like a prayer as your body trembled on top of him, "Yes, yes, yes," he whispered hoarsely, his arms holding you tightly against him, his own body still shaking with aftershocks from his orgasm, "That's it, baby, let go, let go for me."

Your body stopped moving, collapsing on top of him as you came undone, holding onto him like he might float away. He caught you against him as you collapsed on top of him, his body still throbbing with the aftershocks. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breathing ragged and labored. He nuzzled his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your skin, as he tried to slow his racing heart.

"That was... incredible," he panted, his voice still hoarse.

"That was..." your voice trailed off as you sat up quickly, realizing you were still clothed as she stood up and off the couch pathetically, "that was cheating, oh god."

Your sudden movement jerked Spencer out of his blissful state, and he looked up at you with wide eyes, his mind still fuzzy from the overwhelming pleasure, "Whoa, whoa, hey, calm down."

He sat up, his heart still racing as he reached for your hand, trying to steady you, "It's okay, it's okay, we're okay."

“No it’s not,” you whispered, pulling your hand back from him as he reached for you. It made his chest sting, but all he did was blink, “I think you should leave,” 

“What?”

“You should go, Spence,” you reiterated, eyes looking down at your feet, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“If that’s what you want me to do,” he spoke. His voice almost sounded broken and you didn’t like the feeling of being the one who caused it. 

“It is,” you replied quickly, arms folded across your chest. You turned away from him completely, ignoring the sound of the door slamming closed as he stepped outside.

[pathologicalreid]

Okay before i say my request can i be your 🐚 anon ??? that's all i ask in terms of that BUT:

hear me out- so spencer reid x bau!fem!sunshine!reader gets kidnapped outside of work and her kidnapper tortures her and the works, but the worst part is he has a live feed directed for the bau so they just have to watch the poor girl get borderline killed but she's still fighting back and so eventually he turns the feed off and they go to the unsub once they find his location but before they burst the door down they hear the reader like genuinely begging for him to just kill her and it's GUT WRENCHING. then they get him and she free and she's immediately back to her bubbly self until randomly she like shows up at his door and spence tells her it's okay to not be okay and she just breaks down RAGHHHH

i'm so sorry for writing you an essay but I got the idea and simply couldn't let it go to waste 😭

-🐚 (i hope if that's okay with you???)

epiphany | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; re: hurt/comfort content warnings: bau!reader, sunshine!reader, kidnapping, violence against reader, reader begging for it to be over, gun violence, general cm violence, exhaustion, hospitals, poor coping mechanisms and unhelpful therapists. word count: 2.92k a/n: of course you can be my 🐚 anon! this is a story in four parts, before, during, after, and epiphany! i hope you enjoy it <3 thank you SO much for requesting!

epiphany - a moment of sudden revelation or insight.

before

The horrified look on Garcia’s face couldn’t possibly be a good sign, “Uh, sir,” she addressed Hotch, “I’m being sent an encrypted link from an admin on the UnSub’s site.”

Responding with a stiff nod, Hotch looked toward the screen in the roundtable room, “Open it.”

Each team member had an instant reaction to the image projected onto the large screen. JJ had covered her mouth with her hands, Morgan had to peel his eyes away from the screen, and Spencer couldn’t get himself to do the same thing. Despite his better judgment, he kept his eyes on the screen.

“He’s killing her,” Emily observed, watching with a horrified expression as the UnSub hand his hands around your throat. You were dangling from the ceiling by your bound hands, leaving you flailing as your body begged for air.

Hotch leaned intensely over Garcia’s shoulder, “Is this live?” He asked, voice raising ever so slightly as he watched the tech analyst’s fingers work nimbly across her keyboard. As she nodded, he continued, “Can you find where he’s streaming this from?”

Parting her lips, a determined look settled on the blonde’s face as she continued to type, “It looks like he’s running it through a boatload of different proxies – it’s gonna take me a minute.”

Rossi shook his head, leaning over the roundtable, “She might not have that long.” It was the truth, a harsh truth, but the truth, nonetheless.

It had been one minute and thirty-seven seconds already, brain death would occur after four minutes, maybe five if you were lucky. Spencer didn’t want to have to take that chance. “Oh god,” Penelope cried, working through the tears that had started to stream down her face, “Okay, she’s in this general area.”

“Keep going,” Hotch ordered succinctly. “Everyone else, look at the picture. Is anything recognizable about the background?”

The lighting was dim at best, which didn’t leave the team with a lot to work with while they studied your surroundings. At one point, your attacker shouted, and Spencer’s attention moved back to you.

In the midst of your struggle, you had managed to strike him between the legs, sending him stumbling away from you, shouting expletives as space was put between the two of you. The BAU took a collective breath as they listened to you breathe, spluttering as the UnSub regained his composure. “Do you see that? The ridges in the wall?” Derek said, using his index finger to point to what he was talking about.

“It looks like a storage container,” Emily replied, furrowing her brows as she comprehended what Morgan was talking about.

Wholly focused on you, Spencer watched as the UnSub got in your face, screaming horrible words at you until you spit in his face. He swung at you, causing your face to turn with a nauseating smack until your head lolled forward and you stopped moving.

Still typing, Penelope spoke up, “Got it! Sending the address to your phones now.”

during

There was a maze of storage containers at the port, and so far, you had turned up in none of them. “Shh, wait,” Emily hissed, “Do you guys hear that?” She asked, looking over each of her shoulders, ears perked up like a bloodhound.

Straining his ears, Spencer straightened up, lowering his firearm as he focused on listening to the world around him, waiting for whatever Emily was talking about.

“Just fucking do it!” Your voice reverberated off of the surface of the numerous shipping containers. Spencer found himself torn as he knew you were alive but recognized the fear and anger in your voice. The pain as you screamed nearly stopped him in his tracks, but he found himself trudging forward.

Following closely behind Morgan, they stopped for a moment, trying to determine which direction you would be found in. Your shouts rang out into the pitch black of the night, “Stop being a coward and pull the fucking trigger!”

His steps faltered, leaving JJ stumbling into his back. “Reid,” she whispered, prompting him to shake himself out of his surprised state and continue moving. You didn’t know what you were saying, he tried to convince himself.

You couldn’t see the camera the same way he had seen it so many years ago, kidnapped and drugged against his will and hoping the team would understand the clues disguised as conversation. He had been taken from an UnSub’s property, and your apartment had been broken into – the only thing taken had been you.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar fear in the BAU, worrying about an UnSub breaking into your home, but you weren’t targeted because of your work in the bureau. You had been targeted because you fit the victim pattern.

If he never had to see the word “missing” under your face again, it would be too soon.

“Please,” you begged. “Please just kill me. Just let me die. I don’t want to do it anymore,” your voice started to grow quieter, but the team could still hear you – they were getting closer.

Emily and Morgan went to one side of the doors, leaving Spencer and JJ on the other side – Rossi and Hotch were elsewhere on the property, waiting with first responders and calling the shots via comms.

A small whimper came from the container at the same time as the click of a gun cocking. “Just pull it,” you pleaded weakly. “It’ll be so easy for you. It’ll be so much easier with me dead,” you informed him despondently.

“FBI!” Morgan called out, pulling the heavy metal doors of the container open, revealing the four FBI agents with their vests on, guns raised.

Just like it had happened in an action film, Spencer watched as the UnSub moved his hand to the trigger of his weapon. Your eyes were closed, tears streaming through the dirt that was caked on your face. Without a second thought, Spencer pulled the trigger on his firearm, sending a bullet through the UnSub’s temple before he could have the chance to kill you.

Emily went over to the body, gingerly picking up the weapon and disengaging it while looking over to you. Spencer was knelt in front of you, debating whether or not he should touch you before he decided on speaking to you first, “Y/N?” His voice was no more than a whisper as he expected your eyes to open, but they didn’t.

“His pocket,” you rasped, your traumatized vocal cords straining on every word.

Spencer hummed, “What about them, love?” He kept his voice gentle, watching you as you squeezed your eyes shut.

Sniffling, you hung your head low, “Keys,” you mumbled helplessly, unable to speak more than you already were, each word only drained you of energy you didn’t have in the first place.

Understanding, JJ crouched next to the stiff body of the UnSub and fished a keyring out of his pants pocket, handing them to Spencer.

With shaky hands, the third key unlocked the handcuffs around your wrists, and your body slumped forward, practically falling into Spencer as he tenderly wrapped his arms around your torso, “I’ve got you,” he reassured you.

It wasn’t until you were sat in the back of an ambulance that anyone got a good look at you. There was a fine layer of grime coating your skin, causing it to look at least one shade darker than it normally was, but what concerned Spencer the most was the petechiae of your eyes. The burst blood vessels were a direct result of his hands around your throat.

The paramedics looked over you despite your protests. It was non-negotiable, and that instruction came from Hotch. The strangest part of it was that you were continuously trying to wave off concern, insisting you were fine, kicking your legs off the edge of the rig while the female paramedic looked at the bruising on your cheek. “It might be a fractured ZMA, she’ll need a CT to confirm,” she continued to list even more ailments, including potential internal bleeding and extensive damage to your throat. The swelling in your neck was beginning to catch up with you, affecting your ability to talk.

Spencer rode with you in the ambulance, holding your hand while you told him, “I knew you’d find me. I never gave up.”

I don’t want to do it anymore, your pleas for the UnSub to end your life rang in his head, he’d never forget hearing you say that, and you didn’t even know he heard you.

He didn’t have any good answers for anyone while you were getting a CT. By the time you returned from surgery to repair your fractured cheekbone, he shut the door to your room, sequestering the two of you into your own little world.

The bruising around your neck had already begun to darken, and by this time tomorrow, your throat would likely be a sickening reflection of what had happened to you. Your doctor had elected to leave you intubated because they were afraid of the swelling affecting your ability to breathe.

There was nothing for him to do, nothing except sit at your bedside and hold your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb across your bloodied knuckles.

after

You were skipping - well, maybe the step pattern wasn’t technically a skip.

Spencer watched as you waltzed into the bullpen with far too much pep in your step. “I didn’t know you were coming back today,” Morgan said, being the first to greet you once you passed through the glass doors.

Waving a hand in the air, you shrugged, “I have to pass a final psych eval with Hotch, but then I’m all set to be back next week.” You were grinning as you embraced your friend, but over your shoulder, Derek sent Spencer an inquiring look. Asking a silent question that Spencer himself didn’t even know the answer to.

What was going on with you? Four weeks ago, you had been struggling to stand after being beaten within an inch of your life, and ever since, you had been nothing but smiles.

Before you could settle into the hug, you pulled away, placing your hands on Derek’s shoulders, and holding him at arm’s length. Approximately the same distance you had kept Spencer at for the past month.

As you passed behind Spencer’s desk, you left a featherlight touch on the top of his head before continuing your way up to Hotch’s office, smiling as you passed the roundtable room. The same room where the team had watched your torture as it was live-streamed to them.

“Is she..?” Emily started to ask the question on everyone’s minds, but the major issue was that no one quite knew what the question was. Had you finally cracked? Were you okay? He wasn’t sure, and it was starting to eat at him.

The only thing they could do was watch as you greeted Hotch with a chirp, entering his office and firmly closing the door behind you.

epiphany

The knock on his door was the first thing to pull his attention away from his book since he got home from Quantico. Looking down at the inside of his wrist, he frowned at the time – just past midnight.

Still, he peeled himself up off of the couch before making his way to the front door, peering out of the peephole just to see you on the other side.

Slowly, Spencer set the book on his entryway table and undid the lock and deadbolt to his apartment, swinging the heavy wooden door open to reveal his girlfriend. You were donning flannel pajama pants, not unlike the ones he had on, and an old college t-shirt. There was a crumpled-up piece of paper in your hand, but he couldn’t make out any of the words on it.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, the question slipping easily off his tongue. He didn’t wait for the answer, ushering you inside his apartment and toward the couch. He redid the locks on the front door before joining you on the supple leather.

You furrowed your brows, staring at the piece of paper in your lap, “I failed.”

Leaning over your shoulder curiously, Spencer looked at the piece of paper, quickly recognizing it as your psychological evaluation. He read over what he could see, noting the words “deflection” and “coping mechanism.”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he observed aloud. You must’ve been wearing makeup this morning when you came to the BAU because now he could see the clearly defined dark circles under your eyes. He hadn’t seen you much over the past month, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Spencer had spent many days sitting outside of your apartment, waiting for you to let him in. He didn’t dare use his spare key, it felt like an invasion of your privacy.

Turning to meet his eyes, you shrugged helplessly, “I haven’t been tired. I mean – I’m… I’m fine.”

Nodding gently, “That’s a deflection. You’re telling me that you’re fine when I can clearly see that you aren’t.”

Your lips parted in apprehension while he read you like an open book. “I’m exhausted,” you admitted, tearing little pieces off of your evaluation form as you grew anxious. “I get into bed, and I can’t sleep, I can’t convince myself to close my eyes,” you elaborated, watching as Spencer reached out and took the paper from you, setting it on the coffee table.

“Have you talked to anyone?” Spencer asked, tentatively taking your hand in his.

Humming, you leaned back on the couch cushions, “Like my mandated FBI therapist? No, I don’t really talk to him much. I’ve started pretending we’re having a staring contest. I usually win, but that’s probably because he has no idea that we’re playing.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer inclined his head toward you, “You’re doing it again.”

You clamped your lips shut, shifting on the couch so that you could withdraw your hand from his and sit on your hands. “I don’t do this very well, huh? Talking about the bad stuff,” you murmured to Spencer, looking over at him. “I hate the bad stuff,” you informed him.

“But we have to talk about it eventually, sweetheart. You can’t keep all of that inside,” he told you, moving over on the couch, closer to where you were seated.

Shaking your head, you pulled your knees up to your chest, and Spencer recognized that you were trying to make yourself seem as small as possible. The UnSub had made you feel small – another reason that Spencer had to hate him. “I wish I was her again,” you whispered, a tinge of fear entering your voice.

“You want to be who again?”

Looking over at Spencer, you sighed, “The me that I was before. I want to feel good and happy and perfect and free,” you spoke earnestly.  

He gave you an understanding smile, pulling at your hands so that he could hold them in his own, “Nobody expects you to be perfect right now.”

You closed your eyes, “but I want to be her again.” Small tears started to stream down your cheeks while you mourned the previous version of yourself.

“I know,” Spencer reassured you. “I know you do, but if you can’t quite get to her, I’ll still be here for the you that you are now,” he said, welcoming you with open arms as you began to lean into him. “It wouldn’t have been easier,” he murmured into your hair.

Humming, you grew content in Spencer’s arms, the only place he had wanted you over the past month. “What wouldn’t have been easier?”

Ever so slightly, Spencer tightened his grip around you, “If you had died. It wouldn’t have been easier for anyone. I know it felt like that at the time-“

“You heard that?” You asked, horrified at the thought of Spencer and everyone else hearing what you had thought were your last words.

Nodding, Spencer hummed a confirmation. “I can’t stop thinking about it, and I just needed to tell you that I understand. I don’t want you to feel guilty about what you said, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to regret it. You needed a way out, and that was the one you saw,” he told you.

You were silent for an eerie amount of time, without being able to see your face, Spencer was afraid that he had misread the entire situation. “Thank you,” you whispered, straightening up and looking over at him, bleary eyes meeting his. “I’m just… thank you,” you whispered reaching out for him, embracing him as your tears sept through the fabric of his t-shirt.

The both of you stayed like that for a while, your body was tucked into his side as his fingers lazily trailed up and down your back. “Did you want to try to get some sleep?”

You lifted your head, resting your chin on his chest, “Can I stay here?”

Frowning, Spencer cocked his head to the side, “Yes, isn’t that what I just asked?” Maybe it was more of an implication, but he felt it was fairly straightforward.

“I mean, can I stay here for a while? Maybe for a couple of days?” You asked, pressing your lips together nervously.

Moving his head forward, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, “You can stay here for as long as you want to.”

[br0kenangel]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 1

Summary: You never thought Aegon be like this. You though that he's probably like all the other rich kids who are only upset because daddy didn't given them money. But you couldn't have been more wrong...

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

He hadn't said a word since entering the room, only slouched low in his chair, his bloodshot eyes tracing patterns in the ceiling like he was watching something she couldn’t see. His bleach-blonde hair was messy, like he hadn't bothered to run a comb through it in days, and the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept in even longer.

The silence was unnerving, and she hated it. The ticking clock in the corner of the room sounded like gunfire in the stillness. She cleared her throat and tried to start professionally. "Aegon," she began, her voice soft but steady, "how are you feeling today?"

He chuckled—a low, grating sound that didn’t reach his eyes. "How am I feeling?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Isn't that a bit cliché? Isn’t that what all therapists ask? I’m not here for small talk, sweetheart."

The way he said sweetheart made her skin crawl. It wasn’t the word itself but the way it slithered off his tongue, sharp and mocking. She shifted in her seat, trying to maintain her calm. "I’m just trying to understand where you’re at. You don't have to say anything you don’t want to."

He smirked, a twisted, unsettling expression that seemed more like a grimace. "Oh, I bet you want to understand me. You think you're gonna fix me? Is that it? Make me better, turn me into a functioning little cog in this shitty world?"

There was an edge to his voice, something dangerous beneath the surface. His eyes were unfocused, distant, as though she wasn’t even there. Y/N felt a chill settle in her chest, but she pushed forward, reminding herself that this was just another patient. A deeply troubled one, yes, but still just a man. She was trained for this.

"I’m not here to fix you, Aegon," she replied carefully. "I’m here to listen and help if I can."

His head snapped toward her so quickly she flinched. He caught it, of course, and his grin widened, predatory now. "You’re scared of me, aren’t you?" he said softly, like he was sharing a secret. "Good. You should be."

Aegon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at her with intensity that made her skin prickle. "You ever felt like nothing matters, doc? Like every fucking thing is just… pointless? No matter how much you drink, snort, or fuck, it never fills that hole inside you. It just… eats at you, every second of every day, until you can't take it anymore."

His voice was a low growl now, rough around the edges, filled with bitterness. "That's what it’s like in here." He tapped the side of his head, his gaze boring into her, daring her to look away. "Rotten. Empty. Dead. I tried to end it once, you know. Got close, too. But they wouldn’t even let me do that right. My family sent me to you instead. So now here I am, playing the part. But let’s be real—you can't fix this."

There was a rawness to his words that cut through her usual defenses. Y/N felt herself teetering on the edge of something she didn’t want to fall into. His pain was palpable, but it wasn’t the pain of someone who wanted to be saved.

"You don't have to believe in this process," she finally said, her voice tight. "But it’s important that you give it a chance."

Aegon tilted his head, studying her like she was some puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. His eyes were glassy, unfocused again, and his smile faltered, giving way to something deeper, more sinister. "You’re not like the others," he muttered, almost to himself. "Most of them are easy to read. But you… I can't quite tell if you’re really here to help or if you just like playing the part."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. There was something unnervingly perceptive about him. He wasn’t just a lost soul spiraling into self-destruction—he was calculating, watching her reactions, testing her boundaries. And it was working. She didn’t like how vulnerable she felt under his gaze.

Y/N straightened in her chair, trying to regain control of the conversation. "I’m here to help, Aegon. That’s my job."

He scoffed, leaning back again, dismissive. "Help," he repeated bitterly. "You wanna help? You can't even help yourself."

His words hit harder than she expected, striking at something deep inside her, and for a moment, she faltered. She wasn’t prepared for how sharp he was, how quickly he cut through her professional veneer. There was something primal in the way he spoke, in the way he moved, that felt less like therapy and more like a predator playing with his prey.

"You look tired," he continued, eyes narrowing. "Overworked. You got that hollow look in your eyes, too. Like me. How long before you break, huh? How long before you’re the one on the other side of this desk?"

