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pencil-n-pen · 1 day ago

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ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

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post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

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Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

#girlblogging #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid x reader #soft dom spencer reid #soft spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff

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witherby · 3 days ago

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Absolutely loving the littlest wayne au 😍😍😍😍. Your most recent post made me think. Damien is relieved that mouse doesn't decided to join the bats, but I'd love to know how the other react when mouse reject the robin title.

Keep up the great work seriously you're super talented✨️.

Thank you so much for saying that! I appreciate it!

Bruce and Damian are relieved. He's getting older, and Gotham still needs protectors right now, but the city is getting better. Slowly and steadily, he hasn't needed to patrol every single night anymore. Gothamites are learning to defend themselves. Rogues are dwindling. Not only are you not particularly needed to defend the city, Bruce wants you to enjoy your life without the burden of that responsibility weighing down your shoulders. Maybe, one day, he'll be able to retire and do the same.

Bruce was going to stop recruiting Robins after Tim, truth be told, but Damian was raised with the League of Assassins and needed a more pacifistic outlet for all that rage that blossomed under Ra's Al Ghul, so he almost had no choice but to pass the mantle down again. Your disinterest doesn't offend him, it brings him peace.

Tim, briefly, considers it a waste of potential. You have the ability to control darkness and shadows. The bats operate exclusively in the night. Are you joking? Why wouldn't you want to protect the city with that? A couple weeks later, though, he comes around when he gets home from a days-long mission and wishes he had the time to just lie in bed and decompress for the foreseeable future. He thinks about his lack of free time, and about how he's always thinking about casework, and updating his suit, and picking up his next round of antibiotics because Damian's grandfather took his fucking spleen, and realizes he really doesn't want you doing all of that. It's bad enough you're keeping the secret of your family's double lives as they run around in spandex beating up criminals. You don't need to live a complicated double life of your own, and he doesn't want you to.

Dick is confused. He loves being Nightwing! He defends the citizens of Gotham and Blüdhaven when they can't defend themselves. Saving lives gives him a great sense of fulfillment. (It's the Parentification making him think he's only lovable if he's useful, actually, but 🤫) Dick will try to convince you to give the vigilantism a shot, just in a small supporting role for a bank heist or something, but if you put your foot down and insist you aren't interested in crime fighting, he kinda becomes a fish out of water. You don't want your big bro to be your superhero mentor? You're just his baby sibling and that's it? What are you guys supposed to find in common, now? How does he remain lovable to you if you aren't partners in the field?

He'll come around, but you gotta give him some time. Having a civilian sibling is going to do him a surprising amount of good.

Jason was rooting on you not becoming a Robin. He was prepared to do anything and everything to talk you out of it, including kidnapping you and taking you to his apartment in Crime Alley if need be so your other family members can't influence your decision. He doesn't want you to collect scars like trading cards. He doesn't want you learning how to apply a field tourniquet to avoid bleeding out from a gunshot wound. He doesn't want you getting a deeper glimpse of Gotham's rotted underbelly than you absolutely have to. He doesn't want you to die saving a city that takes and takes and takes and very rarely gives back. You are worth more than what you can do for others, and he was gearing up to talk that lesson into you until he was blue in the face.

So I'd like you to picture him just sagging in his seat, thanking a god he doesn't believe in that you're already unwilling to join their seemingly neverending crusade. Then he's gonna sit back up and ask if you wanna go play video games or something.

#el speaks #littlest wayne au #batfam x reader #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 3 days ago

Text

MOST WANTED III (Mafia Boss!Toji x Spy!Self-Insert!Reader x Gangster!Sukuna 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

*IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: THIS WORK CONTAINS R*PE & NONCON SEXUAL ACTS. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS AND READ LIGHTLY.

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Self-Insert!Reader x Sukuna Ryomen (Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You are spiraling six months after your "encounter" and failed mission with Sukuna. You've quit your job as a spy/hit-woman for your agency and you are trying to live a normal life despite the hauntings and hot dreams of two certain criminals. But when a chance reunion happens at a bar with Toji Fushiguro, you realize that you have a chance to make things right for yourself and finally get the fucking your body desperately needs.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS DNI); Reader is Fem, Black & Plus-Sized; (Poorly Written lol) Action Sequence; Kidnapping; Threesome; Dubcon/R*pe; Bondage/Handcuffs; Blindfolding; Sensory Play; Knife Play; Facefuck; Cunnilingus w/ Vibrator; Edge Play; MDom!Toji & Sukuna x fsub!Reader; Mating Press; Doggystyle; Rough Sex; Reader Cums 3x; Facials; Creampies; No Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

READ PART I WITH MAFIA BOSS!TOJI HERE!

Read Part II WITH GANGSTER!SUKUNA HERE!

Writer’s Note: WE ARE HERE AT THE END!! Thank you all so much for reading this little series from the mind of @switchkitty143! I had so much fun writing this series & delving into the dark, kinky world of sex with Toji & Sukuna's evil asses lmaoo. I may continue this series or make a spinoff at some point, but my brain has too many fucking ideas already. Enjoy! -Jazz

*************

Another night spent in a martini glass. ‘What a Friday night,’ you somberly think as you sip on the last morsels of your dirty martini.

When you flag the bartender down, he nods and is already getting you another glass. Despite the fact that he can probably tell that you are drunk as a skunk and don’t need another glass, you also tip like a motherfucker and you’ve been here many times before, getting drunk and being responsible by taking an Uber home instead of driving.

You have been frequenting your local bar way more often now in between your shifts at your new remote job as a data analyst. It is a good job, pays the bills, and allows you to continue to live your life as a nomad which you have become accustomed to for the past six months…not your choice, but it is necessary.

As soon as the bartender lowers down your glass, you snatch it and take another sip of the medicine. You stare at the two empty glasses in front of you, your vision slightly blurry. Your head has become fuzzy, causing the sounds, sights, and tastes around you to be sharper than normal. You can feel eyes on you, rolling over the nylon stockings and burgundy top you paired with your leather jacket despite the bitter cold.

You are drunk and you don’t care. That is why you came tonight, right? To get drunk, meet some hot guy, and forget the fact that you’re a total failure, a nomad, and you gave up a career that used to be your entire life?

It has been six months since you quit your job as a hitwoman at C.O.D.E and since your encounter with Sukuna. The events of that night compiled onto the ones with that damn Toji Fushigiro until you had no choice but to quit. Having two of your targets fuck you out of your mind and get away doesn’t exactly look good on your performance report. So you took one for the team and “extracted” yourself from the situation yourself.

It was hard. God, was it hard. You’ve been working at C.O.D.E. for a long while and it became your life. But more than walking away from a job you have come to love and cherish, you couldn’t stand to see the look in your boss’s eyes when you handed over your badge, gun, and resignation letter. You saw pity. You hated his pity.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, when you walked out of the agency’s doors, you could hear whispers and feel eyes staring at you. The entire floor was silent except for the few hushed voices trying to keep their conversations down. It didn’t work. The entire walk from work to the parking lot felt like you were doing the walk of shame.

You knew people found out about you fucking Toji and Sukuna. You knew people were talking about how slutty and stupid you were. You couldn’t stand the thought of continuing on with the rest of your days trying to ignore the whispers down the lane before your boss fired you (aka took you out back and put you out of your misery), so maybe quitting was the best decision.

And although you keep that in your head, the past six months have been nothing short of a self-loathing hell, mindlessly wandering through each day wasting away in your apartment, shoveling down ice cream and wine, having meaningless sex, and attempting to not cry every morning and night. If you aren’t doing that, you’re working your remote job or going to the bar to get smashed only to repeat the same hellish, depressing cycle.

There is no change and you don’t even know what “change” would look like to you. You feel like you have no future. No excitement. No purpose. No nothing.

