#there is no crime in being unconventional

[teledyn]

I constantly compare myself to 'normal' and it delights me to see the distance is still increasing after all these years.

Constantly comparing myself to ‘normal’ people and forever feeling inadequate

[uncanny-tranny]

Hey, autism related q! But I'm autistic too and struggle heavily in the social department, and I was just wondering if you had any tips on seeking out and making new friends as an autistic person, thanks!!!! <333333

I think a lot of it can just come down to be upfront - if you feel okay to tell people you have different needs (not even that you're autistic, you never have to tell a soul if you'd like!), people are more willing to acomodate your needs if they know you have them.

I also think it's important to forgive yourself if you do drop the ball - we all do it at some point, autistic or no, and it's okay. You aren't undeserving of friends, social skills are something you learn, not something you're either born with or not.

Above all, though, having friends should feel good. Friendships can have their ups and downs, but if you're finding that a certain friend is expecting you to be their therapist, or to fix their life for them for example and you aren't bring treated right at all, it's a bad sign. Friendships should not hurt you, they should not feel like a burden you have to carry.

[whumptober]

WHUMPTOBER 2024: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2024 — Seventh Time's a Charm!

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ below carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year's playlist can be found here.

The 'Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt' post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics' post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for another year of Whumptober! Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(Text versions of the prompts, as well as event information, rules and FAQ are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2024 Prompt List

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

No. 2: TRUST ISSUES

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you."

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You're still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY'RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | "It's not my blood."

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES

Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | "Leave the lights on." (Coldplay, Midnight)

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

No. 10: BLOW TO THE HEAD

Slurred Words | Passing Out from Pain | "I can't think straight."

No. 11: SEEING DOUBLE

Convenience Store | Loneliness | “Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist.” (Taylor Swift, Illicit Affairs)

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | "Just a little more."

No. 13: TEAM AS A FAMILY

Familial Curse | Multiple Whumpees | "Death will do us part." (Set It Off, Partner's In Crime)

No. 14: LEFT FOR DEAD

Hunting Gear | Blackmail | “Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted” (tiLLie, kooL aiD mAn)

No. 15: CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

Painful Hug | Moment of Clarity | "I did good, right?"

No. 16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

No. 17: NOWHERE ELSE TO GO

Ruined Map | Shipwrecked | "We had a good run."

No. 18: REVENGE

Unreliable Narrator | Loss of Identity | “I see what's mine and take it.” (Panic! at the Disco, Emperor's New Clothes)

No. 19: BLOOD TRAIL

Abandoned Cabin | One Way Out | "Is there anybody alive out there?" (Bruce Springsteen, Radio Nowhere)

No. 20: EMOTIONAL ANGST

Shoulder to Cry On | Giving Permission to Die | "It's not your fault."

No. 21: BODY HORROR

Body Horror | Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

No. 22: BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES

Tourniquet | Reopening Wounds | "Oh that's not good."

No. 23: FORCED CHOICE

Public Display | Broken Pedestal | "I'm doing this for you."

No. 24: RADIATION POISONING

Collapsed Building | Equipment Failure | “I never knew daylight could be so violent.” (Florence + The Machine, No Light, No Light)

No. 25: SURGERY

Stitches | Being Monitored | "It's for your own good."

No. 26: NIGHTMARES

Breakfast Table | Parting Words of Regret | “I'm haunted by the lies that I have loved, the actions I have hated.” (Poe, Haunted)

No. 27: VOICELESS

Laboratory | Muzzled | “I have no mouth and I must scream.”

No. 28: DENIAL

CCTV | Exposure | "They caught me red handed."

No. 29: FATIGUE

Labyrinth | Burnout | "Who said you could rest?"

No. 30: RECOVERY

Hospital Bed | Holding Back Tears | "What have I done?"

No. 31: ASKING FOR HELP

Therapy | Making Amends | "I'm alive, I'm just not well." (Elliot Lee, Alive, Not Well.)

Alternatives List:

Body Swap

Communication Barrier

Finding Old Messages

Forgotten

Friendly Fire

Motion Sickness

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Regret

Secrets Revealed

Shivering

Survivor's Guilt

Time Loop

Used As Bait

Venom

Vermin

Event Info & Rules

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day. These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks. There is also a list of 15 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day, again to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag it with:

#whumptober2024 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing, …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#altprompt …..(if you use an altprompt, tag the post with the number of the prompt you replace)

#fandom or #OC, …..(ironman, original content, oc, etc.)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Frequently Asked Questions

Please read this before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Tropes cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

Most importantly, have fun, create, and enjoy all the whump posted this October!

[jane-asmo]

Why I think Caitlyn didn’t ask Vi for forgiveness

(Thank 'anons' for your messages. I’ll try to respond to you through this text: )

The importance of Caitlyn’s “I know”

A key moment in Caitlyn’s character narrative is her “I know”—both its content and delivery.

The content: When Caitlyn says, “I know,” it doesn’t just mean “You’re right.” It means, “I’ve taken the time to think about this.” And thinking is what Caitlyn does best. Her “I know” conveys that she has already had this conversation with herself, over and over in her head. She’s thought about it constantly, she’s already told herself these things, and she’s already blamed herself for them.

The delivery: She screams it with violence, and we can see this represented by the boat falling apart. It’s not just that she has thought about it; it’s tormenting her. Her “I know” is incredibly powerful because it’s filled with suffering.

To me, this is as valid as an apology because asking for forgiveness is outward-facing—focused on the other person. "Asking for forgiveness" says, “Whether I’ve forgiven myself or not, whether I feel guilty or not, it’s on you to decide to forgive me.”

But here, Caitlyn’s “I know” is inward-facing. It means, “I’m not asking you to forgive me because I can’t even forgive myself.”

She knows everything you’re saying, and it torments her.

This is followed by:

"I didn’t even have time to think before they hauled her off."

This line is so telling. Everything about Caitlyn is tied to thinking and reflection.

Being a sniper means aiming and shooting. Aiming is the equivalent of thinking, and shooting is the equivalent of speaking. Everything Caitlyn does is deliberate and thought through.

This is why some people dislike her: as I’ve said before, unlike other characters, Caitlyn’s actions can’t be forgiven easily because she doesn’t do anything by accident.

Then we get to:

"We can’t erase our mistakes. None of us."

Caitlyn speak in “we.”

In the prison scene with Jinx:

"No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes."

This scene mirrors the rage she felt when she threw the boat. In this moment, she’s speaking to Jinx, but also to herself.

Caitlyn and Jinx are paralleled so many times throughout the show. Caitlyn quickly realized that, in some ways, she had become like Jinx. And so, in order to forgive Jinx, she would first have to forgive herself.

At this point in the episode, the person Caitlyn hates the most is herself.

But she no longer has the "energy" to hate, neither Jinx nor herself.

Energy comes from fuel. What she perceives as a lack of strength to keep fighting is simply the fact that the fuel that powered her hatred has disappeared. And when you stop feeding a fire, it eventually dies out. She has no energy left; she has no fuel to sustain her hatred.

It's a particular way of saying, I don’t hate you anymore, and I don’t want to hate myself anymore either, because in the end, that hatred corrupts us/everything .

In her own unique way, Jinx also says, I didn’t know your mother was there, even if it wouldn’t have changed anything. And this too is a strange way of taking a step toward the other.

We have two brilliant and intelligent women who express their emotions in unconventional ways. ----------

There’s also a whole analysis that could be done about her concept of justice and rules, "but I don’t have the energy" to dive into that here. Still, it would only lead back to the fact that Caitlyn doesn’t see herself as the right person to free Jinx (and therefore to forgive her) because she believes she herself is beyond forgiveness.

[somanystars]

ohhh please someone write the fic

mary is absolutely NOT surprised and it leads them into sam's criminal history which then leads to sam's true crime fixation and it becomes some interesting mother-son bonding time

sam shows mary how google works and he’s like “you can look up anything!” and mary types in like “shoe” and “gun” and idk “kansas” and then sam’s like “and you can look up people! look” and he types in “sam winchester” and then he SLAMS the laptop shut when the results load cause he briefly forgot he was a serial killer 

[glossgojo]

father charlie mayhew x undercover detective fem! reader/that one fleabag scene

5k words (i went crazy with this one)

oh boy where do i begin

TAGS: siren reader!, AFAB reader, religious themes, nonreligious reader, confession booth is sexy, oraI male receiving, big d!ck charlie, dubious consent, p in v, no protection, breeding cuz duh it’s me, blood k!nk (if u squint)

after lois was nearly detained for being belligerently drunk at work, the FBI called you in. not to work alongside her no, to survey and investigate the community. the crimes surrounded her. you became lois’s daughter’s “friend” living with her and hanging around whenever you could. fortunately for both of you, lois did actually like your company and so did her daughter.

with some miracle you became a part of her everyday life, even tagging along when she met sister megan once. the nun was peculiar and although you weren’t nearly as trusting as lois you liked her enough to fake your way into an unlikely friendship. you the hard on her luck “college student” and her the eccentric murder-obsessed nun. it worked well enough for a cover story and she seemed to buy it. given your experience you knew enough about murderers to get along with her, pretending to share her passion for serial killers and the like. she had mentioned visiting the diner over text one day, you thought it a great opportunity to get out and people watch but what you didn’t expect was that she had company.

you knew megan was unconventional to say the least but you didn’t expect her to be on a date with, the looks of it, a lady killer. the closer you got the more you had to mask your reaction, she was with the new priest. you just didn’t expect him to be near your age and straight out of a GQ magazine. you willed a smile to your lips as you sauntered to the side of her booth, throwing an around the back of her seat and leaning down. megan tore her eyes away from the priest, meeting yours after what felt like minutes. you didn’t blame her, you were having a hard time ignoring him as well. “megan! hey i hope i'm not interrupting.” you finally looked pointedly towards him, your smile withering as you met his chocolate eyes. you hadn’t seen eyes so dark in a while.

“did something happen?” she assumed you had an update, it wouldn’t be the first time since you lived so close to lois. you sometimes told her details to gain her trust, of course clearing it with lois first. you pretended you did, pretended whatever you had to say was not for the eyes of a very curious priest. his eyes hadn’t left you since you interrupted.

“no, uh we can talk later.” you motioned slightly towards him and megan realized she’d never made introductions. she broke eye contact turning towards the priest, finding him already looking at you, well more so the small sliver of skin your crop top displayed above your skirt from the way you stretched over her booth. she knew father mayhew was less traditional but she didn’t expect this.

“oh y/n this is father mayhew.” you looked at him waiting a beat before you smiled brighter than before, he was intrigued to say the least. you were confusing him, sending signals he couldn’t quite decipher. maybe he wasn’t your type because you seemed wholly unaffected by him. that or you were just good at hiding it.

“nice to meet you mr.mayhew.” there was no way you were calling him father, you weren’t religious much less catholic.

“father-“ megan started to correct you and you cocked your head to the side, ready to remind her you didn’t believe in organized religion.

“charlie is fine, please y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” he cut in before you two began your conversation, seeing the way your eyes narrowed at the correction. your eyes were back on him as soon as he said your name, masterfully hiding how your stomach flipped at it coming from his lips. it didn’t matter to him that you weren’t religious, hell it might be for the best if you weren’t. he would rather never see you or your red heels ever again.

“charlie, i’ll leave you two to it.” you attributed the startling attraction you felt to the taboo of it all. a priest, sinfully handsome, and from the look of his shoulders and arms his body was even more unholy. your glances had been brief but they were enough to spike your curiosity.

“please join us, i’d be interested to hear whatever you were about to share.” there was that egotistical expression on his face that made you think he didn’t usually get no from women.

“oh i don’t know it’s kind of a secret. can you keep a secret charlie?” you were pulling out all the stops, straightening your posture, batting your eyelids, even cocking your head to the side and if megan wasn’t so transfixed by his reaction she would’ve taken notes. he was completely drawn into you, reminding himself to blink and respond when you a smile twitched at the corner of your lips when you were met with silence. you knew you had him and he knew too.

“let’s pretend this is confession.” he drew his arms out, leaning back against the booth and you took the challenge, sitting next to megan before she could try to leave you two alone. the scent of your perfume hit him as you sat down, sensual and distinct. he’d remember it for days.

“sure confession, i’ve always liked the notion. there’s something so sexy about the whole thing don’t you think megan?” charlie watched you try to shift the subject away from whatever you came to say. he wasn’t so naive. however one thing became clear, you didn’t trust him.

“oh geez, i guess it is sexy. you’re dishing out your deepest darkest secrets in a small box where you can’t see the other person.” he could see the way your eyes softened around the edges when you looked at megan. and the way they changed when you looked back towards him. he hadn’t felt so wholly consumed by someone. whatever trap you had laid out, he was ensnared.

“i’ve always wondered who a priest confesses to?”

“God.” his eyebrow cocked at the question, eyes lighting up in amusement and you bashfully nodded your head.

“ah right.” megan laughed at your response, finding the exchange a bit trivial. she was itching to hear the new information.

“i’m gonna head back to the church, can’t exactly leave it unattended this long. sister it was great to speak with you and again nice to meet you y/n.” you waved him a goodbye as he got up and walked past you both, your eyes never leaving him until you couldn’t crane your neck much further. megan shook off the worries that were beginning to surface and instead pestered you to spill your guts. you did as soon as the diner’s bell rang to signal the door closing. you told her what you had rehearsed all the while being haunted by the ghost of father mayhew’s appearance.

the murders continued and you spent late nights with lois spinning every possible theory. you couldn’t scratch the itch that bothered you about megan and charlie. instead of asking megan to meet you, you decided to visit the father himself. although you would play it off as a last minute plan you carefully dressed for the occasion, a baby pink cropped cardigan covered your lacy tank top fit with high waisted flare jeans that hugged your curves just right. it looked casual and your skin was indeed covered enough for church but if you stretched or raised your arms even slightly your skin would show and you knew his eyes would find their way there just like before. you wore baby pink platform heels to match even, your hair up in a seemingly effortless updo that actually took you thirty minutes to perfect. and to top it all off you made sure to smell downright sinful and gloss your lips to the heavens.

he didn’t stand a chance.

you were grateful to find the church empty save the priest in question sitting in the pews reading what you assumed was the bible. the click of your heels drew his gaze over his shoulder, he would lose this battle without a doubt in his mind. he only hoped god would forgive him after. he rose to stand, abandoning the bible with ease and a smile crept to your lips as he met you in the walkway between the pews.

“y/n, what a surprise i thought you weren’t religious.” he didn’t think he’d see you again, not like this at least. maybe only in his dreams or when the desire deep inside him took over.

“oh i’m not, just curious.” you cocked your head to the side and charlie had a sneaking suspicion you got whatever you wanted when you did that. he wasn’t a stranger to using his looks to get things handed to him, he just didn’t expect to be so easily swayed by it himself.

“anything i can help you with?” as much as he would have liked to continue this staring contest he had an idea you were here on a mission. you had unsuccessfully hidden how taken you were with him. now standing at his full height you were finding it hard to disguise your attraction. he was tall, much taller than you had figured and even in your heels you came up to his shoulder. his body was crafted for sports, for modeling, for anything but the cloth. the sheer strength he wielded was going to waste, you wondered why he needed it all.

“you and sister megan are so wholly devoted to all this. i’ve never had that, something so…guiding.” he invited you to sit next to where he was situated before, you did with ease crossing your legs and sitting closer than you should be.

“your morals surely come from somewhere.”

“my parents, they weren’t religious, at least not catholic. all these murders, it just made me wonder.” you spoke in hushed whispers, the church was eerily quiet, so starkly different from the chaos of lois’s home.

