#this could be a very messy fanfic is what i'm saying

[all-pacas]

how much do you wanna bet camchase went out for drinks after the funeral and hooked up?

and just never spoke of it again... until chase md season 3

t e c h n i c a l l y, cameron is married and has a baby. on the other hand, she didn't bring either to the funeral, her last moment in the series is smiling longingly at a photo of the Good Old Days (with her standing next to said ex), and she spend the funeral sitting next to her ex-husband, who she also couldn't even divorce without hooking up with so.........

i mean. we know she makes a big deal about cheating, i don't think she would let herself. but drinks? absolutely. and some what-ifs and general desire to hook up? absolutely. but i don't think cameron would do it. i think she'd have a crisis about it.

even though the two got their closure in lockdown, lockdown also makes it pretty clear that... on some level, they really didn't want to break up. they agree it was inevitable, that the marriage was broken, that it was over. no question there: chase murdered a guy, cameron has her own issues, faced with "let's spend months, maybe years trying to work slowly through it or just give up" they agreed to give up. but because of that, maybe, lockdown also makes it pretty clear like... they still like one another a lot. if chase then spent the next 2 years sleeping around and chasing the high of "being loved," cameron turned around and got married to apparently the first man she saw. i think, moved on completely, meme funeral hookup, still in love or with no love at all between them, they're both going to look back on that relationship like "if only..."; they didn't break up because they didn't love one another; they broke up because they both felt they could no longer be together. and that's a big distinction. and that means they're on weirdly good terms post divorce, at the funeral. and that means... i think the temptation is always going to be there.

compare their hilariously closest narrative parallel, house and stacy. they were in love. they were happy together. a big event happened to them that drove them apart... except they tried to stick it out for months after the infarction, and failed. as much as the breakup is about house's leg, it's also not: he resented and hated her, she was miserable and hated him. they still have lingering feelings and what could have been, but it's tainted with a lot of bad memories and anger they spend most of s2 butting up against and (not) working through. cameron and chase broke up immediately. they don't get the bitter satisfaction of "i hate that person," or "i'm better off", or "thank god it's over." they might be happier they broke up, they are no longer In Love... but the "what might have been" is going to be very, very strong. i think they can both look back and assume "if not for dibala, we'd still be married." (i am also not sure this is true!)

so yeah. of course they'd be friendly. of course they'd hook up after the funeral, or almost hook up, or cameron would have a crisis about wanting to hook up and ghost chase for another three years. there are cases you can be friends with an ex, but i do not think this is one of those times.

(and throw in what i feel is cameron's pretty inevitable third divorce, because you cannot tell me captain commitment issues and foot dragging got married and had a kid a year post divorce and is totally cool with it, even if husband #3 is her real soulmate forever.........)

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

im still thinking about that dressed as each other costume thing and it's driving me nuts that the person I would usually ask "is this a couple thing??" is the person I traded clothes with

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[endzithefangirl]

Sleepy interruptions

Authors note: Hello, I'm back. Don't ask why or how I wrote this Max Verstappen blurb, but here we are. Also, I have like 8 more fanfics that I've been working on that I plan on publishing at some point (you can thank @angelussiderum for always reminding me to write).

Summary: An unexpected guest crashes Max's stream

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, gender not specified but the term 'girlfriend' is used, sleep deprivation? is that a warning

Word count: 516

You hated these long working hours, especially now during the summer. You can hear Max streaming on ‘Red Line’ in the other room. Now, 9.9 times out of ten, you wouldn’t bother him. But… You just haven't seen him in almost 20 hours and it's already 11pm... So, you walk into the streaming room. Max was sitting behind a huge PC that had about 4 screens; his monitors were showing a game that he was playing while he is streaming on his main monitor.

"Come on... come on.... there…!" He mutters as he plays, too caught up in his game to notice you entering the room. You, in your sleep deprivation and probably from too much diet Pepsi, just walk towards him and wrap your arms around him from behind, not giving two shits who sees at this point. His eyes widen as he feels your arms around him and turns his head enough for only you to hear him speak so that the stream doesn't hear him.

"Baby... you know I'm streaming right now…"

You can see he's surprised, but more confused, as you never really walk in when he's streaming. You, again in the sleep deprived state running on practically nothing, kiss his cheek very softly. It was maybe too tender as his face goes red and whatever he was about to say is forgotten. His mind went blank for a moment, his cheeks turning a darker shade of red as he stares at you. He wanted to say something or protest, but he couldn't bring himself to do so, his brain having stopped fully functioning after your unexpected actions.

"B-baby... I'm…" He stutters out, slowly processing what had just happened and trying to regain control by turning his gaze back to the game on his screen. You move away and then leave, your mind taking you straight to bed.

'Ohhh look who just made a stream debut, huh Max?' one of his friends from the stream laughed as Max attempted to compose himself. Max let out a shaky exhale, trying to compose himself enough to respond. "Y-yeah, unexpected cameo from my girlfriend..." He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke and feeling how warm his cheeks were by now, he knew he probably looked like a tomato.

The chat started to flood with more messages as people saw how flustered Max had been and saw this as an opportunity to tease him

'Looooooool brooo you didn't know what to say to your gf'

'Did she just interrupt your game?'

'Man your cheeks are so red bro are you blushing??'

Max was silently cursing everything and everyone at that moment, including you, even if it was your actions, or lack of actions, that got him into this messy situation in the first place. He took a deep and shaky exhale trying to calm himself down so he could come up with a decent excuse to explain to chat

"Shut up guys... I just wasn't expecting that to happen... my girlfriend usually doesn't come into my room while I'm streaming... obviously"

[shut-up-danny-kun]

I've read hundreds of Star Trek TOS fics by now and it never ceases to amuse me how many different ways there are to fuck up Spock's characterization...now hold on just a minute - this post has a more interesting point than “fanfic writers stupid”, I promise you.

Every time, it's a spin on the massacre wheel. It's kind of amazing. Will he be overly emotional to the point where he's not himself anymore? Will he be so cold it's unpleasant and kind of hard to understand how he's lived to this point? Will he be extremely horny for no good reason? Will he speak in a way that sounds complety wrong?

I chuckle and shake my head. Of course, I KNOW what Spock is like, and MY interpretation of him is the most perfect and correct one. Obviously. He's just a very nuanced character, formed by many people in an unconventional way, with traits that seem to contradict each other at first but ultimately form a rich and unique character that so many people fell in love with specifically because he's so complicated...

Or...is he?

Let's entertain the idea that there isn't one correct interpretation of Spock, that all of these messy bits of characterization are not part of a bigger picture, but...just what they are: a product of many people with starkly different visions, working on a show that refuses to properly develop its characters. What then? Well, then Spock is a Rorschach test. Each viewer connects the random dots in their own way, and ignores the ones they don't like.

Let's use an example: me! In my interpretation of Spock (the most correct one, of course) he is, first of all, gay and on the asexual spectrum, reserved, largely uninterested in casual flirting or sex. When he is interested in the aforementioned things, he tends to be quite ashamed of it.

Makes sense, right? I can show you plenty of evidence for why that could be true. However, in the beginning of the first bloody season, Uhura sings a song about how Spock is actually kind of a heartthrob who likes to drive women insane with how hot he is, and Spock smiles. He smiles at her, as if agreeing and being very amused by all this! This interaction goes against pretty much everything I think about Spock. So what do I do? I explain it away in the most bizzare fucking way possible. See, Uhura and Spock are friends (there is no evidence for this), and Uhura knows everything I've just told you about him (through telepathy I guess? Not like he'd ever tell her!) and she's just trolling him (why would she do that? That is NOTHING like Uhura!). I need to do some Olympics-level mental gymnastics here, the opposite of Occam's razor.

“But Danny,” I hear you say, “it's just the start of the show! They hadn't figured out his character yet!”

To which I say: you can say that about anything! You can blame it all on a bad writer for that episode, and ignore virtually any scene that doesn't jive with your headcanons. It's there, and I can't ignore it.

So...how am I different from the people that want Spock to be thar heartthrob Uhura is singing about? That evidence is as much a part of canon as my favorite lines. Well, I'm not any different, that's the thing. And all those writers I complained about also have a point.

It's kind of a nihilistic take, I know, but maybe the reason Spock is such a cultural icon is because he is...whatever you want him to be: just concrete enough to spur on your imagination, yet vague and contradictory enough to let your brain fill in the gaps.

Don't get me wrong: I absolutely do not believe in this. In my mind, it just so happens that I'm one of the, like, 5 people ever who truly understood Spock (and one of them is Jim Kirk himself). But I still think it's something worth thinking about next time you're mad at a fic.

[justalost4girl]

ONE

This fanfic is part of my Taylor Swift coded fanfics. word count: 3186

A girl walks onto the stage with a guitar in hand and a smile on her face.

She greets the band, and they greet her back. The shy girl thanks everyone for coming tonight.

Natasha Romanoff grips her glass tighter and orders another shot of whiskey without looking at the bartender, as she can't take her eyes off of you.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

One year earlier…

She finds you at the café. Natasha hates cafés, but she knows your company's head of security comes at the end of every period to get coffee with you; it's been like this for two weeks.

But today, you're alone at a table, and Natasha needs to adjust the plan. She goes to the counter and orders a cappuccino—the same as yours—and looks for a place to sit.

Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, the redhead ignores the hot cup she's carrying.

You're beautiful

And shy.

Natasha recalls your file and smiles. You were exactly as Skye had described. She sees a chance to approach in the crowded room and clears her throat; she's done this before but feels the need to focus.

"Can I sit with you?" A soft voice pulls you out of the stupor you entered when you looked into those deep green eyes. Eyes that could inspire symphonies, and you believe she's the most beautiful woman you've ever seen, and your brain can't do more than nod, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

She sits beside you, not in front of you, waiting to analyze your computer. The file didn't mention the software you use, so it's up to her to find out before your friend arrives. She positions her coffee well so her field of vision can see anything that appears on the screen.

"I'm pretty sure I've seen you around here; do you live nearby?" She asks, trying to break the ice as usual, but deep down, she feels strange under your contemplative gaze.

"Yes, I live in the building across from Luthor Corp and work there." Your voice shows pride, and your eyes sparkle, Natasha notices. She wonders if you know what your colleague has been developing and the true nature of your boss.

"And you? I don't think I've seen you around here before," you seem genuinely interested. Natasha likes that. Targets are easy, but you are very easy; with just a few words, she already knows where you live and work. For a security analyst, you are far too naive.

And she puts the plan into practice.

"I just moved to the end of the block. There are so many boxes… I needed the coffee to give me energy." She says with an extremely calculated tone. You smile and notice that she has a beautiful corner smile and really seems tired, so you offer to help.

You always offer to help strangers.

And Natasha celebrates the success of the plan while taking a sip of coffee and leaning toward you, complimenting your screensaver. While you give her an excited explanation, she takes the opportunity to see the type of software used and memorizes the access password when you unlock the computer to show how the galaxy theme expands on your computer.

You exchange names.

She's Natalie. Nickname? Nat. The redhead shares similar tastes to yours, and something tells you that coming here alone was the best choice. After all, Nat would never look at you if Luke were around.

You also have a name, but everyone calls you Newton. In honor of your favorite physicist. A development assistant in the security sector with a desk always organizedly messy, in your words. Your boss, Luke, didn't come today because he had an emergency meeting and gave you the afternoon off. Natasha makes a mental note to understand this.

He didn't have any meetings scheduled.

As the coffee finishes, Nat guides you to her house. You stretch your back and even tie your hair up to help with the boxes. Then, you feel a bit disappointed to find there are only two, but you don't complain.

You never complain.

Natasha watches you help organize the books in the living room, chattering away about how you've read most of them and your opinions. You don't notice, however, that they show no signs of use, and amidst some jokes, for a minute Natasha forgets about the mission. Being with you is comfy.

"Wanna order pizza? I know a good place." You ask, sitting on her floor. Your jacket, backpack, and shoes are at the door. She liked how you took off your shoes to enter her house. It's a sign of respect, you say. The file points out the numerous k-dramas evaluated in your account, but she doesn't comment and even finds it adorable. She finds you adorable. Period.

"Sure, but only if you agree to watch something before we go and let me pay for the snack. You were my hero today." Nat smiles, and all that crosses your mind is how random your luck is. Here, sitting on this floor with the most beautiful woman you've ever met in front of you, the word destiny has a new meaning.

She gives you yoga pants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, your favorite saga, to make yourself comfortable. The pizza arrives while you're changing, and she can't use your laptop, but that loses its importance when your heart warms seeing you wear clothes she bought just for you. You feel like you're in heaven for finding someone as big a Star Wars fan as you, because that shirt was only available by order. Everything seems too perfect, you think, but the thought flies when you find out the theory of olives applies to both of you.

Natasha puts on your favorite movie from the franchise, and what was supposed to be just one movie becomes a marathon. She knows all the lines and jokes from each movie, knows curiosities and book details, and that makes you ignore your phone all night.

That night, you fall asleep on the couch.

The sun hits the window, and the redhead opens her eyes and sees you. Your arms are by your side, but Natasha is practically in your lap. Even in a deep sleep, you respect her too much to touch her.