Her breath hitched slightly, and Aegon’s smile grew wider, more triumphant. He leaned in close, his voice a low whisper that sent chills down her spine. "Maybe we’re not so different after all, doc. Maybe you’re just as fucked up as I am."

Y/N’s hand trembled, and she clenched it into a fist, trying to steady herself. She needed to end this session—now. But she couldn’t show weakness. Not to him. "Our time is almost up," she said, her voice firmer than she felt. "We’ll continue this next week."

She checked the clock. He was due in ten minutes.

Her hand brushed the edge of her desk, fingers drumming a quiet, nervous rhythm. She told herself it would be fine. She had control. This was her space, her field. But the knot in her stomach tightened with every second that passed.

A knock on the door broke the silence. Her heart leapt in her chest.

"Come in" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

The door swung open, and there he was, leaning casually against the frame, eyes half-lidded like he couldn't be bothered to care about anything. Aegon strolled into the room with an easy arrogance, tossing himself into the chair like he owned the place. He wore the same leather jacket from last week, cigarette burns dotting its sleeve, his jeans ripped and filthy. His disheveled blonde hair caught the afternoon light, giving him an almost angelic glow, which was disturbingly ironic.

"Doc" he greeted, his voice slick and lazy. "Miss me?"

Y/N forced herself to meet his gaze. "Aegon," she said calmly, ignoring his provocations. "How are you feeling today?"

He chuckled, a low sound that rumbled through the room. "Oh, I'm fantastic. Just spent the last few hours getting plastered. Wanna guess how much vodka it takes before you stop feeling like your head is caving in?"

She hesitated. "Did you... did you drink before coming here?"

Aegon gave her a crooked smile, his eyes gleaming with something dark. "Nah, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm sober enough to remember your name. For now."

He leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving hers. "But seriously, let's cut the bullshit. You're not here to ask me how I'm doing. You're here to dissect me, right? Get inside my head. See what makes the fucked-up bitch tick."

Y/N's throat tightened at the way he said bitch-dripping with disdain, self-hatred. His family, the Targaryens, were a wealthy, powerful lineage, tied up politics and scandal. She'd heard the rumors: how Aegon was the black sheep, a public embarrassment, the one they all whispered about behind closed doors. It wasn't hard to see why.

"I'm here to help," she said, trying to regain control of the session. "But that only works if you're willing to engage with the process."

His smirk widened. "You think l'm not engaging? l'm sitting right here, aren't I?" He paused, his gaze growing more intense. "Unless what you really want is for me to spill my guts to you. You want to know what makes me tick, doc? Fine. Let me tell you."

There was something unsettling about the way he shifted in his chair, like a predator getting comfortable before striking. His smile faded, replaced with a cold, hollow expression that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I hate everything," he began, his voice flat, detached. "I hate waking up. I hate breathing. I hate the sound of my own fucking voice. I hate this-" He gestured around the room, his fingers trembling slightly."一all this therapy bullshit. I hate my family. I hate the way they look at me like l'm some broken toy they can't fix."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you know what I really hate? The fact that no matter what I do, nothing makes me feel alive. Drugs? Alcohol? Sex? It's just noise. All of it. And I'm so fucking tired of feeling empty."

His words hung in the air like smoke, choking the room. Y/N felt the urge to recoil, to put some distance between them, but she couldn't. There was something magnetic about him, a dark pull that made it hard to look away.

"You think I want to be here?" he continued, his eyes burning with intensity. "My family dragged me to this fucking place because I tried to put a bullet in my brain last month. They thought therapy would 'fix' me. But they don't get it. They never did."

He leaned back, letting out a bitter laugh. "But you know what's funny? Sitting here, looking at you, I almost want to believe it. l almost want to see if you can figure me out, doc. Maybe you'll crack the code."

His eyes bored into hers, and for a split second, Y/N swore she saw something vulnerable flicker behind the mask- something raw and desperate. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual cold sneer.

"You think you can handle that?" he asked softly. "Think you can fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed?"

Y/N's grip on her pen tightened. Her throat felt dry, her palms clammy. There was no easy answer to his question, no textbook response to the way he twisted everything around him into chaos. But she knew one thing-Aegon wasn't just here to be saved. He was here to test her, to see how far he could push before she cracked.

"l'm not here to fix you, Aegon,' she said, repeating her earlier sentiment. "But I am here to listen. To understand."

He snorted, shaking his head. "Listen to what? My sob story? Poor little rich boy, drinking and fucking his way through life, all because he's sad? You really think there's anything left to understand?"

Y/N met his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. "I think there's more to you than what you're showing me."

Aegon went still, his smirk vanishing as his eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, it felt like the room shrank, the walls closing in, leaving just the two of them in an uncomfortable silence. He stared at her, unblinking, and she could feel the weight of his scrutiny, like he was peeling back layers she didn't even know existed.

"You really believe that?" he asked quietly, his voice soft for the first time since he walked in. "That there's something worth saving?"

Her chest tightened, but she nodded. "I do."

Aegon let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into fists. His eyes darted to the floor, and for a split second, he looked vulnerable, lost, like a boy drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn't control.

But then the mask was back. The smirk. The mocking tone. "Well, doc" he said, standing up suddenly, towering over her. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his movements confident and careless, as though he hadn't just let her glimpse the broken pieces hidden beneath the surface.

Just before he stepped out, he paused, glancing back at her. "I'll be seeing you again, doc. And maybe next time, we'll get to the fun stuff."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Y/N alone in the room with the heavy silence that always followed him. She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her heart pounding in her chest.

There was something deeply unsettling about Aegon一something that made her feel like she was in way over her head.

The third session was different. The air in Y/N’s office felt heavier, thicker. She could sense it the moment Aegon walked in. His eyes, normally sharp with that mocking edge, were duller today. His movements more erratic. The usual arrogant saunter was replaced by something twitchy, unstable. He slouched into his chair, tapping his leg rapidly, the rhythm almost frantic.

His fingers moved to his mouth, picking at his nails, tearing at the skin until she saw faint streaks of red. He didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Good morning, Aegon,” Y/N began cautiously, watching him closely. “How are you today?”

He snorted but didn’t look at her, his eyes darting around the room like he was searching for something he’d never find. “How do you think I’m feeling?” he muttered, biting down hard on the side of his nail until it cracked and blood welled up.

Y/N felt her stomach twist, but she kept her voice steady. “It seems like you’re on edge today. Do you want to talk about it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His leg tapped faster, his jaw tight. “Does it even fucking matter?” he muttered under his breath. His hands trembled slightly as he dug his nails into his palms, leaving angry red marks. "None of this shit matters. Not you, not me. It’s all just... noise."

She stayed silent, giving him space to speak, watching his body language as the tension in the room escalated. He was unraveling, fraying at the edges, and it was becoming harder to predict where he might break.

“I keep thinking about that night,” he said suddenly, his voice hollow. “That night I almost did it.”

He didn’t need to explain further; she knew what he meant. The night he tried to take his own life.

“I was this close, you know?” he continued, holding his fingers up to show just how narrow the gap was between life and death. “But then my fucking family showed up and ruined it. Dragged me out of my misery and threw me into this shitshow. Therapy, rehab, whatever else they think will fix me. But nothing’s going to fix me. I’m not broken. I’m just done.”

Y/N swallowed, choosing her words carefully. “Aegon, I know you’re in pain. But there are other ways to cope. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He snapped his gaze to hers, a sudden wildness flashing in his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this is about pain. It’s about being fucking empty. Do you know what that feels like? To be so hollow inside that no amount of drugs, booze, or people can fill it?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his voice. “I don’t,” she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. “But I’m here to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Aegon’s laughter was bitter, almost manic. “Understand? You think you can understand me? No one understands. Everyone thinks I’m some tragic fucking mess just because I have money and a pretty face, but that’s why they keep coming back, isn’t it? They don’t care if I’m broken. They care because I’m rich, because I’m still good-looking enough for them to pretend for a night that I’m something more.”

He paused, his leg still bouncing, eyes narrowed and locked on hers with unsettling intensity. “Even you. You sit there, all composed and professional, pretending to care. But deep down, I know you don’t. You’re just waiting for your paycheck like the rest of them.”

Y/N frowned. “That’s not true, Aegon. I’m here because I want to help.”

He leaned forward abruptly, his eyes wild and feverish. “You don’t get it, do you? None of this matters! You can’t help me, no one can, and I’m so fucking tired of everyone pretending that you can!”

The energy in the room shifted abruptly. His voice rose, turning sharp and angry, his breathing quickening. She could see him unraveling, could feel the way his entire demeanor was changing—darker, more dangerous.

“I’m not some fucking experiment!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he stood up from his chair so suddenly that it toppled over. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Sitting there with your calm face, acting like you’re not fucking scared of me. But I can see it, I can feel it—”

“Aegon, calm down,” Y/N said, her heart racing, hands instinctively tightening around the arms of her chair. “I’m not trying to control you.”

But her words seemed to push him further over the edge. His face twisted with rage, and before she could react, he lunged toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, his grip almost painful.

“You think you know me?” he shouted, his face inches from hers, tears welling in his eyes. “You think you can fix me? You think you can save me from this hell?”

His grip tightened, shaking her, but before Y/N could register her own fear, something inside her snapped—an instinct she hadn’t known she had. Instead of pulling away, instead of screaming or trying to push him off, she reached out and pulled him into an embrace.

Aegon froze.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly despite the tremor in her own hands, despite the rapid pounding of her heart. “Aegon,” she whispered, her voice steady even though she felt anything but. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

For a moment, he stood there, tense and unresponsive. His body was rigid, his breathing erratic, and she could feel the anger vibrating through him, threatening to explode again. But then, slowly, something shifted. His hands, which had been gripping her shoulders so tightly, loosened. His body sagged against hers, like all the fight had drained out of him in one overwhelming rush.

“I’m not okay,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so fucked up, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Y/N tightened her arms around him, feeling his hot, uneven breath against her neck. “You don’t have to stop it alone.”

He let out a choked sob, his body trembling against hers as he broke down, the tears he had been holding back spilling over. He clung to her like a lifeline, his face buried in her shoulder, his breath hitching with each quiet, painful sob.

“I don’t want to be like this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore.”

Y/N held him, her own emotions swirling inside her, a mixture of fear, pity, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She stroked his back gently, trying to soothe the storm inside him. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you don’t.”

Aegon’s sobs quieted after a while, his grip on her softening but never letting go completely. He pressed his face into her shoulder, his breathing still uneven, but calmer now. The anger and violence had passed, leaving only the raw, vulnerable boy beneath.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours—Aegon clinging to her, and Y/N holding him as if her arms were the only thing tethering him to the world.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. His eyes were red and swollen, his face streaked with tears, and for the first time since they met, she saw him without the mask.

Aegon was broken, but not in the way he pretended to be. Not just a reckless addict or a wealthy, self-destructive mess. He was something else, something much more fragile than she had imagined.

And that scared her more than anything.

He swallowed hard, his voice a quiet rasp. “W-why did you do that?”

Y/N met his gaze, unsure how to answer. She didn’t know why. It was instinct, something she hadn’t planned, something that felt both right and terribly dangerous at the same time.

“Because I wanted to,” she said softly.

Aegon stared at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers like he was trying to find something—some kind of answer, some kind of reassurance that she wouldn’t leave him like everyone else had.

Finally, he nodded, and without another word, he leaned back into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder, his breathing evening out as they sat there, together in the quiet, broken pieces of their shared moment.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure if she was the one trying to save him—or if he was dragging her into the darkness with him.

The room was eerily silent when Aegon walked in this time. The familiar twitch in his leg was absent, the nervous energy that usually radiated off him replaced with something else—something that made Y/N’s skin prickle. His eyes were still as sharp as ever, but now they were focused. Too focused. He looked at her with an intensity that felt almost suffocating.

He sat down slowly, his movements no longer erratic but deliberate. He didn’t fidget, didn’t bite at his nails. Instead, he folded his hands neatly in his lap and leaned back in the chair, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Good morning, Aegon,” she greeted him cautiously, sensing the shift in his demeanor.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice smoother than she was used to. Calm, almost unnervingly so. He looked... composed. For the first time since they started these sessions, he didn’t seem like a bomb waiting to go off. But something about that felt even more dangerous.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze still locked on hers. “Better,” he said softly. “Much better, actually.”

Y/N hesitated. “That’s good to hear. Do you want to talk about what’s been helping?”

Aegon smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve found a new hobby,” he said, his voice almost too casual, like he was talking about something mundane. “Something to keep me... occupied.”

A ripple of unease washed over her. “What kind of hobby?”

Aegon nodded, his eyes gleaming with an odd sort of excitement. “I found this beautiful dove. Just… sitting there, all alone. She's perfect. White feathers, soft. You ever touch a dove before?”

“No,” Y/N said slowly, her stomach beginning to churn.

Aegon’s smile widened. “You should. They’re so fragile, you know? So delicate. It’s like… like holding something that could break if you squeeze too hard.” His fingers twitched, as if mimicking the act of squeezing. “I’ve been taking care of her. Watching her.”

Y/N nodded slowly, unsure where this was going but feeling an icy tendril of dread curl around her spine. “That sounds nice. Taking care of something can be a good way to—”

“I want to rip her wings off.”

Her breath caught in her throat, the casual cruelty in his tone sending a chill down her spine. Aegon’s expression hadn’t changed; he still wore that same unsettling smile.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

His eyes were bright now, shining with an eerie intensity. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About how beautiful she is, but how much better it would be if she couldn’t fly away. If I could keep her with me, forever. If she couldn’t go anywhere else, just… mine.”

Y/N felt the bile rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, keeping her voice steady. “Aegon, that’s—”

“Isn’t that what love is?” he interrupted, his eyes wide, his expression so sincere, so disturbingly genuine. “You love something so much that you can’t stand the thought of it leaving. So you do whatever you have to, to make sure it stays. Even if that means taking something away. Like wings.”

“Aegon, that’s not—”

“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he continued, his voice rising slightly with excitement, as if he had stumbled upon some great revelation. “Why should something so beautiful get to leave? Why should she get to fly away and leave me behind? She doesn’t need wings. She just needs me.”

Y/N felt the room closing in around her, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. She had dealt with disturbed patients before, but this… this was different. Aegon wasn’t just unstable. He was dangerous. She could feel it in the air, in the way his gaze bore into her, in the way his words seemed to twist around her, suffocating her.

It had been two weeks since that conversation in her office, and Aegon had come to every session since. Something had shifted after that day—something subtle but unnerving.

The way he looked at her now, the way he lingered on her every movement, made Y/N feel more vulnerable than ever before.

“Morning, Aegon,” Y/N said, her voice steady but her pulse quickening slightly. She had grown used to reading him in subtle ways—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers would twitch against his leg, and that obsessive stare. But today, it felt heavier.

“Morning sweetheart,” he replied smoothly, his voice quiet but deliberate.

Y/N tried to proceed with the session as usual, asking him questions, probing his thoughts, but his answers were vague, almost detached, as if he wasn’t really interested in discussing himself anymore. He wasn’t playing the part of the tragic, self-destructive mess. He was... different.

“You seem a little more composed today,” Y/N commented, keeping her tone neutral. “How are you feeling about everything? Still feeling as empty as before?”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Empty? No, not so much anymore.” His gaze was fixed on her in a way that made the room feel smaller. “I’ve been... paying attention to other things lately. Other people.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Other people? What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still glued to hers, but his body language more relaxed than usual. “You know, the people around me. The ones who matter. The ones who actually care.”

There was an implication in his words that sent a shiver down her spine. “And who do you think cares, Aegon?”

His smile widened, but it was the kind of smile that felt wrong, too intimate. “You do.”

Y/N blinked, trying to maintain her composure. She had to remind herself that she was the professional here, that this was her job, and she couldn’t let him get under her skin. But the way he was looking at her made it hard to breathe.

“I’m here to help you, yes,” she replied calmly. “That’s what therapy is about.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he were studying her. “That’s not what I mean.” His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken again. “You care about me... in a different way.”

Y/N felt her skin prickle with unease. She forced herself to remain professional, to push through the growing discomfort. “Aegon, we’ve talked about this before. My role is to help you as your therapist. Nothing more.”

His smile didn’t falter. “You keep saying that, but we both know there’s more to it. I can see the way you look at me now. You’re not scared anymore. What you said. How you held me. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You care.”

“I’m here to help,” she repeated firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Aegon didn’t say anything for a moment. He just watched her, his eyes tracking every movement, every flicker of emotion on her face. It was like he was dissecting her with his gaze, trying to pick her apart piece by piece.

Finally, he leaned forward slightly, his smile fading into something more serious. “You looked really good last night, by the way.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “What?”

“In your pajamas,” he added, his voice casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. “The ones you wore when you made tea. Light blue, with the little lace trim. You really should wear those more often.”

For a moment, the world around her went silent. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Aegon was staring at her, unblinking, his expression disturbingly calm, like he had just complimented her on her shoes or her hair.

Her mind raced. How did he know? There was no way he could have seen her last night. Her apartment was on the third floor, and she lived alone. She had made tea before bed, just like every night, but how could he possibly know that?

“Aegon,” she began, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “What... what do you mean?”

He just smiled, that same disturbing smile that never quite reached his eyes. “I just think you looked nice, that’s all.”

The room felt like it was closing in on her, her skin crawling with the weight of his words. Her mind reeled, her heart hammering in her chest. How did he know what I was wearing last night?

Her breath came in shallow gasps, the panic rising in her throat as she tried to process the implications. Had he been watching her? Was he following her outside of their sessions? The thought sent a wave of nausea through her.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

But before he could answer, the soft chime of the clock signaled the end of their session. Aegon stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. He stretched, glancing at her with that same unsettling smile, and then made his way to the door.

“I guess we’ll have to pick this up next time,” he said casually, as if they had been discussing nothing more than the weather.

He paused at the door, turning back to look at her one last time, his eyes lingering on her with that same unnerving intensity. “See you soon, Y/N.”

And then he was gone, leaving Y/N alone in the room, her heart racing, her mind spinning with fear and uncertainty.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long moment, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating, as the weight of his words sank in.

He was watching me.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[dfortrafalgar]

Distraction

Portgas D. Ace x Fem!Reader

You and Ace intended to spend the day at the beach, but he can’t seem to be able to relax.

Warnings: modern au, so much smut. like so much smut. wet, sticky smut. 69-ing briefly. reader is also written to be on the chubbier side (im projecting <3) ace fucks you in the back of his car, basically. MINORS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

I woke up thinking about Ace today so I cranked this out in, like, an hour. It was a nice change of pace while I've been finishing up IMLY and the Luffy fic from my poll, which is almost done! (speaking of which, thank you for 200 followers <3)

Ace hadn’t seen your swimsuit yet.  All he knew about it was that you purchased it recently on a shopping trip with a group of your friends, but it was currently concealed under a light t-shirt and denim shorts.  Throughout the drive to the shoreline, he was anxiously eyeing your bare thighs, his grip on the steering wheel of his station wagon turning his knuckles white.

“What’s got you so nervous over there?”  Your airly voice shook the freckled man out of his daze.  “Eyes on the road, hotshot.”

“It’s nothing,” he blurted, pouting and turning his attention back to the road.  Maybe he should have you sit in the backseat when your skin was exposed.

His own friends often joked that he was no better than a dog.  It wasn’t his fault that his sex drive was higher than cruising altitude… or maybe it was.  But he couldn’t help his wandering eyes when the soft skin of your plush thighs was exposed, or the way your deft hands fiddled with your cuticles as you stared out the window, sparkling eyes taking in the cloudless summer day as the backroads passed by on the drive to the beach.  Most of your evenings together were spent with either his head between your legs, your head between his legs, or your face smushed into a soft pillow while Ace desperately railed you from behind.