“you’re scared, it’s reasonable to be. faith can give you strength but it can’t fix everything.” his head turned down towards you, onyx eyes sucking you in, you were captivated.

“hey i thought i was the atheist here.” you bumped your shoulder against his or really your shoulder against the muscle of his arms. he sucked in a breath, finding himself thinking less of religion the more he looked into your eyes. charlie drew the bible in front of him, turning the page to where he knew he’d find distraction.

“Isaiah 41:13 God promises to comfort and help those who are worried, and to take their hand and guide them through difficult times.” he turned the page to continue, not licking his finger in time and cutting his finger on the paper. it had never happened before and he didn’t even notice it until you listened on, eyes naturally drawn to his large veiny hands and then the pearl of blood that threatened to drop on the spotless floor.

“oh charlie,” you took his right hand in both of yours, thoroughly stopping his reading. you did the first thing you could think of, not wanting the blood to spill anywhere, bringing it to your lips and licking it off, meeting his gaze bashfully. the familiar taste of salty iron lined your teeth. the wet warm lap of your tongue against the pad of his finger combined with the sheen of your lips and your eye contact made charlie suddenly very aware of his corporeal form, all the rest of his blood rushing south. you did it so casually, as if consuming his blood was as natural as wine. the quiet vulnerability making him twitch in his pants. he thanked god it wasn’t well lit in the church or the bulge in his black slacks would be apparent. fortunately for him you were also too embarrassed to notice.

“s-sorry i just didn’t want it to spill.” you dropped his hand quickly, ignoring the warmth between your legs and opting to look very intently at the first button of his dress shirt. he needed to diffuse the situation before he coaxed you upstairs and smudged your damned lip gloss.

“it’s alright, i’m gonna grab a bandaid.”

“okay i’ll be hiding in the confession box trying not to burst into flames.” he laughed at your admission, he hadn’t expected you to be so embarrassed. it was probably the hottest thing he’d experienced and he thought you would own it, own that you were unabashedly seducing him. perhaps he’d misjudged your intentions all along. he came back to empty pews and he scoffed at the realization you were actually in the booth.

“what do you wish to confess?” he assumed the position, taking it as seriously as he could muster. part of him was wishing you would just tell him something substantial about yourself, he didn’t even know what you did for a living.

“how much time do you have?” charlie huffed a laugh at your words and you liked his laugh, it was airier and lighter than you expected. “i suppose ill start with the most recent sin, i embarrassed myself in front of a priest. surely that’s against some rule.”

“not entirely, embarrassment isn’t a sin.” he crossed his arms across his chest, endeared by your admission.

“right, what about lust?” he closed his eyes, he’d nearly gone half-soft but here you were painting deadly images in his mind. he felt like a teenage boy, rock hard and trying to will it down.

“lust, one of the seven deadly sins, but it can be forgiven. that is if you don’t act on it.”

“ah i’ve never been good at that part.”

“i can pray for you, kneel with me.” you did as he said, finding it hard to deny him of anything when his voice was so deep and commanding through the grated screen. you waited a beat and then another, breathing out in and out. you wondered if he was trying to remember a prayer or you were too far gone for one that readily came to mind. instead you heard him grumble under his breath, the church far too quiet for it to go unnoticed.

“fuck it.” you blinked your eyes in surprise, the wood digging into your knees as you waited another beat and the curtain to your side was drawn open and charlie stood in front of you. the sight of you kneeling nearly made him pass out, he swore he’d never been so hard in his life.

“tell me no.” his large hand, now with a bandage on one finger, slid to the side of your face, tilting your face up and up until your neck craned to meet his as he stepped closer. the heat of his body radiated against you. his thumb pushed at the plush of your bottom lip, the lip gloss was as sticky as he imagined, drawing your mouth open. your eyelashes fluttered at the gentle pressure, the coaxing, the slow sensuality of it all. you felt as if you would actually burst into flames, you wished you had worn a skirt. the denim of your jeans felt like hot coals against your skin, your underwear sticky with need. he could see the desire dripping from your gaze, but he needed to be sure.

“i can’t.” you whispered, like the obedient girl you were. and that was enough for him, he shoved the thumb fully between your lips, you hummed at the intrusion. the warm wet heat of your mouth made him whimper as you swirled around the finger sucking it like you wanted so desperately to do something else. your gaze finally moved from his eyes down the length of his body to his slacks, you raised up on your knees and you were eye level with his bulge. even in the dim light you could tell he was massive and your jaw would be sore tomorrow.

“father let me help you, please?” he huffed a breath at the name, there was no going back now though, he knew what he was doing making you kneel. he nodded at your request, removing his hand from your face so you could do as you pleased. the urgency in your motions made him scoff as you practically tore his zipper down and cupped his bulge. you fidgeted to get his length through and when you did you grinned at the sight. the shadow of his length covered your face and while you were intimidated and failing to hide it you still licked tentatively at the furious red tip.

“good girl.” he smiled down at you and you squeezed your thighs at his words, cleaning up all the precum along his slit. he was so big you didn’t think you’d get him even halfway down your throat, but you were never a quitter. your hand circled his base, one cupping his heavy balls as you licked along his shaft, veins protruding angrily and you kissed the tip one more time before flattening your tongue against the bottom of him, stretching your mouth as wide as you could to accommodate his girth. it was a struggle to attempt and you groaned at how hard it was. he chuckled at your frustration, he couldn’t deny how hot the whole scene was. he placed a hand on your head, guiding you down his length and you moaned at the feeling, shivering from how badly you needed him. you wished for some sense of relief and so you took one hand off his balls and tried to touch yourself. it was no use because charlie saw you, catching your wrist. he was gentle until then, forcing you down his length and you gagged. he was so heavy and thick you felt like you couldn’t breathe. the sensation made you nearly lightheaded and he finally released his grip letting you relax and slink back. you got into a comfortable rhythm then, pumping the length you couldn’t reach and swirling your tongue along his veins while moving up and down his length. he could tell he was close from the small groans and whimpers you could hear, his grip on your wrist tightening until he let go completely and pulled you off him. he tapped his cock against your tongue, debating if he should finish this now or give in fully to what he needed.

“tell me about your sin.” your eyes glazed over as he held his cock away from your mouth, letting you speak but making you mourn the heavy feeling. it took you a few seconds to remember what he was talking about.

“i’ve touched myself thinking about this man, but he’s devoted to someone else, to god. it never feels as good as i know he can make me feel.” your gaze traveling from his cock to his eyes, he jaw clenched as he looked away before leaning down and lifting you effortlessly out of the booth and into his hold. your legs looped around his waist and your arms around his neck. he was strong and solid against you, and you whined at the slightest hint of friction of your core bumping his belt buckle.

“we can attone later.” it’s all he says as he’s walking purposefully up the stairs and down a hallway, the walk is long or at least it feels that way when you’re nearly drunk from desire.

your back hits something soft, you realize it’s his bed as he’s climbing over you. you sit up, unbuttoning his shirt while he’s doing the same to your pesky jeans. his shirt is unbuttoned before he’s pulling them off you and you marvel at the sculpted muscles of his body. you're not sure if you’re drooling but you could be. he doesn’t bother to take your heels off, opting for your cardigan and crop top next. and you whine as you try to reach the buttons of his slacks, he tucked himself back in at some point and you don’t like the insinuation. charlie can’t help but laugh at you, maybe you weren’t the femme fatale he thought you were. “patience is a virtue.” he’s got you in your bra and panties splayed out under him and he relished in the sight of your lip gloss smudged. in the light of his room he could see all the sinful details of your body and he couldn’t wait to wreck every part he hadn’t touched yet. he kneels in front of you, shirt gone and his slacks unbuttoned, watching your chest rise and fall in anticipation as you maintain eye contact. he can tell you’re struggling to, the way your eyelids droop and narrow. when he’s finally bare in front of you, you’re looping your arms around his neck and pulling him down, finally kissing him and it’s as messy as you hoped for. all teeth and tongue, he bites your lip hard enough to draw blood and you groan into his mouth. he’s feral and you can’t help but arch into him, the hard planes of his body pressing so deliciously against you, you silently wish you could grind against his abs for some kind of friction. charlie pins your wrists above you with one of his hands, the other deftly unclasping your bra, an action that speaks volumes of his experience.

he doesn’t loosen his grip on your wrists even slightly, somehow in control despite the rabid look in his eyes, trailing his lips down your neck, biting and sucking likely leaving marks for tomorrow. you buck your hips into him, desperate for something, anything. he’s so hard against your core, sliding against your stomach. you can’t imagine he’ll fit, not with how far up your chest his length reaches. your thoughts are drawn back to the hot mouth that’s latching to your nipple, bitting and sucking like it’s the last thing he’ll do. charlie groans around your breast, massaging the other one with his hand rough palms creating a friction you try to get closer to. he’s slurping and biting so roughly you’re whining without realizing, tears pricking your eyes from the sharp pain. it’s so devastating you think it might be the way you want to go out.

and when you feel you might just come from his mouth on your breasts, he’s moving off you with a pop to his lips. it’s reminiscent of your actions downstairs and his cock twitches at the image. he leans back to take a look at his work releasing your wrists, bite marks and bruises littering your shaking chest and his lips curl in a smile. you think you’ve never seen him genuinely happy until now. he stays out of your reach kneeling between your spread legs and you almost complain until he’s peeling your underwear off you, it’s sticky and you revel in the cool air finally grazing your heat. charlie’s eyes are inexplicably drawn to how you’re nearly dripping onto his sheets, the light illuminating how badly you needed him, and from the looks of it it was just as long as he did. you can’t help the moan slip from your mouth when he’s biting his lips and spreading your folds to watch a fat wad of arousal drop down to your ass.

your pleasure ends when you see him leaning down for a taste, far too gone for any more foreplay. you need him and you need him now. you’re twitching when you slide your fingers into his hair, drawing your gaze to him. the hunger in his gaze doesn’t dissolve but the black of his eyes seems to soften when he sees your wrecked expression.

“please i need your cock, now please.” you’re begging and charlie can’t say no to that. he’s been aching for what feels like forever. he coos at your request, wiping the tears you didn’t even notice were falling and moves back on top of you, the satisfying weight against you calming whatever worries you had. but he doesn’t give you what you want. his fingers, still spreading your folds dip into you, there’s zero resistance from your sopping entrance, but the stretch makes your eyes roll back. “please.” you don’t want his fingers, you don’t care if he splits you in half at this point.

“relax baby,” he’s soothing you as best as he can when he just wants to sink into you. instead of focusing on where he can make you unravel, he scissors you open, getting impatient himself. you hum at the shift, bringing his lips to yours with a hand still threading through his hair. when he adds a third finger you groan at the stretch. “so tight darling, you won’t be able to take me.” he’s purring at you, teasing you. you can’t string the words together to dissuade him. when he’s satisfied you’re stretched enough he pulls back, licking his fingers and groaning at the taste. devine, just like he expected.

despite your wishes he’s leaning back, tapping his angry cock head against your clit, and you realize his words may be true. your legs slide over his shoulders like they were made to be there and when you look down at your entrance, panic creeps in.

“i don’t think it will fit.” he watches your eyes widen, your brows furrowed in genuine concern. it’s comical.

“where did my good girl go? you were just begging for it.” he’s teasing you, laughing at the way your wide eyes meet his. without you responding, he slips his head towards your entrance, catching on it and slipping away, fuck you were so tight. you whimpered at the feeling, trying to slink away from him but he tightens his hold on your hips. you realize, albeit far too late, your heels are still on and very much on his shoulders.

“it won’t fit.” you’re pleading with him, for what exactly you’re not sure. and then he’s leaning down, pressing the tops of your thighs back towards you, folding you in half, his lips not quite reaching yours.

“i’ll make it fit.” without warning he’s nudging at your entrance again, bullying his way in and you whine and jostle at the feeling. it’s too big, the stretch too much and you feel tears prick your eyes. he’s tearing you open, ruining your for anyone else and you can’t find it in you to care.

when the tip is finally in you breathe out in relief, there’s still an ache between your legs and you know you’re dripping onto his sheets but you think the worst is over. you don’t know you’re far from it. because while charlie is a man of faith, of perseverance and virtue he can’t hold back from how addictive your pussy is. the tight hug of your cunt around his tip drives him to ease his full length into you without warning. you paw at his chest, eyes rolling back as he pushes his way fully in nestling against your cervix and curving inside you. making you gush out more liquid than you knew you had. in fact, it’s so much you’re not sure if you’re squirting or you just came. the pain and pleasure mix into one and you think scream his name. you swear you can feel him in your ribcage and you choke out a breath.

he’s barely holding himself still when his balls finally rest against you. your walls are molding to him, and he think he might have died and gone to heaven. “so fucking tight, you were made for me.” a deep groan leaves him before he can hold back and you whine at the sound, clenching down on him and making him only more painfully turned on. you can feeling him throbbing inside, carving you out, the veins of his cock pressed against.

when you begin to squirm under him, still not used to his size but not in pain, he starts moving. every time he moves out he feels he has to push back in, your poor abused cunt is gripping him so tight, he feels bad even pulling out. the burn becomes so intense and every time his tip bumps your cervix you twitch beneath him. he presses a sweet kiss to your ankle over the strap of your heels before pressing his hips down and reaching even deeper. you cry out his name at the change in position and then he’s drilling into you like he wants you to be ruined forever. you don’t know where your orgasms start or end as he continuously fucks against your most sensitive spot, your mind numb from pleasure and the only word leaving your lips is his name and cries of pleasure.

he’s no better, he swears he might be addicted to you. the way you call out his name, the way you clench around him when he groans and how you seem to still get wetter from his thrusts. he hopes you don’t blame him when he feels himself getting close already, from the look on your face he realizes you might not be able to think at all. his pace is cruel, driving you into the mattress and likely denting the wooden floor.

your mind is fractured into a million tiny pieces; the only thing you know is that you need him. and when he’s close he’s pressing into you like he wants to get you pregnant, he’s breeding you, making you his and you come again. there’s no room for his cum inside you, so it’s leaking out the sides and he can’t have that, not after how good you’ve been, how well you take him, so he’s scooping it back up and fingering it inside you all the while pumping you full. you don’t know when you started crying but you can taste the saltiness of your tears when you pull him down for a kiss, savoring in the drag of his tongue along your teeth and you suck on it slightly, still hungry. he wishes the moment could last forever, but begrudgingly he pulls out and swallows down your whimper. how could he ever begin to atone for this? he had a feeling he would be begging for forgiveness for the rest of his life, there was no way he could forget you.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

M.I.A. - Paper Planes 2008

"Paper Planes" is a song by British hip hop artist M.I.A. It was released on 11 February 2008 as the third single from her second studio album, Kala (2007). It samples English rockband the Clash's 1982 song "Straight to Hell", leading to its members being credited as co-writers. A downtempo alternative hip hop, pop track combining African folk music elements, the song has a less dance-oriented sound compared to other songs on the album. Its lyrics, inspired by M.I.A.'s own problems obtaining a visa to work in the USA, satirise American perceptions of immigrants from war-torn countries, and said that the issue was probably "them thinking that I might to [sic] fly a plane into the Trade Center".

M.I.A. had wanted to work with American producer Timbaland for the album Kala, but her application for a long-term US work visa was rejected. This was allegedly due to her family's connection to the Tamil guerrillas, commonly known as the Tamil Tigers, a claim M.I.A. denied. Her visa problems were also attributed to her criticism of the Sri Lankan government's discrimination and alleged atrocities committed against the Tamils, with whom M.I.A. shares an ethnic and cultural heritage. She expressed this on her politicised debut album Arular. The unexpected success of "Paper Planes" paralleled M.I.A.'s condemnations of the Sri Lankan government's war crimes against the Tamils, generating accusations that she supported terrorism.