Natasha is distracted for a moment and wonders how much of a spy she was last night. Here and now, looking at your lips in a half smile and your messy hair. Natasha almost feels bad for getting into this mission.

Almost.

She shakes her head and carefully gets off the couch and goes to your backpack, finding a black-covered book and the laptop. The goal? Install a spy program on the laptop. The problem? Natasha's curiosity gets the best of her, and she opens the book.

Your song lyrics, drawing attempts, and poems are a world for her to explore, and only after ten minutes, Natasha remembers the mission. She plugs in a device, pockets it, and waits for the installation, but when the progress bar is only halfway, your alarm goes off, and Natasha has to improvise.

Two minutes until the program is complete.

"Hello there," she says, smiling softly, throwing herself on top of you.

"Ah, now you're Obi-Wan? I thought you were Jar Jar Binks," you say, rubbing your eye and laughing at her offended expression.

Natasha rolls her eyes and starts a tickle war. You squirm, and she lets herself spin on the couch, ending up underneath you.

"Okay, okay, truce. You're not Jar Jar. You're the face anyone would turn to the dark side for," you say, feeling an unexpected courage.

"Does that go for you, Newton?" Natasha says softly, her eyes fixed on yours, her gaze alternating between your lips and your eyes in an almost hypnotizing manner.

"That goes for me, Nat," you whisper, looking at her lips.

You're not sure who initiated the kiss first, but you like to think it was both. The world seems to stop as your lips meet, each touch filled with emotions and suppressed desires. For you, it's a moment of pure magic and connection, an unexpected paradise. For Natasha, it's a reminder of what she could lose, a conflict between duty and desire.

The day passes slowly. She drags you from the couch to the kitchen for coffee and then back to the couch for a make-out session. Natasha has a dominant and bossy streak, and you feel comfortable and safe beside her, as her hands don’t cross any boundaries and remain on your waist. You try a new recipe, talk about the weather, exchange compliments and kisses. The afternoon arrives, and Luke calls you to the office.

You decide to stop by home first but manage to take one of Natasha's limited edition sweatshirts as a promise to meet again soon.

Natasha leaves you at the door smiling like she hasn't in a long time. All for the mission, of course. At least that's what she wants to believe.

She doesn't realize she forgot to send the report to Fury.

You don't realize your laptop is on in the backpack.

Nat is different from any woman you've ever met.

Not that you've met many.

No, but Nat is different. She's kind. She's everything you could ask for in a person. Nat is too good to be true.

"Newton is smiling today?" Luke says, approaching your desk.

"I found my soulmate at the café yesterday," you say, eyes sparkling.

"Really? What's she like?" he asks, placing some files on your desk.

You describe everything, from her appearance to shared tastes, and he smiles like he does with clients.

"Send me the code by 5 p.m., then you can go see your future wife," he says, typing something on his phone and leaving.

You smile and grab your laptop. It's almost dead and turned on. You find it strange but don't question it; after all, the computer is still locked. The memory of Nat's eyes brings you more inspiration, and you jot down about the new shade of green where you found peace.

The afternoon passes in a blur, the leaves fall, and you finally finish the code. Luke is nowhere to be found, something about an urgent meeting, and you decide to send the code by email.

Natasha is at home, with full access to your computer, celebrating the success of the plan. The virus will accompany the file. Luke will open it on the corporate computer, and she can finish the mission. She watches you through the camera, and Natasha misses you for a moment. You are a beautiful collateral damage. Too kind. Too captivating.

She knows it's wrong, but she lets the idea linger in her mind for more than a minute.

Natasha sighed as she shut down the laptop, feeling the weight of the decision she had made. She glanced at the phone screen, hesitant for a moment before typing a quick message to Newton.

"Miss you, come over?" she typed, her fingers hesitating over the keys. It was the first time in a long time that she allowed herself to be true.

"On my way, General Romanoff," you reply, making your usual path with a smile on your face.

☆。*。☆。 Eight months earlier…

One night, as the soft moonlight filtered through the curtains, you were sitting on the couch beside Natasha. She was flipping through your lyric notebook, and after much persuasion, she managed to convince you to sing one of your songs. With a shy smile, your voice filled the room, bringing life to the carefully crafted words.

Natasha watched you with admiration, her eyes sparkling with each note. When you finished, she applauded enthusiastically.

"You have an incredible voice, you know? You should leave this field and sing in a bar. Become famous and rich," Natasha suggested, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe someday. But if I do, will you promise to be there?"

Natasha took your hand and looked directly into your eyes. "I wouldn't miss any of your shows for anything in this world," she said sincerely.

Later that night, after waking from a nightmare and seeing Natasha, who was now lying on her side, her hair spread across the pillow, you took a deep breath.

Focusing on the woman beside you, you felt a mix of tenderness and curiosity as you admired the peace on her face. Her gentle features seemed even kinder in the quiet of the moment.

Natasha breathed calmly in peaceful sleep, immersed in a world of tranquility that contrasted with the turmoil of your own thoughts.

For a moment, you wondered about the thoughts Natasha kept, about what she dreamed and what made her smile in the silence of that rest. There was something intriguing about the way she moved in the world, near you, an aura of mystery and serenity that deeply attracted you.

You were in love; you felt it intensely and quickly. And for the first time in your life, you felt that this love was mutual. You lay down beside her, lightly touching Natasha's lips with a kiss. She slowly opened her eyes, meeting yours with a gentle shine of surprise and care.

"Nat," you started, feeling your heart racing with emotion overflowing in your words. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A radiant smile formed on her lips, her eyes reflecting tenderness and joy. She nodded slightly, without saying a word, but making it clear that her answer was yes.

☆。*。☆。 Six months earlier…

You walked out of the office with firm steps, Luke by your side. For the first time in months, he mentioned it was for security measures, and you didn't mind, too excited to introduce your oldest friend to your girlfriend. The usual café was just a few meters away, and Natasha, watching from afar, noticed the smile on Newton's face as she entered the establishment.

"Hello there!" You exclaimed eagerly upon seeing Natasha, who smiled back warmly as she greeted you. "You're here! I missed you," Natasha said, warmly embracing you. She caught the familiar scent of Newton and momentarily lost herself in the comforting sensation.

"Yes, and accompanied this time. Nat, this is Luke. Luke, this is Natalie," you introduced them, your eyes shining with affection for Nat, your girlfriend.

"Natalie! You're as beautiful as she said," Luke complimented Natasha with a gallant air, earning a playful eye-roll from Newton. Natasha noted the dynamic between the two, the way Luke enjoyed subtly teasing her.

"Maybe Newton is onto something after all," Natasha replied, laughing softly as she observed Newton and Luke interact.

Luke was at ease, responding to Natasha's light questions with calculated calm. He didn't reveal much personal information, maintaining a professional and careful demeanor in his responses. Natasha tried to probe him about his work and interests, but Luke skillfully deflected, keeping the conversation on superficial topics.

During a momentary pause, Luke received a call on his cell phone. He discreetly stepped away to answer it, while you and Nat continued chatting. A few minutes later, Luke returned with a serious expression.

"Newton," Luke began, catching both your attention. "I just received an important call. We need to prepare for a trip to Seattle in a week. We have a client that requires our personal attention. We'll be there for a month."

You nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders. Natasha couldn't contain her excitement upon hearing about the trip. It was the perfect opportunity to gather evidence against Luke's criminal activities. She spoke with anticipation in her eyes. "That's great! I'd love to come along, if possible."

Luke seemed surprised by Natasha's suggestion, his gaze becoming more cautious. "Natalie, I'm not sure if…"

"I have family there, I don't need to know many details, I just didn't want to be away from Newton," Natasha said persuasively, while Luke looked at her with a wary gaze.

You smiled at Nat and kissed her gently. "Of course, you can come, right Luke?"

Luke nodded resignedly but with a faint smile. "Alright, then get ready for the trip."

While observing the tension in his voice, you recalled how meticulous he had been with security recently. First, insisting on buying a new computer for you, claiming it was safer and more efficient. Then, personally supervising the building's security system update. At the time, you thought it was just part of his protective nature as head of security. Now, however, looking at him, there was something in his behavior that made you wonder if he was hiding something.

The idea of betraying you was unbearable. If only she could find something to justify her mission, she could decide what to do next. She could stop everything, tell you the truth, and run away to Greece, or anywhere far from here.

On the flight, Natasha kept herself discreet, but every glance exchanged between you two left her more conflicted. You were excited about the trip, unaware of the internal turmoil Natasha was facing. She wanted to protect you, but how could she do that when she herself was the threat?

Upon arriving at the destination, Natasha checked into the same hotel as you, but Luke made sure she had no access to the meetings. He was vigilant, observing every interaction between you. You, on the other hand, seemed happy with the opportunity to explore the city alongside Natasha, oblivious to her true intentions.

Every night, as you fell asleep, Natasha stayed awake, lost in thought. She looked at you, feeling a mixture of tenderness and guilt. She knew she needed to act, to find something that would change everything. But until that happened, she stayed by your side, cherishing the time she still had.

Natasha Romanoff had no idea she wasn't the only one playing this game.

-------

Two - July 9, 2024

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Comments are appreciated :)

[kkocho]

𝙱𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 [Mitsuki Kiryu x deaf reader]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A lot of things were going through Mitsuki Kiryu's head as he looked at the older girl in front of him, who was offering him a cute bunny hair elastic to tie up his messy hair after beating up the guys in third period.

She was a year above him, quite popular for her position in the school choir, as well as one of the prettiest and easiest girls to approach if you needed help. This sempai had been extremely sweet and welcoming to him, ever since the teacher had left him in her care. Not only did she help him with his schoolwork, she also took care of his bruises from the fights he got into and prepared him a very sweet Bentō every day.

Mitsuki was aware that she could have done all that out of her kind nature, since she was nothing more than a kōhai. Even though, for him, she was more than a superior, every kind act she performed for him awakened the hope that, at some point, she would see him as a man. His desires were pure, because he hated looking at women with dirty eyes or as objects. His eyes were covered with pink lenses and affection.

He just hadn't imagined finding her in that situation, surrounded by the older three-year-old boys, against the wall behind the school, with frightened eyes directed at the small remains of her hearing aid on the floor next to the foot of one of the aggressors.

"Come on, there's no point in playing hard to get, I've already left that silly earpiece and you can't pretend you're not listening to me anymore," said one of the boys, as he lifted the girl's face towards him with a mischievous grin. "Now, what do you say about no-" He hadn't even had time to finish his sentence when a handsome kōhai with beautiful green eyes pulled him away from the girl, throwing him away.

It all seemed surreal to the girl. The destruction of her hearing aids may have been an advantage, as it prevented her from hearing the sound of the boys' grunts of pain, and in the end, the only thing left was her sweet kōhai in the midst of the bruised bodies of the third-year delinquents. She thought of nothing else but getting them out of there before a teacher caught them, as the fight had attracted a crowd of onlookers to the scene. With that, the girl grabbed the younger boy's hand and ran out of the place, which brings us to the beginning of this chapter.

With our dear delinquent looking at his crush, tending to the bruises on her hands and the hair tied up in her fluffy hair elastic so that she could check if there were any bruises on her sweet blushing face. He knew she couldn't hear him without her devices, but his small gestures were enough for him to understand how she felt in that situation, she was still in a daze.

"(N/n)-san, I'm sorry if I startled you," said the green-eyed boy as he gently brought the older girl's face close to his so that she could read his lips. This was answered with a shake of her head and her arms circling the boy as she hid her face in his neck, leaving him surprised and happy as she returned the hug. This sweet moment lasted only until the bell rang, which caused them both to separate.

"See you later, Mitsuki-kun," said the older girl's sweet, calm voice in a whisper as she fled the scene, leaving the boy behind with a silly smile.

"See you"

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note: i haven't seen many fanfics with this sweet boy, so i'm here ready to put my insecurities aside and write for him, mitsuki kiryu is in my top 3 wind breaker with him taking 2nd place and i hope more people write about him.

[prettyboypistol]

Literally in every fanfic I read the reader is already a pretty sleeper, waking up all pretty and shit. Do you know what I need? A Reader who wakes up like they've been pushed down the stairs. A Reader who spews gibberish for a second and then immediately goes back to sleep. A Reader who wakes up wrapped in their blankets sweating like crazy and completely disorientated and on the floor. Sorry if this ask is bad, but do you think you could write something like this for the mercs?

Mood as fuck, I'm in.

TF2 Mercs With a Messy Morning S/O xGN!Reader

Scout

Honestly thinks it's a bit cute, seeing you wake up in a pool of your own spit and hair in your mouth??? Yeah, that's what he's dying every day to protect.

Likes talking nonsense to early morning you just to see you struggle fr.

His favorite thing is waking up before you. He's all dressed and ready and you're 2 inches away from falling off the bed.

Jeremy writes down all the weird shit you say and reads it back to you when you're sad because what the fuck does "are Venus flytraps predators" mean

Pyro

Probably ends up tangled in your Limbs too. This bitch is a SLEEP CUDDLER.

Gets worried when you wake up in a panic, shout about something that sounds important, then fall back asleep like EXCUSE ME?? WHAT??

Doesn't like that you kick them in your sleep, but they can live with it.