It was a good life, that’s for sure.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach,” you suddenly stated, turning your head to look at your flustered boyfriend.  “I’ve only ever been swimming in pools recently!”

“Yeah, me too,” he replied, his voice shaky.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concern.  “Ace, are you really alright?  Your face is kind of red.”  You reached your hand over to press your palm to his forehead.  “You don’t feel like you have a fever, do you?”

“Nah, I feel fine.  Honestly.  Just… thinking.”  One of his hands left the steering wheel to rub his sweating palm against the fabric of his swim trunks.  All he had on, other than the baggy trunks, was a white tank top that had a very unfortunate oil stain around the chest area.  He was sure his entire upper body was flushing red with the debauched thoughts that plagued his weary brain.  He hadn’t even seen your bathing suit yet and his mind was running in circles.  (He started to debate calling up that therapist that Sabo recommended.)

“Well, tell me if you really don’t feel good.  I don’t want you to force yourself to be out today just because of me,” you cooed, your voice soft and comforting.

He needed to tell you to stop talking.  Even the sound of your voice made butterflies swarm in his gut.

He might as well have been ovulating.

After what felt like an eternity, the trees surrounding the backroad route he had taken began to dissipate, replaced with the beautiful sight of the shoreline.  The ocean spanned outward as far as you could see, disappearing along the horizon and blending in with the bright blue sky.  A few small beach houses dotted the shore.

“You said this was a public beach, right?” you asked curiously.

Ace nodded, swallowing a thick glob of spit.  “Public, but very minimal.  There’s some private properties surrounding it so a lot of people assume the entire place is off-limits to locals, but there’s a small parking lot set back from the beach near a tiny bathroom shack-lookin’ thing.”

You grinned.  “Nice.”

“Do you not like public beaches?” he inquired, tossing you a side eye as he pulled further down the road, approaching the aforementioned parking lot.

“I don’t mind them,” you replied.  “But sometimes really busy beaches make me nervous.  Sometimes I don’t feel comfortable swimming when there’s too many people around… I get self-conscious in my bathing suits!”  Your statement was punctuated with a fluttering, nervous laugh as you involuntarily squeezed the skin of your thighs.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that when I’m here,” Ace replied, flashing you a cheeky grin.

The parking lot seemed sparse.  It was entirely gravel with a few decrepit wooden fences separating where cars could park, some overgrown weeds poking through the impacted dirt here and there.  Sure enough, there was a brown, run-down bathroom shack between the beach and the parking lot.  During high tide, it almost seemed like the entire area would get flooded, but the gravel was drier than bone thanks to the beating sunlight.

You dug through your bag, removing a tube of sunblock.

“I thought you already put on sunscreen before we left,” Ace said, pulling into a spot and putting his beat-up station wagon in park.

“I did, I’m just putting some extra on my face,” you responded, uncapping the tube and squeezing some of the white gel onto your fingers.  You deftly rubbed the lotion onto your skin, across your cheeks and brow, down your nose, and down your neck.  

Ace needed to look away from you as your hands trailed down your neck and across your collarbones, ridding your hands of the excess lotion.  You weren’t provoking him on purpose, he knew that, but clearly his dick was taking charge of the day.

Little prick.

The two of you excitedly exited the car, grabbing your small umbrella and towels to find a nice spot to set up camp on the sand.  You were quick to lay down your towel when you found a spot, Ace digging a deep hole into the ground to mount the umbrella and provide a shelter from the beating sunlight.  Only a few other people were dotted around the beach, mostly older folk who were most certainly retired and enjoying their elderly days basking in the sunlight.  The thought made you smile.  You watched with glittering eyes as Ace pulled his tank top over his lean body, his muscular chest rippling with his movements, letting the cloth fall into his bag in a wrinkled heap.

“Oh, shit, forgot the cooler,” Ace mumbled suddenly.  “I’ll be right back.”  He swiftly turned tail and hiked through the sand back to his car.

You smiled, crawling under the umbrella and feeling the sand beneath the fabric shift below your knees.  You slid your denim shorts down your legs, shifting your weight to pull them off before folding them neatly and tucking them into your beach bag.  Your shirt followed, your hands hooking under the bottom hem and pulling it up over your head, repeating the process of folding it and storing it away.  Weirdly enough, you felt more comfortable on this beach than any other.  While some old folk liked to gab, the sparse population on this beach seemed more than willing to keep to themselves.  And there was no risk of creepy men your age or obnoxious teenagers to toss rogue comments about your body or shitty pick-up lines.

And you had Ace, of course, who would kiss the ground you walked on if you asked.  The thought made your stomach flutter with glee.

Back in the parking lot, Ace was quick to haul open his trunk and grab the small cooler they had packed with water, some sodas, and some light snacks, slinging it over his bare shoulder and slamming the door closed.  The hinges made a terrible squealing noise as the door moved.  He really needed to get that fixed.  He quickly jogged back to the shoreline with the cooler bag in his possession, his sandals making scuff marks in the gravel.

He almost died and came back to life when he saw you from behind.

Your clothes were off, your body hugged in a bikini that looked sculpted for you and only you.  The strawberry-print bodice was tied around your neck and below your shoulder blades with thin straps, the front of the suit being held together in the front with a metal ring between the bust.  Your plump breasts peeked over the seams slightly, making blood rush to Ace’s face.  The solid-colored bottoms squeezed your hips and ass perfectly, with one side open and held together with strings in an intricate criss-cross pattern.

Ace’s feet were moving on their own, his soul ascending from his body as he floated toward you.

You heard the rustle of his swim trunks from behind you as you approached, turning to look at him over your shoulder.  “Hey!  All set with the cooler?”

He plopped to his knees on his own towel, the cooler hitting the ground with a thud.  “Yeah, all set…”  His voice trailed off as if he wanted to say something else.

You gazed at him with confusion painting your features.

“You… you look…”  Ace could barely look at you.  “You look so fucking hot… oh my god.”

Suddenly, his demeanor in the car made much more sense.  The constant red flush painting his adorable freckled cheeks, his mouth in a perpetual tongue-tie, his lips pursing together tightly as he struggled to keep his composure.  Your lips pulled into a bright smile, relishing in the flustered behavior of your boyfriend.

“Aww, thank you, baby!” you cooed, moving closer to him.  Your hands trailed down his arm, ghosting over the tattoo on his bicep before teasingly falling to the cooler and unzipping the top, pulling an orange soda out of the bag.

“Please don’t tease me, I think I might explode,” Ace huffed.

You popped open the can with a satisfying click, taking a quick sip from the opening.  “You know… I don’t think anyone’s going to mess with our stuff if you want to go back to the car…”

Ace’s dark eyes darted toward you, assessing the mischievous expression on your face as you kept the cold soda can pressed against your mouth.  The metal was rapidly developing condensation thanks to the heat in the air, droplets of water dripping down the orange can and onto your fingers, plopping against your folded knees.

He carefully removed the soda from your hands, tucking it back into the cooler to make sure it didn’t spill, before standing up and hauling you to your feet, dragging you by your hand across the hot sand and back to the parking lot for a third time.  He ripped his car keys from the pocket of his swim trunks, shoving the metal key into the door lock to open the vehicle before leading you to the trunk and popping open the door.  You quickly clamored inside, him following behind you and closing the trunk from the inside.  He chucked his keys somewhere towards the front of the car.

He wasted absolutely no time in smashing his lips against yours, making you wince slightly at the feeling of his teeth hitting your own, but the way his long fingers expertly groped the skin of your breasts below your bikini top made you forget about the momentary discomfort.

After a few stifling moments, Ace pulled away and heaved into the skin of your neck, holding you down by your shoulders.

The best part about him owning an old, refurbished station wagon was the ample amount of room in the back, as well as the lack of center console between the two front seats.  It was a car built for fucking.

“Is this what you were thinking of on the ride over here?” you asked, a coy tone on your tongue.  “About what my new swimsuit would look like?”

Ace grumbled, a childish pout on his lips as one of his hot hands continued to rub patterns up and down your side.  Up to your breasts, his thumb ghosting over your concealed nipple, trailing down your waist and groping the plush flesh of your belly, down your thigh to squeeze your ass.  The way the strings on the exposed side of your bottom piece fit into your skin made his cock throb.

“You’re insatiable,” you giggled, your own hands leaving scorching patterns over his shoulders and arms.  “Are you ovulating?  You’re acting like me before my period.”

“Shush,” he grumbled, followed by another sweltering kiss, all tongue.  You felt a dribble of spit leave the corner of your mouth, sticking to the skin of your cheek.  His lips moved against yours, exchanging a blistering heat.  Ace always seemed to radiate warmth even on the coldest days, and his presence in this moment filled your body with a heated, lustful buzz.  Goosebumps rose on your skin when he pulled away from you leaving your front exposed, gently biting your puffy lower lip with his teeth.

“How worried are you about someone messing with our things on the beach?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You adjusted yourself slightly below him, his knees beside your hips caging you onto the floor of his trunk.  “Hmm… not too worried.”

“Perfect,” Ace replied swiftly, tugging his swim trunks down.  

He had such a nice cock, perfectly shaped with a cut tip that flushed a beautiful rosy hue.  A slight upward curve, lean and not too long, perfect.  He was either hard for the entire time you were setting up your small spot on the sand and you hadn’t noticed, or he was fighting with every fiber in his body to keep the erection at bay.  Whatever the circumstance, the fantasy of spontaneously fucking you in the trunk of his car in that sexy bikini of yours that he daydreamed about on the drive down was finally coming true.

Your hands made a move down to your hips to pull on the fabric of your bottoms before his fingers wrapped around your wrists, halting your movement.

“Sorry,” he uttered, his voice a soft whisper filled with a desperation you rarely saw from him.  “Your suit stays on.”

Your mouth morphed into a grin as he released you, leaning back up on his knees and idly stroking his cock with his right hand.  You parted your legs for him, making a show of smushing your breasts together under your tight top.  God, your suit could have been molded onto your body, it looked so good.

“Are you going to stay there and jerk off over me, or are you going to share some of the fun?” you asked deviously, one of your hands crawling below your bottoms and teasing your clit with the slick that had built up.  A pleasant, tingling flutter resonated in your belly and floated down your thighs, but nothing was better than the feeling of his fingers and cock doing the work for you.

“I want to do everything to you,” he muttered, releasing his dick from his slow ministrations.  “I don’t even know where to begin.”

You watched as it bobbed in the air, so hard it held itself out away from Ace’s toned stomach.  You involuntarily licked your lips at the sight.  “You’re so pretty…” you muttered.  You took it upon yourself to sit up, gently pushing against Ace’s shoulders to get him to sit on the trunk floor on his ass, leaning against him further to get the hint to lay down in the position you had just been in.

Neither of you had a strictly dominating or strictly submissive attitude.  Rather, you mutually shared the moment, taking charge when you wanted and snatching the lead away whenever you pleased.  This was one of those moments as you rotated your body on top of his, moving your ass closer to his face as one of your hands ghosted along his hip bone, your other arm supporting you and keeping you upright.

Ace got the hint almost immediately, his greedy hands groping and squeezing your ass as he pulled you downward to rest your clothed cunt against his mouth.  The hotness of his breath and the feeling of his lips against your weeping pussy concealed by the polyester made your breath hitch as your lips traveled closer and closer to the tip of his dick, watching hungrily as it seemed to pulse in the air, desperate for attention.

Your boyfriend made the first move, pulling you down by your hips and resting your cunt over his mouth, his tongue forcing its way between your folds through the suit and quickly finding your clit.  You gasped, your arm shaking somewhat as you quickly followed his lead, wasting no time in taking his cock into your hot, ready mouth.  

And goodness, did he taste good.  A familiar slightly salty musk partnered with the residual scent of his daily body spray, a vanilla and cedar flavor that always made your heart flutter in your chest.  His cock might as well have been burning as you hollowed out your lips and took him further down your mouth, loving the way the organ pulsed against your tongue.  

On the other end, Ace’s fingers had found their way into the fabric of your bathing suit, holding the barrier aside as two of his digits spread your natural slick over your cunt and lubricated his skin before he pressed them into your pussy, addicted to the way your muscles constricted around him.  Your entrance was always on the tighter side no matter how many times you fucked, and it was absolute heaven for him.  He turned the pads of his two fingers forward, pushing gently against the roof of your vagina where he knew you were acutely sensitive, and smirked to himself when your thighs clenched around his head.  Your movements over his cock momentarily stuttered at the feeling of his thumb connecting with your clit to simultaneously stroke the needy bud while passionately fingering your pussy.

He knew you too well.  He knew what you needed.  Ace wasn’t a selfish lover, he had learned your quirks and needs very early on in your relationship.  You loved your clit rubbed in somewhat slow circles, alternating between various pressures.  You responded to his fingers against your g-spot, and you loved when his dick curled upward into the same area.  Not too deep so as to hit your cervix, which hurt you quite a bit, but deep enough to reach those sensitive areas that had your legs shaking.

You learned quickly too, however.  Ace’s tip was the most sensitive part of him, his breaths growing shallow when you delicately sucked your lips around it and trailed your tongue along the slit, collecting the small amount of salty precum that emerged from the tip.  He loved it when you gently fondled his balls, rubbing the wrinkled skin between the pads of your fingers.  He adored the inside of his thighs being caressed, and you tried your best to do both with one hand as the other trembling appendage fought to support your weight as you continued to blow him.

You popped off of his cock momentarily, stroking the base with your hand.  “Did you have fruit recently?” you asked, turning your head somewhat to look over your shoulder.  Not like you could see much.

Ace paused his motions against your pussy.  “... Maybe.”

You grinned, the usually salty, bitter taste of his essence now replaced with something slightly sweeter.  You wanted to egg him on, to ask him if he had planned for this to happen and eaten some pineapple or citrus with his breakfast in preparation, but you decided to keep your inquiries to yourself and return to your task of sucking him off.

Ace was content to keep fingering you, his current position in between your thighs a bit too difficult to involve his tongue, but he knew he could please you regardless.  The circular movements of his calloused thumb against your throbbing clit had you sucking in sharp, lustful breaths through your nose, small whimpers leaving your throat and vibrating down his shaft making him bite his lip and stifle a wheeze.  Your thighs were quivering as he continued to curl his fingers into your g-spot, following the rhythm of your lips around his cock.

After some moments, however, you quickly scrambled off of him, your hand clutching around your stomach as you pivoted above him, capturing his lips in yours.  You ground your clothed cunt over his pulsing cock, keeping it locked between your pussy and his toned abdomen.

“Now who’s the desperate one?” he asked, teasingly, his signature boyish smirk traveling right back to your clit.

“I can’t help it, you’re contagious,” you huffed against the skin of his cheek.

Usually, the two of you used lube.  It didn’t matter how wet you got thanks to foreplay, the sensations were always heightened when there was no risk of chafing.  But clearly, you didn’t have that luxury today.  Nor did you have any condoms.  Instead, you bit down your thoughts, reserved yourself to spending 70 beri on the morning-after pill later that day, and hovered over his cock.  You pulled your swimsuit to the side and took his dick in your hands, wasting no time in slipping it through your folds that were thoroughly drenched thanks to Ace’s expert fingers.  

The first insertion always hurt somewhat.  A slight, red-hot throbbing pain that radiated through your pelvis, followed by a pleasant pressure as his cock slowly intruded into your tight muscle.  The groan that radiated from Ace’s throat made your pussy flutter.  

That was another thing you loved about him.  He was loud.

Maybe on a normal day you’d be worried about someone hearing you, or seeing the way his car shook with the force of your collective moments, but both of you had succumbed to desperation and couldn’t care less.  Traumatize the elderly beach goers who might happen to walk through the gravel parking lot to their own cars.

You sunk fully down onto Ace’s hips, his dick perfectly nestled inside your wet and willing pussy as his hands tightly gripped your hips through your suit bottoms.  You slowly rocked your hips, desperate for some extra friction against your clit.  It was much harder with the fabric covering you, but eventually you found a movement that felt just right.  Edging your hips slightly forward, you rolled your pelvis against his, dragging your clothed slit over the taught skin of his lower abdomen, moaning at the feeling of his dick pulsing within you.

Maybe you really didn’t have to worry about lube today.  Every motion against the walls of your vagina had you biting your lip and arching your back over him.

Ace’s hands assisted with bouncing you on his cock, his voice slowly increasing in volume as he watched you through half-lidded as your breasts jiggled with each movement, how the fat of your belly and thighs rippled so deliciously as you gyrated above him.  His voice was delectable, gruff and whiny, higher-pitched than usual with stuttering breaths and hitches in his throat that had your heart beating a mile a minute.

Your legs were growing tired, and Ace could tell.  He wordlessly beckoned you off of him, being quick to lean you over the back seats and move your suit to the side again, slipping his cock back in between your folds.  This angle always fit the both of you.  As much as Ace loved it when you rode him, taking you from behind came with many more benefits.  His free hand could travel down to dip beneath the cloth of your swimsuit and rub those delicious circles against your clit while simultaneously thrusting his desperate hips against your ass.  His chest pressed into your shoulder blades, his free hand supporting him against the back of the seats as you held onto the leather for dear life, whining with each motion of his cock against your inner walls and his calloused fingers against your clit.

It didn’t take long for you to unravel, the feeling of his rough finger pads against your desperate nub too much to bear.  Your orgasm approached slowly at first, filling your stomach with warmth, the insides of your eyelids flashing purple and indigo, before your body snapped and you were shuddering against Ace, moaning out loud as your pussy involuntarily clenched around his cock, your cunt feeling feather light as it fluttered.  The force of your orgasm caused you to gyrate your hips back against his, weak, airy moans escaping your tongue as the red-hot pleasure radiated through your entire body leaving your pussy buzzing with the aftershocks.

Ace was barely holding it together.  The force of your orgasm causing your pussy to clench around his cock had his arms weakening against the seat, his hips frantically rutting into you as sultry moans left his lips at the feeling of his cock burning inside you, begging for satisfaction.  His fingers never stopped rubbing your clit, caught up in what had essentially become second nature for him.  The overstimulation had you twitching around him, shallow breaths heaving from your lungs.  Ace’s pace increased as did the stuttering of his hips, his thrusts growing more shallow as his own orgasm approached.

“A-Ace… fuck, baby…” you whined, dropping your forehead against the back of the seat.  “You’re gonna make me cum again…”

The man was too caught up in the throes of pleasure.  Calling him desperate earlier was clearly an understatement.  A loud, throaty groan reverberated from his lips as his hips rapidly drilled into you, forcing you against the back of the seat.  His shallow breaths only helped to fuel your second orgasm that rocked you with a sudden wash of white light behind your eyes and you were shuddering against him again, your own moans filling the stifling air of the car.  

Ace barely had time to call out your name before he was thrusting disjointedly into you, crackled, weary moans leaving his lips as he came into your sore cunt, his hands pressing down onto your lower back to keep you still as he buried his cock into you, soaking you more than you already were.  You felt him pull out of you, your cunt fluttering around nothing as the sound of him falling backwards against the closed door of his trunk filled your ears.

Your own spent body dropped to the side, sitting on your hip and barely holding yourself up with one hand.  You slowly picked your head up, gazing at your boyfriend and assessing his condition.

Black hair mussed beyond belief, his freckled cheeks and shoulders flushed with a delicate red hue, his lips wet and swollen parted with the force of his labored breathing.  His eyes were closed, jaw slack as his pelvis continued to twitch from the force of his orgasm.  A few last drops of cum were bubbling from his tip, slowly dripping down his drenched dick that almost glistened, covered in your own fluids.  You felt wet between your legs.  It would have been a nice feeling if you weren’t already so stifling, your entire body feeling sticky.  You finally noticed the way the windows had fogged up.  You didn’t have time to think about carbon dioxide toxicity before Ace’s weary hand traveled up to the back window of his trunk door, blindly popping the window open a crack to let some fresh air flow into the car.  The summer heat felt oddly cool against your sweaty skin.