The song received widespread acclaim from contemporary critics, who complimented its musical direction and the subversive, unconventional subject matter. It won awards from the Canadian Independent Music Awards and the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP), and earned a Grammy nomination for Record of the Year. The song has received praise in publications such as NME, Pitchfork and Rolling Stone, each naming it among either the best songs of the 2000s decade or of all time. The review aggregator Acclaimed Music reports it as the second-most acclaimed song of the 21st century.

"Paper Planes" was used in the theatrical trailer for the 2008 stoner comedy Pineapple Express, directed by David Gordon Green, which catapulted the song to mainstream success in the US. "Paper Planes" and the DFA remix appear on the soundtrack to Danny Boyle's drama Slumdog Millionaire, released in 2008. The video game Far Cry 3 (2012) begins with "Paper Planes" used in the opening cinematic sequence.

"Paper Planes" received a total of 68,9% yes votes!

[katakaluptastrophy]

Masterpost of TLT metas

This is mostly for my own reference, as tagging doesn't seem to guarantee something being findable on Tumblr...but if you like wildly overthinking lesbian necromancers in space, enjoy!

Overthinking the Fifth House:

What is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

Actually, Magnus Quinn isn't terrible at sword fighting

Imperial complicity: Abigail the First

Pyschopomp: Abigail Pent and Hecate

Did Teacher conspire with Cytherea to kill the Fifth?

What does the Fifth House actually do?

The Fourth and the Fifth can never just be family

Cytherea's political observations at the anniversary dinner

Abigail Pent's affect: ghosts and autism

Were the Fourth wards of the Fifth?

Abigail probably knew most of the scions as children

Magnus Quinn's very understandable anger

Fifth House necromancy is not neat and tidy

Are Abigail and Magnus an exception to the exploitative nature of cavaliership?

"Abigail Pent literally brought her husband and look where that got her" (the Fifth in TUG)

The Fifth's relationship dynamic

The Fifth's relationship is unconventional in a number of ways

The queer-coding of Abigail and Magnus' relationship

Abigail and Palamedes, and knowing in the River

Was Isaac the ward of the Fifth?

Did Magnus manage to draw his sword before Cytherea killed him? (and why he probably had to watch his wife die)

How did Abigail know she was murdered by a Lyctor?

Fifth House necromancy is straight out of the Odyssey

The politics of the anniversary dinner

Was Magnus born outside of the Dominicus system?

Overthinking John Gaius:

The one time John was happy was playing Jesus

Is Alecto's body made from John's?

Are there atheists in the Nine Houses?

Why isn't John's daughter a necromancer?

The horrors of love go both ways: why John could have asked Alecto 'what have you done to me?'

Why M- may have really hoped John was on drugs

What is it with guys called Jo(h)n and getting disintegrated? (John and Dr Manhattan)

John's conference call with his CIA handlers

Watching your friend turn into an eldritch horror

Why does G1deon look so weird? (Jod regrew him from an arm)

When is a friendship bracelet not a friendship bracelet?

Why did John have G1deon hunt Harrow? (with bonus update)

The 'indelible' sin of Lyctorhood and John's shoddy plagiarism of Catholicism

Are John Gaius and Abigail Pent so different?

What was Jod's plan at Canaan House?

John and Ianthe tread the Eightfold path

The Mithraeum is more than a joke about cows

When was John Gaius born? (And another)

John Gaius and the tragic Orestes

John and Jesus writing sins in the sand

John and Nona's echoing chapters

John's motivations

Overthinking the Nine Houses:

'No retainers, no attendants, no domestics'

Funerary customs and the violence of John's silence

Juno Zeta and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time

The horror of the River bubble

Every instance of 'is this how it happens' in HTN

Feudalism is still shitty even if you make it queer and sex positive

How do stele work?

Thought crime in the Nine Houses

The Houses have a population the size of Canada

What must it be like to fight the Houses?

You know what can't have been fun? Merv wing's megatruck on Varun day...

Augustine's very Catholic hobby (decorating skeletons)

Necromancers are not thin in a conventionally attractive way

Matching the Houses with the planets of the solar system

Why don't the Nine Houses have (consistent) vaccination or varifocals?

How would the Houses react to the deaths at Canaan House?

How does Wake understand her own name (languages over 10,000 years)

What pre-resurrection texts are known in the Houses?

Camilla and Palamedes very Platonic relationship

The horrors the Cohort found at Canaan House

Do the Houses understand the tech keeping them alive?

Overthinking House religion:

What do the Houses believe about death?

Was M's nun a Franciscan?

Cavaliership and arbitrary socio-religious structures

Ritual scarification

Sacraments and sacramentals

What did Silas think god wanted at Canaan House?

In defense of Silas

There's no such thing as a 'good' necro/cav relationship

Veiling and shaving in Ninth House cult practice

Tongue-in-cheek thoughts on Eighth and Sixth religion

A very long deep-dive on House belief and practice

Overthinking Harrowhark Nonagesimus:

'The meat of your meat...belonged to god' and 'that is how meat loves meat'

The horror of parental touch: Harrow, John Gaius, and Abigail Pent

Why is Harrow so obsessed with Abigail's hands?

Frontline Titties of the Fifth and transgressive necro/cav relationships

Harrow, Wake, and permeability of the soul in HTN

Bible studies for weird queer necromancers:

Epiphany: revealing god's child to the wider world

The Holy Innocents and the creche massacre

The Virgin Mary and Commander Wake

John Gaius and John the Baptist

Instantiating the Trinity and the Second Resurrection

What's the significance of Paul?

St Paul's theology of gender and sexuality and the House theology of cavaliership

Maundy Thursday: consuming another for eternal life

Harrow and the Harrowing of Hell

[limethefirst]

Could I request a platonic Wolverine x Innocent Reader x Deadpool where the reader is a superhero and the two want to take care of them and shows them the ropes but argue about how to do it?

No pressure or rush, hope you’re having a wonderful day/night!

-W.P 💚

Hero in training

pairings: Wolverine x reader x Deadpool (platonic)

warnings: violence, swearing

summary: Wade and Logan don’t see eye to eye when it comes to training methods

a/n: thank you for requesting! I wasn’t super sure in what way you wanted reader to be innocent so please forgive me if this isn’t to your best liking, also I’m gonna start working on part 3 of void runners soon so keep an eye out!🫢

No one ever said being a superhero was easy, but it especially wasn’t easy when you were being trained by both the Wolverine and Deadpool. The two people who hardly ever got along.

You watched as Wade and Logan stood in front of you, Logan wearing casual training clothes and Wade in his normal red suit. Wade looked excited, he was ready to show you his ways but Logan had another approach in mind.

“Alright kid, first we need to learn to control your powers, from there we can begin with some drills, slowly moving up to advanced drills then work more on strength training” Logan started, his plan was to train your powers and then learn some moves with them, hoping it would help you in the self defense aspect of crime fighting.

This was something Wade didn’t find appealing, “Woah back the fuck up now Peanut” Logan glared at the man, before Wade continued, “Remember we’re both training them, and I say we need some more fun in this training, maybe learn some cool flashy moves, or we can start off this party with a dance off!”

“A dance off?” You looked at Wade, a bit confused on his method of teaching but not entirely against it.

Logan on the other hand didn’t appreciate the comment, “This isn’t some type of circus act, this is real life Wade, we need to have some type of approach or we won’t make progress, and all that will happen is they get injured out there,” you looked between the two men, wishing someone else had trained you instead.

“Well why don’t we just see what our little sugar plum fairy thinks,” Wade then turned back over to you and booped your nose, “Okay kiddo, do you wanna have a fun training with Papa Wade!! Or do you want to be all bored and tired with meanie Wolverine!” Wade asked you, his voice sounded like he was talking to a little baby.

You looked at both men, unsure of what to say, not wanting to upset the other. Then the idea came to mind, “Can’t we try both methods? Maybe a combination?”

“Fuck no, that idiots ‘method’ is going to get you hurt,” Logan quickly replied, this caused Wade to go over to you and grab your head in his arms.

He began to pet your head and started cooing, “Do I look like I’d ever let anything harm them?”

You stood there as Wade held your head tight, a sigh escaping your lips, “Please Logan, I know its unconventional but I really think it’ll work!” You started to plead with the man.

Wade slowly let go, a hand still on your head, while Logan stood there, unsure if this was the right choice, but he knew how persistent Wade was.

Logan caved, “Fine but if there isn’t any progress, only I’ll train you, got it kid?”

You have him a smile and a thumbs up, Wade just went up to Logan and clung to his arm, “Awe you’re such a softy aren’t you my little firecracker!”

Logan quickly let his claws out and stabbed him in the stomach, already regretting his decision.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you continued your combination training, Logan taught you defensive skills as well as offensive, he also showed you a lot of strategies that would protect you when the time came, while Wade showed you the flair of being a hero, without having to kill as he knew that wasn’t the type of hero you wanted to be, even though every once and a while he’d try to persuade you.

Even though you’d decided to do the combination training, both men still argued all the time.

“Why the hell are you telling them to jump through the sky light when you want to sneak attack a criminal?” Logan’s finger pushed into Wade’s chest, irritated that he’d tell you to do something so dumb and risky.

“Because they need to look awesome while saving the day, oh don’t forget the funny joke once the bad guy sees you, alright my sugar cane,” Wade looked over to you and you gave him a happy smile with a thumbs up, knowing you probably weren’t gonna do that but it was nice to make him feel good before he and Logan fight again over how that isn’t an ethical way of fighting crime.

You decided it was best to leave before they started to get at it again, you knew that tomorrow they’d go back to helping you anyway. So maybe it was better to let them get it out of their systems every one and a while.

[sanguineterrain]

Sanne can we get a part 2 for reporter!reader?? Picking up where it first left off their first night in the same home - and there's only 1 bed! - and reader shares the bed with him with the promise of not looking at his unmasked face in the middle of the night? And like them realizing over the next few days that they have very similar habits like tendencies to work throughout the night once they've got a lead and not having a set sleep schedule/unconventional sleeping hours.

OKAY HERE WE GO! be fed my lovelies <3 didn't exactly do one bed but hopefully you like it anyway ;) pt 2 of this

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. nightmares, hurt/comfort, jason sexy mf todd being a domestic dreamboat. 2.4k. pls enjoy

****

The Red Hood's apartment is... not at all what you expected.

It looks lived in. It, as awful a thought as it is, looks like an actual person lives here.

And it's not that you didn't know that Hood has a life outside of shooting and scaring, but the giant ficus and the overstuffed bookshelf seem paradoxical to everything you know about Hood.

You're realizing that you don't know him at all.

"So, uh." Hood awkwardly gestures to the apartment. "This is it. Welcome."

"It's nice," you say, stepping over the threshold. "Really nice. I'm a little jealous, Red."

"What can I say? Being public enemy number one is surprisingly lucrative."

You wander to the kitchen. There's a picture of him and a red-headed masked man who looks vaguely familiar. The man is smiling, his arm around Hood. There's a city skyline behind them you don't recognize.

"Where's that?" you ask. You don't expect him to answer.

"Morocco."

"I didn't know you had friends," you say, studying the Welcome to Vegas! magnet that's holding up the picture.

"Ouch."

"No, I—" You turn, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. I meant, like, people you do fun things with."

"Mm, yeah, I know what a friend is."

"Red, you know what I mean. I didn't know you took selfies and kept plants and read."

"Thought I was friendless and illiterate, huh?" He leans against the kitchen table, fist tucked under his helmet. "Y'wouldn't be the first."

"Hood—"

He snorts, shoulders shaking. You stop.

"That's not funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "Jerk."

"It's a little funny. You're always so sharp with your words, smartypants. No, while I'm very literate, friends are admittedly far and few. Arsenal's my closest friend."

"Is he also a crime lord?"

"Nah. Way better guy than me."

You look back at the picture and wonder how often Hood gets to experience joy. And when was the last time he had a vacation?

You feel a gentle tug at the back of your jacket.

"C'mon. You can snoop more later, promise. Lemme show you your room."

Hood takes your suitcase before you can protest. You follow him down the hall. There's one door to the bathroom—the other is to a single bedroom.

The bedroom is nice, bigger than yours at home. It's sort of what you expected (i.e., the mounted katanas on the wall) but also not (a giant framed poster of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film).

Holy hell. You're in the Red Hood's bedroom.

"Hood, I can't sleep here," you say, watching as he puts your suitcase in the corner.

The bed has been made, sheets tucked in without a single wrinkle. They're in various shades of red. You're sure Hood thinks he's hilarious.

"Why? If the swords are putting you off, I can move 'em."

"No, it's—I can't take your room, Hood. There's no way I'm doing that."

He shakes his head. "No, trust me, it's for the best. That couch is only comfortable to sleep on after a dose of painkillers."

"Dude, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own house."

"Well, dude, I'm the host, and I'm the big and scary Red Hood, so what I say goes."

"Like either one of us actually believes that," you say, brushing past him to grab your suitcase. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. It's–it's very sweet of you to offer. But you physically exert yourself every day. You need a comfortable bed more than I do. Besides, it's not like I'll be here for long."

Hood steps in front of you, casually blocking your exit.

"Well, try this on for size: my room is more secure than my living room," he says. "If someone were to break in, they'd have to get through me out there first."

That... is, unfortunately, a good point. You're still extremely paranoid after the assassination attempt two nights ago.

"You're so manipulative, y'know that?" you grumble, leaving your suitcase where it is.

"I know. I come from a real fucked up family." He doesn't sound too put out by it.

"But if you get injured on patrol, I'm sleeping on the couch."

He pats your shoulder. "'S cute you think you can bargain in my house, smarty."

****

Dinner goes well. Hood makes beef bolognese and it's delicious. You take an extra long time in the bathroom before bed so Hood has enough time to eat, considering his refusal to remove his helmet. You'd offered to blindfold yourself—he'd just laughed.

"Sure you don't want your room? It is, after all, yours," you say when you come out, fresh from your shower.

Hood glances at you briefly from where he's washing dishes. He's out of his jacket and suit, now only in jeans and a white t-shirt. Your face feels hot for some reason.

"I'm sure. Cute robe."

"Oh." You look down at the Wonder Woman robe your friend gave you. "Thanks. Got it for my birthday."

"I'll have to get myself one too," Hood says, drying a glass with a polka dot tea towel. "Big Wonder Woman fan."

"Yeah? We solve this case, and I'll get you all the robes you want, Red."

"Tempting."

You chew your lip as you watch him clean up. "Want any help?"

"Go to sleep, star reporter." He sounds amused.

"You try to be a polite guest only to get shot down..." you mumble.

On your way to Hood's room, you get distracted by a pile of documents on the coffee table. You stop, picking up the corner to read one. They're about the case, about all the labs that might be involved in the experiments.

Well... you can read just one. It seems like Hood's compiled a lot of information on his own.

You stand for a bit until your legs grow tired. Then you sit on the couch, making notes of what you do and don't know on a nearby writing pad.

"Did you get lost?"

Hood's watching you, leaning against the wall. It's weird to see his bare arms. His very sculpted, muscled arms. You think you peek a tattoo on his bicep.

"My attention was caught," you say, unrepentant. "Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I haven't seen. You've been holding out on me, Red."

"'S just theories, mostly. Didn't feel it was relevant to mention without hard proof."

"Ever hear of a work-life balance?" you ask.

Hood walks over and joins you on the couch, making the cushion dip. You bump shoulders briefly, before you move.

"Look who's talking, Pulitzer prize," he says.