Very worried about the night sweats and ramblings. You say some fucked up dhit when you're asleep!

Soldier

This mf is used to waking up at 6AM sharp and being battle ready by 6:05AM. This caused one of the initial rifts in your relationship with him until you convinced him that not waking you as well is early stealth training.

You remind him of a baby bird when you're curled up in all the blanket that you stole from him in the night.

Doesn't really notice that you are a messy sleeper until you two have breakfast together one morning, with you half awake, those bleary eyes and sleepy sighs made his heart skip a beat.

Heavy

He calls you his little spoiled cat when you glare at him all bleary-eyed for waking you up.

Loves cuddling you like a big bear, always the big spoon.

lowkey a messy sleeper too, but is more agitated when half awake than you

you two having delirious talks when you two aren't awake fully omg couple goals

Demoman

You look like a pretty sleeper next to this motherfucker

drunk mumbling, sleeptalker, sleepfighter WWE in your bed.

Wakes up after you so ususally doesn't see the absolute wreck you wake up as. If you two wake up at the same time he makes fun of you.

You two have probably ripped the blanket in y'alls sleepwars. Mrs. Pauling has checked in on you two at 2AM after hearing shouting, only to see both of you, fast asleep, on the floor, and total messes.

Engineer

Thinks it's cute bc he rises with the sun if not a tad earlier to watch the sunrise. Absolutely tells you to "rise n' shine".

records your half-awake mumbles and talks to you, listens back to them podcast style in his downtime.

Is absolutely terrified that you will rip off his prosthetic hand so dating you absolutely instilled the safe habit of taking his hand off before bed.

Sniper

Is usually out of bed before the "fun" begins, but had overheard your morning routine

Isn't a fan of the blanket stealing, but overall doesn't really care. If he's in a bad mood he'll sleep on the couch so you don't steal it.

"Am i pretty, Mick?" "About as pretty as an aye aye when you first wake up" "Da-DAMN!!"

Has a poloroid of you fast asleep in his hat

Spy

This bitch c o m p l a i n s.

He's the most prissy little bastard when it comes to sleeping. He sleeps EXCLUSIVELY on his left side, legs in a specific way, and hogs the blankets. When you come into his bed and sleep-kick him out, he is flabbergasted. absolutely bamboozled.

Doesn't cuddle you, but now there is a pillow barrier that protects his precious sleep routine.

Secretly thinks you are downright adorable with how god-awful you look, crusty eyes and all

Medic

Doesn't really mind, but gives you light teasing about it. If he's having a bad day then he gets annoyed by the blanket stealing.

Wakes up and gets ready for the day, only to see the doves nesting with you and that melts his hearttttt

Kisses your gross ass awake every single day despite that

Has stayed up multiple nights to study your sleep cycles.

[lumine-inkedfanfics]

My Messy Girl

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Trigger warnings: Smut (18+), slight choking, daddy kink, office sex, slight exhibitionism, p in v, established relationship, name calling: love, sweetheart, slut, dear, wifey, baby, mama, few mentions of breeding, slight pervert Nanami.

A/n: Hello my lovely readers! It's your lumi 💙 So I thought I'd give you guys something special cause my hiatus is supposed to end around May but since you readers would want something I'm making this, I hope you guys will love it too 💙 As always striving to make better quality fanfics for you guys. It would be really helpful if u guys can join my Instagram account also. I'll leave the link below, ty 💙💙💙

Word count: 0.86k

Upload date: 10th March, 2024

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Everybody knows Nanami Kento was a clean freak. But if anyone were to see Nanami right now they would be astonished. His office is a mess, the papers on his desk is in a disarray, his couch is messy, and if it were normal working hours right now, everyone would have heard your pathetic, melodious moans. But the most surprising factor of all would be, the fact that Nanami Kento, the NANAMI KENTO is so messy right now that it is both a sin and a boon to look at him. He has you, who only came to deliver his dinner because it was very late and he may stay in the office for more hours. But the moment Nanami saw you, his world blurred and only your presence was worthy of his attention. The dinner you prepared in the cute bento box didn't matter only you did.

Everything was a blur, Nanami has been eating you out for more than what seems like eternity, his tongue laps at your entrance and he fucks his saliva into your hole, like a thirsty man in the desert he keeps sucking all your juices. The bridge of his nose serves to be a good spot for grinding your clit, Nanami was in heaven. "Baby, have I ever told you- fuck that you taste like the nectar from heavens? Yeah, keep going, just one more baby, just- fuck one more please darling, make a mess! make a mess, sweetheart I'm just a mess for you down there." "Nanami pleas- I-I-I can't n-no mor-nghhh please no mor-eek! Gonna ah! Gonna cum! Nanamiiiiiii!" "Don't worry princess cum, just like that mmmmmmgh, fuck you taste heavenly, keep cumming, mmmmm." Nanami, keeps tongue fucking you till you calm down, once he comes up from between your legs, you see the most breath taking view of your life, disheveled hair, your juices running down his chiselled face.

"Wanna taste yourself baby?", he comes up and kisses you, "understand why I like your cum so much? Hmm? Answer me baby?", "Yes", you could hardly answer him, he looked too ethereal for you to comprehend anything else, without much thought in mind you brush the baby hair stuck to his forehead. "Wanna be come my Messy Girl?" Nanami suddenly asked you and to say you were shocked was an understatement cause you knew he hated messes yet here he his asking you if you can be his messy girl. You nod yes cause after all who would say to no to him?

The only thought your head is filled with is Nanami and the only thing your cunt is filled with is his cum and dick, he has been fucking you practically everywhere in his office, on his desk? Check. On his office sofa? Check. On the glass window looking down the city? Check. His thick girthy cock, throbbing with veins and his pretty flushed red tip banging at your cervix was bringing you closer to heaven than even death can bring you to. "Baby imagine someone were to notice us fucking like horny teenagers? Hmm? What would they think when the most polite person, the most beautiful- fuck, the most sexy person ever on earth is getting laid down in such a dirty, dirty, pathetic way? Scream for me my love, louder I want the whole city to know who is fucking you, who owns the most prettiest slut in town. You drive me wild babyyyy, I can't seem to stop thrusting into you even if I want to, my body craves for you my soul aches for you, without you I'm nothing- oh fuck! I'm gonna cum in yeah again, yeah? You like the sound of that? Does my wifey wanna become a mama? Yeah? Fuck Oh! Feels so good c-can't stop g-gah mmm fuck can't stop, focus on me baby, focus on me on my-aaah! On my thrusts cum with me, I said cum with me- Aaahh fuck fuck FUCK!! OHH feels tooo good baby."

You cum on his cock on command, your mouth opens in a silent scream, throat raw from screaming and moaning his name, your ears are ringing and your thighs are all sticky with cum and arousal, your eyes are rolled back into your skull and your back is arched beautifully, thick cum shoots inside of you one last time for the day, he slowly removes himself from you, your legs shaking like a lone leaf on a tree in winter. "Darling, don't let my cum go waste yeah?" He says while pulling up your panties which were ruined already due to your arousal. "Nanami? I-I'm tired." "I know baby I know, don't worry I'm here just you rest while we leave for home." He kisses your head and slowly lifts you and his work bag and goes to his car making sure you are well covered. The ride home is silent and peaceful, Nanami glances at you every now and then at your sleeping face. Once he stops at the red signal, he slowly takes the hand which he was holding and kisses it while saying, "Thank you my treasure, the only mess I love is you and only you.

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Thank you guys for making it to the end of another fic :)

Hope you guys enjoyed it!

Until next time 💙

Luv ya guys

[tazahan]

MOTHER'S MEMORIES

Okay....(take a deep breast* I mean breath) I'm kinda nervous to show you my very first fanfic and let me tell you, I never ever wrote a story about any kind of fanfics before so I'm sorry if I made a mistake and English is not my main language. But Since some of you guys are so kind to give me an opportunity to show my first writings, so here is my offering to you, I hope you guys can enjoy it :)

Summary:

(In this AU story, You are a young woman who married the Lin Kuei grandmaster, Bi Han, for reasons of diplomatic relations between the two clans. The father of Lin Kuei bros is still alive. There is no love in your relationship yet, and Bi Han still regards you as his subordinate rather than his wife. But you continue to strive to win his heart.)

After warming up for a long time, she finally found herself able to get closer to the grandmaster, Bi Han. Even though he still gave the impression of being distant, this was better than when Bi Han still treated her like the lowest student. (Y/N) does not expect her position to be equal to her husband, who is a grandmaster, but she hopes one day Bi Han will be more open up to her and start accepting her as his companion. Not his underling.

One evening the sun began to set, Bi Han finally asked (Y/N) to spend some time practicing alone with him in the temple's garden. He wanted to test (Y/N)'s abilities to see if she was worthy enough to become a Lin Kuei soldier. After all, Bi Han did not marry a weak woman and he needs you to show him strong proof why you married him.

And this is a good opportunity for (Y/N) to approach, not as master and student but as husband and wife. (Y/N) happily accepted orders from her husband.

After doing several tiring moves and her body starting to crumble, Bi Han finally told (Y/N) to rest and sit beside him under a maple tree that was starting to fall. Bi Han was seen starting to meditate and made signs for (Y/N) to follow what he was doing. A cool breeze began to blow on (Y/N)'s tired face. The grass swayed to the rhythm of the wind.

The wind blew into (Y/N) 's face again and this time it brought some leaves and hit (Y/N) 's mouth, (Y/N) winced in discomfort and she started coughing, spitting out the leaves that had entered her mouth. Bi Han glanced at her and stifled a laugh. Then Bi Han concentrated again on meditation.

(Y/N) wanted to try to break the silence but not a single word came out of (Y/N)'s mouth. She still felt afraid and awkward towards her husband. He still intimidating to her. Besides, Bi Han wouldn't be interested in small talk which could later break his concentration. (Y/N) just kept quiet and followed the breathing instructions. "Have you done all of your duties well today?" Bi Han asked suddenly.

“Uh? Y-yes, Grandmaster” “Good.”, Bi Han replied. "Have you had lunch?" he asked again. "Yes?" (Y/N)'s answer shortly "Good to hear, just because I often go on missions outside doesn't mean you don't take good care of yourself here." Said Bi Han curtly. Then silence returned It seemed that the meditation was over, from the way Bi Han sat, he started to look more relaxed. (Y/N) began to stretch out her legs which were starting to feel sore and played with the fallen maple leaves.

Bi Han glanced at (Y/N) again. He'd be lying if he said he didn't find her pleasing to the eyes. Her hair was a little messy, her sweaty skin, was exposed to the rays of the setting sun and made (Y/N) look glowing, and the Lin Kuei uniform started to look a bit tighter due to the curve of her body.

(Y/N) didn't notice Bi Han's gaze, and she was still playing with the maple leaves in her hands.

Bi Han was amused and wanted to mess (Y/N)'s head but his ego bested him and prevented him from doing so. Still unknown why Bi Han' s still against physical affection.

Bi Han began to feel the awkwardness between the two of them. He realized he had to say something other than questioning (Y/N)'s condition and (Y/N)'s obligations that she had carried out.

"You…have you sent a letter to your parents about how you are doing here?" Bi Han asked again. (Y/N) was a little surprised by Bi Han's question. Since when did he know that she had always been writing letters to her parents? but that is of course a normal thing for a child who will always provide news to their parents. Moreover, there was no internet in the Lin Kuei, and the only way to inform those closest to the situation was to send a letter.

"Y-yes, always." (Y/N) answered. "Hmm, I wish them good health," Bi Han replied. "Thank you, Grandmaster." (Y/N) answered. It's a little surprising that Bi Han hopes for good health for her parents. Even though he is not close to (Y/N)'s parents. And Bi Han always considered (Y/N)'s family to be outsiders who should have no relationship with Lin Kuei. Bi Han was too proud to make an alliance with another clan. But because this was an order from his father, he couldn't refuse it.

Bi Han started asking again, "Do you miss your parents?" (Y/N) was again surprised by Bi Han's question. Since when did Bi Han care about the condition of herself and her parents? isn't their marriage just a diplomatic relationship status? (Y/N) answered hesitantly and tried not to give an answer that could trigger her husband. "Y-yes, I miss my father and mother. I'm a little worried if one day something happens to them and I'm not there to help them."

"I understand" responded Bi Han. "You seem... to really care about your parents. Especially your father. It's clear how much he pampers you," Bi Han continued. "Oh? Really? Hehe…" While scratching her head, (Y/N) answered with a hesitant laugh. "Maybe because I'm their only daughter, so they must be a bit overprotective of me."

"Just like I thought" Bi Han sniffed.

(Y/N) realized that Bi Han was the only one who had been asking her several questions. Now it was her turn to ask about his life.

"What about your relationship with your parents, Grandmaster?" (Y/N) asked. Bi Han glanced at her with a sharp gaze and made her a little scared.

"I-if you don't want to answer, I understand. I'm sorry for being presumptuous in asking…" (Y/N) asked.

"My parents always taught us about the values of life and the dignity of the Lin Kuei. Discipline and honor." Bi Han answered.

"But my father as you know, was a former strict leader and he wanted me as his successor. You will never know the burden I have carried all this time, just to please him." Bi Han replied curtly.