You slowly crawled closer to Ace, ignoring the way your drenched cunt sat uncomfortably inside your bathing suit.  You combed a damp strand of black hair off of his forehead before delicately pressing your lips against his cheek, encouraging him to finally open his eyes.

“You alright?” you asked, your voice low and quiet.

He finally smiled, his narrow, dark eyes filling your chest with warmth.  “I think my heart almost stopped.”

You giggled, running your sweaty hand up and down his skin.  “Should I wear bathing suits around you more often?  I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me like that.”

Your boyfriend’s humble laughter made you grin.  “For the sake of my health, you probably shouldn’t.”  He finally leaned forward to press a tender kiss against your wet lips.  “Though, if I were to die fucking you in a bikini, I’d die a very, very happy man.”

[onyxmilk]

Twilight x f!Reader; "Missing"

notes; i <3 angst writing!!! tw; angst, pregnancy, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, loid went to get milk without even realizing wc; 1.5k

[YourName] stood there, uncharacteristically caught off guard. She knew there would be missions where Twilight couldn’t say where he was going or how long he’d be, but right now? When she had the biggest news of their lives to share? That simply was crueler than just cruel.

The woman looked down, nodding toward The Handler. “Uhm, okay, well, thank you.” [YourName] said, swallowing thickly before going to turn around. “I know you’re with child, (AgentName).” The Handler said making [YourName] halt in her foot steps, “I-I may be.” [YourName] replied.

“That’s wonderful news. Do you want me to send a message to Twilight?” The Handler asks, and as much as [YourName] wanted her husband to know- she shook her head. “No, I’ll let him know whenever he gets back. Even if it’s years later.” [YourName] said before heading back home.

Once home and the doors were locked, windows drawn to a close too, [YourName] finally broke down. She wasn’t ready to be a single mother, but from the way The Handler wanted to hand such a useless message to Twilight, [YourName] knew it was going to be quite a long time before [YourName] gets to feel Twilight’s lips against her own.

[YourName] curled into a ball on the couch, finally finished crying her eyes out. Afterwards she took a shower, made a dinner she’d share with her baby, and then headed to bed for the night. [YourName] didn’t dream that night, she just blinked and it morning.

She called out of work for the month, only returning to the office when she was five months pregnant, or around that time period. She didn’t expect to open the door and confetti be popped around her, but it happened. She should have expected something like this.

“Congratulations! We heard you were pregnant!” A co-worker said excitedly, [YourName] simply nodded with a bittersweet smile. “Oh, yeah, five months along.” [YourName] says, gently placing a hand on her forming bump. There was a small office baby shower for [YourName] which she had no choice but to accept.

For the next five months, [YourName] was pampered around the office, not that she asked for it- it seemed to just happen. [YourName] found out about the mission her husband had been sent on, and all she could summarize from it was that he played therapist and dad for another family.

The day someone accidentally spoiled what Twilight was doing, [YourName] excused herself to the bathroom where she cried out everything she had held back. She wanted Twilight to play father for the family they had made together. She would exit her bathroom, that’s when her water finally broke.

Her co-worker rushed her to the nearest hospital, which happened to be the one Twilight played Loid Forger at. [YourName] sat in her room, holding her arms, alone. She never in a million years thought she’d be alone in this situation, shes read many books where women have been, but she swore she’d never be alone in labor.

[YourName] munched on ice chips between tears, that’s when a familiar face had knocked on the door and entered, “Nightfall-“ [YourName] said clearing her throat, wiping her face, and setting the cup of ice chips down. “Twilight is simply across the building, we just have to tell him that [AgentName] is in the bit thing unit, he’d come.” Nightfall explained to [YourName], it just made the pregnant woman scoff.

“It’s not fair to distract him from his work, he has a wife and daughter to act out with.” [YourName] says, looking away from Twilight’s co-worker. “Yes, true, but you’re his real wife and you’re giving birth to his first born.” Nightfall says as she attempted to convince the woman to tell Twilight about her situation, “I made my decision, maybe he should’ve tried to reach out through The Handler.” [YourName] says.

Oh. Yeah. Nightfall was suppose to give those check in messages to The Handler. Oops. Nightfall sighed, “Your secret is safe with me.” she promised before exiting the room.

[YourName] sighed, and before she knew it, she was giving birth. The whole pushing and breathing thing was so much harder than she expected. She swore she almost fainted, but she shot right back into consciousness when she heard the cry of her baby. “It’s a girl!” The doctor said, gently setting the baby on [YourName]’s chest.

[YourName] cried happy tears for the first time her entire pregnancy. Instantly, baby girl stopped crying and cuddled into her mom’s chest. It melted [YourName]’s heart, she never wanted to let go of such a tiny thing before. Eventually, the nurses had to take the baby girl to wash her up and place her in a warm blanket and hat.

With the help of a co-worker, [YourName] got home with her daughter three days later. Lotte, meaning ‘free’ in German, settled in nicely. How [YourName] wished she had Twilight with her on some nights to cheer her up and explain how he’ll get Lotte so that she could get rest instead. But [YourName] pushed through, not letting herself get too down in the dumps due to it.

Months would pass, Lotte was finally almost ten months old. Lotte watched as her mother scattered around the room, going in and out of the kitchen, cleaning. It started to bother the baby that she wasn’t getting the attention she wanted, so she began to get fussy, which her mom simply put off as ‘hating the boppy’.

Fussy turned into crying, and [YourName] was right there. She held her daughter in her arms, gently rocking her, trying everything in her power to calm her down. “M..” baby Lotte mumbled “Mama..” she cried. Despite the crying, it was clear as day who Lotte was crying for and it warmed every ounce of [YourName]’s broken heart.

It had been over a year and some things had changed since Twilight had gone on his mission. It had been over an entire year, and since there were still no messages from him- [YourName] didn’t send any to him either. It broke her heart that she had to play single mom when she was legally married to Twilight.

It just proved to herself that she could do this alone, sure she had a bit of help from co-workers, but it was mostly her doing all the work! The thought of possibly divorcing him had floated through her head, but she loved Twilight way too damn much to go through with it.

Another year would pass and Lotte was walking now, sure she had a little wobble to her walk- but she was walking! It was one of those nice days where she was sure nothing could’ve gone bad, so [YourName] decided to take Lotte out for a little treat. Over the last two years, [YourName] realized her daughter loved those soft cake pops from a local café. So her daughter would get a cake pop and [YourName] would get something to drink.

As [YourName] entered into the café with Lotte in her arms, she hardly noticed Franky and a pink haired child sitting together. By the time the mother did notice, Franky had noticed her fully first. [YourName] set Lotte on the chair and unwrapped her cake pop before breaking it into fours and taking the stick away, she then sat down next to her daughter.

That is when Franky had approached her, now she knew who he was- he was the closest thing Twilight had as a friend. “[AgentName]?” The short man asked, out of habit [YourName] turned around slightly to face whoever called her name. “Oh.. Franky..!” [YourName] said, blinking a few times to try and see better.

“Oh my god, it is you!” Franky said, dropping the child’s hand. “Where have you been? Who’s this?” He asked, referring to Lotte. Lotte was too busy stuffing her face to notice a stranger doting over her. [YourName] sighed, “I’ll tell you who she is if you tell me who she is.” she said making Franky nod.

With some hesitation, [YourName] would finally tell Franky; “This is Lotte, she’s Twi’s and I’s daughter.” she announced. Franky practically blew up as he malfunctioned, he covered the pink haired girl’s ears before he spoke, “Thats not possible. Twilight has been on his mission for two years.” Franky defended, “And I was pregnant before he left, now who is she?” [YourName] replied, gesturing to the child Franky had with him.

The pink haired girl pushed Franky’s hands off her ears. “I’m Anya Forger! Loid and Yor Forger’s daughter!” Anya introduced, but then it kicked in for Anya that THIS woman was Loid’s REAL wife. “Your baby is pretty.” Anya said, trying to break tension.

“I’ve got to go.” [YourName] scoffed, cleaning up her and Lotte’s area before getting up and picking her daughter up and going to leave. “He didn’t want to leave, [AgentName],” Franky said across the café. “Yet, he did and hasn’t sent a message since.” [YourName] says before exiting the café.

Franky had a lot of information to pass to Twilight this afternoon.

[getsteddiewithit]

steve uses the non-verbal safeword.

CW: slight NSFW, panic/anxiety attack, harmful stims (scratching self)

“tap three times on me if you ever can’t speak and wanna stop, okay?”

yes, steve had remembered those words. all throughout the times they had sex, he remembered those words. but it didn’t make them any less scary.

the thought of ever needing to stop in the middle of a scene made his palms sweat. of course he and eddie trusted each other; knew that if the other was in trouble and needed to stop, they’d completely understand. no judging whatsoever.

but still… absolutely needing to stop and move on made him so anxious. deep down he didn’t want to be a disappointment. he didn’t want eddie upset.

“baby, what’s your color?” eddie murmured to him, rubbing his shoulders and slowing his rhythm. steve did not reply, shakily breathing into the pillow and tearing up.

“steve, color?” he asked, louder, and more firm. yet he could not bring himself to talk. his mind went to the other times in previous relationships, where he felt like this exactly, and they didn’t even think to check in. and he couldn’t bring himself to stop them.

he could feel eddie shift, basically ready to pull out, before he asked again, “steven.”

oh. his full name. eddie only used it when he was deadly serious. this seemed to snap him out of his haze, and he shakily reached behind him and found somewhere on his body to tap.

one. two. three soft and hesitant taps, just like eddie told him to do months ago.

“red,” eddie mumbled to himself, worried, and pulling out immediately. he flipped steve over, pulling him close and cupping his tear-stained cheeks.

“what’s wrong? what can i do?” he asked softly, searching his eyes.

“i- i don’t know,” he choked out, a heavy sob leaving his lips before gulping down air he felt like was leaving his body too fast.

“that’s okay, just breathe. breathe, steve, okay? c’mere,” he pulled him into his lap, his head in his neck as he continued to cry. eddie ran his fingers through his hair, and steve clutched onto him tight.

“deep and slow breaths,” he told him, and steve was doing the opposite. breathing way too fast and inhaling far too much, to the point his chest and stomach hurt and he began to feel dizzy.

“steven, listen to me,” there it was again, the full name, which brought him somewhat back to his senses, “deep, slow breaths. do it with me.”

and he tried. he breathed with eddie, taking in some air and blowing it out too fast before inhaling sharply again; coughing and sobbing.

“there, that’s it. it’s okay baby, just try again.”

steve only wanted to cry more. of course eddie was congratulating him even after he didn’t even do it.

“again,” he told him, beginning to inhale slowly, holding it, and exhaling slowly. steve followed, better this time, but still failing.

“i- i can’t,” he choked out.

“yes you can, do it with me,” he said, inhaling and exhaling again. steve followed, his hand going to his forearm, clawing to try and ground himself more.

“no,” eddie caught his arm, pulling it away and bringing it up to his chest, “do you remember what your therapist said?”

“he said,” he paused, his breath catching in his throat as he cried, “to find a different way to ground myself.”

“correct. now, just feel my heart. i’m right here, steve. i’m not leaving. try and match your heartbeat to mine,”

steve kept his hand flat against eddie’s chest, then did the same for himself. he could feel how fast his heart was going versus eddie’s, and it made him uncomfortable.

the other rubbed his back, and kept one hand running through his hair, breathing slow and deep and watched as steve tried to do the same.

“good job,” he praised, kissing his cheek. the pair’s breathing pattern was now the same, and steve was no longer crying. steve nodded as thanks, crawling off eddie’s lap and under the blankets, curling up. eddie stood to put his underwear and sweats back on, only to sit back down on the bed and run his fingers through steve’s hair again.

“do you want to talk about it?”

steve sighed shakily and shrugged, wiping his red cheeks.

“just started thinking,” he mumbled.

“about?”

“things in previous relationships. and then i started feeling like i was crawling in my own skin, and i started to panic,”

“what about your previous relationships?” he questioned, only curiously, with no mean intent.

steve let out a quick exhale before sitting up, “how i could never really say no, i guess? i know it doesn’t matter now. i trust you. and i started feeling overwhelmed in the first place, so i started thinking about the safe word, and how you told me to say ‘red’ or tap you three times. but it just made me anxious. i knew i needed to stop but i didn’t want to upset you in the process,”

“you could never upset me over something like that, steve, okay? that’s the point of the taps and the system we have. you know your limits, and in case they’re ever pushed, you do or say so. i’m so proud of you for using it,”

eddie pulled steve in for a hug, rubbing his back softly. steve’s heart kind of broke. here he was, in his boyfriend’s arms starting to cry again because he said he was proud of him. proud of him for something as simple as saying no, and stop. something he never thought he could do; something he was taught was wrong, and his boyfriend was praising him for it.

“i’m proud of you,” he repeated, to which steve only cried harder, nodding in his shoulder as thanks and sniffling.

he pulled back, laying down and wiping his face again.

“i’m gonna go bring you some water and some easy food to eat, okay? just stay there,” he smiled, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

steve smiled softly, getting comfortable under the warm blankets and inhaling the familiar scent of gain and eddie’s cheap cologne.

and he thanked the universe for a boyfriend that was actually a decent human being.

[slut4thebroken]

Torture

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Spencer Reid x reader

Summary | You’re his therapist, but seeing you is torture for him, so he give you an ultimatum.

Warnings | Blackmail (but not really), praise kink, emotional manipulation, kind of, idk.

Words | 1k

Notes | Probably gonna do a part 2 I just don’t know when lol

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Kinktober | day 9: prison

“Actually… there is something you could do to make me more comfortable here.” He said tentatively, waiting for your reaction. 

“What do you need? Anything.” You replied earnestly, not even hesitating for a second. 

You’ve developed a soft spot for Spencer since you’ve started working with him. To be honest it was more of a crush, but you did your best to remain professional. 

You’ve started giving him special treatment though. Like bringing him coffee, convincing the right people to add more books to the prison’s library, and sometimes even bringing him some of his favorite snacks to eat during the session. 

It took a while for him to open up and it took even longer for him to accept your kindness because he was adamant that he didn’t deserve it. He told you about what he’s done since being incarcerated and, while you agreed that those things were bad, you also knew that he was just trying to survive. 

Personally, you thought he was innocent, but you’re not the one who decides that unfortunately. 

“I’ve been in here for a few weeks now and… there’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot.” Your brows furrowed in confusion as you waited for him to explain. “And quite frankly, seeing you every week just makes it worse.” He said solemnly. 

“What?” You asked in shock, a pit forming in your stomach. 

“I’ve been considering requesting a new therapist.” You felt your heart drop when he said that. 

“Tell me what you need, Spencer.” You pleaded, reaching across the table to hold his hands that were resting there. 

He hesitated, then shook his head a little. “It’s silly… You’re just going to laugh at me.”

“No- I would never. I promise.” 

He hesitated again for a moment before letting out a heavy breath and breaking eye contact, averting his gaze downward. “I’ve tried… using my hand, but it never satisfies the craving. It doesn’t come close to what I need— it only intensifies the need for something more.”

Your eyes widened and your lips parted in shock. He couldn’t mean…

“And I have an eidetic memory so it’s not like I need porn… I just— I need…” he trailed off and finally looked into your eyes again, making you swallow nervously. “You have no idea how.. intoxicating the touch of a woman is after being in a place like this. You're so soft, so gentle… and you always smell so good… It’s torture.” He confessed, his tone cautious, but with an underlying hunger. 

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words and figure out how to respond, but it was getting harder and harder to think. 

“That’s why I don’t think I can handle you being my therapist if things continue like this.” 

“What,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to stop your voice from wavering, “what do you need?” You asked, even though you were pretty sure you already knew. His eyes flicked down again and this time you realized he was staring at your cleavage. 

“Why were you so insistent on the guard removing the handcuffs?” He suddenly asked, surprising you a little. 

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me… and I didn’t want you to have to feel even more dehumanized.” His eyes snapped up to your face and he tilted his head curiously. 

“Why did you think I wouldn’t hurt you?” His tone wasn’t overly dark, but there was a glint in his eyes that made you second guess yourself. 

“Y-You want to get out of here… You wouldn’t risk getting a longer sentence.”  You said, but you were starting to sound unsure. 

“You underestimate the power primal urges have over men in my position.” He said simply, then yanked your hands toward him, forcing your torso to fall onto the table. He only stopped pulling once he was close enough to feel your breath. The metal edge of the table was digging into your hips and you desperately wanted to move, but you were still frozen in shock. 

“Spencer,” when you tried pulling your hands away, he tightened his grip, “please let go of me.” 

“Why?” He snapped, becoming impatient. “You’re scared, but it’d be obvious to anyone that you’re turned on too.” You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. One of his hands released you to grab your neck, pulling you even closer, his nose almost brushing yours. “You have two choices.” His voice was already low and thick with arousal and you couldn’t help it when your thighs squeezed together. “You either surrender your body to me, or we finish the session as normal, then I request a new therapist.” 

The thought of not being able to see Spencer every week made your heart ache. 

Only a few minutes ago, his proposition would’ve seemed too good to be true… but now you’re starting to question how well you actually understood him. You could no longer say with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t hurt you.

The feeling of his restrained, ragged breaths fanning your lips was making it incredibly hard to think. Your gaze moved all over his face frantically, trying to get a better read on him after being completely blindsided.

“Three…” He whispered, making you stiffen. “Two…” 

Your heart was pounding rapidly in your chest and just before he finished the count down, you blurted out, “Yes.” He raised his brows, silently telling you to say it. “The first… I choose the first one.” You said, sounding incredibly uncertain, but it was too late now. 

He grinned wolfishly and his hand tightened on your neck. “Good girl.” You let out a shaky breath that further amused him. He suddenly took his hands off you and sat back in his chair, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. “You have 15 minutes to make me come. Fail, and this will be the last time we see each other.” 

You choked on your spit at the bluntness of his words, but you could tell he was being completely serious. When you look at the clock, you confirmed there was only 15 minutes left of the session. 

“How?” You asked timidly, not wanting to disappoint him. 

“You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

[bomber-grl]

Flufftober 2024

Day 1: Can’t sleep

Pairing(s): Sal Fisher x Gn!Reader

Despite how busy the day had been you couldn’t sleep. You’ve been staring up at your ceiling for god knows how long and you decided to change that.

You got up and swiftly made your way to sals room. Ever since you moved in with Larry, Sal, Todd and Neil, going to sals room was sort of a nightly occurrence.

Between your boarderline insomnia and his reoccurring nightmares- you’d both pay eachother visits.

Not like those went unnoticed by the other residents either… Larry really needs to get his mind out of the gutter.

Upon standing to the entrance of sals room you quickly went inside. What you weren’t expecting though, was seeing Sal have his arm out- as if it was going to twist the doorknob but you beat him to it.

Well, that’s exactly what happened.

“Oh” he sort of jumped in surprise “I didn’t expect you haha” he sort of chuckled in an awkward way, it was cute.

“Yea I can tell” you replied back, though not with a malicious tone. “Where were you headed?”

“With you actually” he lift his arm and began rubbing the back of his neck, almost as if you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh well then let’s sleep together” the phrasing clearly caught Sal a bit off guard (if his sputtering was anything to go by) but he followed you under his covers nonetheless.

Once you both got comfortable you couldn’t manage to say anything. I mean sure, silence wasn’t exactly foreign to you two but there was this expecting air in the room.

“Hey Sal” you turned to face him directly. “Yea?” Your voice piercing the silence clearly caught his attention. “What happens in those reoccurring dreams- rather nightmares of yours?-“

You continued “I know you told me that they’ve been tame ever since- yknow back in highschool, but they’ve been acting up lately right? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to”

He smiled and you couldn’t help but gulp like those characters did when they were stereotypically in love. “I mostly dream of my mom” you perked up and Sal let out a small laugh at it “mostly of the moment when this” he motioned to his face “happened.”