"That's a very reasonable goal, and I'm not obsessed with it. You're just a workaholic. I have activities outside of wo—oh my God, work!"

You shoot up from the couch, panicked. "Fuck. Fuck! I haven't shown up in two days! I'm—"

"Hey, easy," Hood says, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "I called you out. Said you had the flu. No biggie."

"How did you call me out?"

He shrugs. "Pretended to be your boyfriend. Girl on the line was kinda rude about it. Didn't believe me at first."

"Red, I believe we've talked about these invasions of privacy."

"I'm just fulfilling my host duties. Is it true you haven't taken a day off in two years?"

You sigh. "Yes, okay? Fine. I'm a workaholic, too. That's why Jane, the secretary you spoke to, was so sassy about my having a boyfriend. It's pretty unbelievable."

"That's ridiculous. You could totally get a boyfriend. Some guys don't mind that."

"Like you?"

Hood tilts his head in acknowledgment. "Sure. Like me."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly most men."

"And thank God for that."

You look at each other for another moment. Hood's tattoo is in clear view now: it's a bird surrounded by flowers. You can't tell the species of either one.

"Cool tattoo," you say, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Hood turns his arm so the ink is hidden. "Thanks."

"Right." You start to walk backwards. "I think... I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure," he says. "If y'need anything, holler."

"'Kay. Thank you for dinner. You're a great cook."

"You flatterer."

You smile. "Gotta stay in the Red Hood's good graces."

You start to walk away.

"Do you—waffles?"

You stop and turn. "Sorry?"

"I, uh... do you like waffles? For breakfast," he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Nervous habit.

"I love waffles for breakfast."

Hood nods. "Great. Good. Then I'll... we'll have those."

"Please don't wake up early just to make breakfast, Red."

"You're my guest. I'll do whatever I want."

You don't recall the prospect of waffles ever making your heart hammer in your chest. Weird.

"Right. Well, goodnight," you say.

"G'night, smarty."

****

You turn the case details in your mind over and over. It's better than thinking about beef bolognese and peeks of skin you shouldn't see and how Hood's sheets smell like lavender.

But you fall asleep thinking about robins. You don't know why. You can't recall ever seeing a robin in Gotham.

You're on a rooftop. It's the roof you met Hood on, all those months ago. There's a robin nesting with its babies on the crumbling bricks.

The sky is a sick shade of green. You see horrible faces in the shadows on the roof.

That face from the night of the attack returns. He's hideous. You remember the stench of his breath, the way his eyes bulged. He grins at you across the roof.

"He should've killed me when he had the chance," he says, voice distorted.

You look around. The robin is gone. Blood drips from your stomach.

You turn and your attacker is there, inches away. He plunges the knife into you again and again. You can't move. This is it. You will die.

You wake up to wet cheeks. You're hot, and you're screaming. You've died.

A cool, rough hand grabs your arm and you fight because you can't die, you won't die. Not today.

"Hey. Hey, hey! It's me, 's J—Hood. It's Hood."

The room is almost entirely dark, save for a sliver of light from the cracked curtains. You can't make out his face. His voice is different. Clearer. He's without his helmet.

You reach out and feel soft hair. The curve of a neck. A bicep. A warm, bare chest.

"Sure, honey. Cop a feel if that makes you feel better," he murmurs.

Your face screws up and you start to cry.

"Shit," Hood whispers. "Shit, shit. Can't get the comforting thing right, can I?"

The bed dips with his weight. Arms wrap around you. You launch yourself into those arms, that solid chest.

"He g-got me in the dream," you choke out. "He killed us, Red. I'm so scared."

"Nobody's getting me or you. I promise."

Hood's jaw is smooth. His hands are big on your back, rubbing circles. His bare knee bumps yours.

You clutch him tighter. He hums.

"'S okay," he says. "It's alright. I got ya. He can't hurt you. I'd tear apart anyone who tries."

He lets you cry for several minutes, petting you all the while. Hood's body is warm, almost unnaturally so, but his hands are cool. He engulfs you completely.

You wonder what color his hair is. His eyes. What shape his nose is. His... lips.

"God, I'm a terrible guest," you mumble after you've caught your breath. "Fuck. I'm so sorry to wake you."

He hums, the sound going through your chest. "Don't worry. I don't sleep much. And you're not the worst guest I've had. My brother stayed with me for a few days last month. That was hell."

"You have a brother?"

"Four, actually. And a sister."

"Wow. Do they know you're...?"

"Yeah. It was a whole thing. They're over it now."

"Cool family."

Hood grunts. "They're... something."

You smile and close your eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Red."

"Yes, I know. Friendless and illiterate."

You pinch his side. He clucks his tongue in response.

"Cheeky," he says, the gravel in his voice shooting down your spine like lightning.

You pull back, suddenly aware of how long you've been touching him. Hood lets you have your space, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"You know what I mean," you say, glad it's dark and Hood can't see your wide eyes. "Not like that."

"I know. You thought I was a monster, ugly and alone, sleeping in a cave."

Blindly, you reach for his face, feel the shape of his jaw, his chin.

"Doesn't feel like an ugly face to me," you say quietly.

He exhales like you punched the air out of him.

"Trust me," he says. "The dark hides a lot."

You frown and pull away. "I didn't think any of those things, Red. I thought... I thought you were one-track minded. Now I realize that you're probably better adjusted than I am."

"Oh no, I got issues. Believe me. Definitely more than you. Not that it's a competition. 'Cept if it was, I'd win."

You smile. "Title is all yours, big guy. Gotta be a little crazy to do what we do."

"Sure. But you're the bravest soul I know. 'Cause you weren't forced into this. You hunted down the story yourself."

"Brave or stupid?" you ask.

"Brave. But it's a fine line."

Nope. It's definitely more stupid than not, clinging to the Red Hood in his own bed in the name of a case.

What are you doing?

"Ah, anyway." The bed shifts as Hood stands. You can just barely make out the shape of him. "You probably won't be going back to sleep any time soon, huh?"

You sigh. "No, probably not. Please feel free to take back your bed."

"Nice try. You, uh... like hot chocolate?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. But you don't have to do that."

"I've been awake," he says. "No trouble. C'mon."

Hood walks to the door and opens it. Light spills out and for a moment, you have a clear view of his back.

His hair is dark and wavy. His back is covered in silver scars and fresh bruises, broad and muscled. You can see the tendons shift as he walks out.

The Red Hood is a man. Made of flesh and blood. Carved, more like.

Your belly flutters. Fuck.

This is no longer just you working a case. And you're about as far from an informant as anyone can be.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Hi, would you write something about Nat or Yn being a cop and the other is a criminal and always try to get arrested.

Since the first time the felt something and thats why they wanted to get arrested and spend time with the other person, and if you want to write smut, the cop wanted to interrogate the other one without cameras and well, you know hahaha

Police Officer!Natasha Romanoff x criminal!fem!reader

Summary: You'll do anything to get to see her, even commit petty crimes

Word Count: 907

Warnings: Mentions of petty crimes, mostly just these two pinning for each other

A/N: I could only see Nat as a cop for this. There was no way it was gonna be the other way

Natasha Romanoff leaned back in her chair at the police station, reviewing the day's reports. She rubbed her temples, the fatigue of a long shift setting in. Just as she was about to call it a night, her phone buzzed with a message from a fellow officer.

"Got a familiar face in holding. Thought you'd want to know."

Natasha's heart skipped a beat as she read the message. She knew exactly who it was. You. The notorious small-time thief who seemed to have a knack for getting caught whenever Natasha was on duty. She couldn't deny the strange pull she felt whenever you were around.

With a resigned sigh, Natasha stood up and made her way to the holding cells. As she approached, she saw you sitting on the bench, looking almost...expectant. You glanced up as she entered, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

"Officer Romanoff," you greeted, your tone light and teasing. "Fancy meeting you here."

Natasha crossed her arms, trying to maintain her stern facade. "Y/N. What is it this time? Shoplifting? Trespassing?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "A little bit of both, actually. I guess I'm just not very good at this whole 'crime' thing."

She raised an eyebrow, studying you. "Or maybe you're just looking to get caught."

You met her gaze, your smile softening. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like spending time with a certain cop."

Natasha felt a flush creep up her neck, but she quickly masked it with a stern look. "You know, Y/N, there are easier ways to get my attention."

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. "But where's the fun in that? Besides, I think you like the chase."

Natasha couldn't help but smile at that. There was a spark between you, an undeniable chemistry that she found hard to ignore. "You know, this can't keep happening. Sooner or later, you're going to end up with more than just a night in a holding cell."

You stood up and approached the bars, your eyes locked on hers. "Maybe. But for now, I don't mind. As long as I get to see you."

Natasha shook her head, a mix of frustration and amusement in her expression. "You're impossible."

"And you're the best part of getting caught," you replied softly.

Natasha sighed, unlocking the cell door. "Come on, let's get you processed. Again."

As she led you down the hall, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. Being with Natasha, even in these circumstances, made everything else worth it. And Natasha, despite her stern exterior, couldn't deny the small thrill she felt every time you were around.

Maybe this was unconventional. Maybe it was risky. But for now, it was enough. And in the quiet moments between arrests and interrogations, both of you found something that made the chaos of your lives just a little bit brighter.

Natasha unlocked the cell door, her grip firm on your arm as she led you inside. You could feel the tension between you, the unspoken feelings simmering just below the surface. As she turned to leave, you couldn't help but act on impulse.

"Natasha, wait," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She paused, turning back to face you, her eyes searching yours. "What is it, Y/N?"

Without thinking, you stepped closer, closing the distance between you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at her, and before she could react, you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers.

For a moment, Natasha was still, caught off guard by your bold move. But then she responded, her lips moving against yours with a fierce intensity. Her hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss, her dominance unmistakable.

You melted into her embrace, feeling the power and control she exuded. Natasha's kiss was overwhelming, consuming you entirely. She pushed you back against the cell bars, her body pressing against yours as she took control of the situation.

Her hands moved to your wrists, pinning them above your head with a strength that made you gasp. Natasha broke the kiss, her breath hot against your lips as she looked down at you, her eyes dark with desire.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N," she murmured, her voice low and husky.

You couldn't help but smile, even as your heart raced. "Maybe I like living on the edge."

Natasha's lips curved into a smirk as she leaned in, her mouth brushing against your ear. "Just remember, I'm the one in control here."

With that, she kissed you again, her lips claiming yours with a possessive hunger. You surrendered to her, letting her take what she wanted. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the cell, not the arrest, not the risks. All that existed was the fiery connection between you and Natasha.

Finally, Natasha pulled back, her breathing heavy as she looked at you with a mixture of frustration and longing. "You make things complicated," she said, her voice softening slightly.

You smiled, your eyes locked on hers. "And you make things worth it."

Natasha shook her head, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Stay out of trouble, Y/N. For both our sakes."

She released your wrists, stepping back and regaining her composure. As she left the cell, you watched her go, a sense of satisfaction warming you. The line between law and desire had blurred, and for now, that was enough.

[swiftlyinlove]

Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

summary: You and Spencer are best friends, but there's always been a little spark between you. When he cancels your plans for Christmas, you're determined to prove that you know him better than anyone else.

warnings: idiots in love, christmas fluff, a little angst if you squint??

word count: approximately 4.5k

a/n: Hi! It's been a long time since I wrote much of anything, but writing this for Christmas has been an absolute joy. I love Spencer so much, and this poor boy just suffers... I wanted to give him a happy ending for Christmas - or a happy beginning. I hope you like it.

The first thing you realized after the beep signaled the end of the phone call was how weird Spencer was acting lately.

To be fair, you two had an unconventional friendship. Due to the nature of his job, Spencer was often busy and therefore you couldn’t communicate as much as you'd like to, but you'd set up a base rule to make sure you never lost touch with one another: mandatory Friday night video call.

Every Friday, without fail, you would Facetime. Spencer wasn’t fond of technology, you were aware, but he’d gladly face his prejudice and lack of knowledge of anything digital if it meant talking to you. It didn't matter if he was home or if he was in another state for a case; come nine pm on a Friday, you two would be catching up about your lives.

That, of course, meant that you'd grasp at every opportunity you could to be with each other. He was in town for a case? You would meet up and have dinner if he had time; if he was doing something important and couldn’t finish it in time for dinner, he would drop by your place at the craziest hour in the morning and lie down next to you, gently shaking you awake to reveal he had gotten take out from your favorite restaurant.

Despite being awakened from your slumber, you would greet him with the brightest smile he’s ever seen - well, after letting out a little shriek of surprise, to which Spencer would respond with an “It’s me, little menace” and a chuckle that would make your heart flutter every time. 

The nickname had originated from your childhood. Spencer didn’t have many friends in middle school, and the fact that he was much smarter than kids his age didn’t help. His classmates either made fun of him or avoided him altogether, but you were… different. 

When you first moved into town, you were very nervous for your first day of school. Making friends was never easy for you, as your peers would deem you rather weird for always having your nose stuck in books. However, you quickly realized you had nothing to worry about - it took one look at little Spencer Reid, reading Crime and Punishment at the lunch table, for you to know you had found your place.

You sat next to him, ignoring the snickers from the so-called “popular kids”. He hesitantly lifted his gaze from the wrinkled pages - you reckoned he had probably read that book many times before -, expecting to see someone with a mean scowl ready to taunt him.

Instead, his wide eyes were met with your bright smile, your rosy cheeks, and your adorable ponytails, and he frowned in confusion. “Hello…?”

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” You greeted him excitedly. There was something about him that made you feel confident, so you continued. “I’m new here and I noticed you were sitting alone. And that seems like a really cool book if you don’t mind me saying, and I just thought you-”

You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling. You could feel your cheeks warming up, and you were sure you looked as flustered as you were feeling. Before you could even dwell on how embarrassed you felt, Spencer’s lips broke into a smile. 

And that was it. From that moment on, you had been inseparable. Well, perhaps not physically; after all, he was academically way ahead of you and everyone else, and he even managed to graduate from high school at only twelve years old. 

That didn’t stop you from hanging out every moment you could, nor from exchanging letters every single day when he went to college. To this day, you still had those letters, safely tucked into a charming wooden box you kept on your bookshelf, but you’d never tell him that (although you were sure he knew, as the great profiler he was).

So, despite being separated due to your busy jobs - his more than yours - and living in different states, it wasn’t a surprise when you started arranging to spend the holidays together.

Since his mother was still institutionalized, Spencer didn't really have anyone to celebrate the holidays with and therefore didn't care much for the traditions. You, on the other hand, loved the holidays, but since your parents had passed away when you were in college, you were also alone during the season.

Thus, you cut a deal. Every year, he would use his extra vacation days to take a week off around Christmas and you would take turns visiting each other. Usually, you were both very excited about this occasion – it was one of the rare opportunities you had to be together in person, and you missed each other terribly.

This year, though... You had just called Spencer to confirm the date so you could book your flight to Quantico, and he had simply managed to say he couldn’t take time off before hanging up on you.

You were confused by this but chalked it up to it being one of those days for him. Working at the BAU, Spencer had to deal with a lot of gruesome cases often and, after a really bad one, he didn't find any energy to do much of anything.

While he'd never avoided you per se, when those days coincided with your phone calls, you would try to comfort him the best you could, and sometimes even managed to cheer him up a little. 

This time, you didn't even have the chance to, and that threw you off. Still, if Spencer was in a bad mood, maybe he just didn't feel like talking. Not even to you.

Deciding to not push it any further, it's only a few days later that you brought up your trip to Quantico, this time via text. You spent the entire day nearly jumping at your phone each time it vibrated, expecting a notification with his name on it.