"But I am proud of my title and I am confident that I can bring the glory of the Lin Kuei to greater heights than when the Lin Kuei was under my father's patronage." Bi Han crossed his arms while looking above.

It can be seen how Bi Han has a very visible distance from his father. He hated his father but he still respected his father. It wasn't easy for him as the eldest son, he had to carry out all his obligations as the new Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei.

"But in his eyes, I was still a snotty kid who needed guidance. Although in the end, he handed down the title to me he still did not admit my capability of leading this faction."

His face became enraged, and he was seen gritting his teeth and clenching his hands. She can see ice particles flowing through his veins.

"Despite the way he treated you,.. I believe he still loves you but...maybe you don't realize it, Grandmaster." (Y/N) tries to cheer him up.

"Enough of your nonesense!" Bi Han snapped in his booming deep voice.

(Y/N) shuddered in horror. Has she gone too far into Bi Han's family affairs? (Y/N) fell silent again and looked down while holding back her tears. She was afraid that if she asked again, she would only worsen her husband's mood.

Being with Bi Han felt like walking on eggshells. (Y/N) felt that whatever she did or said was always wrong in Bi Han's eyes.

Bi Han realized that his response had hurt his wife again, and he felt a little guilty. Bi Han exhaled a long breath and looked at (Y/N). "Whatever happens between me and my father is not something you have to be concerned about, you understand?"

(Y/N) looked at him slowly and nodded her head. Bi Han then took the maple leaf from (Y/N)'s hand and examined it carefully. "Soon, it will be winter." Bi Han said.

"Extreme cold won't stop you from training hard, right? A Lin Kuei must remain alert no matter the circumstances." Bi Han advised.

"Understood, Grandmaster." (Y/N) answered.

Bi Han seemed to be starting to relax again. He leaned his back against the tree and looked up.

"Back then… this garden, is the place we often visited with our late mother. My mother also trained me and my two brothers here." Bi Han opened the conversation again at this time about his mother. "We spent our break time here. There are lots of memories from my late mother that I can't forget." Bi Han replied.

Bi Han could be seen smiling slightly, remembering the days of his childhood. Bi Han has a close relationship with his mother.

(Y/N) started to become interested again and asked questions related to his mother.

"Your mother, what was she like when she was alive?" (Y/N) asked.

Enthusiastically, Bi Han began to answer her question.

"As a mother, she was loving, compassionate, and fiercely protective of our family. She taught me the value of honor, discipline, and respect for others. She was my guiding light and the source of strength for our entire family."

Bi Han woke up from his back and made small ice figures on the ground with his hands. The figures look like a woman and 3 small children, implying that they are the Grandmistress, Bi Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas when they were little.

Bi Han made them change poses while telling his story, like when they were on a picnic, practicing martial arts, and playing. These ice small sculptures look very beautiful, and they were like moving on their own. Like the animated movies that (Y/N) has been watching when (Y/N) still lived in the city with her family.

"They're so beautiful!" (Y/N) was amazed by Bi Han's small creation. All this time, she has always witnessed the action and horror that always comes out of Bi Han's Cryomancer power. It is unexpected that someone as scary as Bi Han still has a soft side that has not been seen by other people's eyes. (Y/N) was very grateful for this little thing.

Bi Han smiled and continued his story. "Her legacy lives on in the teachings and values she instilled in me and in the hearts of all those she touched. She is dearly missed, but her spirit continues to inspire and guide me every day."

“She sounds indeed a great woman, a formidable warrior, and an amazing mother.” (Y/N) responded.

“She was. My mother was indeed a remarkable woman. She had the strength and skill of a warrior and the wisdom of a leader. She could lead as well as my father, and her presence on the battlefield was always an inspiration to those around her.”

“Until…” Bi Han's face looked sad again. The small ice figures in front of them shattered into snowflakes.

“The day our mother died. From that damned disease." The atmosphere became gloomy again. (Y/N) also felt the sadness in Bi Han's heart. Bi Han is good at hiding his feelings but they are still obvious to (Y/N). "You… must be really miss your mother." Bi Han let out a long breath. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about her. I can still feel her touch and her voice." He closed his eyes. Silence began to set in, and (Y/N) didn't know what else to say. But (Y/N) had an idea. And that might not be a good idea or too bold. But it's worth a try. This is all for the sake of winning the grandmaster's heart. "Grandmaster?" (Y/N) called him softly. "Would you like to lay your head here? Just for a moment" (Y/N) changed her sitting position while patting her thigh.

Bi Han glanced at her and made a disgusted face. "Is this some kind of joke you made to degrade your Grandmaster?"

"No! Not at all. Please. Just this once. I won't ask for anything." (Y/N) begged. Bi Han frowned and sighed. He looked like he would reluctantly do what (Y/N) told him to do. Bi Han lay down and rested his head on (Y/N)'s thighs. This was the first time she had seen Bi Han's face this close. (Y/N)'s heart was beating fast, but she tried to remain calm.

(Y/N) began to gently stroke Bi Han's head and hair. She could feel all the muscles on Bi Han's face starting to relax. He no longer looked angry. and stared slowly at (Y/N)'s face.

"When I was little, my mother did this to me when I was feeling unwell. I'm sure the grandmistress did the same thing to you and your brothers." (Y/N) returned Bi Han's gaze with a smile.

Bi Han didn't say anything, but he seemed to be enjoying (Y/N)'s caress. Her hands are so small, so soft and so warm comparing to his hands. (Y/N) started humming a lullaby which strangely sounded almost similar to the song his mother always sang when Bi Han and his two brothers were going to sleep.

Bi Han began to reminisce about the pleasant times he and his two brothers had with their mother when they were children. (Y/N)'s touches reminded him of his mother once more. Bi Han closed his eyes and without realizing it he fell asleep on (Y/N)'s lap.

(Y/N) continued to stroke and massage Bi Han's head. She still couldn't believe that she had succeeded in making Bi Han soften towards her. This is one big step!

'When he's not angry, he looks handsome though' thought (Y/N). Bi Han seems so peaceful sleeping with his face like that.

The sky began to darken. Bi Han awoke from his slumber with wide eyes and promptly rose from his place. (Y/N) was surprised to see Bi Han wake up in such a hurry.

"How long have I been asleep?" Bi Han asked. He looked panicked. "Umm..around…15 minutes?" (Y/N) answered. "We can't rest here for too long. Get up! There are still lots of tasks to complete!" "Y-yes, Grandmaster," said (Y/N). (Y/N) got up from sitting and her legs also felt sore.

Bi Han seemed to have his back to (Y/N). "Wife." "Yes, Grandmaster?" "Thank You." Bi Han walks, leaving (Y/N) behind. (Y/N) smiled and assumed a respectful posture behind Bi Han. And walked after her husband leaving the garden.

THE END

[wyervan]

Hey, this is SS, did you mention about yuletide au sheet, but I didn't find them in the references, I'd like to politely ask about the situation? By the way, would you be okay with creating your AU fanfic in a different art style (I tried very hard…. Your art style is really cool! But I really can't try the texture of your AU, that… Verve… Besides that, about your AU, I'm curious about the daily relationship between the two of them and final girl!y/n? (This question has nothing to do with SS, I'm just curious and want to ask, hehe)

omg nobody freak out

I’m very very sorry for the wait. Yuletide AU ref sheet is very nearly complete—literally all I need to do is add flat colors. Will be posted in its entirety this weekend. Although, you know what, I’ll just put what I have in the SS discord for your convenience rn and update it later to the final.

In regard to the style question: absolutely pls pls pls don’t worry for a moment about trying to mimic my style. In fact, I nothing would make me happier than seeing my characters in your style. I absolutely adore seeing how other people interpret them!!!

Hmmm what is the nature of final girl y/n’s relationship with Sun and Moon? Daily, they all work together at Superstar Arcade and Playplace. Sun and Moon are technically y/n’s employers but they all enjoy an easy friendship after they’ve gotten to know each other.

Sun might occasionally pull the “Now Star, I’m the manager” card when he wants to get y/n to really scrub the inside of the tunnels in the playplace, but by-in-large, things are casual. They go out to the local coney for lunch together regularly, they’ve been to each other’s houses to hang, gone to movies and discussed the plots over drinks afterwards, and Moon’s even taught y/n some of his tricks for certain arcade games.

This is to say little of how they might feel about each other, or of how things could grow very complicated and messy indeed if y/n were to become aware of their friends’ darker natures.

[rafyki]

[Percico fanfic]

*Throws more percico smut at you* (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

You know I really can't stop thinking about percico smut lately asdgsdfkas (might be also because me and @neo-kid-funk have been talking about it so much, throwing ideas at each other lmao and also her beautiful spicy art is a constant inspiration)

So anyway, have some Nico calling Percy pet names and Percy with kind of a praise kink - this is very extremely sappy, btw, you've been warned (because of course I can't help but writing them absolutely in love with each other)

You can also read it on AO3!

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Nico came back at exactly eleven minutes past two a.m.. Percy knew that with certainty because he had been alternating between staring at the door and at the clock for the most part of the day, since the moment Nico had contacted him via Iris Message to tell him he would come home today.

He had looked so tired, smiling softly at Percy when he told him he missed him, and Percy wanted nothing more than to cradle him into his arms, kiss him wherever he could reach, and make sure he was really okay.

Of course, he knew that Nico wouldn't use the door to get inside the house. Instead, like every good son of Hades, he materialized in the shadows in a way that would have scared anyone who didn't know him. Percy was used to it though, and he did expect to see him stumble into the room from the shadows - he had kept the room dark enough precisely because of that.

What he did not expect was for Nico to choose the shadow on the ceiling and to literally fall into the room. But it didn't really matter, because Percy's senses were so used to be tuned on Nico's presence and his every movement that his body moved before he even registered it, catching the falling man easily into his arms.

“Welcome back”, Percy said. He didn't let Nico go, holding him close to himself, bridal style - the weight in his arms was familiar and welcome, as was the beautiful eyes looking into his own.

“I'm home”, Nico murmured back. There was mirth in his smile as he looked at Percy, hugging him around the neck, head resting against his shoulder. He looked as happy to stay there as Percy felt. “You caught me”.

“Of course”, Percy said. “Was it a test?”

Nico hummed in assent. “You passed”.

“Of course I did”.

“I knew you would��.

Oh, Percy had missed him so much. Here, standing in the middle of the room with the man he loved in his arms, Percy thought that this was what home felt like. As dramatic as it might have seemed, he had been feeling like a part of himself was missing for the whole three weeks Nico had been away. They had kept in contact through Iris Message as frequently as they could, but it wasn't the same; it wasn't enough to lighten the burden weighting on Percy's heart, a weight he knew Nico shared. 

Nico seemed to read his mind. He hugged Percy closer, hiding his face in the crook of Percy's neck, leaving a feather soft kiss there.

“I missed you”.

“Me too”, Percy said. “So much. I'm never letting you go again”.

Nico let out a soft laugh at that, and Percy felt it tickling on his skin. “I don't think my father would agree with that”.

“I have some experience in defying you father, I think I can manage”.

Another laugh. Oh, how Percy had missed the sound.

A beat, a moment of silence. Percy buried his nose in Nico’s messy hair, breathing him in. 

“I really really missed you, Neeks”. 

He had been worried, too, but he didn’t say that out loud. It wouldn’t be fair, not when Nico had his job as the ambassador of Pluto to do, not when Percy himself sometimes had quests to participate in to help the Camps - it was their job, and being worried about each other came together with it, it was a given in a demigod’s life; they couldn’t help it and they both knew, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

When their eyes met, Percy knew Nico was thinking the same thing.

When they kissed, they could taste relief on each other’s lips.

They had been together for long enough that kissing and being into each other’s arms should have probably lost its magic; it should have been familiar like something that you have always there, that is such a huge part of your everyday life that it becomes an afterthought. It wasn’t. Instead, it was familiar in a way that made it impossible to take it for granted, it was familiar in a way that Percy needed, in the way that made their everyday life worth living. They kissed, and every time Percy thought this is why I survived everything I have. To have this. 

Percy kissed him now, and thought that he would never get tired of doing it, even in a million years spent together.

Nico melted into his arms, lips spontaneously opening against his. The sound of a content sigh got lost in between them, and Percy wasn’t sure if it was his or Nico’s. It didn’t matter, they were breathing into each other’s mouths anyway, the sound swallowed in between them.

They stood there in the middle of the room, Nico still cradled in Percy’s arms, kissing and kissing and kissing until they had no breath left in their lungs. 

“You can put me down now, you know”, Nico said after a moment of silence.

Percy just adjusted his hold on him, hugged him closer. He would probably need to do it in a short while when his arms would inevitably start to complain, but for now he was perfectly happy and comfortable like this. “Don’t wanna”.

Nico looked at him, smiled, and kissed him again. Percy knew what the light in his eyes meant, felt it in the heated way their lips met this time, in the way Nico was holding onto him almost desperately, the way he pushed his tongue into Percy’s mouth like he wanted nothing more than to devour him. 

It was different from the languid sweet kiss from just a few moments before. This was a different kind of I missed you, a different kind of I need you, another face of their I love you.

It was the kind of kiss that made Percy feel like Nico was touching him everywhere all at once, that demanded everything from him, every bit of attention, every bit of his soul.