At least until you happen to turn your head slightly to the left to look down the bar. You don’t know what makes you look. Maybe the lights were getting brighter. Maybe you heard someone laugh a little too loud. Or maybe you just sensed a certain presence that caught your attention. You realize that it may be the third option when you see one of the men who have been haunting you for months sitting at the bar with a shot of expensive whiskey.

It is impossible to not recognize him. Not with the way he fills out his leather jacket and jeans, how big he is, and the scar at the corner of his lip. You know those cool, gray eyes anywhere. They have haunted you for months, bringing both nightmares and hot dreams that leave you sweating in the night. He is completely unaware that you are staring or that you are even here, just a short walk away down at the bar.

You know you should look away, but you can’t. Your attention is completely drawn to him like a month to a flame…or like a scorned woman to revenge. And that is what you are: a scorned woman. A woman who is angry and broken and in need of getting even. All of that rage comes rushing back the moment you lay eyes on Toji Fushiguro who has the nerve to be in here of all places. Not in prison. Still living his life while yours is crashing down.

All you see is red as you watch Toji pick up his shot glass and drain the amber liquid in it, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his thick neck. You briefly think about snatching the glass from him and smashing it against his head. The violent image is quickly wiped away when he suddenly checks his watch and slips the bartender a crisp $50 bill before rising from his stool and abruptly leaving.

You watch him still, your eyes glued to his moving back as he heads to the side exit leading out into the alleyway. Suddenly, you grab your martini and drain the rest of it before sliding the bartender $20. “Put it all on my tab,” you call to him before you rise from your seat. And then you’re following the criminal in his footsteps, moving as quickly as you can despite your unsteadiness and the risk of tripping in your boots.

But you don’t care. You have a one-track mind now hellbent on seeing Toji face to face and…and what? What will you do? Will you hurt him? Will you confront him? Will you kiss him? Your mind is a muddled, jumbled, drunk mess, jumping from emotion to emotion.

When you finally stumble outside, the cold air is like a shock to your system. You suddenly hear a click and turn to see Toji standing in the alley, his back to you. The orange glow of a lighter flicks, illuminating his clothes and his black hair, against the cold, dark shadows of the alleyway dumpsters. He holds the tiny, flickering flame of the lighter to his lips where a cigarette stick protrudes, lighting the butt until it turns red.

You quietly watch him for a few seconds, shivering. From the cold, yes, but also from how nervous you feel. He truly is an intimidating man. He has made that very clear to you. But you aren’t afraid of him. You can’t be. ‘Fear is weakness,’ you think. So you clear your throat and open your mouth: “Hey,” you call, flinching at the sound of your voice. “Toji, right?”

You see Toji’s shoulders tense at the sound of his name. Slowly, he turns, his big frame blocking off the other end of the alley from you. “Who’s askin’?” he demands, squinting at you in the dark. You step a little closer but still keep a good distance from him in case he tries something. “You don’t remember me.” You lift your head to show him all of your face. Every feature. Every line and curve.

Toji continues to squint, his brows narrow in confusion. He takes a drag from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out between his O-shaped lips, creating a cloud between you. “Should I?” he asks, a slight chuckle in his voice. Then, suddenly, a light of recognition appears over his face.

“Wait…V, right?” he questions. Your body buzzes at the sound of your name escaping his lips.

Toji scoffs like he can’t believe it is really you. Like you’re old friends or something and not the woman he took advantage of and ruined the life of. “Shit…I do remember you. It’s been a long time. How’ve you been, sweetheart?” He gives you a toothy smile that angers you and gives you butterflies.

“Horrible,” you growl. “And it’s all because of you.” All of the venom you have been feeling has laced your tongue and escaped your mouth, embedded in your voice.

Toji’s smile falters an inch, taken aback by your answer. “Uh, sorry?” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side. “I think you’ve got it wrong, sweetheart. I don’t even know what’s goin’ on.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette and exhales the smoke, squinting at you through the thick, gray rings. You scoff to yourself, adrenaline pumping through you. “Of course, you don’t because people like you only think about themselves and not about the harm you cause other people, you selfish dickhead.” You watch his smile slip and his eyes flash with irritation from the insult.

“I lost my job because of you,” you hiss, taking a step toward him. “My career. My entire identity.”

Shockingly, he steps back. “Whoa, wait, wait, wait.” Toji puts his hands up as if calming a crazed wild animal, holding his cig between his thick fore and index fingers. “Look, m’sorry and all, but I didn’t do shit to make that happen. I didn’t sit behind your boss’s desk and fire you, did I?”

His expression is sharp and narrow, his jaw set. You can’t care if you’re playing with fire here. You don’t care what happens. Your anger is too strong, pushing you forward with each thud of your boot. “I should kill you,” you hiss, venom lacing your voice. “I should take you out right now like I should’ve done that night I met you.”

Your hand inches for your back pocket and Toji follows it, not moving but rigid as a board. When you pull your gun out and cock it–click–, he barely even flinches. He is used to this. Perhaps he was even anticipating it. Has he been expecting you at some point, you wonder? “V,” he says, his voice deep and on the hint of a warning. “You need to back up right now and take that gun away from me. You don’t want none of this.”

He drops his cigarette and lets it die out on the payment. Unlike your anger, it snuffs out like a light and the smoke wisps through the air like ghosts. Though your hand shakes, you keep it aimed at his face. The same face that has followed you and taunted you for months now. “Yes, I do,” you growl. “I want it all, you evil motherfucker.”

Crash!

Something attracts your attention from behind just for a second. It sounds like a glass breaking inside the bar or someone falling outside. Either way, it is enough time for Toji to make his attack. As soon as you turn back around, he grabs your wrist and twists it. With a grunt of pain, you are forced to drop the gun. Hopelessly, you watch it clatter to the pavement before Toji kicks it away to somewhere behind a dumpster.

With a growl of anger and determination, you use your knee to nail him right in the balls. His face twists in pain and his hold slips, allowing you to break free and nail him in the jaw with a right hook. His head flies back from the impact and your knuckles flare from them hitting solid bone. It is a sweet ache. You go to punch him again, but he stops you with one hand blocking your fist.

With a grunt, he twirls you around and shoves you into a nearby wall, your front pressing up against the bricks while his front presses into your back. You grunt in desperation, trying to wriggle free, but he presses harder. “Y’know, I don’t hit girls,” he sighs, “but I do fight bitches.”

Bitch?

Thinking quick, you open your mouth and sink your teeth into Toji’s arm that is pinning your hand to the wall. He grunts in pain before you snatch your hand free and elbow him in the stomach. When you turn around, he is absolutely furious, staring you down with a look that would make a man shake in his boots. “Let’s see what you’ve got then, dickhead,” you hiss, putting your fists up and assuming the position for a brawl.

Toji smirks at you, a quiet deviousness in his eyes. He sizes you up for a moment before he lunges at you. You jump back against the wall and quickly move out of the way, causing him to nearly crash into the wall. Using that as an opening, you pounce on him and lock your arms around his neck, attempting to strangle him. He grunts, gripping your hands as he tightens his neck, making it thicker. He then stands on unsteady knees and tries to throw you off, but you’re not letting go.

Toji laughs, his voice raspier now with his throat constricted. “Not bad,” he grunts. “Maybe losin’ your job at that whack-ass agency was what you needed. Now let me go.”

But you don’t. You hold on tighter, squeezing his neck with your elbow. Toji grunts again, this time in pain, and falls back onto his knees. You are almost fully on top of him now, nearly strangling him. “C’mon, V, lay off,” he huffs. “That hurts.”

It should hurt. You want him in pain. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your gun glistening underneath a dumpster just a foot away. You could reach it with your foot and kick it over to you.

You could kill this fucker right here. Take him out and show your boss that you got at least one criminal that you were tasked to get. You can complete your mission.

But Toji’s big, veiny, calloused hands stop you short. Not yet. Unfortunately for you, you’ve still got unfinished business with him and that business includes curing your horniness for him for good.