“Oh” you said softly “how does that make you feel- reliving it I mean.” Sal was quiet for a bit, thinking, but then he spoke again “it’s complicated.”

“Why do you ask?” He turned to you. “Well since you can’t really disclose much of your trauma to normal therapists for obvious reasons then I figured I’d listen, I mean someone has to.”

“Yea I guess you’re right” silence followed after but once again, you broke the silence.

“Hey” in response Sal hummed in acknowledgment. “What if I kissed you?” Rather than the cool hum he previously let out- Sal reacted violently. He jerked and out of the corner of your eye you could tell he was made flustered out of that one comment.

That alone made you laugh out loud- and once you started you couldn’t stop. Despite Sals pleads and asking you to quiet down you really couldn’t. Gosh he was going to be the end of you. Sal was so cool headed but when it came to actual romance he was totally out of left field.

You finally calmed down after a bit but that didn’t mean you had forgotten what you had asked. “So, about my question. You’ve got an answer?”

His flustered demeanor came back full force. Even if he was a bit shy despite having kissed you many times before, it was still endearing.

Once Sal nodded and gave a small “yea” you leaned in and obviously completed what you had asked for. Maybe a little more too. Sal made no protest and despite his tense body and slinking away- he kept leaning forward.

The kiss would’ve lasted forever had it not been for Sal gently pushing you away to get some air.

Teasing him would’ve been your next course of action but you knew better than to embarrass him further with making him speak- especially with the stuttering that usually follows such “intensity”.

Funny how someone who could often be a bit devious could be so easily riled. Let’s pray Larry or any other residents didn’t hear your little “sleepover” because if sleeping in the same bed wasn’t “scandalous” enough- you had the noises (rather laughter and chit chat) to accompany the silent allegations.

-

A/n: genuinely sorry if this sucks 😭

[reidmarieprentiss]

Short Shorts & Long Hair 2

Summary: Spencer and his physical therapist enjoy their new relationship.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x PT fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, suggestive content & conversation, alcohol consumption, feelings talks, trying on clothes in front of spencer, drunk sexual advances (not acted on)

Word count: 9.7k

a/n: i am so so so sorry this took me forever to get out -- honestly it has been done for over a week i just couldn't decide if i wanted to add more or not :/// i like where it leaves off though!

main masterlist part one

Additional warnings: oral (male receiving)

Spencer was immersed in his work, his focus completely on the files spread out in front of him, when a familiar voice cut through the usual hum of the bullpen.

“Can you point me to Doctor Reid, please?”

His head snapped up instantly, the sound of your voice pulling him from his thoughts. There you were, standing just a few feet away, looking absolutely stunning in your work attire that was professional yet irresistibly appealing. Spencer’s heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of you, his surprise evident on his face.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, a mixture of delight and shock coloring his tone. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled warmly, holding up a couple of bags filled with what looked like takeout containers. “Bringing my two favorite geniuses some lunch,” you said as you walked over, the easy confidence in your stride making Spencer’s heart race just a little faster.

Before Spencer could respond, Derek Morgan’s voice rang out from across the room. “Reid, you gonna introduce us?” Derek asked, his trademark smirk firmly in place as he leaned back in his chair, clearly amused by the unexpected visit.

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck as he turned to face Derek. “Uh, yeah, of course,” he stammered slightly, trying to regain his composure. “Derek, this is Y/N, my—well, she’s… she’s a physical therapist.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he caught onto the hesitation in Spencer’s voice. “A physical therapist, huh?” he said, clearly intrigued. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Any friend of Reid’s is a friend of mine.”

You chuckled, extending a hand to Derek. “Nice to meet you too, Derek. Spencer hasn’t mentioned a thing about you.”

Derek laughed loudly, clearly amused. “I like you already. I hope you give him a hard time.”

You smiled, relishing the easy banter. “Every chance I get, but for now, I’m here to make sure he’s well-fed and not skipping any meals.”

Spencer, still a bit flustered, managed a smile as he glanced between you and Derek. “Thanks for the lunch, Y/N,” he said, his voice softer now, filled with appreciation. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” you replied, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his heart flutter. “Besides, I needed an excuse to see you.”

Derek let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the interaction. “Reid, you’ve been holding out on us,” he teased. “How come you never told us about your very generous, very attractive physical therapist?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, the rosy hue spreading across his cheeks, but he couldn’t help the small, shy smile that tugged at his lips. “I, uh… she’s not my physical therapist anymore,” he admitted, his voice faltering slightly.

Derek’s smirk widened, sensing an opportunity. “No? Then what is she, pretty boy?” he asked, his tone teasing but curious.

Spencer paled at the question, his mind racing for a response, but before he could stammer out an answer, Penelope’s voice cut through the tension, saving him from the awkwardness.

“Y/N! What are you doing here, gorgeous?” Penelope exclaimed as she entered the bullpen, her vibrant presence instantly lightening the mood.

You turned to greet her, grateful for the timely interruption. “Just bringing some lunch for my favorite geniuses,” you replied with a bright smile, embracing Penelope as she reached you.

Penelope grinned, giving you a quick hug before turning her gaze toward Spencer and Derek, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, isn’t this a delightful surprise! You boys better be on your best behavior—Y/N’s practically family now.”

Spencer let out a quiet sigh of relief, silently thanking Penelope for diverting the conversation. He wasn’t sure how he would have explained what was happening between you two—mostly because he was still figuring it out himself.

—

At your regular wine and painting night, you and Penelope had indulged a little more in the wine and a little less in the painting. The vibrant colors on your canvases were more the result of playful brush strokes than any serious artistic endeavor, and the conversation had turned increasingly lively.

“So… how is the good doctor between the sheets?” Penelope asked, her eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and wine-fueled boldness.

“Penny!” you admonished, feeling your cheeks flush as you playfully swatted at her arm.

Penelope pouted, clearly unbothered by your reaction. “I need details! He won’t tell me anything.”

You sighed, trying to figure out how to navigate this without giving too much away. “There’s not much to tell…”

Penelope’s face fell, her concern evident as she leaned in closer. “Oh no, are you two not doing well?” she asked, her tone suddenly serious.

“No, no, nothing like that,” you quickly reassured her, waving off her worries with a small laugh.

“Then what?” Penelope’s intoxicated brain wasn’t quite catching the subtle signals you were sending. She looked at you expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

You hesitated, biting your lip before finally mumbling, “We haven’t even kissed…”

“WHAT!” Penelope’s outburst was loud enough to draw the attention of the entire room, heads turning to look at you both.

You quickly reached out, grabbing her arm and whispering urgently, “Penny, shhh!”

Penelope clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide as she realized she had caused a scene. The other attendees slowly returned to their own conversations, the moment passing, but not without a few lingering glances in your direction.

Penelope leaned in closer, her voice lowered but still insistent. “How have you not kissed yet?” she whispered, her curiosity undeterred by your attempts at discretion.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the question. “It’s just… complicated,” you explained softly. “We’ve been trying to figure things out, and we haven’t rushed anything.”

Penelope’s expression softened, her earlier excitement replaced by understanding. “You know, there’s no need to rush,” she said gently. “But when the time feels right, just go for it, okay? Spencer’s a good guy, and he really likes you.”

You nodded, appreciating her support despite her earlier outburst. “I know. I really like him too.”

Penelope smiled, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Then it’ll happen when it’s meant to. But if you need a little push, you know who to call.”

You laughed, the tension easing as you clinked your wine glasses together. The conversation shifted back to lighter topics, but the words Penelope had spoken stayed with you, a reminder that sometimes, it’s okay to take the first step.

—

“Knock knock, doc,” you called out teasingly as you knocked on Spencer’s door. It was your first time at his apartment, and you could feel a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling up inside you. You’d seen him in so many different settings—at work, in the PT room—but this felt different, more personal.

On the other side of the door, Spencer was trying to calm his racing heart. He had never had a woman in his apartment who wasn’t a family member or a coworker, and the thought of you being in his space made him both anxious and thrilled. He took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Hi, Y/N,” he greeted, his voice soft, a shy smile playing on his lips.

You couldn’t help but notice the way he still managed to be a little shy around you, even after all those months of physical therapy and now a month of casually seeing each other. It was something you found endearing, a reminder of just how sweet and genuine he was.

“Hello, Doctor,” you replied with a warm smile, stepping inside as he moved aside to let you in.

Spencer’s apartment was exactly what you’d imagined—cozy and filled with books, papers, and little pieces of his life that reflected his brilliant mind. There was a slight scent of coffee lingering in the air, and the space felt inviting, even if it was clear he hadn’t had many visitors.

“Sorry if it’s a bit… cluttered,” Spencer said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he watched you take in your surroundings.

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect,” you reassured him, turning to face him with a genuine smile. “It’s very… you.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your words. “I’m glad you think so. Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea sounds great,” you said, following him into the kitchen area, where he began to fuss with the kettle and tea bags.

As he busied himself with the tea, you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of contentment. This was different from any of your previous encounters—more intimate, more real. It wasn’t just about seeing each other in public or sharing a meal; this was about being in each other’s space, learning more about each other in a way that felt deeper.

“So,” you said, leaning against the counter as he waited for the water to boil, “how come you’re still a little shy around me after all this time? I thought we were past that.”

Spencer glanced up at you, his cheeks flushing slightly as he shrugged. “I don’t know… I guess I’m just not used to this kind of thing,” he admitted, his honesty making your heart flutter. “I’ve never really done this before—having someone I care about in my home. It’s… new.”

You smiled, touched by his vulnerability. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m really glad to be here. And there’s no need to be nervous.”

Spencer’s smile grew a little more confident as he poured the hot water into the teapot, the steam rising between you. “I’m glad you’re here too,” he said softly, meeting your gaze with those warm, earnest eyes that had drawn you in from the beginning.

You settled into the couch beside Spencer, the two of you sinking into a comfortable rhythm as you sipped your tea and chatted about everything and nothing. The atmosphere in his apartment was cozy and relaxed, a perfect backdrop for the easy conversation you were sharing. 

But there was something on your mind, something that had been lingering ever since your talk with Penelope. And now, sitting here with Spencer, the time felt right to bring it up.

“So, Doctor,” you began, a teasing lilt in your voice as you turned to face him more fully. “Can I ask you an awkward question?”

Spencer froze for a split second, his cup of tea hovering just below his lips. He glanced at you, a mix of curiosity and trepidation in his eyes. “Oh no,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light despite the slight edge of nervousness creeping in. “I suppose you can.”

You took a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. “You like me, right?”

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard by the directness of your question. His cheeks flushed slightly, but he nodded. “Ye—yes,” he stammered, his voice a little higher than usual.

“As in,” you continued, keeping your tone playful to ease the tension, “think I’m pretty, want to date me, take me home to meet your mom?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and you could see the color rising in his face, turning his cheeks a deep shade of pink. “Uh huh,” he managed to mumble, his gaze flickering between you and his cup, as if he was trying to find a safe place to look.

You smiled, feeling a rush of affection for him, but also a bit of frustration at the unspoken distance that still lingered between you. “Then why haven’t we kissed?” you asked, your voice softening as you leaned in just a little closer.

Spencer’s face turned so red so fast that you almost laughed, but you held it in, not wanting to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already did. He set his cup down carefully, his hands suddenly feeling very empty and unsure of where to go.

“I, um…” Spencer started, his words stumbling over each other as he tried to form a coherent sentence. “I just… I didn’t want to rush things… or make you uncomfortable… I wanted to do it right…”

You could see the earnestness in his eyes, the genuine concern that he had been holding back, and it melted your heart. But you also saw the nervousness, the self-doubt that had kept him from making a move, and you knew you needed to reassure him.

“Spencer,” you said gently, reaching out to place a hand on his knee. The touch seemed to ground him, and his gaze finally settled on you, his expression softening as he realized you weren’t upset—just curious.

“I appreciate that you’re trying to be careful,” you continued, giving his knee a gentle squeeze. “But I want you to know that you don’t have to be so afraid. I like you—a lot. And if you want to kiss me… well, I’m ready whenever you are.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation or uncertainty. When he found none, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know if… if you felt the same way.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection for this man who was so brilliant, so caring, and yet so unsure of himself when it came to matters of the heart. “I do,” you assured him, your voice just as soft. “So maybe we should stop overthinking it?”

Spencer’s lips quirked up into a small, tentative smile, and he nodded. “Maybe we should.”

And with that, he leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he closed the distance between you. When his lips finally met yours, it was gentle, almost tentative at first, as if he was still worried about getting it right. But as you responded, kissing him back with all the warmth and affection you’d been holding onto, Spencer relaxed into the kiss, letting himself finally savor the moment he’d been waiting for.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were smiling, the awkwardness and uncertainty from before completely melted away. Spencer’s face was still a bit flushed, but now there was a light in his eyes—a confidence that hadn’t been there before.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder and a touch of amazement. “That was… that was really nice.”

You laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Yeah, it was,” you agreed, feeling a warm glow in your chest. “And you know what? We can do that again anytime you want.”

Spencer grinned, looking like a kid on Christmas. “Really?”

“Oh, doctor. You’re too sweet, really,” you replied, your heart warming at the sight of his pure excitement.

And with that, the two of you settled back into the couch, this time with a newfound closeness that made the night feel even more perfect than before.

—

After you left that night, Spencer couldn’t shake the new sensation that had taken root in his gut. It was different from anything he’d felt before—intense, almost overwhelming. Of course, he’d been aroused before, but never by the thought of someone he could actually touch whenever he wanted, someone who had explicitly told him so.

As he lay in bed, replaying the evening in his mind, the memory of your kiss and the warmth of your body next to his fueled that unfamiliar feeling. It wasn’t just the physical attraction—it was the knowledge that you wanted him too, that you were there for him in a way no one else had ever been.

His breath quickened as the sensation grew, spreading through him like wildfire. Without fully realizing it, Spencer found his hand sliding down his body, reaching into his own pants. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, a thrill of anticipation building as he prepared to explore this new, intoxicating feeling.

For the first time, it wasn’t just about curiosity or need—it was about you, and the desire that had ignited between you both. And as he began to indulge in that sensation, he allowed himself to get lost in the thought of you, embracing the closeness he had longed for and now had the freedom to explore.

—

Penelope had extended an invitation to you for a team night at the bar that Friday, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. Meeting all of Spencer’s close friends felt like an important step, one that you wanted to approach the right way. But before accepting, you decided it was best to check with Spencer first.

You dialed his number, feeling a flutter in your chest as you waited for him to pick up. It didn’t take long.

“Hello?” Spencer’s voice came through the line, a hint of warmth already in his tone.

“Hey, doctor,” you greeted, smiling to yourself at the familiar sound of his voice.

“Y/N,” he responded, and you could hear the smile in his voice too, making your own grin widen. 

“So… Penelope invited me out for drinks with your team this weekend. Is that okay? If I come?” you asked, a touch of uncertainty creeping into your voice.

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Spencer replied quickly, his tone reassuring. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, you know, I don’t know,” you admitted, feeling a bit silly for even asking but needing to be sure. “I didn’t want to intrude or make things awkward.”

“Y/N, it’s totally fine,” Spencer assured you, his voice gentle. “I’m really glad you’re coming. The team will love you.”

“Okay,” you said, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “I’m excited to meet everyone. And to spend more time with you, of course.”

“Me too,” Spencer said softly, and you could practically feel his smile through the phone. “It’s going to be a great night.”

—

Spencer wasn’t expecting a knock at his door after work on Friday, so when he heard it, he was momentarily confused. But he answered the door anyway, curiosity getting the better of him. When he opened it, he was surprised to see you standing there, looking a bit flustered.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice laced with surprise.

“Hi,” you greeted, offering a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to just show up, but…”

“But…?” Spencer prompted, his concern quickly shifting to curiosity.

“I don’t know what to wear tonight,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound light and full of affection. “You didn’t want to ask Penelope?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not want me here right now? I’m intruding, aren’t I?”

“No! No, you’re not intruding,” Spencer quickly reassured you, shaking his head. “I just… I don’t know how much I can help you with that.”

“You can help me plenty,” you replied, your tone more confident as you stepped inside.

Spencer closed the door behind you, still smiling at the unexpected turn of events. “Okay, well, what are your options?”

You sighed dramatically and dropped a large bag onto Spencer’s floor with a thud, causing his eyes to widen in shock. “I have a few things to try on,” you announced, your tone light but your expression determined.

“I see that,” Spencer replied, still processing the sheer size of the bag. His mind was already spinning with the thought of you modeling different outfits in his apartment, a scenario that both thrilled and unnerved him.

“Should I change in your bedroom?” you asked, already heading in that direction.

“Mhm, yeah, that’s fine,” Spencer managed to say, though his voice was a bit distracted, his thoughts lingering on the image of you stripping down in his bedroom, even if he wasn’t going to be in there.

But then a sudden realization hit him, and he panicked. “Wait!” he yelled, his voice more urgent than he intended. But it was too late. You had already disappeared into his bedroom.

Spencer rushed down the hall, his heart pounding. When he reached the doorway, he found you standing there, holding up the one thing he had desperately hoped you wouldn’t see: a framed photo of you.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, turning to him with a curious smile, the photo held gently in your hands.

Spencer felt his face flush with embarrassment as he looked at the floor, his hands fidgeting nervously. “Penelope gave it to me…” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

You studied the photo for a moment, recognizing it as one from a team event Penelope had captured—a candid shot of you laughing, completely unaware of the camera. It was one of those moments that felt so genuine, so full of life, and it surprised you to see it framed in Spencer’s room.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth rather than the teasing he had expected. “It’s so sweet that you kept this.”

He finally looked up, his expression a mixture of shyness and vulnerability. “I didn’t know where else to put it,” he admitted, his voice still quiet. “I just… I like having it around. It makes me think of you.”

Your heart melted at his honesty, and you stepped closer, still holding the photo. “I’m glad you kept it. It means a lot to me.”

Spencer’s eyes softened as he met your gaze, relief washing over him. “It does?”

“Of course it does,” you replied, setting the photo down carefully on his dresser. “It’s nice to know you were thinking of me.”

He smiled, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “I think about you a lot.”

You returned his smile, feeling a wave of affection for him. “Good. Because I think about you a lot too.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, then, with a playful glint in your eye, you broke the silence. “Now, how about you help me decide what to wear tonight?”

Spencer chuckled, the earlier awkwardness dissolving completely. “Okay,” he said, his voice lighter now. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

And with that, you returned to your bag of outfits, searching for the first look. Spencer tried his best to focus on giving you his honest opinion, but with every outfit you modeled, the room seemed to grow warmer, and his pants became more uncomfortable with every bit of skin you revealed.

Each outfit was stunning, and Spencer found himself more captivated by you with each one. But when you finally emerged in the last outfit, he was sure he had died and gone to heaven.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of you. The outfit was perfect—elegant yet bold, with just the right amount of allure. He could barely find the words as he watched you give a playful spin, the fabric hugging your curves in all the right places.

Spencer coughed, trying to regain his composure. “That—um, that’s the one,” he managed to say, his voice a little strained.

“Really?” you asked, a pleased smile spreading across your face as you noticed the effect you were having on him.

Spencer nodded, his mouth suddenly dry as he watched you. “Yup,” he thought to himself, "I’m dead."

You laughed softly, clearly enjoying his reaction, and Spencer couldn’t help but think that you were more than ready to meet his team—looking as stunning as you did. But what he hadn’t expected was just how much he wanted to keep you all to himself, if only for a little longer.