When Nico kissed him like that, it made Percy want to give up everything just to fall on his knees and worship Nico like he deserved.

He kissed back, just as hungry, just as desperate, giving Nico everything he was asking for. 

It had always been like that, between them - one single glance, one single word, and things escalated. That was how they had found themselves falling into bed together even before confessing and getting together properly; it had caused problems, back then, but now they could allow themselves to give in to it without a second thought, could get lost in the feeling of want eating them up without worrying about what waited for them on the other side of it.

Percy only forced himself to move back when he remembered, amidst the haze that was filling his mind, that Nico had just come back after a three weeks long job. Nico whined at the loss of contact. 

Percy took a moment to catch his breath. 

“Wait”, he said. “Have you eaten?”

Nico nodded. The way he was clearly a little annoyed made Percy smile. 

“You sure?”

This time Nico rolled his eyes fondly at him. “Hazel was with me, you know what that means”.

“Mh, yeah, I can trust her to take care of you”.

“You should trust me”, Nico said. Anyone else would have thought that his frown meant he was seriously mad, but Percy knew him too well. 

“I do, with everything”, he said, kissing his nose gently. “But I also know how quests can go, and how they can distract you”.

Another kiss, long and sweet. The heat from before was still there, boiling just underneath the surface. Honestly Percy just wanted to give in to it.

“You sure you’re not tired?”, he asked, in between shared breaths. He could feel the heaviness of Nico’s tired bones, had noticed the way his eyelids had looked heavy earlier when he had just arrived; and he knew how tiring a quest could be, especially such a long one. Nico could sleep, and they could just start again the next morning.

“I am, a little”, Nico replied, and Percy was about to put him down and let him get some well deserved rest. He stopped when Nico held onto him tighter, got his lips close to Percy’s ear, and murmured, “So, take care of me tonight?”

And it was like a fire was lit inside of Percy.

How could he deny him?

Just those words were enough to make arousal fill every inch of his body, strong and prepotent and impossible to ignore. Nico knew the effects it would have on him, of course, knew exactly what to say and do to make Percy do whatever he wanted. And Percy loved it.

Barely suppressing a groan he changed his hold on Nico, moving his hands under his thighs as Nico wrapped his legs around him. Kissing him was easier like this, the new angle making their lips fit perfectly together, the higher position allowing Nico to push for more as Percy opened up against him. Hands were buried in Percy's hair, touching and pulling on it impatient and demanding.

Without breaking apart, with his eyes still closed and lost in the malestorm that was Nico, Percy started walking towards their bedroom. He didn't need to see to know where he was going, and the house was coated in shadows anyway - still he was too busy to worry about bumping into anything. There wasn't anything that could make him separate from Nico right now.

Only when they did reach the bedroom Percy moved back, putting just enough space between their lips that he could catch his breath. He could feel Nico's hard breaths mixing with his own.

Gently he let him down, resting him on the bed. Their bed, sometimes it was still hard to believe it. But there they were now, in their home, on their bed, hands still touching each other like they couldn't bear to separate even for one instant - and Nico was looking up at him, looking beautiful and ethereal in the moonlight coming in from the window. There was lust and anticipation in his eyes, and so much love Percy felt himself drown in it.

Under that stare he took a moment to take off his shirt, then his trousers, and finally his underwear, leaving himself naked and bare for Nico to see. Oh how he loved this, how he loved to be the only object of those eyes, the only one who had the privilege of being at the receiving end of that passionate and devoted look. He could feel himself grow harder just by the weight of it.

Nico reached out, and Percy joined him on the bed. He helped him out of his clothes, slow and gentle, as he could feel the weight of Nico's weary bones, the tiredness of his every move mixed with the need for this, the need for the contact and the touch.

It was a familiar thing, that of taking off each other’s clothes, slowly getting bare before one another, as familiar was the sight of Nico’s beautiful scarred pale skin - yet it never failed to make Percy’s breath stop in his throat, his heart beating like crazy in his chest and blood boiling in his veins. Even in the heat of the moment he could never deny himself a few moments just to look, hungry eyes caressing every inch of skin they could reach, hands following behind shortly after on the same path. He pulled Nico in closer, and the kiss that followed was heated and slow at the same time. Nico’s hands left a burning trail where they moved along on Percy’s skin. They moved on the bed until Nico was on his back and Percy on top of him.

It never failed to amaze Percy how perfectly they fitted together, skin against skin, bodies finding where they belonged against each other. Nico was still smaller than him, and Percy loved that he could cover him like that, having him underneath himself, swallow him whole. He loved that despite this, Nico almost always had the reins of the situation anyway.

They broke the kiss in a moan when their half hard lengths pressed together, leaving them panting into each other’s mouth.

“Are you going to show me just how much you missed me?”, Nico said, whispering the words directly into Percy’s soul.

Percy could feel his pleased smirk against his own lips. Even in his tired state, Nico knew perfectly well how to push every one of Percy’s buttons.

“As if I could ever deny you”, Percy replied, blood rushing into his veins. “Whatever you want”.

“I want you”.

It was such a simple thing to say, such an obvious truth that Percy knew already, had known for years, and it had been so long since the last time he had doubted it. But it still got his heart running, jumping into his throat like it wanted to escape and leap into Nico’s waiting hands.

Percy moved back enough to look into Nico’s eyes. He couldn’t see him properly, as he was coated in the shadows casted by Percy’s own body; it didn’t matter, Percy could see the look in his eyes even in the dark, would see it in his dreams and with his own eyes closed. “You have me”, he said. “Always”.

Another kiss. Nico tasted like everything Percy wanted, now and forever. 

He moved his lips to Nico’s neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, taking it in between his teeth, soothing the bruise with his tongue. Every little sound that was coming out of Nico’s mouth pushed him to bite a little harder, to leave a more permanent mark. Bite marks looked especially pretty on Nico’s neck, their color a stark contrast against the pale skin.

Nico moved to give him better access, one of his hands buried in Percy’s hair, keeping him in place, his legs around Percy’s waist, pulling him closer. Percy could feel the breath catching in his throat every time a movement made their hard cocks slid between their bodies, the pressure and friction so good and not nearly enough at the same time.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good”, he said into Nico’s ear, before taking the lobe in between his lips.

“I- ah, I know you will, baby”.

Percy couldn't help it - he preened at the word,  an unintentional pleased sound escaping from his throat. There was just something about Nico calling him that, something that made Percy lose himself a little more every time. He loved getting lost in Nico, forgetting himself for a little while and just focusing on him, on how to give him pleasure, how to make him feel good.

And so he moved from his neck to his collarbone to his chest, kissing and biting every inch of skin he could reach, letting himself get lost in the taste under his tongue and the sweet sounds coming from Nico and filling his ears. Tomorrow Nico's skin would be a beautiful map of every heated touch, and Percy would wake up and trace it with his fingers, marveling at how beautiful he was.

Down, and he took a pink hard nipple between his lips, sucking and biting just hard enough, just how Nico liked - and he was rewarded with a high moan and a hand gripping his hair so tight it almost hurt.

Few things felt as good as having Nico underneath himself like that, all bare and waiting for him, all for Percy to taste and touch and give pleasure to; tired and exhausted and yet waiting and wanting nothing but Percy. Percy wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to give him pleasure to the point he couldn't take it anymore, to make him arch under his touch at the plea of his name.

A kiss, just where Nico's heart was. A kiss, long and lingering.

I love you so much, he thought, and believed that Nico could feel it, hear it in the sound of his own heartbeat.

Down, again, leaving a trail of soft gentle kisses behind, on Nico's sternum, on his belly, on his hipbones. Nico's legs opened to accommodate him, and Percy moved to his thighs, beautiful and sensitive and so easily marked up. The soft skin tasted perfect under Percy's teeth and tongue. He kissed over a few scars - that was a habit they both had, that of wanting to leave marks over scars, like an attempt to rewrite with something better whatever painful moment had left a sign on their bodies.

“Percy…”, Nico called, breathless already. The name always sounded so beautiful on his lips. It was a request, and Percy understood. 

He licked his lips before finally bringing his mouth on Nico's hard length, wrapping his lips around the head, teasing with his tongue that spot he knew would help to drive Nico crazy. Just a little, not enough to make him come, but enough to make him arch under Percy, to make him moan and cry out asking for something more. 

The broken moans of Percy, and baby, went to Percy's head and groin, and he moved down a little more, taking more of Nico into his mouth, closing his eyes as he drowned in the sounds and taste filling his senses. Nico's legs were wrapped around him, his hands on the back of Percy's head, forceful yet careful at the same time.

Percy loved this, loved how he knew perfectly where to touch to make Nico come undone under him, loved that he could just do this, could love him and show it with every part of his body and every part of his soul. Loved that Nico's taste was so engraved in his senses that it almost felt like his own.

When he could feel that Nico was about to come, he moved back, letting him fall out of his mouth. A whine escaped Nico at the loss of contact, and Percy, breathless, let his tongue run over the length of his cock one last time, a final kiss lingering on the head.

Nico brought his hand under Percy's chin, pushing to make him look up at him. Fingers brushed against his lips, thumb stroking his lower lip, gentle at first then harder, pushing in between until it was inside Percy's mouth.

Nico was beautiful - there was no proper word to describe him, but beautiful was what always came up to Percy's mind whenever he tried to find the right way to describe him. Sometimes, the word was almost enough - never quite able to encompass everything that Nico was, but close, almost good enough. Now though, the sight before Percy's eyes was more - more than beautiful, more than perfect, mesmerizing in a way that the word itself couldn't catch; there were no words that could describe the way Nico looked right now, bathed in moonlight, with his sensitive skin flushed pink, white and shining with sweat, marks starting to form on it, his swollen lips parted, breathing hard. And his eyes, soft and intense at the same time, fixed on Percy, lust and love tangled together in them, and so strong Percy found himself unable to breathe. He knew that the same look was probably mirrored into his own eyes as he looked back at Nico. 

There were no words to describe Nico like this, and there was no need for them - this was a sight no one but Percy was privy to, it was his.

“Come here”, Nico said, his voice raw and breathless, and it pulled Percy out of his own dazed thoughts.

They met in a long messy kiss, mouth opened against each other, like they couldn't get enough, like they wanted, needed, to devour one another. 

“You're being so good for me”, Nico said, and Percy melted at the words. “You're so good at taking care of me”.

A whine escaped Percy and Nico swallowed it in the next kiss.

Hands were traveling all over each other, legs tangled together, every inch of their bodies pressed together. Percy couldn’t wait to be inside him, feeling Nico surrounding him completely. It didn’t matter how many times they did this, it always felt as heart-stopping and significant as the first time.

Nico always seemed to be reading his mind, because the next thing he said was, “I really need you inside me now, Percy”, with a low and clearly affected voice, speaking the words against Percy’s lips.

“Yeah”, Percy breathing, nodding.

He moved back enough to reach out and take the lube and a condom from their bedside table, opened the bottle and coated his fingers in it, then went back to kissing Nico. He really couldn’t go too long without doing it. He kept kissing him as he opened him up with his fingers, careful and slow, taking his time both because he didn’t want to hurt him and simply because he loved doing this. 

As they kissed, Percy could feel on his lips every breath broken in pleasure, every moan and every whine as he kept moving his fingers inside him. 

“I’m- ah, I’m good”, Nico said. “Come on, baby”.

One more kiss, heated in anticipation. 

Nico’s eyes were locked on him, hungrily following his every move as Percy put on the condom and coated himself in lube. The heat and weight of that stare would end up driving Percy crazy one day - crazy with need and passion and so much love that he didn’t know how he hadn’t gone mad yet; or maybe he had, and Nico with him, but as long as they were together in this nothing mattered anyway.

Nico pulled him down and Percy went willingly, putty in his hands. Their lips were made to kiss each other.

“I love you, Neeks”.

Percy had to say it. The words weren’t enough, but he needed to say them, just three little words to describe something that was so big, impossible to really put into words. Their hands found each other, fingers interlacing naturally.

“So much”, Nico replied, squeezing his hand. “So much, love”.

When he finally slid home inside of Nico, they stayed there, panting into each other's mouths for a handful of long moments, getting adjusted and just feeling each other.

“You feel so good”, Nico said, voice row and broken. “You always feel so good”.

A moan cut him off when Percy shifted a little, the movement enough to make his eyes roll back.

“Move, Percy, please”.

And Percy did. Slow at first, then harder and faster, as control started slipping from his fingers and Nico kept pulling him in with the legs wrapped around his back. They were one, joined in every possible way - this was what made Percy lose his mind. It felt impossibly good, to be with Nico like this, a gift so precious it had taken Percy a long time to believe and accept he really could have this.

Their mouths were still pressed together, the kiss broken by moans but they still kept breathing together, swallowing each other’s every sound.

Percy wrapped his free hand around Nico’s cock, and the next moment Nico was coming with a moan and a broken plea of Percy’s name.

It took barely another few thrusts, and the whisper of “come for me, baby”, from Nico, to push him over the edge, and then Percy was coming too.

Time slowed down as they caught their breaths, long moments of stasis that stretched over as the intense heat from before gave way to the slow and lazy intimity that always came after.