“Not until you give me the answer I’m looking for,” you whisper in his ear.“I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately and I remember that you told me if we ever cross paths again, you’d let me join your side.”

You loosen your grip on his neck, allowing him to take a proper breath. “Well, I’ve decided that I’ll do it: I want to be your hitwoman.”

Finally, you release him and step back, allowing him to do what he wishes at this moment to you. All he does is turn to face you and then slowly stands, using the brick wall for support. You stifle a laugh as you watch him. You like seeing him struggle. His gray eyes roll up and down your body, sizing you up as he rubs his throat. “What’s the catch?” he asks, suspicious.

As he should be. You can’t exactly blame the guy since you almost strangled him to death. You shake your head, offering him a smirk that is probably slightly off-putting. You kind of like intimidating him. “No catch. I just figured since I’m as close to you as anyone at my agency, I can help you and you can help me by letting me use my skills again.”

Toji stares at you in utter disbelief, still rubbing his neck. “For evil?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. “Isn’t that, like, totally against everything you used to work for?” You huff to yourself, rolling your eyes. “What else am I gonna do, Toji?” you rhetorically ask. “Even if I get another job at an agency, we’d probably cross paths again because you’re on every government agency’s radar.”

The man stops short of his next smart-ass remark and looks as if he is finally taking in what you are saying. To make him trust you at least an inch more, you back away from your gun, leaving it lying where it is. You raise your hands in defense, letting the cool air slip between your fingers. “I have no attacks left. No games. No weapons. Nothing. Just give me a chance.”

This can either go one of two ways: he either walks away from you now and leaves you totally humiliated or he takes that gun and shoots you dead. You are prepared for both at this point. There is no way that he will–

“Fine,” he agrees. You gape at him, shocked, but nothing in his face reads that he is playing around here. Nothing about Toji Fushiguro says “playing around” as long as you’ve known him. “But if you want to prove yourself to me, you’ll have to do it my way…and prove it to someone else.”

“Who?” you demand, blinking at him. Your heart is hammering in your chest and your body is buzzing, kicking your fight or flight into gear. He suddenly begins sauntering up to you, the scarred corner of his mouth lifted up in a slight smirk. You back away the more he gets closer until your back collides with the brick wall behind you. Toji looms over you like a damn villain, his face shrouded in darkness. “You’ll see. Sorry for this.” Suddenly, in a flash, his hand is gripping your hair and slamming the side of your head into the wall. Pain explodes in your skull and your vision blurs as you lose your footing and collapse onto the pavement.

Faintly, you sense Toji kneel beside you and smell the mint gum and whiskey on his breath as he leans in toward you. “Nighty-night, mama,” he whispers before pressing his lips to your cheek. Then everything is dark.

************

The next time you wake up, you are in a soft bed that isn’t your own.

You don’t jolt awake and shoot up out of bed. It is a slow awakening….and you coming to consciousness. The last thing you remember is blackness.

But now, all of that is replaced with a luxurious king-sized bed and a soft, wine-colored duvet that you’re currently underneath. Your clothes are also gone, leaving you exposed in your lace bra and thong panties that you got from Soma. You had worn them to the bar in an effort to be “prepared” for a possible hookup.

You finally sit up and hiss at the ache at the side of your head. Your brain feels like a sledgehammer is knocking against it. You go to rub it, only for your fingers to caress a quarter-sized lump at the base of your scalp. ‘What the hell?’ you think. Where did that come from? Did you run into something while talking with Toji in the bar’s alleyway?

In an attempt to jumpstart your memory, you look around at your new surroundings, noticing the large window overlooking the late-night sky of Tokyo displayed in front of you. You have no idea what time it is, but you know it has to be somewhere in the AM hours. On your right-hand side is a lounge area with burgundy and black armchairs and a couch staring at a flat-screen mounted on the wall.

To your left is a polished kitchen, mini-bar, and the door. Are you in a hotel suite? A penthouse? “Where am I?” you ask aloud.

“Don’t worry about it,” a rasped, deep voice answers you. You gasp, turning back to face the lounge area and squinting into the darkness to try and make out a face. A limb. A body. You see absolutely nothing until a light flickers on. Sitting in an armchair with his ringed finger wrapped in the chain of the lamp at his side is someone no short of the Devil himself. “Just be glad we have ya luxury. You coulda woke up in a warehouse.”

Your body tenses and your heartbeat increases dramatically at the sight of the spiked, pink-haired, tattooed gangster clad in a black tank top, jeans, and a gold chain necklace that hangs down to his tatted pectorals peeking from underneath his top. Sukuna. You thought for sure that you would never see this man again. “You,” you exhale.

Sukuna smirks at you, taking a sip of the amber liquid in his glass. “Me.”

He sits back in his chair and watches you over the rim of his glass, his crimson eyes hunting you despite you already being present. You grip the duve to your chest, hiding yourself from him. “What are you doing here?” you hiss. “Where are my clothes? Where’s Toji?”

Like clockwork (or being summoned like the demon he is), Toji comes waltzing out of the door behind you on your left, scaring the hell out of you. He is laughing as he does, dressed in black sweats, polo socks, and a white tank top that is way too tight on him and defines every single muscle of his upper torso. “Whoa, whoa, little V,” he chuckles. “One question at a time. You’ll give yourself a damn heart attack….or make that head throb even more.”

He stops at your bedside, peering down to look at you. He looks almost apologetic as he stares at your face. “Sorry ‘bout that bump, by the way. If it’s any consolation, you still look damn gorgeous.” He gives you a smirk and a glass of water that you didn’t notice he was holding. You hesitantly take it and take a tiny, suspicious lick of the cool liquid before you slowly sip it.

Sukuna rises from his seat, making an irritated grunt. “Cut the sweet talk, Fushiguro. We ain’t here to woo the bitch.” His eyes, just as menacing and devious as the night you met him at the masquerade ball, bore into yours, gluing you to your spot on the bed. You snap your head around to glare at Toji. “What’s going on?” you demand. “Why is he here?”

Toji’s brows raise in surprise at you, unswayed by your scornful expression and steely tone. “Oh, you ain’t know? We’re in business together—have been for a couple of months now. I thought your agency was aware.” He gives you a toothy grin that pisses you off even more. Sukuna chuckles, sauntering over to you in his boots. “Shit, me too. You people have been keepin’ tabs on us for a while now, pissin’ me off…”

He holds a toothpick in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and soft lips. The bottom lip is pierced now and you just see the slight glint of another piercing in his tongue. He regards you with a less-than-sympathetic expression though his lips twitch into a smirk. “So you quit, huh? What’s up with that?”

He stands on your right while Toji looms over you on your right, the both of them trapping you in the bed. You feel like a prisoner. “I needed a change,” you quietly lie, clutching the duvet closer to your chest. “I’m sure he already told you.” Toji chuckles, liking your bite. “Oh, he did,” Sukuna replies, flicking his toothpick away to somewhere across the room. “I just can’t help but think you’re up to somethin’ if you’re so adamant to be under our wing.”

He too sizes you up, reading between your lines like you’re an open book. You roll your eyes, threw with their suspicions. “What the fuck do I have to lose?” you ask, exasperated. “I’m not even in law enforcement anymore! I have nothing!” You spread your hands towards them, flipped up and open-palmed. Empty.

You watch the two gangsters look at each other, silently conversing with one another until they come to a joint decision. Toji’s smirk widens while Sukuna only wears a tight-lipped expression that makes you feel nervous about what is to come. What could they possibly do to you?

“You really wanna prove yourself to us?” he asks.

You aren’t sure if you should even answer. But what else can you do? And more importantly…what will they do to you if you don’t answer? Swallowing roughly, you nod.

“Then kneel.” You blink, not expecting those two threatening words to come from Sukuna’s mouth. You stare at him and then at Toji, wide-eyed and stunned into silence. This is really happening. And you can’t stop it.