It was only later that night that you'd get your answer in the form of an ‘I can't this year’. You read the text over and over again, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking, but you had hoped that, once he was in a better mood, he would be just as eager as you for your shared holiday season. 

It occurred to you that perhaps something happened, perhaps he couldn't file for a vacation because he had a big case that he couldn't step away from.

But if that were the case, he would've told you so. He would've explained, apologized even, and tried to schedule another date for your trip to make it up to you. So, you concluded, he just didn't want to see you.

That thought haunted you for the entire week.

Finally having enough of feeling blue and not getting any work done, you decided to go straight to the source in search of answers. Well, source adjacent - Spencer was still replying rather coldly to your texts, so you couldn’t ask him directly. Penelope Garcia was the next best thing.

You had met the members of the BAU after a particularly successful case in your city. Their flight would only leave in the morning and Spencer thought he could take the opportunity to take you to the cinema for a late-night movie, just like the good old days of your adolescence.

However, Penelope and Rossi had other plans. To properly celebrate their hard work that led to saving multiple women who had been kidnapped a few weeks prior, they decided to take the team out for dinner in a nice restaurant.

“And it’s mandatory. It’s not like we have anything else to do tonight, so no excuses.” She had warned in a playfully threatening tone. 

Spencer shifted in his spot while putting away his things in his satchel. After all the years he worked at the BAU, he still hadn’t told his coworkers - his found family, really - about you. It was the one thing he kept close to his chest, the one secret he wanted to keep forever.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he brushed his hair behind his ears, not daring to turn and face the team while he spoke. “I sort of already have plans.”

His voice was so quiet that the team wasn’t sure they had heard him correctly. After a moment of silence, Derek’s lips curled into his (in)famous smirk and he gently nudged Spencer’s side, making the lanky boy turn around to face his friends.

Spencer’s cheeks were flushed and he kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to face the curious expressions on their faces. But when Derek nudged him again, asking him “Who’s the girl?” with such a teasing tone, he couldn’t help but look up.

“She’s just a friend.” He blurted out, eyes immediately widening upon the realization of what he admitted.

While the rest of the team just shrugged it off and dived into their conversations, Derek patted him on the back - the force of which sent Spencer stumbling a few feet forward -, and Penelope lit up like he had just told her that he won the lottery.

“You have to bring her!” Penelope begged, grabbing his arm as they walked towards the door of the local precinct they had been working on for the case. “I want to meet this mystery woman.”

Penelope didn’t say it to him then, but she was sure you weren’t ‘just a friend’. She might’ve not been a profiler, but the look in his eyes when he spoke about you and his hesitation to cancel your plans for the sake of the team made her think that perhaps you were much more special to him than he realized.

Her suspicions were, of course, confirmed when he showed up at the restaurant a few hours later with you in his arms, wearing an elegant black dress and a radiant smile on your face as you whispered something to him, immediately breaking into a fit of giggles.

Spencer tried to feign indignation at your comment, but he couldn’t help but smile as he led you to his friends, who were all watching the interaction with surprise and disbelief. Your laughter calmed when you reached the table, but the smile never fell from your face as Spencer introduced you, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That’s when Penelope knew.

You clicked rather well with his friends. They were, naturally, very curious about you, and you did your best to answer all their questions. Meanwhile, Spencer, who was sitting next to you, placed a hand on your lower back, making sure you didn’t feel overwhelmed under the attentive eyes of his friends.

Penelope and you were a match made in heaven, Spencer reckoned. You quipped back and forth the entire night, even swapping numbers by the end of it, and Spencer even joked that you had found a new favorite FBI agent as you made your way to his car.

Chuckling at his statement, you stopped in your tracks, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning up to place a tender kiss on his cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite. But she’s a close second.”

Spencer was sure his heart had stopped right then and there and that he had gone to heaven.

Since that night, you frequently called Penelope to talk about numerous things - from the latest TV shows you were both hooked on to recipes for dessert -, but you rarely talked about Spencer. Until today.

“Penny, I need your help.” You blurted out as soon as the blonde answered your call. 

“Woah, woah, calm down my friend,” Penelope answered, amused and slightly worried about the urgency in your tone. “What’s on your pretty little mind?”

All it took for Penelope to know something was wrong was two words. “It’s Spencer.”

“What about boy wonder?” The technical analyst questioned, trying to make sense of what you were saying.

“He’s been acting so cold lately.” You explained, sighing in exhaustion as you plopped down on your couch. “Well, you know how we always arrange to spend the holidays together?”

Penelope hummed in agreement - every year when Spencer would put in a request to take time off during the holidays, she would make sure it was at the top of Strauss’ paperwork, knowing he was doing it for you.

At her approval, you continued. “This year I was supposed to come to Quantico, but every time I try to bring it up, he shuts me down and just says that he can’t. I don’t understand why he’s acting like this and it's been driving me nuts all week.”

The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at your image on the phone. 

“Are we sure we’re talking about the same person? Because he seemed pretty excited last week. He wouldn’t shut up about how he found the perfect gift for you and how he couldn’t wait to see your face when you opened it.”

This confused you even more, and you frowned as you processed her words. “Yeah, well, this week he can barely text me back. I don’t want anything crazy, Penny, I just want to be with him for Christmas.”

“I don’t know what happened. As far as I can tell, he did put in the request for a vacation.” Penelope replied. Then, her face lit up in realization and she cursed under her breath. “Morgan.”

“Morgan? What does Derek have to do with this?” You asked, more disoriented than ever.

“Wait here,” Penelope said, quickly getting up from her chair and leaving you to stare at her empty office. She returns a few minutes later, looking pretty annoyed, to see you making a cup of coffee in your kitchen.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweet cheeks.” The blonde said apologetically, making your gaze return to your phone, forgotten on the counter as you waited for her.

You quickly picked it up, registering her distressed expression. “What happened?”

“I found out why Reid’s acting like an ass to you.” She replied, her voice softening as she saw the glimmer of worry in your eyes. “It seems like Morgan has done quite a number on him.”

“What do you mean Morgan has done a number on him? What did he do?” You questioned, growing irritated by Penelope’s ability to beat around the bush. You loved her, you really did, but you just wanted to know what happened.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you this, but since you’re so upset…” Penelope trailed off, pursing her lips. “Morgan better pay me back.”

“Penelope, just spit it out.” You interrupted, your impatience reflected in your tone.

“Fine. I told you Reid wouldn’t shut up about you, and Morgan may or may not have teased him about his feelings for you and it may or may not have caused Spencer to clam up in his shell.” Penelope rushed through her words and you blinked, unsure you had heard her correctly.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears as you asked her, “Spencer… Has feelings for me?”

Penelope looked reluctant to answer your questions, clearly not wanting to violate Spencer’s privacy. Ever since she met you, she knew you and the resident FBI genius were destined for each other, but she wanted you to discover on your terms.

“Penny, please.” You sounded out of breath, and it cleared any sign of hesitation on Penelope’s mind. 

“Baby girl, I can’t be the one to tell you that. You have to ask him.” She responded, her voice full of empathy. “But between me and you, I’m pretty sure you know what the answer is.”

Spencer was certain that he was in the 9th circle of hell. 

Ever since Morgan’s comment, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He always knew what you two had was special.  You knew how to make him laugh; Spencer didn’t consider himself to be difficult to entertain, but he could be quite oblivious to his coworkers' jokes sometimes, especially if they were about him. But you? Oh, you managed to make him laugh hysterically with a simple comment, and it endeared him. 

You had been with him through the good and the bad, after all. You were there at his graduation, celebrating his first Ph.D. - and the two that came after that, too - and you were right there by his side when he watched his mother be dragged away to a mental institution, holding his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

That was what he loved most about you. He could always count on you to be there for him. He recalled the first moment he realized you were much more than a friend to him.

It had been after the Tobias Hankel case. Spencer slipped in and out of consciousness as the doctors dragged him through the hospital, murmuring to themselves about testing the drugs in his system and checking his vitals.

His life wasn’t in danger anymore, but he was oh so tired. He had spent days upon days of captivity without a wink of sleep, locked in an empty cabin where he was tortured by two of Tobias’ personalities, and all he could think about between getting tormented and getting drugged was you.

He was sure he was going to die then, and his main concern was that he wouldn’t be able to see your pretty smile again. He would tell you this when you appeared at his bedside a few hours later, claiming that you received a call from the hospital - unsurprisingly, you were each other’s emergency contacts - and had threatened a stewardess to get a ticket to the next plane to Virginia, and you would call him ridiculous for it.

It was only when you were sitting next to him on his hospital bed, his head leaning against your chest as you combed your hands through his hair, that he allowed himself to cry, to reveal how truly scared he had been under Tobias’ hands.

You whispered sweet nothings in his ear as you softly lifted his head, making sure he was looking at you when you softly kissed his tears away. His arms had tightened around you, a silent sign of his gratitude, and he knew then, he knew, you were everything to him.

How could he have not fallen for you after all that? 

But he could never tell you. He had been rejected many times in his life, but if he was to get rejected by you? He was sure his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

So he tried to bury his feelings deep inside him, keeping you a secret from the people who knew him best and, when the time came, introduced you to them. As a friend. Because that’s all that you were. Friends.

When Morgan teased him about his feelings for you, Spencer entered panic mode. If Morgan could see Spencer was madly in love with you, then you could see it too - you could always read him like a book, after all.

And if you hadn’t brought it up… You didn’t want to. He knew you’d never want to hurt him, so the only logical conclusion he could reach was: you don’t feel the same.

He tried his best to avoid you. Cutting you off whenever you brought up your plans for the holidays, replying to your texts with short answers, and even refraining from watching Doctor Who in his free time, because it only reminded him of how you two used to lie on your couch during summer break and watch it together. 

What he didn’t count on was opening his door in mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve and seeing you standing in front of him, coat covered in the snow that was falling outside the comfort of his building and a small smile on your face.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.” You said bashfully, not sure how he would react to your presence. 

“Merry Christmas.” He replied, his breath knocked out of his lungs at how beautiful you looked standing there. He might have fallen in love with you all over again. 

After a beat of silence, he wet his lips, looking at you with the same wide-eyed gaze he greeted you with when you were kids. “What... What are you doing here?”

Your lips curled into a sheepish smile. “What, you thought I was gonna miss Christmas?”

Seeing you in front of him, hearing your voice without the faint static of the phone for the first time in a while… it was surreal to him. He couldn’t help but cave in and wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer into a tight hug.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders just as tightly, your body finally relaxing against his. You could feel his nose nuzzled into your neck, and you smiled against his shoulder.

“I missed you.” You whispered, letting your words linger between the two of you.

“I missed you too.” He whispered back, and you knew he was sincere. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I know.” You breathed in his scent, pressing a soft kiss against his shoulder before pulling away. He reluctantly let you go, a remorseful smile on his lips.

Spencer guided you into his apartment, and you took note of how he put up your usual Christmas decorations. “You managed to set up the tree by yourself?” You teased him.

He chuckled, watching as you settled on his couch and patted the space next to you. He promptly followed your lead, sitting down beside you. “Yeah, it was a real challenge.”

Before you could even reply, Spencer reached out to grab your hand, his thumb softly caressing your knuckles to calm his racing mind.

“Look, I’m so sorry. I’ve been stuck in my head lately, and it’s not fair that I treated you like that. We’ve had this tradition forever and I feel like I disrespected it and-” Spencer rambled, and you pressed your lips against his to shut him up.

Your sudden action stunned him, and he couldn’t help but succumb to your spell. Placing his hands on both sides of your face and closing his eyes, he kissed you back as gently and tenderly as he could, feeling you melt against him.

Once you pulled away, his eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a lovestruck, surprised gaze. He seemed to be speechless, which made you giggle.

“I hope that was on your wishlist this Christmas.” You joked, leaning your forehead against his. 

Your gaze softened as you took in his expression. “Penny told me everything. In all seriousness, I understand why you did it.  I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell me.”

He gulped, feeling vulnerable under your loving stare. He always got the impression that you could see right through him.

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been in love with you almost my entire life, and when I finally realized it, I was afraid that if I acted on them, you wouldn’t want anything to do with me.” He murmured, his tone growing sadder.

“And when Morgan joked about my feelings for you, I just realized that maybe I hadn’t been as discreet as I thought and perhaps you already knew and didn’t talk about it so you wouldn’t hurt me.” He continued, closing his eyes again as if the mere thought was too painful to bear. 

He took a deep breath, his thumbs starting to slowly brush against your cheekbones. “I didn’t want to face you and find out if it was true, because… Because my heart couldn’t take it.”

You listened quietly to his words, his touch on your skin grounding you and sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It broke your heart to hear him speak like that, as if the mere thought of you feeling the same never crossed his mind, as if it was absurd. 

You knew he had low self-esteem, a permanent scar from all the times he was bullied throughout his life, but his self-deprecating view never ceased to shock you.

“Spencer…” You whispered his name like it was sacred, like he was something to be worshipped, and it made his heart skip a beat. “I know all your favorite songs, how you take your coffee, and your favorite books. In order. I know you. I’d be crazy not to love you.”

You could feel him exhale in relief at your quiet confession, his racing mind finding solace in your words. “Really?”

“Of course.” You replied with a chuckle, leaning forward to press a feather-light peck against his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since we were, like, sixteen. All I ever wanted was to be the one to give you everything you want.”

He smiled as you pulled away once again, thinking about how much time you two had lost while dancing around your feelings. Although, he supposed, it wasn’t lost time - you had spent those years giving each other love, even if it wasn’t necessarily romantic.

“We’re both idiots.” He replied, making you laugh once more. You stood up, grabbing both of his hands and guiding him to the kitchen. He followed you with a bright smile on his face; he would follow you anywhere, he suspected.

“I was thinking I could make those cookies you like and, afterward, we could perhaps… snuggle by the fireplace?” You suggested, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. 

He pretended to think for a moment, before he finally gave in, pressing a delicate kiss against your temple. “Anything you want, little menace.”

Spencer hummed, burying his face further into his neck. “I was thinking of reading a few books. Santa was going to keep me company.”

Later that night, when you were both snuggled up against each other in front of his fireplace while eating the gingerbread cookies you both made, you asked him curiously, “What were you planning to do for Christmas, if I hadn’t shown up?”

You laughed quietly at his admission. “Well, Santa doesn’t know you like I do.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Your genius agreed, peppering little kisses onto your skin. “You’re the best Christmas present ever, do you know that?”

“Yeah? Wait until you see what I actually bought for you.” You replied, a playful smile on your face. “Besides, a little birdie told me you got me the perfect Christmas gift.”

“I’m gonna kill Penelope.” He muttered under his breath, sending you into a fit of laughter. 

Well, maybe this Christmas time

You'll finally realize

That I could be the one

To give you everything you want

[kvroomi]

imagine spider-man!gojo and spider-woman!reader, who both work together harmoniously throughout the city as a pair of vigilantes—unaware of each other’s identities and just how prevalent they both are in one another’s lives outside of fighting crime. it’s an unconventional meeting and it’s almost sunrise. after a mission together, they’ve both stopped by the same convenience store for some food.

it’s quiet, the buzz of the fluorescent lights casting a faint glow to the packaging of the bright blue can of energy drink. the bold words are promising of enough caffeine to keep you upright for the next twelve hours. though you stand there, frozen for a moment, battling an internal debate about whether you should just skip dinner and head to bed with an empty (and hungry) stomach—or destroy it with sugar. you decide with the latter and pick up the can to drop it into your basket with a sigh. the weight of it feels much heavier in your hand than it should.