Slowly, gently, Percy pulled off Nico, kissing his cheek at the weak sound of protest that elicited. He tied and threw away the condom, and then he was back with Nico, pulling a blanket on top of both of them and wrapping him tight into his arms.

Nico looked content and spent, his eyes already threatening to fall shut as he looked up at Percy with a soft smile on his lips. It seemed that exhaustion was catching up to him all together, and he looked seconds away from falling asleep. Percy leaned in to kiss him again, soft and chaste. These were some of Percy’s favorite moments, the slow lazy moments in between, when time seemed to stop existing, like it was waiting for them to catch their breaths.

“I really missed you”, Nico said, the words coming out slurred. “I never want to be away for so long again”.

Percy agreed. It might have sounded dramatic and silly, but he hated it - he could be away from Nico, but he simply didn’t want to.

“Next time, I’m coming with you”.

It didn’t matter if it wasn’t easy, they would find a way.

Nico hummed happily as he got comfortable with his head pillowed on Percy’s chest, Percy’s hand on his head, caressing his hair slowly. The weight of Nico’s body on him was everything Percy needed after way too many nights spent sleeping alone.

“You should sleep now”, he said, leaving a kiss on top of Nico’s head.

Tomorrow, as time would start moving again, Percy would kiss him good morning and make him breakfast, they would stay in bed the whole morning kissing lazily, and Nico would tell him about his quest, and Percy would tell him about the little mundane things that had happened while he was away. And they both would think that that was what they wanted from life.

Tonight, Percy fell asleep thinking that this was the forever he wanted.

[swiftiewillwrite]

caramel iced coffee -

a spencer agnew fanfic

pairing - spencer agnew x reader

warnings - none! slight anxiety for like a paragraph :)

a/n - hello!!! ive written a ton of fanfics but only published two, and this is my first published on tumblr! hope yall enjoy !!

You stand behind the counter, muscle memory making your fifth pumpkin spice latte in a row. Oh, how you love fall. Even during your least busy time of day, you still get to spend what feels like forever on overly complicated drinks.

You hand the last one to a teenage girl, looking very apologetic. You give her a smile.

“Next!”

Woah. the man who now stands in front of you was definitely gonna fuck up your work day. He wore thinly framed round glasses and had messy curly hair, plus a beard that you found all too attractive. You attempted to compose yourself. “What can I get you?”

The man stared blankly for a moment, then responded. Must've not gotten a lot of sleep last night. “Uh.. what do you recommend?”

“Oh! I guess I'm kind of a sucker for anything caramel, do you want something hot or cold?”

“Really just make me your favorite, I haven't done this in a while.”

“What, ordered coffee?” you joked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Ooh-kay, name for the order?”

“Spencer.” (god, why is it always the s names?)

“Alright Spencer, that will be 5 bucks, just tap or swipe or do whatever, and I'll have that ready for you in just a minute.” you smile, not letting the customer service voice falter, ignoring the unholy visions of what you wanted this man to do to you invading your mind.

You set to work on another overly complicated drink. Usually you would be complaining your ass off to yourself right now, but youre the one who subjected yourself to this. You're too weak when it comes to cute customers.

Working alone on slow days was your favorite kind of shift, because you got to play your own playlist. Today, that was a bit more of a curse as you notice Spencer humming along.

As you placed the lid on the cup, you looked up to the booth where he was waiting. He looked away immediately, as if he had already been staring. You hoped that he was.

Walking out from behind the counter, you set the cup on the table in front of him. “Here you go,”

He smiles softly, uttering a soft thanks. You made your way back to the counter, watching from a distance as he collected his things and walked out of the cafe.

God, you had never wanted a new regular more.

—

The next morning, he was back. Looking up at the door as the bell rang, you saw him once again. Spencer was wearing a graphic tee, revealing tattoos you hadn't seen yesterday. You felt a smile creep up your face, but a pit form in your stomach with no discernible cause. Before you could get too lost in thought, though, Spencer was at the counter, ready to order.

"Hey,” you smiled, “Are you ready to order for yourself today, or want another surprise?”

He let out a soft laugh, a sound that made your heart leap out of your chest. “If it isn't too much of a burden-,” he started, the last word dripping with sarcasm. “-I would enjoy a surprise drink.”

You sigh dramatically, “Fine,” drawing out the word with childlike brattiness. “Here or to go?”

Spencer said something he never could have if actual thoughts were going through his head:

“Here, but only if you sit with me while I drink,”

Holyshitholyshitholyshit- “Keep trying, maybe you'll get there eventually. Your total is 5.25.” You joked, a smile on your face covering your internal freak out over the fact that you just rejected the hottest guy you had ever seen.

And try he did. Every day, without fail, he came into your cafe, ordered his usual (your usual) and asked you to sit with him. And every day, you were too afraid to say yes.

"Are you sure that you don't want something new?”

“Give me the drink, please.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, but got to work making his drink. For the first time in three weeks, he stayed near the counter as you made it. As you let the coffee brew, you leaned on the counter, looking at him.

“So.. why are you always here so early? Like; this is earlier than all my other usuals,”

“You have other usuals? Wow, and I thought I was special,”

“Yes, I have other usuals. But you might be a favorite.” you smiled at him softly, and he returned the look. “Answer my question, though. Why are you here at like.. Six every day? How early do you work?”

Spencer looked slightly uncomfortable, then spoke. “I actually don't have to be there until 10 most days.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, I work at this Youtube comedy company, and so the first time I came here was a shoot week, so I did have to be at work by 7 to set up. It's just that when that week ended… I decided to just always get here early.”

“Wait, what company? Also, why? Why not just come later?” you questioned, trying to silence the hopeful voice in your head saying that you were the reason he kept coming back.

“It's less busy at this time. I get to actually talk to you.” What.

“Oh.. that's really sweet, man.” Man? Why would you say that- “I like talking to you too. So where do you work?”

Spencer looked slightly reluctant, but you tried to not read into it. “It's called Smosh,”

You perked up. “No shit? I was obsessed with Smosh when I was younger. Like- I got home from school every day and immediately pulled up whatever was posted that day,” you notice him looking down, and poke his arm, near a tattoo of a thwomp. “Why didn't you want to tell me?”

Spencer looks up at you. “Hmm?”

“You tried to change the topic. What's up?”

He purses his lips, then softly says “I didn't want that to be the only reason you like me. Or- like talking to me. Sorry.”

You open your mouth to respond, to tell him his worries were wrong, but are interrupted by the sound of the bell on the door. You look up and see your favorite coworker. “Hey Zoë! Can you watch the counter for like.. Two minutes for me?”

She raised an eyebrow at you and the man standing next to you. “It's about to get really busy.”

“I know, I know, just- please?” you looked at her, and she must've seen the desperation in your eyes, because she responded-

“Fine. Just be back soon. Love ya.”

You looked at her like she had just saved your life, and turned back to Spencer. “Wanna talk at a table?” Spencer just looked at you like you had grown a second head, but nodded. When you sat down, you started talking again. “I really like talking to you. And I did before you told me you have my childhood dream job. I like your humor and your laugh and your hair. I like your taste in music and movies and I like you.”

Spencer took a moment to collect his words. He couldn't find any, so he just leaned across the table and kissed you. A million thoughts raced through both of your heads, until you heard Zoë cough at you from behind the counter, and pulled away.

“Sorry.” Spencer apologized. You shook your head with a smile, and asked if you could put your number in his phone. He handed you the device, and you pondered for a moment before you put your name in as ‘beautiful sexy perfect human’. You texted yourself a “hey” from his phone, and added his name as ‘spenner’. He took his phone back, immediately letting out a “Shit! I have to get to work.” When he saw the time, and standing up to leave.

You frowned, but as he walked out and let the door close behind him, you sent him a simple two word text.

spenner

bye cutie

He was still close enough that you could see him smile through the window when he opened his phone. You turned to the counter to get back to work, when Zoë asked you:

“Was that Spencer Agnew?”

[innxrvision]

So long - pt. 1 𒂭

part 1 of 3 ------------𖦹 tags: james hetfield x reader, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers, bet, 80s james, a little angst if you squint, more tags to come in future parts ♱ a/n: i have no idea of what i'm doing actually. i never wrote anything and english is not my first language so there'll be probably a lot of mistakes, but after reading too many fanfics I simply ran out of content and also the community has been a bit dead for awhile so here's my humble contribuition to the cause (the cause being thirsting over james hetfield). anyway, this was supposed to have only one part but i felt it got too long so i chopped in half, i'll post pt 2 as soon as i can! meanwhile, i would be very happy with any criticisms or suggestions. if you find any language mistakes please please correct me, i'll be very thankful! also, i have no idea of how to work this app out 'cause all i've been doing all my life is liking and reblogging stuff so bear with me please!!

𖦹 part 1 𖦹 part 2 𖦹 part 3

You knew you fucked up by showing up late to their gig, but in your defense, it wasn't your fault that your boss choose this day of all days to get you stuck at work.

"Well, at least I showed up!" you thought to yourself, but the cold look James gave you when he finally spotted you at the crowd wasn't so forgiving.

After the last song, you rushed to the backstage, wanting to say hi to your friends. The place they were playing today was pretty small, but the crowd was buzzing with energy and the entire show was great.

Before even entering the door that led to the small and thrashed dressing room you could hear the excited voices of the four guys. First, it was Kirk who embraced you in a thrilled and sweaty hug, then Lars, and finally Cliff. You chatted briefly with them before finally going towards James, who was pretending to not notice you while fixing something in his guitar.

You could only see his back and the messy and wet blonde hair covering his lowered face. You knew he was mad, of course, he was your best friend for years and a look was all that it took for you to get how bad the situation was, but at the same time, you couldn't understand why be so mad if, in the end, you showed up anyway.

"Hey, don't be mad at me..." You said softly, touching his shoulder to make him recognize your presence.

In response, James just rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, leaning his guitar against the wall.

"You said you would be here on time!" He complained, his expression already revealing that there was nothing you could say to convince him, but your stubbornness wouldn't let it go, of course.

"It's not my fault! I got stuck at work... What did you want me to do? I tried my best, alright?" You wanted to sound a bit more gentle, but being tired after a long shift didn't help your nerves much. You sighed, already slightly annoyed.

James crossed his arms, his gaze falling hard on you as he spoke.

"You make it seem like you don't have time for your best friend."

"Don't be unfair, I always come to your gigs and always hang out with you!" You gestured frustrated. "Sorry that I've got stuck at work today, it's not like I wanted to be late!" It was hard being reasonable when both of you were tired and stressed and you did your best to not raise your voice too much, as it could worsen things even more.

You looked around the room, checking to see if the other boys were paying any attention to your little argument, but thankfully Lars had already left the room and Kirk and Cliff seemed too absorbed in discussing something that you assumed related to the show.

"Maybe if you got the balls to look for a better job instead of working at that cheap dinner you would've showed up on time today!"

Your mouth opened in shock as you heard James' harsh words, it was clear that he was already worked up and your expression instantly turned cold.

"Now you went too far." Your voice carried a mixture of sadness and anger that made James regret his words quicker than he thought he would. "Sorry that my job isn't good enough for you, rockstar, but I can't afford to go around playing music just like you do, I actually need the money." With that you turned your back, not interested in hearing anything from him anymore, and exited the room, not even bothering to say bye to Cliff and Kirk who now looked at each other in confusion. It didn't help that now you also felt embarrassed that they heard your stupid argument.

"Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that!" You could hear James' voice saying from inside the room, his anger now turning to guilt as he realized the impact of his words.

You just kept walking until you reached out outside of the building and stopped by a wall, resting your back against the cold concrete and searching up your pockets for your pack of cigarettes and your lighter.

With the cold breeze of the night, it took a few tries for you to successfully light up your cigarette and when you took the first drag you heard some footsteps approaching. You refused to look toward the sound, just kept doing your own thing and looking down until you saw a pair of dirty white sneakers stop right next to you.

James took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before finally speaking, his raspy voice gentle and sincere.

"I'm sorry about what I said inside, I didn't mean any of it, I was just angry 'cause I really wanted you to be there for me tonight... You're my best friend and I care about you."

"It doesn't seem like you care much." You scoffed in response.

"I know I messed up and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you." You heard him sigh and pause for a moment, probably searching for the right words. "You're not just any friend to me, you're my best friend." He added.

"Then why did you say that?" You asked crossing your arms, the cigarette still dangling between your fingers. "If I'm not good enough for your 'metal band lifestyle' then whatever, just don't go around saying I'm what I do with my life is not worthy." You sighed and took a drag before lowering your voice, your tone slightly more gentle now. "I work hard, y'know? Sorry that I was late once, at least I came!"

He took a deep breath once again and ran his hand through his hair, you took this opportunity to gaze at him for a moment. You knew your anger couldn't last much longer, it has always been like that.

"It's not about my lifestyle and it's not about your job, I was just being a jerk. I got too caught up in my anger and..." He trailed away. "C'mon... I'm really sorry."

You looked away and took another drag, you knew you wouldn't hold a grudge for that.

"Whatever." You muttered. "It was a good show." You added after a moment of silence, it was your peace offer.

Even without looking at him, you could sense his smile opening up, whenever he smiled the whole place would light up.