Biting your tongue and swallowing back your fear, you slowly position yourself to kneel on the bed, but Sukuna’s angered expression stops you short. “No,” he barks. “On the floor.” Biting your lip, you slide off of the bed and onto the floor, obediently sitting with your palms placed facedown in your lap. You sit at the feet of the two sexy, dangerous men, staring down at the floor and regretting your life choices. “There you go,” Toji coos. “That’s a good girl.”

He places a hand on your head, gently petting your hair. A shiver runs through you at the unexpected praise and he notices. “Yeah?” he teases. “You like bein’ called a good girl?”

To subtract the pleasure, Sukuna takes lockful of your hair and yanks it, bringing his mouth to your ear. “You’d better answer right,” he growls. “I don’t have the patience for bratty bitches.”

The sting mixes with Toji’s gentle strokes, creating a confusing cocktail of pain and pleasure. “Y-Yes, sirs,” you stammer. A hand grips your chin and forces you to stare up into two sets of intense, lustful eyes. “And you’re gonna do whatever we say, right?” Toji adds, his voice silky and smooth. “Because you wanna prove that you can be good and follow instructions, right?”

“Yes, sirs,” you repeat. Sukuna releases his harsh hold on your hair, flicking the strands. “Then you’re gonna sit there and let us tie you up, blindfold you, and then do whatever the fuck we want with you,” he sternly says. “And you’re not gonna complain or bitch or moan. You’re gonna let us use you as much as we want to because that’s what you signed up for.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire from the inside. Your entire being buzzes to run. To fight. To be away from them….but at the same time, you’re tempted to stay. “Now be a good slut and close those eyes,” Toji demands. You do as you’re told, doing your best to not shake, even as you hear sudden noises. Even as you feel your wrists being forced behind your back and bound along with your ankles. Even as you feel a blindfold fall onto your eyes, darkening your vision. Even as you feel the cold blade of a knife slice off your bra, leaving your breasts exposed.

You are completely naked, blind, bound, and at the mercy of the two men in the room. “Comfortable?” Sukuna asks.

“No,” you answer, your wrists already aching from being restricted.

“Good,” he deadpans. “Now lean forward and hike that ass in the air.”

Slowly, you tilt yourself forward in an effort to not crash into the floor, but Toji helps you, keeping a hand on your back. You hear the two audibly groan at the sight of your plump ass in their faces when you’ve assumed the desired position, your cheek squished against the floor. There is no warning to the several harsh slaps that the two men give you, open-palmed and without mercy. The burning sensation you feel on both cheeks is intense, the loud sounds of their hands colliding with your butt evidence of how hard they are hitting you.

SPANK!

“Ow!” you exclaim, flinching at the harsh spank. Sukuna gives your asscheek a scrape with his teeth, making you flinch. “Shut up,” he demands. “You knew what you were in for when you decided to pursue him outside the bar. Just who the fuck do you think you are, huh?”

“Aw, I like hearin’ her sing,” Toji cackles. “She’s so adorable like this.” His big hand cascades down your stinging ass, soothing the fiery sensation. Sukuna is less gentle, instead opting to give your pussy a couple of smacks over your panties. “As soon as he hit me up, I shot over here just to get the chance to use you again.”

Snip-snip. The knife cuts through your panties with ease, leaving your cunt exposed to the cool air and the two men. You do your best to not shake. “And you’re goin’ to enjoy it: because that’s what sluts like. And you’ll really like this shit.” You hear a buzzing sound and already know what they are planning for you.

You can’t run or hide or squirm when Sukuna presses the vibe against your clit as he begins eating your pussy, his soft lips and tongue caressing your slit. You moan into the floor at each long lick that he gives you, start with your slit and prying your lips open to slurp you straight from the source. The buzzing sensations from the vibe are too intense, each vibration rocking you to your core and quickly making you soaked. “Ah!” you gasp. “W-Wait, it’s too much!”

“That’s ‘cause it’s on the highest setting, baby girl,” Toji chuckles, watching Sukuna lick you down. “Don’t squirm or even think about grindin’ that pussy against that toy. You won’t like what we’ll do next if you do.”

Click-click.

Your body freezes at the familiar sound of a gun cocking. Of course, they would have a fun. Sukuna stops his eating and his hand suddenly grips your hair, forcing you to sit up. Your new position causes the vibe to settle between your thighs underneath you, pushing itself right up against your pussy. The cool barrel of the gun presses against your wobbly lips. “Suck on it, babes,” Toji coos. “C’mon, you’ve done it before. You know exactly how to put those lips to work.”

With no choice in the matter, you open your mouth and allow Toji to slowly insert the gun into your mouth. And you suck. No matter how afraid or how much your body is fighting against it, you bob your head up and down as if you’re sucking a cock, hollowing your cheeks along the cold metal barrel. “Aaaatta girl,” Toji teasingly drawls out. “Open that throat for us.”

You whimper around the gun as the toy continues to buzz against your cunt, making you sobbing wet. You feel that it is against your will…is it? Is anyone of this? The lines are becoming blurry now. “Enough of this shit,” Sukuna growls. “She needs to suck on somethin’ else now. That’s why she’s here.”

Toji huffs, but fortunately takes the gun out of your mouth now slick with spit. “So impatient. Whatever happened to foreplay?” You hear the rustle of clothes and you already know what is coming next. Minty breath fans over your face and soft lips kiss the shell of your ear. “Want somethin’ else in that mouth, mama?” he whispers.

He doesn’t wait for an answer…and neither does Sukuna judging by the very real, very warm, and very hard cocks suddenly lightly tapping your face. “Instead of one big cock, you get two! Aren’t you a lucky slut!” You make a noise between a whimper and a grunt as one cock pushes past your lips and settles on your tongue.

“God, I’ve been fuckin’ waitin’ for this,” Toji sighs, already moving his cock past the threshold of your soft, wet mouth to intrude your throat. You gag, not quite ready for him yet, but you open your throat in an attempt to yawn as he begins fucking it like he would a toy. Spit begins to drip from your mouth as he fucks your face, allowing him to do so more easily. “Not bad, baby doll,” he grunts. “You’re better cocksucker than a fighter honestly.”

Sukuna chuckles, the sound rumbly and deep. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He grabs the back of your neck and forces you to take him now, shoving his cock deep down your throat until his balls touch your chin. “That’s it,” he groans, rolling his hips against your face. “Take me. Just like you need.” He is more ferrous in his fucking than Toji is, gripping the back of your head to pull you back and forth onto his dick.

Toji hums pleasantly as he watches you–the beautiful little slut blindfolded and bound–get face-fucked like there is no tomorrow by a grunting and groaning Sukuna, his face as flushed as his pink hair. “Slow your roll, Ryomen,” he chuckles. “Don’t forget that I’m here too.” You feel his hard cock slap against your cheek, his sticky head dripping with pre.

They take turns using your mouth like this, grabbing your hair to push you back and forth between them, forcefully fucking your face. You have no choice but to go along with it, relaxing your jaw as much as possible despite how much it aches. They are too fucking big! How the hell did you do this before?

But no matter how rough they are fucking your mouth, the fact that it turns you on remains. The toy buzzing against your sloppy, sobbing wet cunt knows it–it slides against your lips and continues to send those intense, merciless, damn pleasurable vibrations throughout your needy little button, making it almost impossible for you not to cum. It just happens. While Toji is fucking your face, complimenting you on your “goddamn beautiful mouth”, you moan around his cock as your pussy unravels on the toy.

The men notice. Of course, they do. “Stop,” Sukuna orders Toji, glaring down at your whimpering, quivering lips. He tuts at you as if you’re no more than a bug. “Cumming without permission, huh?” he sighs. “‘Dumb slut just doesn’t know when to quit. Guess it can’t be helped.”