“energy blast? didn’t think you were into fine dining.”

you freeze mid-step, mentally cursing the universe for its lack of mercy. you’d like to think you’d know that voice anywhere; it wasn’t something endearing, rather your body was sent into fight or flight at even just the mention of his name.

slowly you turned to face him, and sure enough, there he was—gojo. he’s leaning against the shelf, his sunglasses (yes, he wore them even at midnight), are perched obnoxiously on his nose. they shine with the garish lighting, forcing you into a squint when your eyes catch the bright reflection.

you almost groan at the sight of his bag. it’s a war zone of sour gummies, chocolate bars, and what looked suspiciously like a can of whipped cream.

“i could say the same for you,” your voice is measured, a conscious effort to exhibit a fake, but convincing act of nonchalance. “what is that anyways? is it for dessert or are you trying to send yourself into a sugar-induced coma?”

he grinned, the kind of lopsided smile that could make angels weep—or villains run, depending on the day. “don’t knock it ‘til you try it. some of us know how to live a little.”

“suuuuure,” rolling your eyes as you reply, unconvinced. “if living means 7 different cavities for each day of the week.”

gojo chuckled, low and easy. he shifted closer. it’s a split millisecond reaction and you immediately notice his subtle limp. anyone would’ve missed it—anyone but you.

of course you did. it wasn’t much, just a tiny hesitation. but paired with the faint bruise just under his jaw, it set off a hundred silent alarms in your head.

you’d seen him like this before. maybe not to the extent of his injuries today, but something more frayed at the edges—like he’d been somewhere he shouldn’t.

“what happened there?” gojo stills for a second, confused at what you’re referring to.

you point at your jaw, mirroring the placement of his bruise.

he blinked, momentarily caught off guard before his grin widened.

"oh, this?" tapping his jaw lightly, he continued. “you wouldn't believe me if i told you."

"try me."

"i got into a fight with a revolving door," he says, straight-faced. "it was me or the glass, and well..."

you rolled your eyes. "right. because that sounds believable."

"hey, revolving doors are dangerous," he insisted. "you’re lucky you weren't there—i would've had to save you too."

"sounds like you need saving from yourself," you retort, not being able to help the small smile tugging at your lips.

with another roll your eyes, you turned back to the shelf. letting your eyes drift across the many labels of caffeinated drinks, you couldn’t help but focus on his presence looming behind you. it was always like this with gojo—relentless.

you’d met him a year ago when you started working at the same community arts center. you taught weekend workshops for kids, and gojo occasionally ran their afterschool programs—though ran was a generous term for what he did.

he wasn't the kind of coworker you'd ever expected to become friends with, though somehow, you had. maybe it was the way he always brought you coffee to meetings, even if each drink tasted more like sugar and coffee than coffee and sugar. or maybe it was how he managed to charm every kid in the building, no matter how much the kid may have disliked him in the beginning.

"late-night inspiration, huh?" he motioned toward the can in your hand.

"something like that," you sighed, avoiding his gaze by picking up another energy drink and putting it back

"what’re you working on?"

you pause, hand mid-air and debating how much to say.

"just some commissions."

"commissions," he repeated, like the word was a personal affront. "what happened to making art for fun?"

"some of us have rent to pay, gojo. who are you to talk anyway? you sign up for extra shifts just to win over the kids with pizza and candy."

gojo grinned. "that’s called strategy, sweetheart. you wouldn't understand."

you snorted, finally turning to face him. "and what's this strategy for?” you towards his basket and pick up a packet of gummies, inspecting it before tossing it back in. "new teaching method? bribery?"

"bribery's underrated," he returns with a shake of his head.

"but no, this is for me. sometimes a guy just needs sugar and carbs you know?"

you couldn't stand him half the time, but you'd also begrudgingly admitted—if only to yourself—that he was good company.

“long day?” you’re careful to keep your tone casual as you ask.

his grin doesn’t waver, and if it does you don’t notice—but his hand tightened around the basket handle. “me? nah. what about you? busy day brooding over your sketchpad?”

you smile and try to catch his eye, “something like that.”

though gojo’s gaze wasn’t on your face anymore. he’d drifted lower, catching sight of the faint rip in your jacket sleeve. you cursed inwardly; it was barely noticeable—a tiny tear at the seam where a stray shard of glass had nicked you earlier tonight. his gaze lingered like it was written in neon.

“what happened there?” his voice is light and almost lazy, but you could see the wheels turning behind his glasses.

“nothing.” you shrugged it off. “snagged it on a doorframe.”

“uh-huh.” his voice drops just enough to make the air feel warmer. “must’ve really hated that doorframe.”

you force a laugh, jaw tightening in nervousness and step past him toward the register. “not as much as i hate this conversation.”

gojo didn’t follow immediately, but you could feel his eyes on your back like a second shadow. by the time you reached the counter, he was also there, leaning against the opposite side of the aisle with his basket balanced precariously on one hand.

“funny,” he announces after a beat, his tone too casual. “you’ve got a thing for clumsy doorframes, and i’ve got a thing for evil revolving doors. guess we’re not so different, huh?”

you glanced at him in annoyance, searching his face for any crack in his mask. but there’s nothing—just that insufferable grin and sunglasses, hiding every flicker of thought behind his ridiculous confidence.

“guess not,” you breathe out, grabbing your drink and heading for the door.

“don’t stay up too late,” he calls after you, his voice dripping with amusement. “you wouldn’t want to run into any more furniture.”

you don’t turn around, and you don’t respond with another witty retort either. instead, you choose to instead flick a halfhearted wave over your shoulder. outside, the night air was cool against your skin, washing away the tension coiled in your chest.

as you rounded the corner, you allowed yourself a small smile. gojo was sharp—too sharp for his own good. but he wasn’t there yet, not tonight.

behind you and still inside the store, gojo stood frozen in place. his grin had dispersed just enough to reveal the furrow in his brow. his thumb traced absentmindedly over his basket handle as he replayed the conversation in his head.

for someone as quick on her feet as you, he knew that explanation didn’t add up. but then again, his limp and bruise wasn’t exactly subtle either.

KVROOMI © 2024, DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE

[marauroon]

congrats on another new blog for a new fandom 🤭

as a blog-warming request, can we add another fic to the best friend James with no boundaries pile???

HYPOTHERMIC - J.POTTER

you are the only feasible solution that james can think of to warm up his frozen extremities

cw — james and reader have an unconventional friendship, james and sirius being brothers as per, swearing, typical teenage antics

james potter x fem!reader || fluff || 1.8k || requests open!!

a/n: another new blog has spawned for another fandom (the marauders are encapsulating all of my thoughts rn)🤭 thanks for the ‘blog-warming’ request ml 🫶🫶

It’s a crime James thinks, to have snow in April. It never snows in April back down in England, hell they’re not likely to have snow at all.

But apparently living up north in Scotland spelled different news.

It was even more of a crime that he had to go out in the snow. Quidditch was great, but no one should have to be flying in -2° weather.

It was April, it was snowing, and James was cold.

By the time the team hit the showers he swore his fingers were going to fall off from hypothermia, a sentiment shared by most of his teammates as they spent a collective ten extra minutes under the hot water.

The trudge back to the Gryffindor common room was almost as treacherous as the training itself, the stone walls of the castle doing absolutely nothing to block the chill that ran through it’s corridors.

Sirius swears to him that he sees some of the paintings shaking, and honestly he can’t blame them, he’s practically shivering himself and he had a long-sleeved t-shirt and a jumper on.

He has one singular plan. Sit in front of the fire and stay there until he was sure that all of his organs had defrosted, even if that meant missing dinner. That was a lie, he would definitely leave the embering comfort of the fireplace for dinner.

Now he was thinking about it, he was starving. Maybe he could convince Sirius or Peter to go down to the kitchens early with him to sneak something back up.

There’s an almost unanimous sigh of relief as the team walk through the fat lady’s portrait, like their muscles relax just from seeing the familiar red and gold decor and decide to just give up right then and there.

It’s a sight to be seen for sure, a majority of the student’s who’d taken up the lounge sofas and chairs for the afternoon looking on at the group with raised eyebrows and small muttered chuckles at their collective state.

“Have fun then?” There’s a decided smirk on Remus’ face as James and Sirius drag themselves over to the nook that you and him had curled yourselves into over the last few hours, and the two boys share a glance before turning it in your paired direction with a dissatisfied glare of jealousy.

You could not look comfier if you tried, tucked in either corner of one of the long sofas right next to the fire with blankets over your laps and flushed cheeks from the warmth of the room.

James is the one to give up on his seething anger first, practically collapsing himself onto the unoccupied space between you and Remus and flopping over until he’s got his face firmly planted across your knees, a loud defeated groan rumbling from his throat and vibrating through the blanket to meet your skin.

“I’ll take that as a no—” You can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your mouth at the display, unperturbed by the side eye you gain as James adjusts himself so that he can lie on you without suffocating himself or crushing his glasses.

“I swear my organs were freezing over out there,”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Remus shakes his head from behind the book propped up against his knees, amused smirk still lining his features.

“It is not dramatic Moony, we were getting hypothermic out there, seriously,” Sirius gives a tug to James’ legs so that he can sit down with his head over the back of the cushion, and it leaves James sat on the floor as a result.

“Oi, first come first served—” James tugs one of the decorative pillows you have tucked under your arm from you so that he can throw it at Sirius’ head, and it is promptly returned by Sirius with a middle finger and a triumphant look to go with it.

James lets out a sharp scoff of indignation as he rears the pillow for another throw, but its plucked from his, stiff, frozen hands before he has the chance to.

“That’s enough both of you, we were trying to have a calm afternoon here,” You scold the two with no real malice as you tuck the pillow back into it’s spot underneath your arm, and James sighs heavily as he slings his arms over your legs to rest his chin on top of them.

“It’s not my fault Sirius doesn’t understand sofa etiquette,”

“You were hogging the whole thing,” Sirius scrunches up his face in exasperation, gesturing outwards widely with his hand and almost knocking the book right out of Remus’ lap. “Sorry-”

Remus sighs, and the two of you share a glance and a silent shake of your heads.

You loved the boys to death, but my god did they not know the concept of sitting still for more than five minutes.

That point was only further proven as James gets up from the floor to wedge himself between you and Sirius, giving his leg a deft kick in the process for payback as he tried to worm himself in between your side and the back of the sofa.

“James—” The movement laves you lost for balance, and you almost tumble right off the edge of the sofa as he invades your spot, one of your legs falling from the seat to brace against the floor.

“What? I’m cold, and you’re right next to the fire,” His invasion continues as he tugs the blanket you have draped over you towards himself until it’s covering his lower body entirely and leaving you half-uncovered.

“You can’t just kick me out of my spot—” You huff, more than a little miffed at being forcibly removed from the position you’d spent almost ten minutes perfectly arranging to make you as comfortable as possible for the afternoon.

“I’m not, I’m not,” There’s a strong grasp around your torso, and then you’re being tugged backwards until your half situated on top of him with your back to his chest. “I’m sharing your spot,” His words are emphasised by his chin landing against your shoulder and his arms encircling your waist like you’re a soft toy a child would take to bed.

It wouldn’t be too bad of a position if you couldn’t literally feel how cold James was through your clothes, like a human ice pack attached to your back.

“You’re freezing James—”

“I know,” He takes your words as an affirmation to bury his face against your shoulder, curling up his legs under the blanket and in turn forcing you to do the same. “I’m warming myself up,”

“The fire’s over there mate,” Remus and Sirius share an incredulous look at the two of you. “She’s not a heating pad,”

You have half the mind to agree with them, and James can feel the way you nod at the observation, responding with a dissatisfied grumble and his hands pulling up the hem of the jumper you’re wearing to warm his icy extremities against your skin.

“James—” The temperature makes you physically jolt, your back shooting up straight and forcing his head from it’s position against your shoulder.

“What?” He tugs you back against his chest with false innocence dripping from his vocal chords, his hands using your stomach as his own hot water bottle. “You’ll get used it it, it’ll be fine,”

“It is not fine, your hands are practically ice,”

“I was playing Quidditch in the snow,” He wastes no time in reclaiming his place with his head hidden against the crook of your neck. “Of course they are,”

“Ugh, you two make me sick,” Sirius puts his index finger inside his mouth in a mock gagging motion as he shifts to stuff his feet underneath Remus’ thighs in his own attempt at warming up.

“Sounds like jealousy to me,” James shrugs, and it jostles you slightly in his arms. “You don’t have to project Pads, we all know you’re sad because Moony won’t give you a cuddle,”

“That is not true,” Sirius huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, though his gaze turns to Remus nonetheless, and he is immediately met with a shake of Remus’ head. “Whatever,” He scoffs, raking a hand through his curls with an almost unnoticeable pout on his face. “Just get a room already will you? You’re disturbing everyone with your PDA,”

“Why don’t you just shut your mouth already?” James tilts his head with an annoyingly cocky smile, lifting his face just far enough off your shoulder so Sirius can get a good look at his expression. “I can smell your breath from over here,”

“You little—” Sirius rips one of the decorative pillows from underneath Remus to launch it at James’ head, but considering your position as a literal human shield it misses him completely, hitting you square in the face.

“Hey—” Your arms aren’t raised quick enough to block his assault, but they do return fire the minute the pillow is in your vicinity.

“Sorry sorry,” Sirius is more successful than you at blocking the projectiles pillow, laughing in the process. “Collateral damage, it’s what you get for pairing up with him,” Sirius scrunches up his nose in exaggerated disgust, and James responds by sticking one of his hands out of the blanket to flip him off.

You take the opportunity of James’ loosened grip to slip out of his arms and onto your feet, and his pettiness towards Sirius immediately turns into betrayal towards you. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere actually quiet?” You roll your eyes at him in feigned indignation, a small chuckle bubbling in your throat. “I love you guys but you are ruining my cozy afternoon,”

“No no I’m sorry I won’t fight with Pads anymore don’t leave,” He reaches his arm out to grasp at your wrist, giving it a small tug. “Stay c’mon, please?”

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly not believing a single word coming out of the boy’s mouth.

“I promise,” He extends his hand out with his pinky finger raised.

You give him a narrowed gaze, but upon a prompting of his hand as he waved it in your direction you linked your finger with his, and he used it as leverage to pull you right back into his grasp.

“See? It’s very cozy,” James ignores the way Sirius rolls his eyes as he shifts you around in his lap until you’re both comfortable.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

[pretty-little-mind33]

fluff ✿ angst ✮ hurt & comfort ✷ smut (nsfm) ♥︎

main masterlist

~ REQUESTS CLOSED ~

most popular - DON'T BLAME ME ♥︎ - You've been the Twins' handler for years now, and when Tangerine blows up at you one evening after a mission, he apologizes in an unconventional way.

author's favorite - YOU BELONG WITH ME ✮✿ - Tangerine has always chosen her over you, until he doesn't anymore.

latest work - THE 1 ✿ - You want to trim your boyfriend's mustache

~ BLURB MASTERLIST ~

~ KINKTOBER 2024 ~

~ HEADCANONS ~

fem!reader with an abusive ex

fem!reader in a relationship with him

fem!reader who likes to party

fem!reader pulling on his tie

~ FICS ~

Seeing Tangerine gradually lose clothing items on the train.

Not saying I love you back prank.

You, Tangerine, and Lemon play monopoly.

MASTERMIND ✿ - Since the mission in Tokyo, you wanted Tangerine out of your life as soon as possible. Instead, he stormed back in to save you from yourself.

DRESS ✿✮ - Your best friends promised never to tell you about their dangerous job. However, all goes to shit when you find out another way.

NO BODY, NO CRIME ✿✷ - You meet a sexy, dangerous, stranger on a train. And he somehow ends up kidnapping you?