—

“Woah! Pretty boy found himself a pretty girl,” Derek exclaimed as soon as you and Spencer walked into the bar, arm in arm. His voice was full of good-natured teasing, but there was genuine admiration in his eyes as he took in your appearance. “You clean up nice, Miss Therapist!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling both flattered and a little bashful under the attention. “Thanks, Derek,” you replied with a smile, feeling Spencer’s arm tighten around yours in a subtle but protective gesture.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, but there was a small, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you by his side, and seeing his teammates’ reactions only made it sweeter.

“You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you teased back, your voice light and playful as you settled into the lively atmosphere of the bar. It was clear that you were comfortable, quickly warming up to Spencer's team. 

But Spencer, who had been enjoying the moment just seconds before, suddenly felt a pang of something he wasn’t accustomed to—jealousy. He stiffened slightly, the green monster of jealousy rearing its ugly head as he watched you banter so easily with Derek. Rationally, he knew there was nothing to worry about, but seeing how well you clicked with everyone else made him momentarily insecure.

As you continued introducing yourself to the rest of the team, you must have sensed Spencer’s unease because you glanced back at him, catching his eye. When your gaze met his, the jealousy that had been bubbling beneath the surface started to fade. You gave him a warm, reassuring smile, your eyes sparkling with affection.

“Can we get a drink, doctor?” you asked, your voice sweet as you directed your attention back to him.

“We?” he teased, raising an eyebrow, though he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

You blushed, leaning up to whisper in his ear, “I don’t want to leave your side,” your breath warm against his skin.

And just like that, the jealousy was gone. Spencer felt a wave of relief and affection wash over him, the insecurities he’d felt moments before dissipating. You didn’t want to be anywhere else but with him, and that realization made him feel more confident and secure than ever.

He smiled, his heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and happiness. “Then let’s get that drink,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around your waist as the two of you headed toward the bar, ready to enjoy the night together, side by side.

—

As the night wore on, you found yourself listening intently to the team, who seemed all too eager to share some of Spencer’s more memorable, and perhaps a bit embarrassing, moments. Spencer sat beside you, a slightly apprehensive look on his face as the stories began to flow.

“You know, Spencer’s come a long way,” JJ started with a grin, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at him. “But I’ll never forget the time he tried to impress us all by downing a whole shot of whiskey in one go. He spent the next hour trying to convince us that he didn’t hate it, even though his face was bright red, and he looked like he was about to pass out.”

Emily burst into laughter at the memory, adding, “Oh, and then there was the time we had that karaoke night. Spencer swore up and down that he wasn’t going to sing, but after a few drinks, he got up there and belted out the most enthusiastic rendition of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ I’ve ever seen. The best part? He knew every single word.”

Spencer groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I was coerced,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands.

Rossi chuckled, giving Spencer a good-natured pat on the back. “We’ve all had our moments, kid. But remember that time you went undercover at that poker game? You were so nervous, you almost gave yourself away because you kept quoting statistics about the probability of certain hands.”

The group erupted into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in, imagining Spencer trying to maintain his cover while rattling off numbers. Spencer, though clearly a little embarrassed, was also smiling, appreciating the camaraderie despite being the center of the stories.

“Hey, it was relevant information!” Spencer protested, his cheeks still tinged with pink.

You leaned into him, grinning as you said, “I think it’s cute. You just wanted to make sure they were all well-informed.”

Spencer sighed, but there was a smile on his face as he looked at you. “I guess if you think so, then it’s not all bad.”

Everyone exchanged knowing looks, clearly pleased with how much you seemed to appreciate Spencer’s quirks. 

JJ leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Just wait until you hear about the time he got locked in the evidence room with nothing but a box of donuts and a rubber chicken. Now that’s a story.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he quickly cut in, “Okay, that’s enough! No more embarrassing stories for one night!”

You laughed, squeezing his hand under the table. “Don’t worry, Spencer. I’m enjoying every minute of it.”

Spencer smiled, feeling a sense of warmth and acceptance from you and his team. Despite the teasing, he was surrounded by people who cared about him—and knowing that you were part of that made the night feel all the more special.

—

Emily, her tongue loosened by the liquor, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “So, do you ever get super hot patients?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the question, glancing over at Spencer before replying, “I mean… I got Spencer, didn’t I?”

The group erupted in laughter, but none louder than Spencer, who blushed furiously at your response. His face turned a deep shade of red as he buried it in your hair, trying to hide from the playful teasing. The sight of him trying to disappear was met with even more amusement from everyone at the table.

“Ohhh, pretty boy,” Derek chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “What did you two get up to during those private sessions?”

Spencer groaned, clearly mortified, while you simply chuckled, enjoying the lighthearted moment. “Just some very professional physical therapy, of course,” you said with a wink, playing along with the teasing.

Emily laughed, raising her glass in a mock toast. “Well, whatever you did, it seems to have worked wonders. Spencer’s never looked better.”

The group continued to joke and laugh, the atmosphere full of warmth and camaraderie. Despite the embarrassment, Spencer couldn’t help but smile, feeling incredibly lucky to have you by his side, even if it meant enduring a little teasing from his friends. 

You leaned closer to him, whispering softly so only he could hear, “Don’t worry, Spencer. I think you’re the hottest patient I’ve had.”

Spencer’s blush deepened, but the smile on his face showed just how much your words meant to him. The night continued with more stories, more laughter, and a growing sense of connection that made Spencer feel more at ease than ever before.

—

As the night began to wind down, the lively atmosphere in the bar was gradually giving way to a more subdued, tired vibe. The laughter had softened, and the conversations were growing quieter. You noticed Spencer leaning in closer to you, his presence warm and familiar, but there was something different in the way he moved this time—something more deliberate, more intimate.

His hand, steady yet gentle, found its way to your inner thigh, just beneath the edge of your dress. The touch was subtle, but the electricity it sent through your body was anything but. You felt his fingers dance dangerously close to your panties, a teasing reminder of the tension that had been building between you all night.

He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Do you want to get out of here?” he whispered, his voice low and laced with desire and anticipation.

The combination of his touch and the way his words sent a thrill down your spine made your heart race. You could barely think, barely breathe, and without a second thought, you found yourself nodding—perhaps a bit too eagerly, as you felt like a bobblehead. But you didn’t care. All you knew was that you wanted to leave, to be alone with him, to let the night take you wherever it was meant to go.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your response. He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before pulling back just enough to catch your eyes, the look he gave you full of unspoken promises. He didn’t need to say anything else—the two of you were completely in sync.

You both quickly made your excuses to the rest of the team, who were too absorbed in their own conversations to notice much. And then, with Spencer’s hand still resting on your thigh, you slipped out of the bar together, leaving behind the tired vibes for the promise of what was to come.

The night air was cool and crisp as you stepped outside, but the heat between you and Spencer was undeniable, crackling with anticipation. He kept his hand not on his cane on your hip, guiding you through the quiet streets, and you knew that whatever happened next, you were more than ready for it.

—

The moment you stepped inside Spencer’s apartment, the door barely clicked shut behind you before he was on you. His hand found your waist, pulling you close as his mouth captured yours in a kiss that was as urgent as it was deep. It was as if all the tension, all the unspoken desire that had simmered between you all night, finally erupted in this single, intense moment.

You responded just as eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him. The world outside his apartment seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, and you found yourself clinging to him, needing to feel every inch of his body against yours.

Spencer’s hand roamed from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer as he kissed you like a man starved. He broke away just long enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

“Me too,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. Without waiting for a response, you captured his lips again, this time with even more intensity.

You barely made it past the entryway, stumbling together toward the living room, neither of you willing to let go long enough to think about where you were headed. All that mattered was the feel of his mouth on yours, the warmth of his body pressed against you, and the electricity that crackled between you with every touch, every kiss.

Spencer’s hand slipped beneath your dress, his fingers tracing the curve of your ass, sending shivers down your spine. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound spurring him on as he backed you up against the wall, his lips never leaving yours.

“Spencer,” you murmured between kisses, trying to catch his attention as his lips continued to explore your neck. “Mmm, Spencer—wait.”

He finally pulled away, panting, his eyes dark with desire. “Yeah?” he asked, clearly trying to understand why you’d stopped him.

You took a deep breath, your heart racing for reasons other than the passionate kiss you’d just shared. “I just—well, we’ve been drinking,” you said, your voice hesitant.

Spencer nodded, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “I know.”

You bit your lip, searching for the right words. “Don’t make me say it,” you whispered, not wanting to dampen the moment but needing to address the concern that had surfaced.

Spencer really pulled back then, his expression shifting from desire to confusion. “What?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

You met his gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and care for him. “Are you a virgin?” you asked softly, the question hanging in the air between you.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, realization dawning on him. “Is that what this is about?”

“No!” you quickly reassured him, but then added, “Well, yes. I don’t want your first time to be when we’re both intoxicated. Especially with your leg—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Spencer’s expression softened as he began to understand the depth of your concern. He reached up, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumb brushing your cheek in a soothing gesture. “Y/N,” he began, his voice filled with warmth and understanding, “I appreciate that you’re thinking about this… about me. But I want you to know that I’m not rushing into this without knowing what I’m doing.”

You started to protest, your worry still gnawing at you. “But—”

“Just listen,” he interrupted softly, his voice steady as he leaned in to kiss you, a kiss filled with reassurance and longing. “I’ve been thinking about you for so long,” he continued, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “I know what I want.”

“Spencer…” you whispered, your heart aching with how much you cared for him. “I can’t have sex with you when we’re drunk. Not now.”

He held your gaze, his expression unwavering, and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, his voice gentle and full of respect. “I understand.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he valued your feelings just as much as his own desires. It was in that moment you realized just how much this man meant to you—how much you both meant to each other.

“I want it to be right,” you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of your emotions. “For both of us.”

Spencer smiled, a tender, loving smile that made your heart swell. “And it will be,” he promised. “When the time is right. I can wait, Y/N. We can wait.”

You nodded, feeling a profound sense of relief and gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again, this time with the knowledge that you were both on the same page, both willing to take your time.

Spencer wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and for the rest of the night, you simply held each other, content in the knowledge that what you had was special—something worth cherishing and protecting. There was no rush, no pressure, just the comfort of being together, knowing that when the time came, it would be perfect.

—

Spencer woke up the next morning to the gentle light of the early sun filtering through the curtains. The first thing he noticed was the comfortable weight on his chest—a soft, warm presence that made his heart swell with contentment. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked down to find you curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, your breath soft and steady.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took in the sight of you, your hair slightly tousled, your face relaxed in sleep. He couldn’t help but notice the small spot of drool on his shirt where your mouth rested, but instead of feeling anything but affection, he found it endearing. The fact that you were so comfortable with him, so at ease, made him feel a deep sense of warmth and happiness.

Careful not to disturb you, Spencer shifted slightly, realizing that his leg was properly elevated, a pillow supporting it in just the right way. He hadn’t remembered doing that, but the thought that you had taken care of him, even after everything, made his heart swell even more.

His gaze shifted to the glass of water sitting on the nightstand beside him, another thoughtful gesture that you had left for him. It was such a simple thing, but it spoke volumes about how much you cared.

For a moment, Spencer just lay there, savoring the feeling of having you in his arms, of waking up to this kind of peaceful morning. It was new, and it was wonderful, and he realized that he could get used to this—waking up with you, taking care of each other, sharing these quiet, intimate moments.

Gently, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch light so as not to wake you. You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him, and Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Even in sleep, you sought him out, and that simple act made him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

“Spence?” you whined quietly, your voice still thick with sleep as you shifted slightly against his chest.

“Yeah?” Spencer replied softly, his hand gently rubbing your back.

“You’re so comfy… so warm,” you mumbled, your words slurred as you burrowed deeper into him.

“I’m glad,” he chuckled, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket covering you both.

A moment of quiet passed before you asked, “Did I drool on you?”

“Yes, you did,” he answered, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Ughh, that’s embarrassing,” you groaned, trying to hide your face against him.

“I think it’s cute,” Spencer reassured you, a smile playing on his lips as he held you closer.

You sighed, your voice softening even more. “I really like you.”

“I really like you more,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, his heart swelling at the simple honesty of the moment.

“Nuh uh,” you mumbled, your sleepy defiance only making him smile wider.

“Yuh huh,” he countered, his voice light and teasing, feeling a sense of giddy, light-hearted joy he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

You let out a small, contented sigh, your hand resting on his chest as you settled back into the warmth and comfort of his embrace. “We’ll have to settle this later,” you whispered, already half-asleep again.

Spencer smiled, his heart full as he whispered back, “I’m looking forward to it.”

And as you drifted back to sleep, Spencer lay there, feeling lighter than air, the weight of the world replaced by the simple joy of having you there with him, in this perfect, quiet moment.

—

Later that morning, you found yourself in Spencer's kitchen, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. You leaned casually against the counter, watching him as he focused on making your cup just the way you liked it. There was something so endearing about the way he moved, so intent on getting it right, that it made you smile.

“Do you remember last night?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Spencer glanced up at you, a small, knowing smile on his lips. “All of it,” he replied confidently.

“Seriously?” You raised an eyebrow, half-impressed, half-incredulous. “You drank a lot.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he poured the coffee into a mug. “Eidetic memory,” he reminded you, his tone light. “It doesn’t just go away.”

You couldn’t help but grin, leaning in a little closer. “So you remember trying sooo desperately to get in my pants?”

“Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his face flushing as he turned away from the coffee pot. He shot you a look of playful exasperation. “Do not say it like that.”

You laughed, delighted by his reaction. “But it’s true!”

Spencer shook his head, his lips twitching with a smile despite his embarrassment. “I was trying to… be intimate with my… lady friend,” he said, the words coming out a little stilted as he tried to sound casual.

“Lady friend?” you laughed, raising an eyebrow at his choice of words.

“Yup,” he replied, trying to muster up some false confidence, though his cheeks were still tinged pink.

“Is that what I am to you?” you teased, leaning in closer, your grin playful.

“Special lady friend?” he suggested, his voice laced with a hint of nervousness.

“You scared of something, Doctor?” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him just a bit closer.

“Not right now,” he admitted, the sincerity in his voice matching the way his eyes softened as he looked at you.

“Then ask me,” you prompted, your voice dropping to a gentle whisper.

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand coming up to gently cup your chin, his touch tender. He looked into your eyes, trying to muster the courage to be vulnerable. “Y/N, will you be my bestest friend?” he asked, his tone light but serious.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his words, and the humor drained from your face. “No, jerk,” you said, pushing him away, your playful mood evaporating as frustration and anger bubbled up inside you.

Spencer’s eyes widened, confusion and concern flashing across his face. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

But you were already stepping back, feeling hurt by the way he had sidestepped what you thought was going to be a genuine, heartfelt moment. “I thought you were going to ask me to be your girlfriend, Spencer,” you said, your voice tight with emotion. “Not just your… your ‘bestest friend.’”

Spencer’s face fell as he realized his attempt to be cute had backfired. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, reaching out to you, his eyes full of genuine remorse. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You allowed yourself to be pulled back into his arms. “I shouldn’t have joked in such a serious moment,” he continued, his voice soft and sincere. “I’m sorry.” Then, with a hopeful glint in his eyes, he asked, “Y/N… will you be my girlfriend?”

You tried to keep a grumpy expression, but it was hard to resist his earnest gaze. “And your bestest friend?” you asked, your voice carrying a hint of playful irritation.

“Ideally, yes,” Spencer replied, his tone gentle but hopeful.

You couldn’t hold back a smile any longer. “Yes, Spencer. But you’re on thin ice in the bestest friend department.”

“Noted,” he nodded seriously, a smile tugging at his lips. “How am I doing in the boyfriend department?”

You pretended to think for a moment before leaning in closer, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. “Well, I have an ache I need looked into. Can my doctor boyfriend check it out?”

“Of course,” Spencer said, his voice taking on a playful tone as he leaned in as well. “What hurts?”

You smiled, letting the moment linger before you pointed at your lips, your eyes sparkling with affection. Spencer grinned, closing the distance between you, and pressed a gentle, tender kiss to your lips.

“Anything else hurt?” Spencer asked, his lips barely brushing against yours, his voice low and filled with teasing and tenderness.

“Nuh uh,” you murmured, enjoying the closeness. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye, you added, “But I might need to give you a physical. It seems like there’s something I missed in our last one.”

Spencer pulled back slightly, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he glanced down. The moment he noticed the tent forming under his sweats, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, realization dawning on him.

“Uh,” he stammered, clearly flustered, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours. You couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction, finding his innocence utterly adorable.

Spencer chuckled nervously, trying to regain his composure. “I guess it’s a good thing that wasn’t there during my last physical,” he said, his voice tinged with playful embarrassment.

You threw your head back in a laugh, the sound filling the room. “You’re right, that would have made things a little awkward.”

“And now?” Spencer asked, his voice softening, a hint of shyness creeping in as he looked at you with a mix of anticipation and curiosity.

“Now…” you murmured, dragging a finger down his chest, feeling the way his breath hitched at your touch. “You should get off your leg; you’ve been standing for a while.”

Spencer couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment at the change in direction, but he knew you were right. “Right, yeah,” he agreed, using his cane to walk over to the table and sitting down carefully. “Can you bring me my coffee, please?”

You smiled, taking in how sweet he looked as he tried to hide his disappointment. “Hmm, in a minute,” you replied, your voice holding a hint of something more.

Before Spencer could process what was happening, you were lowering yourself to your knees between his spread legs, your hands gently rubbing his thighs. The careful, tender way you touched him made his heart race, and he found himself holding his breath, unsure of what to say or do.

You were generously careful not to put too much pressure on his bad leg, your touch light but purposeful. Spencer’s pulse quickened, the intimacy and tenderness in your actions overwhelming in the best way possible.

“Y/N…” Spencer breathed, his voice full of awe and desire as he looked down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. 

You met his gaze, your eyes filled with warmth and affection as you asked softly, “Is this okay, doctor?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, and he swallowed hard before admitting, “I’ve never done this before.”

You nodded, your voice gentle and reassuring as you pressed a soft kiss to his knee. “I know, I know,” you whispered, giving him the space to decide. “Do you want to? We can stop right now, no pressure.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, overwhelmed by the care in your voice and the sensation of your lips on him. “I want to so badly,” he finally breathed out, his voice shaky with desire. “If you stop right now, I might cry.”

“Mmm,” you hummed with a playful smile, “you’d make a pretty crier.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, and he felt a sudden rush of heat in his stomach at your words, the unexpected compliment sending a thrill through him. “Jesus, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice filled with surprise and longing.

“Can you lift your hips, lover boy, or do you need to stand?” you asked, your voice light with teasing affection.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before admitting, “I think I need to stand…”

“Get up then,” you instructed, a playful glint in your eyes.

As Spencer stood up, you couldn’t resist giving his butt a gentle smack. The action made him gasp, and he turned to playfully glare at you, his eyes wide with surprise. “What has gotten into you this morning?” he asked, amusement and bewilderment in his voice.

You grinned like a devil, your expression full of mischief. “Nothing yet,” you replied, your tone suggestive and lighthearted, leaving Spencer both flustered and intrigued.

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, caught off guard by your boldness. But he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, the warmth in his chest growing as he realized just how much he enjoyed this playful side of you.

You pulled down his sweats slowly, your fingers brushing against his skin as you went, and you couldn’t resist placing soft kisses along the newly exposed flesh. As the fabric fell away, you realized there was nothing underneath, just bare skin.

“You sleep commando, Doctor?” you asked with a teasing lilt in your voice, raising an eyebrow as you looked up at him.

Spencer’s face flushed a deep shade of red, clearly embarrassed. “I had been drinking,” he stammered, trying to explain away the situation.

“Mhm,” you hummed, your lips curving into a playful smile as you continued your gentle ministrations, enjoying the effect you had on him. The sight of his blush only made the moment sweeter, knowing that he was letting you in, vulnerability and all.