Once Toji has got his dick out of your mouth, Sukuna roughly bends you over and replaces the toy with his mouth. “Let’s see how you’ll do this time around,” he hisses before his tongue is invading your pussy, making your quivering walls and each muscle even more tender and sensitive from his relentless tongue-fucking. “S-Sukuna, wait!” you wail, desperately panting and wailing from his mouth.

“But nothin’,” Toji growls, his cock sinking back into your mouth. “Nothin’ but you takin’ the rest of this dick. C’mon, pretty girl…don’t you wanna please your new boss?” His chuckle is almost evil as he fucks your mouth once more, his hands indulging in your soft tummy and ass, smacking the beautiful globes as Sukuna greedily laps at your cunt. You thought that the vibrator was intense? Sukuna’s mouth tops that by far. His soft lips and long tongue caress every single part of your pussy and clit, alternating between slurping at both, drinking you in like a starved man.

It doesn’t take you long for another orgasm to rise to the surface, forcefully so. Sukuna can feel it in the way your pussy tightens around his moving, swirling tongue as Toji groans, plap-plap-plapping away at your mouth. “Hold it,” the pink-haired gangster growls, sending vibrations throughout your pussy. “Tell us you’re ours and you can cum. Don’t you dare fuckin’ disobey me.”

Gasps and moans leave your lips, your fingers and toes curling at the pleasurable sensations and the sheer willpower it takes for you not to cum. “Tell us, mama,” Toji moans, tapping your chin with his fingers. “Tell us that this body is ours and we’ll make you cum as many times as you need to.”

And you do. Goddammit, you do. You’ll do anything it takes to just cum. It is too much for your body to hold on and not release. “I’m yours!” you sob. “I promise I’m yours!” Your beautiful voice crying out for them both is enough to make both men stick their cocks in you and rail you until they fill you up. Finally, finally, you are allowed to cum after you commit the ultimate sin and sign of disrespect to yourself. “Do it,” Sukuna growls into your pussy. “Cum for me. Don’t deny me, V.”

It takes a while to build, but once it does, it comes crashing down like a house of cards, washing over you. As your pussy cums into Sukuna’s waiting mouth, the gangster quickly tears himself away from you and slides his cock inside of you without warning. You let out a high-pitched yelp at the sudden stretch just as you are in the throes of your second orgasm.

Sukuna leans down to nibble on your ear, his teeth catching your earlobe. “Gotcha,” he whispers. He grabs your hips, digging his nails in, and proceeds to slowly rock into you, giving you both a chance to get used to each other. Unfortunately for you, he feels good. Horribly, sinfully, disgustingly good. The way he stretches out the velvety, wet walls of your pussy and creates sloppy, squelching sounds whenever he thrusts add to the tingles of pleasure in your core that grow with every passing second.

Sukuna grunts in your ear, overcome by how tight and wet you are. You grip him like a vice, tempting him to get closer by gripping your ass with one greedy hand while the other toys with one of your juicy, dripping tits. Toji watches on, pumping his cock with one fist in your face by your blindfolded eyes. “How’s she feel, man?” he asks, his tone husky and low. Sukuna’s hooded gaze briefly meets his before falling back down to your jiggling ass. “Fuckin’....fuck,” he groans.

Toji tosses his head back and laughs as if that was the funniest shit he has ever heard. “I knew it was a good idea to stalk your pretty ass!” he guffaws, giving your ass a hard smack. Your brows narrow, confused by his statement. “What, you really thought us meetin’ at the same bar was a friendly coincidence?” he chuckles. “I’ve been after your ass ever since that night at the strip club.”

Oh, no. OH, NO.

“And when we started workin’ together, I knew it’d only be a matter of time till we met again,” Sukuna adds, wrapping a hand around your throat. “Ad now here we are.” He squeezes, causing you to let out a wheezed gasp as he sinks his cock in deeper, his balls slapping against your clit. “C’mon, fuck me back. You don’t get to just enjoy this shit. You’ve gotta work for it.”

You do your best to rock yourself back, only causing him to fuck you harder. The sounds of his balls slapping your clit and your ass colliding with his thighs echoes throughout the hotel room along with your moans and his deep, guttural grunts. You’ve never been fucked like this before–so rough and ferocious. No man could ever fuck you and make you feel such a way or take you out of yourself. “Oh, my God!” you bellow, losing all composure.

Sukuna chuckles, massaging your throat as he continues to plow your pussy just right, nailing that spot that makes you see stars over and over again. “Thanks, but not quite, baby,” he sniggers. “Guess the dick has got that brain goin’ stupid, huh?”

Toji cackles, massaging his cock head against your soft, juicy lips. “Stupid is a nice look on her,” he comments, chuckling. “You look so pretty takin’ cock, sugar. Now isn’t this better than fightin’ in a dark alleyway?”

You don’t respond. You can’t. The act of talking has completely left your brain as the man behind you fucks your pussy off of its hinges, rutting into you and grabbing your ass for leverage. His fingers dig into the flesh of your buttocks, the sting of it mixing with the pleasurable sting you feel from his cock repeatedly plunging in and out of you.

You can tell that he is close when his moans start increasing, getting louder, and his cock starts swelling inside of you. “Take it,” he hisses into your ear. “Take this shit. Just like a good girl should.” And without warning, he finally blows his load inside of you with a loud moan that nearly triggers your own orgasm. You gasp as you feel a warm shot of his cum enter you, filling you up.

Sukuna purrs–no shit, he actually purrs–as he nuzzles his face into your ear, nipping at your cheek with his teeth. “That’s a good girl,” he whispers, still softly groaning as the rest of his spunk escapes him and enters you.

Once exhaustion and post-nut clarity kick in, he slowly slides out of you, emitting a weak moan from both of you. His cum drips from your pussy and down your thighs, making them slick. Toji smiles at you, looking proud of your ‘accomplishment’.

“Not bad, baby,” he chuckles. “I was sure he fucked you out of your mind.”

And he did. You are so dizzy, dazed, and disoriented that it feels like your head has been dunked underwater. Your eardrums are throbbing. You’re in need of air despite your lungs filling with it every time you inhale to catch your breath.

“Uncuff her,” Toji orders. “I wanna lay her down.” There is a pause, obviously because Sukuna is giving him a WTF look. “She’s not gonna go nowhere,” Toji scoffs. “The girl can’t even breathe!”

And you can’t. The exhaustion is too intense to even think about an escape route. That is why you let Sukuna uncuff your aching wrists and ankles. And you let Toji lie you down on the floor on your back. You feel him on top of you, hovering over you. “Hey.” Tap-tap. You feel his hand lightly smack your cheek. “You good, baby?” he asks. “Talk to me.”

Somehow, you find the willpower and energy to speak: “Y-Yes,” you stammer. The criminal is pleased. “Good. I need you alive and lookin’ at me when I fuck you.” Without another word, he snatches your blindfold off to allow you to see his face twist in ecstasy as he slides his hard cock inside of you. Your eyes squeeze shut as he fills you just as Sukuna had, stretching out your wet walls and tenderizing your cunt. You can’t take it. It’s too much. Your pussy is about to burst!

Toji grips your chin hard, damn near imprinting his fingerprints into your chin. “Look at me,” he demands, his handsome face flushed, black strands of his hair falling in his face. “You look at nothin’ but me while I fuck this pussy, got it?” You don’t answer. You can’t–not while he is slowly and deeply filling your pussy with his cock, plunging in and out of you, drawing weak moans and sobs out of your tired, aching body.

Suddenly, Sukuna’s cock head is pressed against your lips as his hand wraps tightly around the base, pumping himself in your face. “Sorry, baby doll,” he chuckles. “Couldn’t help myself. Lucky for you, all you gotta do is lie there and take it.” He hovers above your head, his balls hanging down to lightly brush against your nose as he strokes himself away to the sight of Toji fucking you dumb in mating press.