HITS DIFFERENT ♥︎ - You and Tangerine discover you love sucking on his fingers.

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✿✷ - After accidentally killing your kidnappers, the Twins—especially Tangerine—seem determined to keep you away from harm.

LABYRINTH ✿ - When you go to steal a silver case from the Twins, they quickly realize you're under duress.

VIGILANTE SHIT ✿ - Tangerine wants to teach you some important self-defense skills.

DELICATE ✷ - Tangerine and Lemon care for the kidnapped girl they were paid a lot of money to save.

BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM ✿✷ - Tangerine protects you at a fundraiser and then Lemon learns about the two of you - Epilogue to Don't Blame Me

TWO IS BETTER THAN ONE ♥︎ - Your fiancé wants to fuck you raw.

ALL TOO WELL ✮ - You never told Tangerine he has a daughter in the hopes of never seeing him again.

GUILTY AS SIN? ♥︎ - Tangerine is infatuated with you and when you happen to be at the same hotel he's in, his need for you grows.

LONG STORY SHORT ✿✷ - When your sister's new mystery fiancé is someone you know from university, your husband isn't very happy.

NEW YEAR'S DAY ✷ - After losing your job and being falsely imprisoned, you turn to the Twins for help—which eventually stirs up unspoken feelings.

OURS ✿ - You've always loved your boyfriend's tattoos but panic when he offers to have you choose his next one.

THE ARCHER ✷ - Tangerine and Lemon learn more about the young woman they'd been hired to save and things become complicated. pt. 2 to Delicate

STYLE ♥︎ - No matter how hard Tangerine tries, he can't resist your sweetness.

MIDNIGHT RAIN ♥︎ - Your boyfriend punishes you.

TOO SWEET ✿ - Tangerine falls in love with his pretty neighbor.

YOU BELONG WITH ME ✮✿ - Tangerine has always chosen her over you, until he doesn't anymore.

THE 1 ✿ - You want to trim your boyfriend's mustache.

[amethystwrytes]

Safe.

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin X Fem. Reader X Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous. 

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Me not knowing a single thing about medicine and relying on Google to give me accurate-ish information and the hope that I'm kind of explaining it correctly but knowing I'm probably not, so apologies to any reader who may work in medicine and is rolling their eyes at me lol. 18+ Only.

Chapter WC: 6k

AN: I have never ever in my life written a mafia fic, at least nothing I’ve ever posted or kept so…good luck. Additionally, this fic was originally all one doc which ended up being too much to handle, like Tumblr would not even try to meet me halfway. So I decided to break her up into chapters which I will post routinely until she's over. No idea how many chapters bc I’m still deciding on how to separate some of the later parts of the story…so hang tight with me. 

-PART ONE-

It’s the blare of a phone ringing that wakes you in the middle of the night. You pull yourself to the edge of the bed and look at the two phones that lay on your bedside table. One is personal, in a shiny black case that in truth, hardly ever rings or blips anymore. The other is a silver phone, caseless, a little worse for the wear and the screen is illuminated with an unsaved telephone number. This particular detail doesn’t really matter, there’s only a few people who would be calling it, and they cycle through burner phones so often there’s no point in saving anything. 

“Hello?” your voice is scratchy from sleep. 

“We’re ten minutes out,” Changbin says urgently, skipping greetings entirely. You sit up and throw your feet over the edge of the bed. 

“Who is it and how bad?” you ask, flitting around your bedroom switching lights on and grabbing a hair tie. 

“It’s Hyunjin, and I don’t think he’s going to die but I can’t stop the bleeding,” Changbin grunts. 

“Gun shot?” you assume, already downstairs and clearing the dining table, wondering what kind of trauma you need to prepare for. 

“Stabbed.” 

“Fuck,” you stop. Possibilities like artery and organ punctures start spinning around your head. You pray it’s not abdominal, but you know these men too well so you don’t ask, because you’re sure you already know the answer. 

“We can’t take him to an ER, ___, his face is on every list in the city. You know they always keep informants in the emergency departments, we can’t take him there,” Changbin urges and it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone else. 

He’s correct. When Lee Minho, crime lord and your current employer first found you, you were working the night shift at the emergency department. You knew that because of the high crime rate in the city, many of the staff who sat at the check in and triage stations were also paid police informants, ready to dial up the officers to run any names or faces that looked sketchy, had a shady story, or came in with GSWs, or similar combative injuries. 

“Okay. Okay, keep direct pressure on the wound and I mean a lot of pressure Changbin, it’s going to feel like you’re hurting him but trust me, lots of pressure. I’ll prep the dining room,” you tell him. 

You take a deep breath and think. You start a pot of boiling water and lay out some clean towels on the counter. Then fly around the room opening drawers: Gloves, scissors, gauze, bandages, wound packing strips, disinfectant, antibiotics, stitch kit, and the silent prayer that no arteries, or internal organs have been compromised because you are not a surgeon and you will have to send them out to a hospital, which is more time wasted and gives Hyunjin a significantly lower survival chance. 

You weigh a clean sheet down over the table just as you hear tires squeal into the driveway outside. You run to the door and unlock it, propping it open so they can carry him in. 

“It’s bad ___, he’s out cold,” Felix grunts breathlessly as he and Changbin carry an unconscious Hyunjin into the room. All three are covered in blood and you don’t bother asking if it’s Hyunjins, theirs, or someone else's. The two of them are walking, conscious and breathing, so it doesn’t matter at the moment. 

“Okay, it’ll be okay,” you blather in a much higher tone than you mean to. 

You don the gloves and grab the scissors, cutting up the seams of Hyunjins black satin shirt, soaked with blood. Changbin keeps his hand pressed to Hyunjins left side, a balled up tee shirt gripped in his shaking fist. 

“Bin,” you say softly, “I need to cut the shirt away, okay? When I say three I want you to pull your hand off,” you explain and he nods, “Felix, I need you to bring the pot of water and those clean towels from the kitchen in here for me,” you instruct. 

You look at Hyunjins sweet face, ghastly pale, and lips several shades lighter than what they ought to be. He’s clearly lost a lot of blood and you briefly think of a transfusion, but have no way of performing one - most of these men have no idea what blood type they are anyway but even if they did you don’t have the means to do it. 

“Okay,” you breathe deeply once the shirt is mostly gone, the scent of iron and copper floods your nose, “One…two…three.” 

Changbin pulls the balled up, blood soaked cloth from the wound and you watch as the thick, red substance trickles out while you finish off the shirt. You hear Changbin gasp and curse under his breath. 

“It’s okay,” you say, “That’s a fairly good sign, see how it’s a slow trickle and not a burst or spurt? That’s a good sign,” you repeat for him, grabbing a handful of gauze to press into the wound.

Changbin nods and backs away. 

“No, no,” you stop him, “Go wash your hands, put some gloves on and come back here, Felix, you do the same. Quickly.” 

The two men disperse to do as they’re told and you hold the gauze in place with one hand, wetting a towel to clean off the area with the other so you can see what you’re working on better. It’s on his left side, above his hip in the small of his waist. That significantly decreases the number of organs possibly punctured. Left kidney, lung, and/or possible intestinal damage - none of which are good news, but that will make it easier to look for tell tale signs, which as of right now you don’t see. 

Changbin and Felix return, gloved up and ready to assist as you work diligently to stop the bleeding by packing the wound. 

“How long was the blade?” you ask as you work. You stick your fingertip into the open flesh to feel it out. This seems to perk your patient up, Hyunjin jerks up on the table, screaming in agony and cursing the room. The good news is the wound isn’t as deep as you feared.

“Hold him down!” you yell and both men scramble to steady him. “Changbin? The knife?”

“Um,” Changbin shakes his head, “Small, smooth, no more than ten centimeters I’d say.” 

Hyunjin gasps and goes eerily still on the table. 

“___?” Felix cries, you can hear the fear in his voice. 

“It’s okay, he’s responding to pain and that’s good, but he’s going to slip in and out of consciousness because of the blood loss,” you explain but you still see the fear on Felixes face, “Why don’t you tell me what happened Felix?” 

He looks at you, eyes wide with fear and you give him a shaky but reassuring smile and a nod of encouragement, “We were ambushed. It was just supposed to be a collection run, so only the three of us went. As soon as we walked into their storehouse bullets were flying. Hyunjin knocked the gun out of the guys hand and he pulled a blade out of his boot as a backup,” Felix adds, “He stabbed Hyunjin but he got in one last punch that knocked the bastard out cold,” he smiles proudly. 

“Was Hyunjin significantly taller than the man?” you wonder. 

“Definitely,” Changbin nods, “Why does it matter?” 

“Because it appears that the man stabbed into his side at a difficult upward angle, which prevented it from going in deep. That’s good, because that means it probably bypassed any of his organs. Felix, bring my stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff please, over on the end table.” 

Felix runs over and you cautiously release the gauze. To your relief the bleeding seems to have at least slowed to a manageable rate. 

You stuff the stethoscope in your ears and try to ascertain some vitals now that he seems stable(ish). His heart rate is lower than normal, but his lungs sound clear. Pupils are responding to light slowly but normally, and his blood pressure is low but stable. You grab his hand and press on his fingernails, O2 seems fine. 

“What now?” Felix asks. 

“I’ll need you two to lift him up a bit, I’ve got the wound packed but I’ll need to wrap a bandage around his torso to keep the packing in place, then, in an hour or so, if we’re lucky the bleeding will have stopped completely and I can clean him up and stitch it,” you say shakily. 

The boys do as they’re told and you carefully wrap the bandage around him, making sure the wound is secured. 

A knock pounds at the door as you lay him back down on the table, the three of you exchange glances and Changbin pulls the 9mm from his strap and makes his way toward the door with Felix tiptoeing behind as backup. 

“It’s me,” a voice hollers from the other side and your little trio breathes a sigh of relief. It’s Lee Minho, obviously coming to check on one of his best. 

Changbin opens the door and sweeps the front yard with his eyes for good measure before closing up again. 

“How is he?” Minho stands over Hyunjins still body as you discard your gloves in a nearby bin. 

“He’s lost quite a lot of blood, if we were at the hospital I’d imagine they’d call for a transfusion, which is impossible here - but if I can get him stable, he might pull through the blood loss thing. The wound wasn’t as deep as I thought it would be, but it’s quite a bleeder, so right now my primary focus is to make sure it’s completely stopped before sewing him up,” you explain. 

Minho nods, and you watch as he quietly assesses the situation, considering his next move. You don’t know Hyunjin as well as some of the others. You do know he’s careful, cautious and very good at his job. The fact he was nearly bested this evening has you surprised, so you can only imagine the shock of the man standing in front of you. Minho taps his finger gently against his lips, then drags his hand across his mouth in frustration. 

“I want retaliation for this,” he says quietly, darkly. 

“Absolutely,” Changbin nods, “The motherfucker who did this has numbered days.” 

“Find him,” Minho commands, “Find everyone who was there, I don’t care if you have to go to their homes where their god damned kids sleep, you find them, I want intel on them all, and we’ll go over it together. We’ll figure out who we can use for information, and who we’re going to,” he stops himself then and looks at you gently, “Well, who won’t be of any value to us.” 

You appreciate the attempt at guarded candor, but you already know he means to murder them all. Knowing Minho, and how he probably feels he’s been screwed over tonight, he’s going to kill the valuable ones too - once he knows what he needs to know. 

“I’m going to go wash up,” you say softly, “He should be alright for now. I’ll check him after I’m done. If anything happens just yell.” 

When you’re safely closed off in the bathroom, you take the first calm breath since the phone rang, waking you from a dreamless sleep. You stare at yourself in the mirror and realize in addition to being covered in blood, you also still wear the black silk nightgown you wore to bed. You scoff, looking down at yourself, the lace hem falls across the top of your thighs, sticking to the skin with blood, and one thin strap hangs off your shoulder. You look like a dumpster fire. Your hair is in shambles as well. You start to take it down and decide to toss the nightie in the trash when the door to your bathroom opens. Minho. 

“I sent Felix and Bin off, I need them to cool down a bit, they’re pretty keyed up,” he says, playing with the bottles and boxes on your bathroom vanity. “I’ve sent for Seungmin to stay with you and Hyunjin for a while as protection, I’ll stick around until he arrives of course.” 

You clear your throat, “Thank you.” 

“It’s nothing,” he whispers. He moves to stand behind you and you stare at each other in the reflection of the mirror. He takes two fingers and caresses your arm, hooking the rogue strap of your nightie and pulling it back into place on your shoulder. His other hand roams your figure, over your breast, down your ribs and waist, and stops on your hip as he gives it a gentle squeeze - never once taking his eyes off yours in the mirror. You say nothing, you don’t move. 

“You look like a scared animal,” he chuckles, using his free hand to pull your hair off your neck, exposing it. His lips move in, his breath on the delicate skin, and he looks at your reflection once more, “Hm?” 

You realize he’s asking for permission and you nod. His lips land right under your ear, his fingers spreading across your throat to gently pull you into him. You don’t stop the soft breath that escapes your lips and your hand flies to cover his as he continues to rub and squeeze your hip. 

You’ve almost lost yourself in him, when you open your eyes and realize he’s spreading the blood on your arm around. 

“Wait,” you gasp and jump away. 

“What?” he frowns, and you see the flicker of rejection flash in his dark eyes, but he decides  to suppress any reaction to it.

“You’re getting blood all over you,” you point to his hand, “I really do need to wash up and check on Hyunjin. I’ll need to monitor him constantly tonight to make sure there’s no change,” you say politely. 

“Are you that scared of me, Kitten?” he asks, leaning over your sink to rinse Hyunjins blood away. 

“I’m not scared of you Minho,” you tell him, and it’s mostly true, kind of. “You’ve been in my bed enough times that I think you know I’m not scared of you.” 

“Yet you always send me away after,” he sighs, shaking the excess water from his hands. “It makes me wonder if maybe you only let me into your bed because you think you don’t have a choice, you know, due to our arrangement,” he motions broadly at the room. 

You can easily see how he’d come to that conclusion. When you accepted his offer you went very swiftly from working your ass to the bone, on no sleep, in a shoebox of an apartment, with debt up to your eyeballs straight to having everything paid off, a credit card with essentially no limit, a huge, beautiful house on the edge of the city bought and paid for, and anything your heart desired. All of it was taken care of by him. So, yes, you could see how one might think you allow him to do whatever he wants just to keep things copacetic for him. 

“Do you want honesty?” you ask, reaching into the shower to adjust the water. 

“From my employees? I demand it, yes,” he nods. Well, there it is, you think. He looks at you as an employee, and you also look at him as your employer. The situation is so beyond wildly fucked that you’ve truly got no idea what you’re doing or why. 

“I let you into my bed because I’m lonely, and you make me feel…not alone,” you tell him. “It has nothing to do with our arrangement. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.” 

“Good,” he nods, “but why are you lonely? You’re not my prisoner, you are free to come and go as you please, with the caveat of you being available when I need you, and for you to keep what you know and have seen to yourself.” 

“I know that,” you allow your nightgown to fall to the floor, “What I don’t know yet is how to compartmentalize my normal life with this life, how to live them separately. How to be normal out there, and business here. So until I do, well, you don’t seem to mind my using you for human connection.” 

“That’s understandable and I don’t mind at all,” he licks his lips as you slide your panties down and off your legs, “I know this was a big change for you, and I understand that what I ask of you is taxing, that what you see and hear is sometimes unfathomable.” 

You cross over to him, naked, skin streaked with another persons blood, “Thank you for understanding,” you say, and kiss him, pulling him into you by his collar. His fingers slide down your stomach and slide between your slick. You whimper into his mouth as he pulls away.