"Thanks." He said. "Can we just forget about everything that happened earlier and go grab a drink or something? I'll pay." He sounded hopeful again and you knew this was his way of making things right with you.

You nodded and flicked your cigarette off, stepping on it.

"Sure, let's go."

There was a faint smile on your lips and in response to that James smiled even bigger, he put his arm around your shoulder, guiding you towards a nearby bar.

"Great! Let's have some fun just you and me and make up for everything that happened tonight!"

"What about the equipment and the guys?" You ask, suddenly remembering their existence.

"Don't worry, Cliff's gonna get my stuff and bring it over to his place, I told 'em I would probably not come back." He answered, entirely back to the laid-back personality you were used to.

"Right." You hummed in response, just letting him guide you as he started chatting about today's crowd excitedly.

[piratesfromspace]

Night Blue (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Price

Rated: Mature

Word count: 3k

Summary: "Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor." or when Price comes to your rescue.

Note: I'm not the author of this fic, it is actually a Christmas gift from my boyfriend (yes I have the best boyfriend ever)! He writes for a living and has yet to dip his toes in fanfic territories, but I think he did fantastic and was very good at writing with the female gaze in mind. His take on Price has me drooling. He used the codename Rain, but note this is not part of the Rain Universe. Please let him know in the comment what you think of his first CoD fanfic!

Content: military!fem!reader, Reader has blue eyes but no body description other than that, mention of food & alcohol, rescue mission, implied torture, competency kink, typical level of violence

Muffled voices. Metallic clinking. Crowded interior. This could be your next mission. Or the last one. But it isn’t. It’s only a date. Well, Only. If only “only” could be only. It isn’t. It’s been years. You know him. This isn’t a first. But somehow, your heart is racing. It’s a fancy restaurant, after all. In the middle of good old London. He always had great taste, if not old-fashioned. But he’s late. He’s always late. You never understood that. How could someone that precise on the field be this messy in civvy street? Where the heck is he?

Did he try to take the tube? Again? He can’t do that. Not anymore. Not after what happened the last time 141 was deployed in London. He should be in a cab right now, on his way, with a big, innocent grin on his face. At least, you hope he is. You don’t want to drink this expensive bottle alone. Spend the night by yourself. Fall asleep in a cold bed. 

“Don’t let me down, Bravo 6.”

You said it aloud with a sigh. Someone answers.

“Oh, you know I won’t, darling.”

He’s here. Where did he come from? Doesn’t matter. His noise discipline is on point. That’s something he brings from the field. Ever so stealthy, he takes the chair before you and says “hi” in his thick accent. Thick as his moustache. What’s the name again? Mutton chops or something. He’s so damn proud of it. It’s cute. You noticed he trimmed it for the occasion and probably added some kind of oil to it. You smell it from here. An odd but somewhat comforting smell. Like a cosy fireplace or a warmish glass of Scotch. You wonder if your sheets will smell like that in the morning. He’s trying to say something, but you're already lost in the thought. Split seconds where you don’t listen, only think about those infamous mutton chops climbing your legs. Focus, damn it. What is he wearing? A suit? That’s strange. Well, you always thought anything besides a loaded chest rig looked weird on him. Wait, no. That’s not true. He wears jumpers and cardigans quite nicely. You always pictured him as an old British gentleman. A sailor embarking on a frail boat. Or a hunter walking to a black forest. Something like that. Old-fashioned indeed. It’s an acquired taste. 

So you talk. Like a lot. Spend time in each other’s eyes. Those grey-blue marbles, in which you see more than what is said. The joy of the moment, of being here, yes. But also the sadness, the pain. What is supposedly left behind, somewhere on a desolated field, and yet always comes back to scratch those eyes. It’s okay. You have the same. That’s why it’s working. But you remember. You remember how bright, much brighter, these eyes were the first time you saw them.

TEN YEARS AGO

Black and white. Night and snow. Somewhere in Northern Europe, the winter wind sweeps the clouds across the sky and dusts the flakes off the trees. But two bushes remain still. Until they don’t. All ghillied up, two operators crawl in powder snow. They talk as loud as the wind allows them to. 

“Follow me and keep low, lieutenant. Target’s right ahead.” 

“Solid copy.”

Captain MacMillan leads the way in near-total silence. His second in command, Lieutenant John Price, tries to keep up. He misses the warmth of the base. Of a pub. Of anything warmer than this icy desert at this point. But he needs to stay focused. They’re deep into enemy territory, trying to retrieve an ally he only knows by reputation. A track record he admires. So he wonders. What happened? A trap? A mistake? Perhaps it’s a warning in disguise. It goes to show that no one is ever too good to get caught. To get killed. 

Listen to the captain. Do what the captain says, his head repeats. Enough to forget his instincts or the will to think for himself. Violence and timing. Once you’re on the field, only these two matter. They don’t require you to think. Only to act, and act at the right moment. Old man MacMillan told him so. And despite his age, Alpha Six is teaching him a lesson. The captain moves like a damn ghost. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s almost like the snow melts around him so he can look like a real bush. The deadliest bush in the country, probably.

“It’s a goddamn convention around here, John.”

Price looks down. The warehouse and its surroundings are barely lit, but using thermal goggles, he can already count twelve guns guarding the target, plus three engineers working on an Infantry Fighting Vehicle. Guards, not soldiers. The new plague of the free world: PMCs. Former soldiers, swapping insignias for fatter paychecks. Russian, probably. He hears them talking through the wind. Or maybe French. They hire all across Europe, after all. The captain’s accent brings him back to Scotland.

“We could wait for them to break off, but that’d be playing with the target’s life, and we’d probably freeze our asses to death… There’s only one way to do this, innit?”

“Right. Care for a suggestion, captain?”

“I’m all hears, lieutenant.”

“That IFV. Maybe it is operational. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t want to find out. We take it down first. C4 should do the trick. They hear the boom. We split. You dance, I get inside. Once the target’s identity is confirmed, I take the long trek home through the forest, and meet you at LZ.” 

“You forget your rank, lieutenant. Why should I be the one dancing, John?”

“With all due respect captain, you forget your back. I’m sure the target’s a big boy. Unless you’re ready for the fireman carry of your life, you let me do it. If you hurt yourself, who will put those Christmas lights on the tree? Your wife will never forgive me…”

“Alright John, lead the way.” 

They don’t need their ghillies anymore. The bushes become men. They check their weapons. Price is about to take point when MacMillan nudges him. His fatherly smile almost lights the dark.

“The next time you bring my wife into this kid, you’re going down.”

“Roger that, captain.”

One of the engineers went for a cigarette. Lord bless the smokers. They all leave their post, eventually. Even when they don’t, that smoke will shake their focus. Move fingers away from triggers, grenades, alarms. Enjoy that last cigarette, lad. This smoke’s about to kill you faster than lung cancer. MacMillan jumps from the white shadows, arms instantly locked on his prey. His combat knife bites. Screams die in the engineer’s throat. Blood bubbles explode. The wind covers almost everything. The fluff of the snow takes care of the rest. 

Words come to them, though, and both captain and lieutenant freeze instantly. Their weapons are up, ready to strike. But they don’t want to fight. Not here, not now. More words. Price is trying to make sense of them, but he skipped too many classes for that. Damn you and your bad boy attitude, he thinks, until he hears a laugh. The words are repeated, but not as a question. That delivery transcends all languages. It’s a joke. Tension goes down, but MacMillan is already one step ahead. 

Pripyat. Urzikstan. Many more. Price has fought next to the captain since he joined the SAS. It’s a weird thing, but by now, he probably knows him better than friends. Better than family. And it shows. They don’t have to speak, but that’s always been a requirement on the field. What’s more impressive is they don’t have to sign full sentences either. They’ve experienced enough settings and parameters to understand how the situation will eventually play out. So they commit to the action, together, before the scenario can even start. Like two polished pieces of the same high-precision clock, they act as one to define time itself. 

“Together”, he signs.

For the two engineers, it’s time to die. Focused on the scratched hull of their IFV, these poor bastards never see it coming. A .45 ACP bullet penetrates their skulls at subsonic speed and settles down in their brains, avoiding any ricochet on the armoured surface of the vehicle. They climb on top of the tank. Price removes the bodies to find a hatch while MacMillan gets a block of C4 ready. Except for the wind, the place is silent. Which means no one knows they’re here. Good. But it could also mean the target is dead by now. The same thought has crossed the captain’s mind. He suddenly acts faster, despite the gloves and the numbed fingers they’re supposed to protect. Price follows and places the C4 inside the IFV, next to what he remembers to be a fuel tank.

About ninety-two seconds later, John learns his memories are correct. From the safety of distance, MacMillan has blown the IFV straight to hell in one glorious explosion. But it only takes about twenty more seconds for the PMC to react, learns Price on his watch. And that’s bad news. They’re still sharp. Drilled. Ready to respond. And they do. John counts half of them spreading out of the warehouse through truck gates and access doors. Their plan is sound. They’re looking out, trying to nullify the effect of surprise with a solid assessment of who or what is outside.

And it’s only one man, but he gives them a round for their money. MacMillan uses every trick in the book and every weapon he carries to make them think there’s a whole squad hunting for them behind the snow, between those big black trees. And they fall for it. At least one of the mercenaries does, and chooses to provide firing support from the door he was supposed to shut behind his comrades. 

John sees the opportunity immediately. Timing. In just a few rounds, the mercenary will have to reload. Or maybe he will suddenly realise the door is still open and stop firing. An empty mag hits the floor, and Price jumps out of cover. Violence. He grabs the mercenary’s weapon with one hand while the other secures the kill. The bastard’s heavy, and the thump of his fall makes a lot of noise. Silenced handgun raised, Price waits for a moment, scanning the entry corridor for potential targets. But no one comes. More words, inside. More shots, outside. Chaos is settling in, everywhere.

Another opportunity, then. Price presses on, checking his corners with the precision of a machine. A door opens to his right. Two mercs, rushing out of a room to help their comrades overwhelmed by MacMillan’s tactics. John is almost as surprised as they are, but not quite. Timing. They’re too fast, and likely to fire from the hip. Violence. He empties his mag on the two targets. One mercenary drops suddenly, like a puppet cut from its strings. The other falls, but slowly. His vest caught the heat. If he’s good, there’s a chance he might go for a sidearm, or a knife. No time to reload then. Price runs and then falls on his knees to finish his target with a clean cut from his combat blade. The bastard knows death is coming, but he’s not ready to embrace it just yet. His arms move in a life-or-death reflex, and Price is stopped a few centimetres away from a kill. There’s no timing anymore. Only violence, a test of raw strength. John tries to stab the merc down the neck. The poor guy can’t do anything but buy some time, and wait a few seconds for someone to go check the corridor. But no one comes for him. Only death, in the form of a straight silver blade slowly piercing his throat.

Rolling to the side, Price suddenly remembers to breathe. Staying on his back, he reloads his weapon without thinking, his two eyes locked on the door the mercs have opened seconds prior. He counts. One when he entered. Two in the corridor. With half of them still outside fighting MacMillan, that’s two mercenaries unaccounted for. Usually, it is the wounded, the insecure or the frightened you leave behind. But when it comes to target protection, it’s the other way around. Your last wall of defence is also the toughest. The big guns stay with the target until the end. If Price wasn’t so actively trying not to think, maybe he would have remembered that. 

He enters the room. More like a hangar. It’s dark. Only the moon and distant muzzle flashes provide some light through large, rectangular windows. Timing? Put the night vision set on, find the bastards, and apply a bit of violence. Wait. Price holds on to his set. Did someone cut the power? It could be MacMillan toying with them. But more likely, the mercs have figured their opponents are properly equipped. And now, they’re just waiting for Price to put his night vision on. They want him to rely on the tool, for there’s no faster way to blind a man than putting the power back at the right moment. So Price throws the night vision set away, into the room. Five thousand quid of government-issued tech crash on the industrial floor. One second. Two seconds. The light goes back and the night vision set dies a second time, broken apart by crossfire. 

The shots from the right probably came from that little accounting office Price sees through a piece of shattered glass. He resists the urge to throw a grenade, that could threaten the target’s life. His back on the wall, he’s getting closer to the office. More words. They come from the left. These mercs can’t shut up to save their lives. What is it this time? There’s a trace of panic in the sentences. They’re probably asking for reinforcements, but there’s a hell lot of static on the other end of the line. MacMillan has done his part, and there’s no military base around anyway. In typical Laswell fashion, Kate had saved the only piece of good news for the end of her briefing, Price remembers. So good luck with that, lad. But keep talking. The echo allows John to move closer and closer to his next kill. Until the warehouse is silent again. Until something inside the office decides to move. 

It’s a lock. Inside the door, it jiggles enough for Price to notice someone’s about to leave the office. He waits for the final click to bash the gate. It arrives a split-second later, and John kicks the door like his dad used to kick rugby balls on Sunday mornings. Wood breaks. Bones follow. Price puts another bullet in another skull. It happens so fast the merc can’t even fight or scream. But his finger was already on the trigger, so his assault rifle yelled for him. The burst catches price off-guard. Bullets pound his plate and the walls alike. He falls. 