They use you. Take you. Break you. With every thrust of Toji’s hard, throbbing, pulsing cock, you know that you will never be the same. Toji digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass, fully mounted on you and drilling his cock into you. “Keep this shit up and you’ll make a very nice hitwoman for us,” he chuckles. “Maybe even our personal fucktoy. Wouldn’t that be a job!”

Wouldn’t it? No responsibilities. No missions. You would just get paid to suck and fuck these two mobsters. You would just lie on your back, hike your legs in the air, and let them use your holes as much as they want to, day or night, rain or shine. Your job would just to be a slut for them.

And so far, you’re doing a good job at that when you watch Toji’s face. His eyes roll to the back of his head, showing the whites of his eyeballs, as his thrusts become harder and fast paced.

“M’close,” he warns. “‘Bout to fill this pussy up. Make me cum, baby V.” You grip his forearms and hold onto him as he rails you harder, faster, making your tits and tummy jiggle with the force of his fucking.

Finally, with a moan louder than Sukuna’s, Toji explodes inside of you, releasing rope after rope of cum inside of your pussy. You can’t help it: you cum too. Sparks of electric pleasure shock you from the inside out as your pussy tightens and flexes around the hard cock inside of you, drawing your third orgasm out of you. Seconds later, Sukuna gives a guttural groan and busts another load onto your lips, coating them in his spunk.

“Taste me,” he demands. You open your mouth, allowing him to slip the head in and gently fuck your mouth, letting his cum settle onto your tastebuds. Meanwhile, Toji is pushing the rest of his load inside of you, soft grunts leaving his lips, quite possibly knocking you up…or maybe Sukuna did too? You don’t know. You can’t find it in you to care right now.

Finally, Toji slows his thrusts and pulls his cock out of you, causing his cum to leak from your cunt and mix with Sukuna’s. He leans back onto his haunches, his toned body dripping in perspiration. “Consider yourself hired,” he pants. “You’ve convinced us well.” He gives you a smirk, a playful glint in his grey eyes. Sukuna chuckles, slipping his now-flaccid cock out of your mouth.

You feel tired. Sticky. Achy. Used. You should ask where your clothes are and get out of here as fast as you can to avoid what will happen next. But the only thing in your head is how you need to be clean. “Can I use your shower please?” you rasp out. They are the first words that you’ve actually spoken in an hour since the sex began.

The two gangsters give you a curious look, still kneeling before you, naked and coated in sweat. “Can ya walk?” Toji asks, raising an eyebrow. You slowly nod, standing on your own despite how unsteady and wobbly you feel. They watch you as you find your clothes and take them with you to the bathroom. You can feel their eyes burning into you as you go. Even when you close the door, you feel them staring.

After digging into your jacket for your phone and setting it on the sink, you leave your clothes discarded on the floor and turn the shower on. The showerhead is the kind that has jets that remind you of rainforest waterfalls, steamy and fresh. You immediately step in and sigh, the hot water taking everything away–the sweat, the spunk, the exhaustion. All of what you just did gets swept down the drain.

As you begin washing yourself with the lemongrass soap left on the inside, you hear your phone ding and you smile. Your smile only deepens as each second passes and you hear Toji and Sukuna talk among themselves outside the door. They have no idea. Not yet.

And then you hear it.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

You don’t flinch or jump or drop the tiny bottle of body wash. You know they are here. You were counting on it. “Who the fuck is that?!” Sukuna barks over the rushing water in your ears.

“Police!” a loud, booming voice bellows from behind the hotel door. “Open up now or we’re kicking the door down!”

The sound of running footsteps as the two criminals lose their shit makes you giggle as you continue to peacefully wash away. “Shhhhit!” Toji hisses. “Who the fuck called the fuckin’ cops?!”

“I told you we couldn’t trust that bitch!” Sukuna angrily hollers.

And then you hear a crash and splintering wood as the door comes crashing down. There is loud shouting. Booming footsteps. The cocking of guns. Thudding against the wall from possible fighting. “Toji Fusiguro and Sukuna Ryomen, you are under arrest,” one of the officers announces.

With a smile, you shut off the running water and finally strut out of the bathroom, fresh and clean. You grab your phone and snatch up a rope left hanging on the hooks beside the shower, sighing at the soft fabric as it hits your skin and falls to your ankles. When you open the door, you are greeted by an officer in full gear already standing at the bathroom door, prepared to kick it down. “Are you V L/N?” he questions.

You nod, calm and collected. “I am.” Even as the sight before you isn’t calm or collected: Sukuna and Toji are pressed to the floor on their stomachs, luckily semi-clothed…and very angry. Two officers are sitting on their legs, pinning them down as they handcuff them. Among the officers, you see C.O.D.E. agents checking out the scene, plastic gloves on their hands to avoid contaminating evidence.

When you and your boss lock eyes, you feel a rush of gratitude and like everything is going to be okay. “V!” he yells, immediately moving towards you. “Are you alright? How long were you here for? We lost track of you at some point.”

You give him a smile, shaking your head. You are fine. You are more than fine.

Slowly, you turn towards the two men who have been haunting and destroying your life for months lying helpless on the floor, cuffed and restricted. You kneel down in front of them and they follow your every move like you’re a crazed animal.

“You think you two were the only ones doin’ some stalking?” you ask, your voice cool and quiet. “I’ve been stalking you two for weeks now, using everything C.O.D.E. provided on you.”

You watch as a light of realization flickers in Sukuna and Toji’s eyes. They had no idea and you were counting on it. When you left your agency that first day, you made sure to stop by the file room and snatch Toji’s file after keeping Sukuna’s with you. You studied them for weeks, including their locations, before you started doing your own research.

And then started talking to guys who knew guys who knew other guys who knew Toji and Sukuna. You paid them, of course, for their time, and began following your targets. To different cities. Hotels. Restaurants. Clubs. Sitting in your unmarked car with the windows tinted. Pressed against buildings, straining to ear conversations. Sitting close enough to hear but not be so obvious or suspicious. Your skills as a hitwoman came in mighty useful hand.

And then finally, when Toji ended up on your side of town, you knew the time to act was now. So you texted your boss your plan that very night and told him to keep track of you by your bugged phone. You kept the C.O.D.E. tracker on your phone for just this reason: to finally bag these two fuckers the way you should’ve months before. It has all come together.

You stare each of them in the eye, willing them to see the finality of their situation in them. “You two are sloppy criminals,” you growl. “If you’re going to fuck a hit-woman, you should make sure that her phone isn’t bugged.”

Toji blankly stares at you, giving you the impression that he may not have clearly heard you…but then he smiles. Really smiles, all of his pearly teeth shining at you. It is unnerving yet beautiful. As he is hauled up by two officers, he gives you a once-over, his grey eyes roaming over your body. “Not bad, babe,” he comments. “Not bad at all.”

But Sukuna is way less appraisal or accepting. As the officers hike him up in his boxers, keeping hold on him because of how much he fights, he gives you a glare that is full of a thousand scalding fires that are painful and rageful. Not at all lustful or passionate. “You may have won this now, but it’s short-lived,” he hisses. “It’s only a matter of time until I get out and when I do, I’m comin’ straight for you. That’s a fuckin’ promise.” He practically spits the word at you, staring at you like you’re the enemy.

You know you are. You knew that despite all of what they just did to you, you would be seen as nothing more than the villain in their story after all of this went down. So you play the part. With a small smirk, your shoulders back, and an unwavering, determined look as you stare into his crimson eyes, you answer him: “Don’t worry, Sukuna–I’ll be waiting.”

The officers don’t wait for you to see Sukuna’s reaction. They haunt him and Toji off by their cuffed arms while four others keep their guns aimed at the two criminals in case they try something. You stand there in your robe, watching them as they are dragged away out of the hotel suite.

Your boss lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, firmly squeezing it. “V, are you okay?” he worriedly asks.