 He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them with a grin, “Wash up Kitten, but next time you don’t have one of my men bleeding on your dining room table, you’re mine.” 

You wait for him to close the door before you step into the water. You watch the white floor of the shower turn into red swirls being pulled down the drain. You scrub and scrub your skin until it feels raw, wash your hair in case any blood made its way up there to dry out in the strands. You dry off, moisturize and put on comfortable clothes - a pair of old scrub pants and a tee shirt you don’t care about. You pull your wet hair tight out of your face and then pick up your ruined night dress, tossing it into the bathroom trash on your way out the door. 

When you return downstairs you see Seungmin sitting in a recliner in the living room, scrolling his phone. Hyunjin continues to lay still on the dining table, and you walk over to check his vitals again, catching Seungmins attention. 

“Good evening,” he nods stiffly and you give him a wry smile. 

“Where did Min- Where did Mr. Lee go?” you ask him as you wrap the BP cuff around Hyunjins arm. 

“He left. You don’t need to know where,” he answers you with an uninterested cadence, not looking up from his phone. 

“Right,” you fight the urge to roll your eyes, “Of course.” 

Hyunjins blood pressure is back to normal, albeit a tad low, but well in the realm of being acceptable. Resting heart rate has returned to the low 70’s, which is also a good sign. You finger the bandage at his side and it’s a relief to find that so far, no blood has seeped through the packing. That is indeed very good progress. 

As you fix his bandage back a hand flies up, landing over yours and you jump, looking up just in time to see his eyes flutter open. 

“Hey there,” you say softly, “How do you feel?” 

“Like I got stabbed in a back alley,” he chuckles and lifts his head but immediately winces at the pain and collapses back onto the table with a painful sounding thud. 

“Be very still,” you place your palm against his stomach softly. “You did get stabbed in a back alley and you’re far from ready to move around.” 

“Changbin and Felix?” he rasps. 

“They’re fine,” you answer, “They brought you here but Mr. Lee sent them home for the night, they were both very worried about you.” 

“But they’re fine?” he looks at you seriously and you nod. 

“Totally fine Hyunjin.” 

He shakes his head, “Those motherfuckers have to be the dumbest in the entire country. We weren’t even there for any rifts, we just needed to collect the monthly gun sales. I knew when we walked in something was off, everyone felt so nervous, I should’ve turned tail and gotten Bin and Felix out as soon as I felt it.” 

“She doesn’t need to know any of this, you ought to keep your mouth shut,” Seungmin calls from the living room. 

Hyunjin smirks, “Why’d they send the mean, strict grandpa? I almost died, I at least deserve Jeongin or Jisung.” 

You say nothing, but suppress a laugh and shrug your shoulders. 

Hyunjin wiggles around feeling his pants pockets and produces a square brass cigarette case. 

“Got a light Doll?” he places one between his lips and you walk to the kitchen for a lighter. 

“As your primary care professional, I don’t really recommend this right now,” you say dryly, but light it for him and allow it. 

“I’ve been a good patient though,” he sticks out his lower lip and you roll your eyes. 

“I suppose,” you say. 

“So when can I get out of here?” he asks between puffs. 

You scoff, “Well. If we were in a hospital and I could send you for bloodwork and images and definitively rule out any organ damage, I could send you home a lot sooner. As it is,” you think for a moment, trying to be both medically practical but also realistic to what Minho will expect. “As it is, I need to watch you for at least three days. I’ll need to monitor your wound, obviously, but also any sign of infection like swelling or fever. If that happens it could be because the blade nicked something it shouldn’t have, like your intestines for example, or that the wound itself is trying to go septic.” 

“Ew,” he grimaces.

“Exactly.” 

“And will I have to bunk on this very nice, but extremely uncomfortable table during that time? Not gonna lie Doll, I’m getting pretty stiff, and not in the fun way,” he jokes. 

“No,” you laugh, “Seungmin and I will help you to the guest room in a bit. First I’d like to unpack your wound, make sure the major bleeding stopped, and stitch you. Then I’ll clean you up and put a new bandage on, after that you can go to a real bed.” 

“Stitches huh?” he blows out a big puff of smoke. “Is that, uh…you know, going to hurt?” 

You grin, “Well, it won’t feel amazing, but it probably doesn’t hurt any worse than getting stabbed, and now we know you can handle that.” 

“Right,” he chuckles. 

“I’ll try and see if I have any more topical anesthetic in my supplies,” you pat his leg sympathetically. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Fuck! It hurts…” Hyunjin grumbles, you pause your needle as he flinches and bites down hard on his bottom lip. 

“I’m sorry, I’m almost done,” you tell him, going back to it, “aside from me sewing you up, how do you feel?” 

“I’m fine,” he says shakily, you can see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip and forehead, see his fingers shaking between weak grips on the edge of the table. 

“Cute, acting tough like that,” you click your teeth, “Now, how about you tell me the truth? I can’t treat you properly if you’re not honest about your symptoms.” 

He looks down at you, despite his current state, the corners of his lips twitch into a smile. 

“I feel like shit, there, you happy now?” he pouts. 

From the corner of the room Seungmin sighs, “She needs you to be specific, idiot.” 

“Why are you speaking?” Hyunjin snaps at him and you see Seungmin stiffen, face defiant, but you notice he sinks lower into the recliner and goes back to his phone. 

“He’s right,” you say quietly, finishing up the stitches, “I need to know if anything’s hurting, burning or itching from head to toe,” you stand up and help him lie back down on the table, carefully holding his head in your hands. This brings your faces closer together, closer than you’d ever been to Hyunjin, and you can’t help but notice the sweetness of his face, the wild innocence of his dark eyes. He meets your gaze with the same intensity and you have to look away. 

“So how about it?” you clear your throat, “How are you really feeling?” 

“My head is pounding, I feel like I could drink ten gallons of water, my side is burning where you just sewed my guts back in, and I feel like I couldn’t lift a feather without passing out. That good enough for you sweetheart?” he half laughs, then winces. 

“Yes, actually,” you quip, “The headache and weakness are both from the blood loss, I’ll get you some pain meds, and you can slowly start to drink some ice water for the dry mouth, I also want you on antibiotics, and Seungmin can help me get you to bed so you can rest.” 

You gesture to Seungmin, “I went ahead and pulled the covers down, I just need you to help me get him on the bed,” you instruct. 

Seungmin saunters over and Hyunjin reluctantly puts his arm around Seungmins neck, “Ouch! Fuck!” he cries and you look up from where you’re putting his feet on the floor. 

“Maybe support the side he doesn’t have a stab wound on boys?” you point to Hyunjins right side. 

“Right,” Seungmin grumbles.  

Getting Hyunjin from the dining room just down the hall to the bedroom proves to be quite difficult, despite the trip only being maybe twenty, twenty-five steps. The journey takes every bit of his energy and when he hits the mattress with a painful sounding thud he’s out again. 

“Is he going to make it?” Seungmin stands back and somehow looks both concerned and unbothered by Hyunjins pitiful state. 

“Yes,” you nod, “He needs to rehydrate, and rest. When he wakes up I’ll get him some pain medication, start some antibiotics, and get some fluids in him. Will you run down to the store and get a case of some kind of sports drink? He’ll need the sodium.” 

“No.” 

“Pardon?” you turn to Seungmin. 

“My orders aren’t to do your shopping, my orders are to stay here and protect the safe house,” he answers seriously. 

“For fucks sake Seungmin,” you sigh, “loosen up. I’ll grab my keys and be right back,” you tell him, “but if he wakes up and needs something urgent you’re on your own and whatever happens will be on you.” 

“Then I’ll deal with it. Just because you fuck the boss doesn’t make you the matriarch of the organization,” he says flatly. 

You freeze, your mouth setting into a tight, defensive line. You fight the urge to slap him, you know that he’ll hit you back and his fist most definitely packs a bigger punch. 

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Hyunjin says weakly from the bed, Seungmin nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“It’s the truth,” Seungmin challenges softly. 

“That’s not how you talk to someone who does so much for us, and besides I’d hate for that nasty remark to get back to Minho, you won’t be doing protection details for a while, I guarantee you that,” Hyunjin threatens. 

Seungmin huffs and starts to stalk out of the room. 

“You’re forgetting something,” Hyunjin says, weakly lifting a finger and pointing at you. “Apologize.”

Seungmins eyes narrow with rage, “I apologize,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“It’s fine,” you sigh, knowing he doesn’t really mean it and also knowing that you don’t really give a shit if he does or not. “I’m going to get some things for Hyunjin, you boys play nice.” 

You don’t give either of them the opportunity to respond, you just head for the door. You wait until you’re in the privacy of your own car, well, Minho’s car, before you cry. 

Seungmins words cut deep, both embarrassing and insulting. You hadn’t really thought about anyone noticing that sometimes Minho slips away upstairs to your bedroom and because of that oversight you’d never really thought about how it would feel for others to know, and to comment on it. It feels lousy, turns out. It makes you feel cheap, and it makes you feel wrong. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

It’s almost daylight before Hyunjin wakes again. He slept through almost every vital check, and at the most would only stir in his sleep when you put the cuff around his arm or the cold stethoscope against his chest. 

“What are you reading?” his voice pulls your attention from the page and you wiggle around in your seat, joints and muscles stiff from hours of sitting. 

“It’s just a silly romance novel, nothing life changing,” you tell him, setting the book down. “Here, you need to drink,” you hand him a cup of blue Gatorade, a bit watery from the melted ice. 

Hyunjin attempts to sit up but winces, “Never really thought about how much I use these muscles,” his smile is twisted with pain, but you’re impressed with his positivity. 

“Here,” you stand up and reach around to fluff his pillows up so he’s propped. “How does that feel?” 

“God you smell good,” he says softly, his nose centimeters away from your sternum, right between your breasts. 

“Thanks,” you sit back down quickly. 

Hyunjin watches silently, sipping the blue beverage as you make a ruckus on the side table shaking pills out of bottles. 

“What’s all that?” he asks. 

“Your meds, since you’re up and lucid I want you to go ahead and take some,” you tell him, handing him two pills to take. 

“Can I at least know what I’m taking?” he chuckles, rolling them around his palm. 

“The smaller white one is an Oxycodone, for the pain, and the big one is Cephalexin, an antibiotic just in case,” you explain. 

He tosses the Oxy back onto the table and pops the antibiotic into his mouth. Off of your stare he shrugs, “I don’t take pain killers, used to have a bad problem with pills.” 

“Oh, well, it’s mainly just Acetaminophen, I think this one is 800mg and only 200mg of oxy. I think wherever your boss gets my drugs - they keep the hard stuff. I’d like you to take something, for your head and for the wound, but if you don’t want to I can’t make you obviously,” you say, standing up. 

“I’m fine sweetheart,” he lays his head back down on the pillows, and puts the empty cup on the table. “I like a little pain,” he winks. 

“Suit yourself,” you grab your book and start out of the room. 

“Hey, where are you going?” he calls. 

“Just giving you some privacy to rest,” you shrug. 

“Read to me,” he gestures towards your chair. 

“You’re kidding?” you snort. 

“I’ve slept all night, and I’m bored,” he pouts, “Please?” 

You huff and plant your ass back into the chair, deciding not to point out that he may have slept all night but you haven’t. 

“You really want to sit here and listen to my silly romance?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You sigh and open your book to the page you dogeared a few moments ago. To be frank you can’t remember what was happening, you’d zoned out and the words weren’t exactly sticking. You scan the page to find anything familiar. 

You freeze. Oh good Lord. 

“Why are you blushing?” he laughs. 

“I just…it’s…it’s sort of at a spicy part,” you squirm. 

“Nice, lay it on me,” he grins. 

“Jesus…” you shake your head and clear your throat. 

“...Scooping her into my arms, I lavish kisses on her mouth and neck. We strip each other bare, our love making frenzied. I make sure she orgasms before me, holding back until her body achieves its release. Right before I come I whisper “I love you” between each breath before my mind goes blank with pleasure. As we lie across my-,” 

“That’s it??” Hyunjin scoffs. 

“What’s it?” you look up at him. 

“That’s supposed to be spicy? That’s barely salted!” he chuckles. 

“Well, I suppose it’s meant to not be super detailed, leave a bit to the imagination,” you answer. 

“That’s lazy,” he shakes his head. 

“Well what would you have written then?” you challenge, closing the book and crossing your legs. 

“I don’t know, I’m no writer,” he falters, “but I would’ve written something about how she feels, how it feels to push into her - tight and wet and warm. What she tastes like - from her lipstick, to her skin, to her cunt.” 

You shift in your seat, squeezing your thighs together. 

“They could’ve at least described her noises, how playing with her in different ways makes her sound different, what her tits look like when I’m fucking her, bouncing fast or slow. I don’t know, something with a little actual spice,” he shrugs. 

“Well write a book then,” you say before he can go into any more detail. 

“I’m just saying, they could’ve painted a better picture, fucking is supposed to be fun, that sounded boring as hell,” he scoffs, “Who ever actually whispers “I love you” when they’re fucking?” 

“I don’t know, I guess people who love each other,” you grumble. 

“Yeah? Is that what Boss man says to you?” he teases. It’s not the same menacing tone that Seungmin had taken with you concerning Minho, and you can tell by the lightness of Hyunjins eyes he doesn’t mean anything by it, but God, these men. They all need to be lined up and slapped across the face. You’re sick of it. Sick of the power struggle. In every situation, in every conversation they have to feel like they’re holding the power. You let Seungmins comments roll off your back and ignored them like a coward earlier, but Hyunjin will likely be here a few days and you need to establish that you won’t back down again, you can fight fire with fire. 

So you straighten up and look him dead in the eyes, “No. When Minho fucks me he pulls my hair and slaps my ass and calls me his gorgeous little slut while his cum drips out of my mouth.” 

Hyunjins mouth turns into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen and his eyes go wide as he points to you, “Now that is a goddamn page turner.” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes as you stand up and straighten yourself out, “Okay, storytime is over, I’m going to get a little sleep. Try to rest. I’ll make you some breakfast in a bit.” 

“Okay,” he nods and settles back into the mattress, as you go to switch the lights he looks at you, his head cocking to the side a bit, “Do you like that though? The rough and ragged and dirty stuff?” 

You shrug, “Sometimes, I guess. Sometimes though…I don’t know… I think I’d like someone to whisper how much they love me, it sounds nice.”

He nods, then looks back up at you, “I’m sorry, I won’t comment on you and Lee anymore.”

“See you later Hyunjin.”

Too tired to even attempt walking up the stairs you drag yourself over to the sofa and collapse.

Seungmin sits in his recliner nearby and blinks at you.

You point to the blanket folded over the back of his chair, “Will you hand-,”

He balls up the blanket and throws it, pegging your face with a smirk. You shoot him a death glare before covering yourself up and sinking into the cushions. You try not to think about his earlier comments regarding Minho. You try not to think about Minho. You especially try not to think about dirty talk with Hyunjin, or how it stirred something within you that you absolutely must not allow to grow.

Endnotes:

1. Tentatively tagging my Minho lovers - @katieraven @linocz @screamobubbles @simpforleeknaur @moni-logues - because Minho will be centric to the story. However, if you do not want to be tagged for any reason just DM me and I’ll remove you, no worries at all 💙🥰 Alternatively, if you’re seeing this and want to be added to the tag list just let me know somehow!

2. As usual, here’s your virtual smooch for making it this far. Mafia is soooo far out of my wheelhouse and honestly even though this chapter is super unbeta’d - I may have future chapters looked at bc I’m not really sure I’m hitting the mark. Any feedback on it would be swell, just be gentle with me 😂👍