Once the offending material was pooled around his ankles, you took Spencer’s hand, guiding him back to the seat with a gentle but firm touch. He followed your lead, his breath hitching as he sat back down, his eyes locked onto yours. The room seemed to hum with the tension between you, every movement deliberate and charged with anticipation.

“This is so unsanitary,” he muttered, a flicker of his usual nervousness cutting through the haze of desire.

You paused, a small smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him, your fingers still resting lightly on his thigh. “Do you want to stop?” you asked, your voice low and steady, giving him every opportunity to back out if he felt uncomfortable.

“God, no,” Spencer breathed, the words escaping him before he could even think. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with longing and vulnerability, and you could tell that despite his nerves, he was fully present, fully committed to whatever came next.

With that reassurance, you leaned in closer, making sure to hold his gaze as your hand traveled up his thigh. The connection between you was electric, each second stretched out, full of unspoken promises. You kept your eyes locked on his as you slowly lowered your mouth, the heat of your breath teasing his skin.

Spencer’s breath hitched again, his hand instinctively tightening its grip on the edge of the chair. The vulnerability in his gaze was matched by the trust he was placing in you, and you could feel the weight of that trust in the air between you. 

You moved deliberately, never breaking eye contact, letting him see every intention behind your actions. As your lips brushed against his skin, you could feel the shiver that ran through him, the way his muscles tensed in anticipation.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you pressed a kiss to his head, your touch soft but charged with all the emotion that had been building between you. Spencer’s breath caught, his body responding immediately to the intimate contact. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before he forced them open again, wanting to see everything, to remember every second of this moment.

The sensation was overwhelming for Spencer, a powerful blend of pleasure and intimacy that he had never experienced before. The way your tongue traced patterns up his cock before your lips sucked him down sent Spencer spiraling. His mind, usually so sharp and focused, was spinning, struggling to keep up with the flood of emotions and sensations coursing through his body.

He couldn’t help the deep whine that escaped his lips, his breath hitching as he felt your lips move against his skin. The feeling of your tongue swirling around his head when you pulled up while your hand kept the pace was so intensely real. He had read about intimacy, studied the science of it, but nothing could have prepared him for the actual experience, the way it felt to be so completely vulnerable and yet so utterly safe.

His thoughts raced, a thousand ideas and feelings swirling in his mind, but they all came back to one simple truth: he wanted this. He wanted you. More than he had ever wanted anything in his life. The logical part of his brain was still trying to process it all, trying to make sense of the overwhelming flood of sensations, but the emotional part of him had already surrendered, fully immersed in the moment.

“Y/N…” he breathed, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of everything he was feeling. He wanted to say more, to express how much this meant to him, how much you meant to him, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. 

You looked up at him, your eyes full of mischief and your lips stretched around his girth as you bobbed your head. You could see how much this was affecting him, how deeply it was resonating within him. You held his gaze, your touch firm and stimulating, letting him know that he didn’t have to say anything—he just had to feel.

And feel he did. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on high alert, each one attuned to your touch, to the way your hand moved with your mouth, the way your tongue pressed against his skin. It was intoxicating, overwhelming in the best possible way, and he found himself leaning into it, letting go of the need to analyze or understand, and simply allowing himself to experience.

“Y/N…” he said again, his voice louder this time as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak, Spencer’s mind went blissfully blank. There was nothing but the sensation, nothing but your mouth and hand on his cock. Licking, slurping, rubbing. 

Spencer let out one final cry before he was filling your mouth with his warm, salty cum. You hummed around him in appreciation, the vibrations making him whine pitifully. Spencer thought it was over when you pulled off, but then you stuck your tongue out, showing him his milky release sitting there before you closed your mouth and swallowed. 

“You’re insane, woman,” Spencer whispered, his voice still shaky from the intensity of what he had just experienced. His chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath, his mind reeling from the sensations still echoing through his body.

You grinned up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief and affection. “I’m your insane woman,” you replied, your tone playful yet filled with a warmth that made Spencer’s heart swell.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, the combination of your words and the aftermath of what you’d just shared making him feel like he was floating. “That you are,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from your face. 

There was something about the way you looked at him, something that made him feel more grounded, more connected than he ever had before. It wasn’t just the physical connection, though that was incredible—it was the emotional bond that had deepened between you, the way you seemed to understand him on a level no one else ever had.

Spencer chuckled softly, still processing everything. “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity. 

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, the gesture full of affection and promise. “We’re both lucky,” you whispered against his lips, and in that moment, Spencer knew it was true.

There was no rush, no pressure. Just the two of you, together, in a moment that felt like it was just the beginning of something even more beautiful.

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[sadesluvr]

Ōrālis 

Dr Jonathan Crane was a man of great restraint, but he wouldn’t hold himself back from indulging in your self-gratification. 

A/N: I’ve been secretly obsessed with Crane for a while, and just had to make something based off this post! Vaguely dark content (it’s Crane) so please read the tags before proceeding. Minors + ageless blogs DNI!

Word count: 3.1K

Tags: SMUT / DUB-CON / Manipulation / Power play / Misogyny / Abuse of power / Dom + Sub elements / Masturbation (fem + afab anatomy) / Scientific terminology / Dialogue heavy / Crane being weird and unsettling (canon) / Reader is wearing a skirt for logistic purposes

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 

You never knew why you even bothered to show up to your sessions early anymore.  

Before your previous therapist, Dr Spencer, had retired, you’d used the time to gather your thoughts, perhaps flick through the contents of the random assortment of magazines on the waiting room table, but never to actively contemplate dropping the process entirely whilst staring at a clock, wishing you were anywhere else. Wringing your hands, you shifted uncomfortably on the bench as you tried to suppress the painfully familiar feeling of bile rising to your throat. It was all Dr Crane’s - the Dr Jonathan Crane famed for his work at Arkham – fault, being an uptight, anti-social excuse of a psychiatrist, who, technically, shouldn’t have been treating you regardless. His mutual discontent for the matter was all too obvious, his blunt and borderline disinterested demeanour making you feel that your every thought, choice and emotion was a mistake. 

You’d had a painfully exhausting week, from closing deadlines at your job to your cousins’ wedding plans leaving you feeling like you were on the brink of a breakdown. To make things worse, your bus had broken down on the way in, forcing you to walk four blocks of grimy Gotham streets in the rain. 

Once the door opened – right on the hour at 5PM as usual – you felt like you wanted to die. 

“Might I remind you that this is your time,” his smooth, yet commanding voice said. “If you’d like to waste it, then be my guest.” 

You huffed and shifted in your seat, making small circles with your foot as you held back a frown. If it wasn’t his personality that made things uncomfortable, then it certainly was the fact that he was handsome; rather painfully so for someone in his position. He had dark hair, plump pink lips and a chiselled jaw, all of which were spectacular together but couldn’t compare to his eyes; striking, intense and a sharp blue. His eyes, whilst his best feature, was certainly one of the pitfalls of being in an enclosed room with him. They were always watching; staring into your soul and taking you apart, piece by piece, limb by limb. 

Sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose before pointing your hand at him in a vaguely accusatory manner. 

“Look, Doctor, I’ve had a long week. Can you spare being snarky for at least a minute?” 

“Interesting that you characterise my frankness as ‘snarky’, Miss L/N,” he said, unmoved by your tone. “It seems like you’re not used to people being direct with you.” 

“I have been, remember? You’ve been treating me for two months now.” You replied sarcastically. 

“Yes, and I haven’t seen much progress,” he said flippantly, pausing to flick through a notebook before looking back up at you. “I suppose I’m now inclined to ask how you are.” 

“I’m amazing,” you said pointedly. “Luck is on my side. I walked here because the bus broke down. Not to mention the fact that I’m four days out from my deadline at work, and I’m probably going to be sick for all of them because of the weather. And my cousin’s wedding is in a month and we still haven’t gotten invitations out, so God knows —“ 

Crane made a small humming sound that stopped your rambling, a small smirk on his face as he did. 

“Did I say something?” You frowned. This man was so self-assured that he found menial, everyday things like this amusing. He probably pitied you.  

“It’s clear to me that you’re doing a lot for other people,” he said. “Work is completely understandable, but preparing a wedding is not. You’re not under any obligation to do this.” 

You blinked, brows furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of what he’d said. His lips were folded into a straight line as he watched you unscramble your thoughts, his oh-so powerful gaze making you feel as if you were a blathering idiot. 

“She’s part of my family,” you said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Family help each-other…” 

He angled his head in a small nod. “From my understanding, yes; with aspects such as parenting and homemaking.” 

“Marriage is a kind of homemaking. It’s very common for families across cultures to be involved in matrimony.” You shrugged. 

“Then, what do you suggest you do?” Dr Crane said matter of factly. “Slave over fickle things like necklines and bouquets? What do you gain from torturing yourself in this process?” 

“It’s not about me, it’s about my cousin. She deserves to be happy.” You said through gritted teeth, now inexplicably becoming heated. It was clear that he wasn’t one who had many friends – if any – and a relationship with relatives seemed out of the question.  

“That statement is almost entirely untrue,” Crane said bluntly, brow raised as he cocked his head in a knowing manner. “We as humans are made to be self-serving. I’m not denying that one such as your relative does not deserve to be happy, more that you want something from making her that way.” 

You scoffed. “Are you asking me or telling me?” 

He didn’t answer, but merely swallowed, breaking his gaze with you to look around the room cooly before focusing back on you.  

“I say this because it’s not uncommon for women to experience envy in these positions. Some have the fickle idea that their assistance in the process will bring themselves further along to matrimony,” he stated. “Thus, your apparent stress on the matter paired with your reaction to my previous statement about familial obligation gives me reason to think that you’re particularly jealous of this cousin.” 

You scoffed. 

“That is not true.” 

Crane hummed and adjusted his posture. 

“Is there a significant other in your life?” 

“No…” you replied, your voice practically a mumble at the statement. You were almost a hundred percent sure that he’d known that, given he had Dr Spencer’s files in-front of him. Like most things with him, it was just another way to make you feel small. 

Again, he didn’t follow up the statement but instead moved on. 

“I could go on about how jealousy is a one of the many products of fear, but I’m rather interested about this love life of yours,” he said, placing the notebook on the table below him. “A relationship is one thing, but nowadays there are other options to companionship.” 

You swallowed. 

“I don’t do hookups, nor friends with benefits. They’re too complicated.” 

“I see,” he said. “I wouldn’t write them off too quickly. They can be a fix to what you’re currently experiencing.” 

You raised your brows and shook your head at the implication. Not only was Crane making you feel borderline histrionic for simply having a stressful week but suggesting that you were just succumbing to your base desires was even more insulting. Insulting because on some deep level, you knew it was true. 

Perhaps you just needed a good, old-fashioned fuck for that sweet boost of dopamine and mental clarity.  Truthfully, you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you’d had sex, let alone been in a relationship, to the point that if undoing your virginity was possible you would’ve been Mother Mary herself. 

“Do you partake in masturbation?” 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.” 

“Once again, Miss L/N, that’s untrue,” he said, exhaling as he took off his glasses and folded them into his pocket. “I’m a doctor, and my duty is to help you. Certain ways of masturbation can affect the mind, and I presume that’s one of the sole reasons you came to a therapist. The act releases dopamine, which is certainly good for the brain, not to mention it encourages blood flow to your pelvis,” he said precisely. “Therefore, I ask again. Do you partake in masturbation?” 

He cocked his brow this time; piercing blue eyes fixated on your own. You couldn’t tell if he was getting off on your discomfort, the vision of you touching yourself, or a weird mix of somewhere in-between. For a small man, he had a tremendous way of making you feel alone, as if you were the world, yet so seen. You fiddled with your hands, avoiding his gaze as you answered to the ground, wooden flooring suddenly becoming interesting. 

“I do... I-It’s just been a while...” 

“I’d appreciate it if you answered to me rather than at the floor,” Crane replied before swiftly moving on. “I think we should use the remaining time to work on that.” 

Your heart dropped at the statement, and you finally broke your gaze with the floor to stare at him. 

“H-How —“ 

“Start by making yourself comfortable,” he began. “And place your legs up onto the table as you spread them.” 

You felt ill, yet there was a painful curiosity in your loins that made you want to follow his every command. It was clear that he wanted to present yourself to him, virtually in a platter, and as much as it made you sick that this was a man you despised, you needed this.  “Doctor, I don’t think this is necessary —“ 

“We’ve got forty minutes,” he interjected. “I suggest you make this quick.” 

It’ll make you better, you thought to yourself as you placed your feet onto the table, leaning back as you allowed yourself to relax into the couch. The hem of your skirt rode up as you did, giving him an eyeful of your thighs and up towards your pelvis. Once done, you stared at him expectedly, and he hummed (one that judging by his frown of his lips were of displeasure) getting up from his seat and adjusting you himself. Nothing was ever good enough, something always needed to be fixed. Typical Crane fashion 

His hands were cold on your skin as he spread your legs apart, adjusting your footwork so that he’d be able to see more of you. You shuddered as his fingertips momentarily lingered on your inner thigh, and you suddenly became self conscious of your clamminess derived from the sudden condensation of entering the building. 

“Interesting,” he spoke, cocking a brow as he wrote something down. “You’re clammy to the touch and your legs are trembling. Is there something you fear?” 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. 

“Perhaps this will clear your head,,” he said softly, undeniably amused. “I’m going to guide you through your fears…Remove your underwear.” 

His voice was noticeably more breathy and ragged than previously, and you took a quick glance down at his crotch, which, if you weren’t to be mistaken, was slightly raised, his usually smoothly ironed clothes now somewhat crumpled. Hesitantly, you shifted your hips up to slide your panties down your legs, quickly unnerved at the fact that you didn’t know what to do with them.  

“Put them on the side,” Crane instructed. “Inhale, and place your hand between your thighs. As you exhale, I want you to place your fingers at the top, on your hood.”  

Your chin wobbled nervously as you did so, eyes locked on Jonathan’s own. He swallowed, and you could’ve sworn that you saw his lip tremble in the process. You didn’t know to be scared or proud that he was seemingly anxious about it all. 

“Now begin to stimulate the area as you would if you were alone.” 

You nodded, using two fingers to rub small circles on your hood. Sometimes, when you’d tried in the past, it’d been apparent that there simply wasn’t enough lubrication.  

Today that wasn’t the case. 

The action gave you a tingle, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. Jonathan seemed to sense this. 

“Use pressure. It’ll make you feel better.” 

It did. The force of your middle finger down on your sensitive clit hood sent a pulse down you legs, building to a steady rhythm as you resumed your motions. You let out a broken sigh and bit your lip, your restraint a great disappointment to the man across from you. 

“Why must you insist on running from your own pleasure? I want to hear you, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to ask twice.” 

Craning your neck, you willed yourself to let out a moan, finding that it was far easier than you’d expected. It was just one of the many things you let build up in your head. 

“Good.” Crane hummed, and you could’ve sworn that he had unzipped his pants, relieving some pressure from his swollen bulge. “Now, move down to spread your labia apart. Allow yourself to indulge in your deepest fantasies, and use more fingers. I want you to explore yourself for me.” 

Letting out a whimper, your eyes fluttered shut as you found yourself lost in the smooth timbre of his voice; sensuous, pointed, with a deep rumble. It pained you that this man – this antagonist – was the individual within your fantasies, much more the fact that he knew it. How long had he been waiting to do this? 

There was a slight pain upon entering yourself; your walls moulding to accost themselves to the unfamiliar intrusion as you pumped your hands in and out of you. Your slow but methodic movements brought you a great sense of pleasure as you spread your arousal across your fingers, stimulating your hot sex.  

Jonathan let out a slow hum as he watched your chest rise and fall, succumbing to his basic urges as he mindlessly rubbed his hand over his cock. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of taking it out; let alone masturbate in-front of you. No, that would come much later. 

“Take your fingers deeper,” he instructed, subtly biting the inside of his lip. “I know it worries you. Too often we fear the unknown, but if you want to feel better, you’ll do it for me.” 

You did, burying your fingers into yourself to the point that your first phalanges disappeared within you as you motioned your fingers in a controlled movement. Finding yourself growing a quiet confidence from Crane’s amused smirk, you began to fasten your pace, pistoning your fingers like a machine. 

The wet sounds of your sex filled the room, the shine of your fingers undeniable as you spread yourself apart, baring your pussy just for him. This is what he wanted. 

This was what you wanted. 

Right? 

Right. 

“Very good,” the man crooned. “It feels good, doesn’t it? If this was all it took for you to be obedient, I suppose I would’ve introduced masturbation to our sessions a while ago.”   

The differences were stark; all your spite from the beginning of the session had dissipated, and you were like putty in his hands. He’d integrated your mind like a parasite, a snake, and had carried out his word – he was making you better. 

“Y-Yeah..” you whispered, mind blank as you found it difficult to keep your legs up. Crane was stimulating himself through his trousers, small breaths from his chest ragged as he spoke. 

“Good girl,” he sighed. “Is my voice turning you on? Would you like me to bring you to release?” 

You nodded, an uncharacteristic squeal escaping your lips as you brushed past your clit. Jonathan sighed again, his lips pursed as he fought the urge to do it all for you, just for a feel of your wetness and tight walls. Alas, unlike other men, he knew how to exercise control. 

“Taste yourself.” he commanded without an ounce of hesitation. You winced, hands trembling as you removed them from inside of you and bringing them to your lips. Cautiously, you took a small lick of your juice, squeezing your eyes shut as you tasted yourself on your tongue. You’d never done that before. 

“Now touch yourself again, only faster. Keep your legs up, I want to see you. All of you. In this room, in this moment, you belong to me.” 

You wanted him to fucking consume you. Frantically, you switched between stimulating all of your zones, from your lips to your clit, a pornographic squelching sound coming from your nether regions. Crane bit down on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared as he palmed his cock, feeling spurts of pre-cum coat his pelvis. 

He let out a restraint grunt, and for some reason it made your loins tingle, sending a pulsing heat to your core. Given the way your head spun, and your vision became jagged, you could tell that you were close, which Crane took great joy in. 

“Perfect…” he hummed. “Look at me when you cum. Can you feel yourself lose control? This is what you needed, wasn’t it, you silly whore? Give yourself to me. All of it…” 

Had you been in a clear state of mind, you would’ve taken that as a threat, but in your bout of ecstasy it was hard to not be intoxicated by the idea. His voice was so soothing, so controlled and yet menacing that you felt like you’d sold your soul to the devil himself. Perhaps in a way, you had. 

Your legs were overcome by the force of your orgasm, quivering as you found it difficult to stay still. Squeezing your legs shut, you came around your fingers with a cry, your fluids spurting around your fingers and trickling onto your thigh and seeping down your legs.  

It felt impossible to come down from your own palpitations, and Crane’s stare was far from useful in relieving your anxieties. The man had barely moved, but he looked somewhat flummoxed, his hair slightly curly and tousled from sweat, whilst his pink lips looked raw, as if he’d been gnawing on them. 

Had he cum? Had he enjoyed this at all? Oh God, you were wondering if your therapist had cum from your private masturbation. 

The reality of what you’d done was coming back to you now, and you truly didn’t know what to think. You wanted to stay; to be petted and showered with praise for your show, and yet run and hide completely. You’d only known him for two months. 

And. He. Was. Your. Therapist.  

And so, you found yourself glancing back up at the time again.  

“That was…quite something,” Crane said slowly, clearing his throat as he nonchalantly polished off his glasses before putting them on. “I assume you’re feeling better now. I think I’d like to integrate this into our future sessions, starting with next week,” 

There was his usual detached tone. You thought orgasms brought mental clarity, but Jonathan was an enigma. 

“- It might be useful for you to wear a skirt, something accessible...I happen to like the colour you’ve got on now.” 