You turn to him and it feels as if for the first time in months, a weight has been lifted off of you. No more nightmares. No more urges. No more hauntings. You feel nothing but peace. Finally.

“I’ve never felt better, sir.”

THE END.

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #my fic shit #jjk smut #sukuna x black reader #sukuna ryoumen smut #toji smut #toji x black!reader #plus sized reader #mama i'm in love with a criminal #commission fill

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st4r-struckz · 3 days ago

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i've been lurking around the rosekiller tag for a long while and i see a lot of people asking for rosekiller-centric fic recs, so if anyone cares here's my hand-picked list of rosekiller fic recs. this includes a lot of the popular ones but also some less-popular and very underrated ones (i think). anyways hopefully i'm doing this right cuz i've never posted on here before soo pls be kind if i make a mistake abt something idk.

this includes both long/multi-chapter fics and one shots btw.

also be warned; this is pretty long even though i tried to keep things short-ish (but i can't help it these are all such good fics i have to talk about them!!!). if you want the rough-ish approximation of this list in the form of a spreadsheet with more details (me ranting about how much i love these fics), click here.

LONG FICS (or basically just more than 1 chapter fics)

why do stars fall down from the sky, every time that you walk by by ricecake_13 (E, 117k, 17/?) this is actually my favorite ongoing rosekiller fic ever oh my god, it's a modern high school au with lots of povs and ships though rosekiller is the main one. beautifully written, gorgeous plot/pacing, amazing characterization, incredibly underrated, please read this it's a masterpiece.

The Blood of Hyacinthus by writingamarie (M, 175k, 14/20) another one of my fav ongoing fics, it's a canon compliant rosekiller fic (ravenclaw barty my beloved!!!) starting from first year all throughout the war. this is probably the best portrayal of canon compliant rosekiller i've seen, they aren't portrayed as poor kids who got roped into the war, they made their own decisions, and i love it so much.

Just Deserts by paletragedycat (M, 700k, 43/?) i'm at around like chapter 10 of this absolute beast of a fic and i am begging you guys to give this fic more attention. it's absolutely incredibly written with a fantastic plot, gorgeous characterization, this fic is absolutely insane like. this deserves to be like the crimson rivers of rosekiller. the plot is lowkey kinda hard to explain but umm. some of them are detectives, some of them are bodyguards, some of them are criminals. super cool. this fic is actually just so so impressive and so incredibly underrated it hurts.

sun tea in the summer by cademygod (NR, 44k, 10/12) this is THE rosekiller coming of age story i swear, modern au that starts when they're kids and each chapter they age 1 year, super cute and fluffy, i am such a sucker for childhood friends to lovers tropes omg.

Evan Rosier and the Unbearable Weight of his Own Decisions by Mylifeisaworm (E, 145k, 35/?) another great portrayal of canon compliant rosekiller, i really love how this one features all the slytherins we typically don't like (snape, mulciber, wilkes, etc.) bc it makes this fic feel even more realistic. this is a super awesome take on canon rosekiller and i love it.

Head Over Feet by sanguinerose (E, 136k, 27/27) i'm sure you guys have heard of this one but it's a modern au, super great, it's everything i've ever wanted from a rosekiller high school au. and evan is french btw god i love french evan rosier so much.

PRETTY BOY by IvyCore (E, 96k, 10/10) this is part of a series, the first part is SUGAR HIGH which is a jegulus fic but honestly this can probably?? be read without reading that one first (even though i still super recommend it). barty is a sex worker and a pianist and evan is a restaurant owner and this is just so so good omg.

intermission by bizarrestars (M, 43k, 4/4) very sure you all have heard of this fic (and for good reason too, it's fantastic) but in case you haven't it's a no voldemort au but still at hogwarts and in the same universe as just lovers (jegulus, also amazing, like the second marauders fic i read i think). this is so sweet and fluffy and cute and this fic is what got me into rosekiller i think soo yeah.

Tug by pressedink (E, 70k, 12/?) rosekiller dating app au where they pair two strangers together in an apartment and they can do whatever except they can't kiss or else they can never seen each other again. except barty and evan are not strangers. i loove this fic, and it's super smutty if that's up your alley. (did i use that phrase right? i feel like i didn't but whatever.)

Beneath the Mask by orphan_account (T, 105k, 44/44) okay this one is a really interesting concept, it's broken up into two timelines: one following them during their hogwarts years and the other following evan while he navigates life after the wizarding war. idk it's a bit hard to explain but. you'll see. so yeah all the war stuff does happen but they both survive afterwards. i really enjoyed this, it was a really interesting take on the whole war situation.

A Truthful Joke by justreadandwritex (T, 30k, 9/9) best friends to lovers au set at hogwarts but idk if voldemort exists (if he does he's not mentioned). just rosekiller being incredibly stupid and cute and oblivious.

Straight A's by stargirly161 (T, 32k, 14/14) academic rivals to lovers rosekiller oh my god i need to see more of them. another pretty popular one and understandably so because it's amazing in every aspect, i've reread this one like 3 times.

Ant Pile by sommerregenjuniluft (E, 21k, 2/2) super super amazing rosekiller coming of age fic and childhood best friends to lovers, god i love this fic. the story starts when they're little kids and it is the most adorable thing ever and ends when they're like 18 and it's just. so good. please read it.

having a ghost in my bed by v7lgar (E, 42k, 3/3) modern au and okayyy wow this is legit just smut all the way through and WOW is it something, this is like some of the best rosekiller smut i've read. if you're just looking for some smut this is the place to look.

I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance with You by greensenne (M, 122k, 18/18) you've probably heard of this one but i'm still including it, this is set post-hogwarts (so there's still magic i think) but it's a no voldemort au. basically barty's getting married and evan is his best man except Feelings get in the way. very very cute, quite slow burn but it's very worth it.

Tender Curiosities, Baby! by otrtbs (M, 79k, 6/6) ahh another popular one, it's in the same universe as art heist, baby! which you have probably definitely heard of (it's a fantastic jegulus art heist fic). anywayss yeah this fic focuses on rosekiller and it is so so good, idk if it can be read as a standalone though...cause there are a lot of references to ahb!

Rock Bottom by floretissogay (T, 7.9k, 10/10) super super cute and fluffy rosekiller texting fic, there's like zero angst it's literally just fluff and silliness.

Off the Edge of the Earth, and Farther Still by typhoid_fluu (M, 17k, 11/?) this one hasn't been updated in a while buut it's a canon compliant rosekiller au following them throughout hogwarts starting from first year. super cute, at least so far (cuz they're still in first year).

annoying by facestraightoutamagazine (M, 101k, 31/31) another great texting fic, it's a wrong number au and goddd i'm a sucker for those. this one has like minimal angst, it's all just vibes and silliness, it's super cute and funny and i've reread this one like 3 times.

Say Something by writingamarie (E, 43k, 12/12) PLEASE give this fic more attention i am begging. it's incredible in every aspect - the writing, the characterization, the pacing (especially the pacing omg you'll see what i mean when you read this fic), everything. rosekiller friends with benefits will always be my favorite. please guys just please this fic is so underrated it hurts.

bad idea, right? by sparklejumpropequeen79 (NR, 30k, 13/?) this fic got discontinued but i really liked it while i was reading it so i'm still mentioning it in case you don't mind reading fics that won't be finished? idk. no voldemort au where barty and evan are really stupid about their feelings. typical rosekiller stuff.

kiss him you fool. by everlovelymoony (M, 8k, 4/4) this fic is so goddamn cute i actually can't. barty is a kindergarten teacher and luna is in his class and evan is luna's uncle. can we please please have more rosekiller teacher AUs please.

Obsessed by andromeden (E, 40k, 2/2) barty stalks his boyfriend's ex and uhh yeah. this is 40k words of barty and evan being incredibly fucked up and also made for each other. rosekiller at their finest, you know. probably mind the tags though.

Ashes to Ashes by lupinist (M, 13k, 3/3) rosekiller friends to lovers never gets old. very well written, amazing dynamic and characterization, super underrated!

a rose will be for a rose (timelessness for your love) by iWrite (T, 6.8k, 2/2) rosekiller spin the bottle and being dumbasses about their feelings. only a light bit of angst, super cute, love it.

show me those pretty white jaws by 214lilacsky (E, 144k, 15/15) recently started reading this one and i do not know what took me so long because holy shit the writing is beautiful, the characterization is beautiful, just like. this whole fic. beautiful. wow. this is a fairly popular one i think and i absolutely see why.

Pickup or Delivery by lifeisabitch (E, 41k, 15/15) this is so so good, i am absolutely obsessed with their characterization and dynamic here. they are absolute freaks and i am living for it.

i would say i love you (but it's so hard, i won't say it at all) by avesgraveyard (M, 74k, 9/?) road trip au with a bunch of other marauders characters, this is super super cute and evan and barty are incredibly bad at feelings (as they always are) and i just. love this so much. i've reread this one many times before.

with a taste of your lips im on a run by siriusstardust (G, 6.9k, 2/?) wrong number rosekiller au that i am really really enjoying so far, it's super cute and funny and silly.

ONE-SHOTS

no one’s gonna say anything against a dude kissing his homie good luck by sommerregenjuniluft (M, 3k) literally the title, they're skateboarding, uhhh yeah. i really like the vibes of this fic, evan and barty are dumbass teenagers who are toootally just platonic, which is honestly my favorite version of rosekiller.

loving you (is the antidote) by serendipitysirius (M, 13k) amortentia fic, sue me i'm a sucker for those. it is canon compliant but voldemort and the war aren't really mentioned.

don’t want none of this (good times, all the time) by cheeryknots (M, 3.9k) one of my fav rosekiller one shots, i swear i reread this like once every two months lol. it's set at hogwarts and they're at a party and they play spin the bottle and they get Jealous and it's just! so good.

Holding My Heart Out In Shaking Hands by twoclosetothestars (NR, 9k) modern au, i read this one a while ago but i remember really enjoying it. this one has it all; smut, angst, and fluff (in that order).

most fun i ever had (i did something bad) by cheeryknots (E, 5k) this is an incredible work of art holy shit. there's also a second part to this series (the series is appropriately named rosekiller murder husbands) that i also adore so check that one out too. this is legit just smut and rosekiller being absolutely insane and very much in love and i love it so much they are freaks your honor.

ghosting by dracure (E, 5.3k) evan and james are together in this one (not for long after the events in this fic though lmao).

my way or the highway by heartnipnops (E, 6.1k) car sex!!! yay. yeah idk what else to say this is great smut uhh yeah.

Shotgun by DayDreamingQueen (E, 3.1k) more rosekiller car sex (more specifically blowjob). except they aren't even together in this one. how do you literally suck your friend off in a car and just. go on with your life. they are actually so stupid it's astounding. great fic though.

16 missed calls by katakosmos (E, 1.9k) i think i'm actually a little insane for age gap rosekiller idk. been stalking the rosekiller tag on here for long enough to know you all are too. so if you haven't seen this..

the best of you, honey, belongs to me by vianexa (E, 7.7k) rosekiller murder husbands with a whole lot of sexual tension except no actual smut happens (it's crazy), god i do love insane batshit crazy rosekiller.

sharpshooter by heartnipnops (E, 4.7k) A+ rosekiller smut, college/university au.

everybody plays the beautiful game while out in brazil by bloodytreason (T, 3.4k) au where evan is an olympic tennis player. this au is something i did not know i needed, like this is gold (wait that pun was not intended oops wait does that even count as a pun), i need more olympics AUs now.

The Way He Loves by wiggentree (T, 4k) i have reread this one countless times over and over, this is one of the first rosekiller fics i read and i will never stop coming back to it. so so good. i think it captures their dynamic really well and i am just. obsessed.

a rose will i bloom in my soul by iWrite (E, 5.5k) holy hell this is actually so good i might actually combust 100/10 rosekiller smut.

limbs by dracure, virginprayer (E, 2.2k) beautiful beautiful smut

sick, twisted, and selfish by jamespottermixtape (fushigayro) (E, 3k) rosekiller murder husbands my beloved they are insane i love them.

You are in love by rachel_elizabeth_truth (NR, 4.4k) this is so beautiful and lovely, it's based off of you are in love by taylor swift which is such a rosekiller coded song tbh.

aces up your sleeve by dracure (T, 1.6k) evan with a tongue piercing. i, like barty, would probably also go feral for that.

Call It What You Want by lxcuxex (T, 23k) clueless, oblivious, idiots in love rosekiller my beloved. incredibly long oneshot about rosekiller trying to get their shit together. love to see it.

my lost lover (i was made for you) by jamespottermixtape (fushigayro) (E, 9.2k) oh my fucking god this is so great, i don't typically read a lot of vampire/supernatural fics but this one. absolutely wonderful.

Midnight Rain by blackmojito (T, 10k) christmas fic (though it's not the main focus), this is so sweet and cute and just so beautifully written oh my gosh.

second guessing by dracure (E, 8k) gorgeous amazing beautiful fantastic everything about this fic. just wonderful.

such a lovely place to die with you by cheeryknots (E, 4.3k) apocalyptic au where they meet at the end of the world, this is so so beautiful.

Eyeliner by aithusarosekiller (NR, 1.9k) evan helps barty get ready for a party by helping him apply eyeliner. honestly i do not blame evan at all i would have the same reaction seeing barty with eyeliner.

remember that night by orphan_account (G, 5.1k) some hurt/comfort about barty not remembering a drunken kiss. really really good omg.

Pretty Cool by trinavera (G, 4k) very very cute high school au where they meet in detention (evan is the detention monitor).

Me and You by polyjuicedpadfoot (E, 8.8k) oh my goshhh i really really like this one, it deals a bit with the war and them becoming death eaters and stuff. super great.

Something of Mine by stoned_regulus (M, 5.3k) rosekiller post breakup, it deals with Feelings and some drug abuse stuff. it's pretty angsty but really good.

speak now (or forever hold your peace) by rweoutofthewoods (T, 3.7k) this is like equal parts rosekiller and jegulus but anyways. yeah james and evan crash regulus and barty's wedding.

like smoke behind glass by 214lilacsky (E, 4.6k) i am definitely super normal about this fic (no i am not i love this oneshot with my whole being it's one of my favorites).

when the heart would cease (ours never knew peace) by boundinchaos (T, 12.5k) au where evan doesn't actually die, but barty still goes to azkaban. also after reading this fic i desperately need more fics about barty and sirius interacting in azkaban.

AND LASTLY...SOME STUFF ON MY TBR LIST

i haven't gotten around to reading these ones yet but i really want to soo yeah. check these out if you want!

we can take it out back by roadsidehorror (E, 78k, 9/9)

Run, Baby, Run by saltywench (E, 16k, 10/10)

Nothing On You by the_brightest_star_in_leo (T, 1k, 1/1)

i desire violently- and wait by archivistrose (cursedstar) (M, 53k, 16/?)

He's Not Mine (but he could be) by the_brightest_star_in_leo (E, 18k, 6/6)

Silencing the Monster by Written_Willis (E, 7.7k, 1/1)

stoned off you (now i'm stone cold sober) by 214lilacsky (E, 30k, 1/1)

Persistence by stellar_jay (E, 11k, 1/1)

sacrosanct by vanity_scribblings (M, 6.3k, 1/1)

okay yeah this is all, i probably will never post on tumblr again and will go back to lurking after this lmao. if you're still reading this i hope?? you enjoyed?? yeah that's it byee feel free to drop some more recs (in the replies? idk how tumblr works lowkey😭) cause i'm always on the lookout for more of these two🙏

#rosekiller #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #marauders era

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