[noemilivv]

HIYA HIYA!!! this is the super energetic bro that u matched with velvette, qnd I was curioussss to requesttttt smthhh (also maybe if u want to easier identify me I could be ✨️anon??)

Ok! SO! ~Imagine~ maybeee that angel has a person he is romantically interested in (reader)

And so reader is ~severely introverted~ and thus, not much is know about them. But! Charlie is leading a art group one day, for like, rehab bc art therapy is super big, and reader is really good at it, and basically drops lore that they where in college to be an art therapist‼️

And so‼️

Maybe angel, seeing this opportunity to get closer, and was like- "ayo want me to model 4 u??👀👀" and reader is like " pls wear clothes this isn't gunna be nude modeling bc I will get super embarrassed" and so basically soft fluff of reader painting angel and getting to know each other and confession

Mayybbee a oneshot?? If ur willing! Nor pressure

Also make sure to take time to urself and rest and eat water and drink food!!!

Lots of love from a silly Lil fan!! :))

hello dear!! ofc you can be ✨ anon, you’re already on my list haha, as i’ve stated in the past, im not amazing at oneshots, but here’s my take on this !

Warnings: Mentions of Nudity, Lazily written (sorryyyy), Pretty short

“Smooth Talker”

Angel Dust x Artist!Reader

After one of Charlie’s…interesting exercises, Vaggie suggests that the group should do therapy art, since y’know, it calms the soul. And Charlie couldn’t be more eager to do so!

The lobby was set up with canvases, paints, brushes, everything you could need!

Unlike most of Charlie’s previous activities, almost everyone was willing to participate, although Husk and Alastor kinda stood off to the side and watched.

Charlie was painting a cartoon version of Razzle and Dazzle, Vaggie was painting a sunset based off of the lesbian flag, Pentious was painting him in his war machine taking over Hell, and Niffty? Eh.. You don’t wanna know..

You on the other hand? Stood in front of your canvas, clueless, “Y’know, I could model for you..” Angel says into your ear.

Your head turned to face him “Sure.” You say nonchalantly before turning back to your canvas.

“Wait really?-”

“Just please keep your clothes on.”

Eventually you had moved your stuff over to the other side of the lobby so Angel could pose on the couch.

He had a soft smirk, as he layed on the couch, his arm propping up his face. Although, he began to get fidgety, messing with his fluff.

“Stop moving.” You said with a soft smile.

Angel kept messing his fluff. “Ange!”

“Gee, sorry!” He said, chuckling, moving his arm back to its original position.

“So uh, how’d you get into all this?” Angel asked as the sketching of your pencil went to a stop and you began actually painting it. “College, back when I was alive I wanted to be an art therapist.” You explained.

“Fitting.” He murmured. For the most part, it was silent, a comforting silence though, the presence of each other was oddly soothing.

“Okay.” You muttered, squiggling your signature down at the bottom of the canvas quickly, “I’m done.” You announce to him, turning the canvas around to show him.

Angel perks up immediately, amazed by your skill, he slowly gets up off the couch to get a closer look. “Damn…” He said, his voice above a whisper, “Can I… Can I keep it?” He asked, hopeful that you might say yes, “Duh.” You giggled.

“For once the smooth talker is shocked, that’s new.” You say with a smirk. “And for once the introvert is talking back, that’s new.” Angel replies, but the usual attitude in his voice isn’t there, his voice is barely above a whisper as his eyes are still entranced with the painting.

You take the painting off the stand and hand it to Angel. You look over to a nearby window notice the sun is setting, despite the red sky still being as clear as day, “It’s getting late, I’m gonna head up to my room.” You say. “Yeah… Me too.”

As you and Angel are both walking to your rooms, you don’t say much, until a voice pipes up, “Y’know, I really owe ya for the painting.” Angel says, still looking at it, “Owe me what?” You ask, as you both arrive at your door.

“A date, maybe.” Angel says, pecking your forehead, “Stop by my room at eight tomorrow, if your interested~”

[estapa-edwards]

"Team Sweetheart" and "Physical Therapist" are so gorgeous I've reread them both like 10 times! They leave me so full of butterflies I am positively buzzing! May I please make a request with Jack and a girl who has no knowledge/familiarity with hockey, or any sports for that matter? Maybe just them introducing eachother to their interests/worlds as their relationship develops and it's just nice to be with someone a bit removed from what Jack's life is centered around. Idk if that makes sense please ignore this if you don't like it.

CONNECTION - J . HUGHES

paring: Jack Hughes x reader

word count: 2k

requested? yes

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

Jack Hughes walked into the quiet café, eager for a break from the relentless pace of his hockey-centered life. The New Jersey Devils had been having a grueling season, and every moment off the ice felt like a precious escape. The café, tucked away in a corner of downtown Newark, had become his haven. Today, however, he was greeted by an unfamiliar face behind the counter.

“Hi, welcome to Brewed Awakening. What can I get you?” the girl asked with a warm smile. Her name tag read "Y/N."

Jack glanced at the menu, though he already knew what he wanted. “I’ll have a black coffee, please.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers flying over the buttons of the register. “Coming right up. Are you from around here?”

Jack hesitated. Despite his growing fame, he still enjoyed the anonymity of casual encounters. “Yeah, I live nearby. What about you?”

Y/N handed him his change and started preparing his coffee. “I just moved here for school. Trying to get the hang of the city and all.”

Jack smiled. “It’s a great place once you get to know it. What are you studying?”

“Art history. I know, it’s not exactly the most practical major, but it’s my passion,” she said with a slight laugh. “What about you? What do you do?”

Jack paused, unsure of how to respond. “I’m... in sports,” he said vaguely.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his hesitation. “Any particular sport?”

“Hockey,” he admitted. “I play for the New Jersey Devils.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry, I don’t really follow sports. But that sounds impressive!”

Jack chuckled. “That’s okay. It’s actually kind of refreshing to meet someone who isn’t obsessed with hockey.”

Y/N handed him his coffee. “Well, I’m glad I could provide a break from the norm. Enjoy your coffee!”

As Jack took a seat by the window, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity about Y/N. She was different from anyone he had met in a long time. He found himself looking forward to his next visit to the café.

--- --- --- 

Over the next few weeks, Jack found himself returning to Brewed Awakening more often. Each time, he and Y/N would chat for a few minutes, their conversations growing more personal with each encounter. Jack learned that Y/N was passionate about art, spending her weekends exploring museums and galleries. She, in turn, learned about Jack’s rigorous training schedule and the pressures of professional sports.

One rainy afternoon, Jack entered the café, drenched from practice. Y/N greeted him with a sympathetic smile. “Rough day?”

“Just a long one,” he replied, shaking off his wet jacket. “Do you have a break coming up? I’d love to hear more about this art thing you’re always talking about.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “Actually, I do. Give me five minutes to finish up here.”

A few minutes later, Y/N joined Jack at his table, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. “So, where should I start?”

“Tell me about your favorite artist,” Jack suggested, genuinely curious.

Y/N’s face brightened. “That’s a tough one, but I’d have to say Vincent van Gogh. His work is so emotional and raw. There’s something incredibly moving about the way he saw the world.”

Jack listened intently as Y/N described van Gogh’s turbulent life and vibrant paintings. He found himself captivated by her passion and the way she brought the art to life with her words.

“You should come to the museum with me sometime,” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I think you’d really enjoy it.”

Jack smiled. “I’d like that. And maybe I can take you to a hockey game in return?”

Y/N laughed. “Deal. But you’ll have to explain everything to me. I know absolutely nothing about hockey.”

Jack chuckled. “I think I can manage that.”

--- --- --- 

Their first outing together was to the Newark Museum of Art. Jack was out of his element but excited to see the world through Y/N’s eyes. As they wandered through the galleries, Y/N explained the stories behind the paintings and sculptures, her voice filled with excitement and admiration.

“This is one of my favorites,” she said, stopping in front of a large, colorful painting. “It’s called ‘Starry Night Over the Rhône’ by van Gogh. Look at the way the stars and the reflections in the water create this almost dreamlike scene.”

Jack stared at the painting, trying to see it the way Y/N did. “It’s beautiful,” he said finally. “I can see why you like it so much.”

Y/N smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Art has always been a way for me to escape, to see the world differently.”

Jack nodded, understanding more than he expected. “Hockey is like that for me. When I’m on the ice, everything else fades away.”

A few days later, it was Y/N’s turn to step into Jack’s world. She had agreed to attend one of his games, despite her lack of knowledge about hockey. Jack had arranged for her to have a prime seat, and as she settled in, she couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The arena was buzzing with energy, fans cheering and waving signs. Y/N watched in awe as the players took to the ice, their speed and skill mesmerizing. She spotted Jack, his focus intense as he prepared for the game.

Throughout the match, Y/N found herself on the edge of her seat, cheering along with the crowd even though she didn’t fully understand the rules. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride every time Jack made a play, his talent and dedication evident in every move.

After the game, Jack met her outside the locker room, still in his gear and grinning from ear to ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was amazing!” Y/N exclaimed. “I had no idea hockey could be so intense. You were incredible out there.”

Jack laughed, relieved that she had enjoyed herself. “I’m glad you liked it. Maybe we can make a fan out of you yet.”

Y/N smiled. “Maybe. But only if you keep coming to art galleries with me.”

“Deal,” Jack agreed, feeling a warmth spread through him. Despite their different worlds, he felt a connection with Y/N that he hadn’t felt with anyone else.

--- --- --- 

​​As the weeks turned into months, Jack and Y/N grew closer, finding comfort in their contrasting interests. They delighted in introducing each other to new experiences, each outing deepening their bond.

One sunny Saturday, Jack found himself at a local art supply store with Y/N. She was on a mission to find the perfect set of watercolors for a new project. Jack followed her through the aisles, amused by her enthusiasm.

"Do you paint?" Jack asked, curious.

"I dabble," Y/N replied with a grin. "Mostly for fun, though. It’s a great way to relax and let my mind wander."

Jack picked up a brush, twirling it between his fingers. "Maybe you could teach me sometime. I’ve never really done anything like this."

Y/N’s eyes lit up. "I’d love to! It’s really not about being perfect, just about expressing yourself."

A few days later, Y/N set up a makeshift studio in her apartment, covering the table with newspapers and setting out a variety of paints and brushes. Jack arrived, looking both excited and apprehensive.

"Ready to become the next Van Gogh?" Y/N teased, handing him a canvas.

Jack laughed. "I think that might be a stretch, but I’m ready to give it a shot."

As they painted side by side, Y/N offered gentle guidance, encouraging Jack to experiment with colors and shapes. Despite his initial uncertainty, Jack found himself enjoying the process. It was a welcome change from the structured, high-pressure world of hockey.

"You’re a natural," Y/N said, admiring Jack’s painting of a snowy landscape.

Jack shook his head with a chuckle. "I think you’re just being nice, but thanks. This is actually really fun."

Y/N smiled, pleased to see Jack so relaxed. "See? I knew you’d enjoy it."

Their relationship continued to flourish, each new experience bringing them closer together. Jack took Y/N to more games, patiently explaining the rules and strategies. Y/N, in turn, took Jack to more art exhibits and even a few art classes.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling game, Jack and Y/N found themselves at a quiet diner, sharing a plate of fries. Jack looked at Y/N, feeling a surge of gratitude.

"You know, I never thought I’d enjoy learning about art so much," Jack admitted. "But being with you has opened my eyes to so many new things."

Y/N reached across the table, squeezing his hand. "And I never thought I’d enjoy sports, but you’ve made it so much fun. It’s nice to have someone to share these experiences with."

Jack smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment. Despite their different backgrounds, they had found a way to connect on a profound level. It was a rare and precious thing, and Jack knew he wanted to hold onto it.

--- --- ---

As their relationship grew stronger, Jack and Y/N began to face the challenges that came with their differing worlds. Jack’s demanding schedule often kept them apart, and Y/N’s art exhibitions sometimes took her to different cities.

One evening, after a particularly grueling week of practice and games, Jack called Y/N, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I miss you," he admitted. "It feels like we haven’t seen each other in ages."

Y/N sighed, feeling the distance keenly. "I miss you too. It’s hard, but we’ll get through it. How about we plan something special for next weekend? Just us."

Jack’s spirits lifted at the thought. "That sounds perfect. Let’s go somewhere quiet, away from everything."

The following weekend, they escaped to a cabin in the woods, a peaceful retreat where they could unwind and reconnect. They spent their days hiking through the forest, cooking meals together, and sitting by the fire, talking about everything and nothing.

One evening, as they sat on the porch, watching the sunset, Jack took Y/N’s hand. "I’m really glad we’re doing this," he said softly. "It’s exactly what I needed."

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder. "Me too. It’s nice to just be us, without all the noise."

As they sat in comfortable silence, Jack realized how much Y/N meant to him. She had become his anchor, a source of joy and calm in his hectic life. He knew their relationship wasn’t always easy, but he was willing to face any challenge as long as they were together.

With the hockey season winding down, Jack finally had more time to spend with Y/N. They began to talk about their future, their conversations filled with excitement and hope.

One sunny afternoon, they found themselves at a local park, lying on a blanket and watching the clouds drift by. Jack turned to Y/N, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Have you ever thought about what comes next for us?" he asked.

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection. "I think about it all the time. I want us to keep exploring new things together, to keep supporting each other’s passions."

Jack nodded, feeling a sense of certainty. "I want that too. And I want you to know that I’m here for you, no matter what. Your dreams are just as important as mine."

Y/N reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Jack’s face. "And I’m here for you, always. We’ll figure it out together."

As they lay there, hand in hand, Jack knew they were embarking on a new chapter of their lives. It wouldn’t always be easy, but with Y/N by his side, he felt ready for anything. They had built a strong foundation, one based on mutual respect and a genuine love for each other’s worlds. And as they looked towards the future, they knew that together, they could face whatever came their way.

[hyukakisses]

— emo beomgyu as tate langdon

pairings: emo beomgyu x fem reader

plot: random headcanons of tate langdon beomgyu x fem reader

warnings: mentally ill/lovesick oreo gyu (my brand), sweet reader (also my brand), reader is also a little bit unwell, coquette reader (my brand sorry guys), ghost beomgyu, watered down tate langdon beomgyu basically, characters are virgins, faint smut

you absolutely hated your new house. you hated how dark and gloomy everything was. what was your parents’ obsession with the color black anyway? you preferred to be in the walls of your pretty pink bed room more than anything now because of the new area.

you also would hear faint footsteps and maybe people talking coming from your attic but whatever you were probably just hearing things “i think i have mommy issues” beomgyu randomly inquires to the hidden ghosts around the house. “you guys know a therapist?”

if you weren’t a scaredy cat then you can definitely consider yourself one now with the way your heart jumped out of your chest at the sight of an unknown male in your living room. “a-and you are?” you ask with a shaky voice, cursing yourself for having anxiety. “im beomgyu, your dad’s my therapist” the oreo haired male replies with a small smile making you relax a bit.

from that day on beomgyu knew he was enchanted by you, always bringing you up to your father hoping for any little information about you. “are you ready to talk about to talk about your relationship with your mother?” “your daughter’s over eighteen right?” “yes but what exactly does that have to do with your mother?”

beomgyu liked to watch you throughout the house, you were so different compared to him. the way you wore pink and collected plushies really just made the emo boy like you more.

beomgyu couldn’t help himself when he saw you laying peacefully on your bed reading the manga nana he thought you looked so sweet and vulnerable. “can i read with you?” his smile grew at your scared face, “did i scare you? your dad said i could hangout with you after our session” lie but whatever

beomgyu would use trauma dumping as a way of getting closer to you; at first you thought that was a bit weird but you brushed it off.

the boy was extremely emo but that’s okay because you liked how he was in touch with his emotions. you thought beomgyu was so cool and emotional mature

when you found out you beomgyu never received a gift before you immediately went to your front yard cutting fresh flowers. “i painted it black, i know you don’t like normal things” you hand a black painted rose to beomgyu this action making him stammer out a “you’re the first girl to get me a flower”

you were shocked when beomgyu opened up about being a ghost to you; “why didn’t you tell me sooner?”“because how does one exactly tell somebody that ‘hey im a ghost wanna hookup?”’

definitely into soft sex and the nurturing type. praising you and trying his best to pleasure you even if he’s a loser virgin too :( “did it hurt? i heard losing your virginity as a girl usually does” beomgyu would ask you with his puppy eyes genuinely worried he hurt you

on halloween he takes you to the beach, beomgyu doesn’t really like swimming much less the ocean but he thinks the beach is peaceful at night

he would definitely be the little spoon but if you were having a bad day he would rush to big spooning you; letting you use him as a human teddy bear/tissue

definitely a homebody (not like he had much of a choice), you two would watch twilight on loop while listen to his favorite bands such as the neighborhood, arctic monkeys and nirvana

beomgyu is the over protective type when he finds you’ve been bullied in highschool he goes ballistic and lures your tormenters into the house and scares them into leaving you alone with the house’s supernatural elements.

at first you were a bit frightened at what beomgyu did but nonetheless you thanked him with a hug, you thought beomgyu going as far as attacking the people who hurt you was the most romantic thing ever

definitely steals your dad’s credit cards to get you gifts delivered to the house, because if they wanted they would

beomgyu was insecure at times needing your reassurance; “are you planning on leaving me? you’re all i want and all i have you know” “i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want” his teary eyes bore into yours before you gently run your fingers through his hair reassuring him that you loved him ):

a/n: it’s tate langdon ahs fall season until december 1st idc

[charlieg1rl]

𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡?

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟔𝟎𝟎

You sat at a small table in the corner of your favorite café, the soft light casting a warm glow on your book. It was a well-deserved break from your busy life as a student, and you cherished these moments of peace. You were about to immerse yourself in another chapter when you noticed a familiar figure striding through the entrance—Lee Minho.

His trademark smirk was present, and your heart did a little flip as he spotted you. He made his way over, looking effortlessly charming in a fitted black t-shirt and ripped jeans. “Hey there, bookworm. What’s so interesting?” he asked, leaning against the table, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You glanced up, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Just a novel. But I suppose it’s not as thrilling as whatever you were doing before you came here.”

He chuckled, sliding into the chair opposite you. “Well, I was just practicing some dance moves, but I could definitely use a break.” He stretched his arms above his head, showing off the muscles that had you fighting the urge to stare.

“Dance moves, huh? Show me what you’ve got!” you teased, knowing he would never back down from a challenge.

“Maybe later,” he said, smirking. “First, let’s talk about your reading choices. What’s this book about?” He leaned in, his curiosity piqued, but you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your lips, making your cheeks heat up.

“It's about a girl falling in love and having an affair with her sex therapist,” you replied, attempting to maintain your composure. “The guy's charming but also a bit of a jerk and toxic as fuck.”

“Sounds like a fun read,” he replied with a grin. “You should let me borrow it when you’re done. I like a little drama in my life.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Are you sure you can handle it? I wouldn’t want to ruin your innocent mind.”

His smirk widened, and he leaned in closer. “Oh, please. You’d be surprised by what I can handle.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet slightly amused. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

He let out a laugh, clearly enjoying the banter. “Of course! I’m a good son. But you might not want to think too much about where this mouth has been.”

You felt a rush of heat creep up your neck. “Minho!”

“What? I’m just saying,” he shrugged nonchalantly, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed his teasing nature.

You shook your head, trying to suppress your laughter. “You’re impossible.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with that signature confident grin. “Maybe. But you like it.” His gaze was intense, the playful atmosphere shifting slightly as the two of you locked eyes.

“Maybe,” you conceded, your voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” he winked, and you couldn’t help but smile.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he broke it again. “So, tell me about this hero of yours. I need to know what kind of trouble he gets into.”

As you started explaining, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like these—where light teasing turned into deeper conversations, and a simple coffee date with Minho felt like an adventure of its own.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

tags: @estella-novella, @therealmsbahng, @amarecerasus