When the kick finally fades, the world is backwards. Literally. Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor. Or is it the ceiling? He’s not sure anymore. His ears are buzzing. His chest is compressed by the impact. There’s no gun in his hands. He wants to rise but he can’t. Someone comes. Someone that’s not MacMillan. Price rolls from back to belly. The world looks finally looks right again. Well, right as it can be when you’re crawling unarmed in the face of the Grim Reaper.

His weapon raised, the last merc stops next to the target and fires. Not rounds, but words. More words. Insults, probably. Weirdly, they’re not aimed at Price. They’re for whoever is still under the same black hood they always put on prisoners. She answers, proudly, in their language. 

Wait, she?

Gunshots. They come from outside, from the forest. Surprised, the last merc tries to sneak a look between the crates. Price gathers the little strength he has left to look for a weapon. But he’s still dizzy. A hippo with a full belly would be faster. He looks up, facing death with both eyes open. Only death doesn’t come for him. The target is free. She climbs on the mercenary like a damn spider, using her legs to maintain the bastard’s weapon against his chest while she strangles him with the little piece of plastic tying her two hands. John finally finds his sidearm. He wants to help her. He wants to shoot. But SAS lieutenant John Price is not so sure of his aim anymore. So he looks, and eventually, the mercenary crumbles.

Price now moves a bit faster and a bit closer. The target’s still fighting. But her prey is long dead. There’s no breathing left in him. His neck is broken. So broken that little piece of plastic is slowly severing head from body. And yet she fights, furiously. Moving slowly, talking even slower, he tries to calm her down. She releases her grip on the dead mercenary. Describing his every move out loud, John carefully guides his blade between her two hands and next to her neck. Underneath the bruises and the cuts, she’s a woman alright. Their eyes locked. Back to the mission.

“Lieutenant John Price, British SAS. I need your codename, fast.”

“Why are you here? I had it under control!” 

Her voice is confident. Not a single taint of doubt in it. Price chuckles.

“I’m not sure I see it that way, darling. Now, give me your codename so I can get you out of here.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Again. Confident. She’s looking at the half-decapitated mercenary with disdain, not disgust. She killed before. In more ways than one. More brutal ways. 

“I had it under control.”

Her time to chuckle. She pauses. Takes one good look at him. That sort of threatening gaze birds of prey will give you if you happen to drive through their land. She measures. Judges. And weirdly enough, the whole thing ends with a sight smile.

“Codename’s Rain. Nice to meet you, lieutenant. Now, can a lady get a proper extraction, or what?”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Follow me.” 

They grab some gear and step out of the warehouse. Outside, the night is silent again. The moon shines on the black of the trees. The white of the snow. The red of the dead bodies. 

And the blue of their eyes. 

[drkbluedream]

Please... Make a fanfic of one of the Sabbath crew, anyone.

Thank you🫶

TOXIC

Leaving a toxic relationship is a hard thing. Not really when you are the toxic one maybe.

Mention drugs

Cast ; Yoo Wooin, Joker

Clear sky turned dark after cloud decide to cover the surface. Seems like it's going to rain sooner or later. You look around panicked. You didn't bring any umbrella to use and there's not much place to hide from rain.

You turn on your phone and made sure you have arrived at the right place. You supposed to be at Wooin hangout area but it's very quiet. Probably they know it's going to be raining so they change place to meet. You sigh and hugs your knees. Having a thought about how waste of time, money and energy for you to come here.

You plan to meet him, have a talk, and beg for forgiveness. You regret asking for a breakup from Wooin that you decided to end everything. But you was on one of your so called episode.

So here you are. Alone, in dark alley, with nothing. No extra clothes, not much money, and no internet connection. Maybe you should've told him that you want to meet him. That's going to help you out for sure. But you got feeling that he will reject your invitation if you said you were coming.

While you were about to cry, you heard steps coming closer to you. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

You immediately look up as you heard his voice. The excitement you felt make you immediately stand on your feet and hug him. "Wooin, I miss you"

Wooin didn't seems shocked with your action to suddenly come without saying, hug him without warrant. After all he been with you for a long time before. He knows you inside and out. As you crying on his chest, he just pat your head and stroke you back. "There there. I'm here now, right?"

Situation went silent for few minutes where you don't want to let go of the hug and Wooin didn't seems care if you want to stay in that position for a long time. Both of you just stand there, hugging, like a statue.

"Who do you come here with?" He asked.

You just shake your head that 'stuck' on his chest. "Cab" you answer, short.

Wooin stay silence a bit. "then what's your plan after coming here?"

You looking at him as you dumfounded by his question. "I don't.. have one" you let go of the hug as you sure it will trouble him a lot. You can hear Wooin sighing after listening to your answer.

"You didnt book a hotel for yourself to stay didn't you?"

And you shake your head again.

Stupid girl with a stupid plan.

"I'm sorry I can't let you stay in my place. You know I stayed with Joker right?" Wooin said. But after looking at your pathetic state, he called Joker and explain your situation.

You glad that Joker understand and allow you to stay over for one night. Even though if he doesn't want let you stay, you planned to drag Wooin along with you.

You follow Wooin to their house. It's not very tidy yet not messy either. It's a house of two guys. It's normal to have some mess here and there. You don't look around much. Your eyes just stick on Wooin. Unsure how to convince him to get back together with you.

You aware it's your fault for being stupid enough to ask for breakup. But who thought Wooin will easily accept it? Not you obv. You thought he really in love with you that he don't want to let you go but turn out he is not. He doesn't really care about you. He just treat you the same way he did to anyone who ask for attention from him. Then why you desperate for him? Because you never feel loved.

"You can stay in my room and I will sleep in--" without letting Wooin finish his sentence, you grab him by his collar and kiss him.

"What is this? New tactic?" he chuckle and push you.

Wooin is weird. Even though you guys brokeup, he don't mind you kiss him, hug him pestering him. Perhaps he loves the attention. Perhaps he like the idea of you need him. He did say he won't push you away after breakup but doesn't this too much?

Some might say it's better to stay the way it is. You and him still could do what couples do. No it's different. What you need is unwanted attention. Good morning and goodnight chat. Weird updates. Sharing ideas and jokes. Sleep calls and all. Usually Wooin will chat you first when you were in relationships. But after you guys brokeup it's all gone. Obv. Wooin still will do those if you ask for it. But you look desperate so you stopped.

But then here you are. Looking up at him trying to read him mind. Does this guy still want you or does he just seriously look at you as a friend? 'we still can be friend' that was his last word when you guys brokeup before you hang-up the call. Long distance is hard indeed.

"Do you really don't want to give me second chance?" You hold his shoulder and make it to support you while you tiptoing, try to match his height.

He didn't answer you and avoid eye contact. Yet his hand around your waist, making sure you to not fall.

"Do you enjoy breaking my heart? Listen to my sobs and cry whole my heart on the phone?" Yes yes you called him and beg for second chance but you got rejected twice. Pathetic girl still not give up on him and come to meet him even though the distance between both of you more than 200km.

"It's time for you to feel what I felt" he answered. His voice soft but it's clear he is clench his teeth. Wooin take a deep breath and look at you. "Don't think I don't love you. I do. I still do infact."

You look at him with teary eyes. He said all that but it feels like he doesn't mean it. You try to find his sincerity but there is none. He moved on. "Was I being hard on you?"

Wooin just nod.

You can't hold your tears that I dropped. Wooin wipe it off and bring your head to his chest.

How can't you still love this man?

He said he won't give you second chance but his actions is otherwise.

"I forgave you." He again, patted your back.

You grab his face and kiss him. You try to hold his groin from outside of his pants but he hold your hand.

"I didn't do it with someone who isn't my partner."

Again. He reject you again.

"Please. One last time. I will be gone forever from your life" your tears falls as you begged. So unlady like. Yet he smile and wipe it off your face. "There there. Don't cry"

Wooin lead you to his room and make you sit on his bed. He didn't turn on the light as he aware you have been insecure with you body. He kiss you and slowly push you to make you lay down on his bed. Slowly he kiss your cheeks, neck, and your ears.

"I want to see you" you sobs and try to find him in dark.

But unfortunately you can feel a cloth wrapped on your eyes. Probably tie that he have around him. Then you can feel he open your clothes, only to leave it wrapped around your wrist. Leaves you immobilized.

"Wooin, please. I want to see you" you can't handle the feel of wanting to see your love of life while having make love. You aware you should have never reject his request to open the light while doing it.

Tick

You can hear the switch been turned on.

"Wooin?"

"I don't know what you have been insecure but you are so pretty."

You can feel he start kneeling above you and his hand slowly move from your chest to your hips.

"It's flawless" Wooin whisper.

"Wooin, I'm scared. Please. I want to see you"

Your boobs have been fondle with a pair of hand that you really familiar with. You can feel the callouses on his palm. It shows how long someone been training with his bike. After awhile, something hot and wet lick your nipple, makes you become bit more sensitive. With his split tongue, and piercing, it feels a bit more different.

It’s quiet yet the room filled by your sinister voice, moaning and pleading him for more. Wooin didn’t leave your pussy alone. He put one of his knee there and you, who have been craving for him, start to move your hips, riding on his thighs.

“You are wet. Just from a bit of tease”

“Only for you”

“Liar” he bite your nipple made your voice stuck on your through. Shocked by pain and pleasure. “My fave M” he slap you boobs before going down on you.

You can feel he ripped your panties after tossing your skirt upside. It always been Wooin favourite. Ripping your panties. You also intentionally wear the one that’s easy to rip off.

Wooin keeps spreading your legs apart and hold with his two hands. Rubbing your thigh and kiss around your private area.

You can feel hot breath around your private part. You can hear Wooin’s trying to clear his throat before sticking out his tongue and lick the opener of your pussy. His finger playing with your clit, making sure he stimulates you perfectly.

Eating you out while fingering you is a heaven for him. Have i mentioned he has split tongue and piercing? Everytime the piercing touches your clit, it gives you more weird sensation. With you unable to push him as your hand is stuck on bed head, he could go as long as he can. Your thigh keeps sandwiching him but it doesn’t bother him. Infact he is happy that your smell is conquering him. Wooin hope the time would stop. He hope he can rewind time and back to the time where he reject to meet you on your birthday. Yea he regret but what’s done is done.

Wooin didnt stop when you shower his face with your dirty squirt. He lick it clean. Drink you as if he didnt get any water ever since he wokeup this morning. When he realised your asshole been twitching, he start to lick that area too. He knows you have been playing with your back door for more pleasure.

The more you beg to the faster his hands do his work. He use his tongue at the fullest. “Beg more” he said. The vibration from his voice gives you more sensation. “Beg like a little slut”

He stopped when you almost come. You whine but you can feel how wide Wooin’s lips curl. Satisfied with your reaction. That was intentional. Making you cum non stop and deny it.

He continues edging you again and again. Makes you hear your own voice begging and plead. Mixed with noise your wet pussy made.

“Can you hear that babe? You pussy wet for me” “Yes, scream my name more. Beg more” “Oh how i love your voice turned raspy and you gasping for air” “Stop trying to break free. Itll live bruises.”

“I will let you know why i do this ok, love?.”

His hand stopped and flip your body. Putting your body on his thigh. He rub your ass thats buttnaked. Eh

“Gaslight” “Manipulated” “Abusive” “Dishonest” “Anger issue”

Every words he said, followed by spank on your butt. Didnt let you relax even a bit. Didnt even feel sorry for you even a bit. Your ass turns bright red with visible vein that looks like almost burst. Didnt let you rest, he put in a plug in your butt and continue.

“Trust issues” “Obsessive” “Negative” “How am i supposed to get back with someone like you? You dont love yourself.”

Wooin then stopped a bit. He stroke the idea that been spanked by him.

“I do love you. Even now. But i need to prioritise myself too. I cant let you drag me down. Not until i know i can stand on my feet. I wont let anyone drag me down.” He play with your back.

“I forgive you, dont worry. I dont hate you. I know you will eventually come here so i prepare something for you. I dont mind if you hate me after this. I will disappear. Not from this world. Just from your world.” He said that while rubbing your lower stomach. Remembered how much he hate the idea of having kids.

“Take this as my last gift from me for you”

Wooin hands lead your face to face him. Without seeing anything, you kiss his mouth. It was really intense kiss. You can feel he try to pass some short of pill inside of your mouth but you try to reject. He hold your cheek with his hand, leave your mouth open abit, enough to make it enter your mouth and continue kissing you.

Gave up, you just let him kiss you with the pills that you swallowed. Not long after, you feel extreme pleasure and you see a lot of colour pop infront of you. You feel happy and thats the last thing you remember before you passed out.

You wake up with feeling heavy. You try to look around but failed as everything is blurry. Its not bright yet not really dim. Its cold and quiet. Remembered you were in Wooin room, you try your best to sit and then stand.

“Wooin?!” You shout his name. Your throat feels so dry and burning. Tears coming out from your eyes without any particular reason.

“Wooin??” You crawl out of bed. Your body feels hot as if you burning alive. All your joints feel weak that its really hard for you to even crawl.

You arrived infront of the door. “W-wooin”

Again, you fall. Last thing you remember is you see Joker carry you and put you on the bed.

—

The stuffs he gave you turn out to be ecstasy that he has been selling to high schoolers.

Who expect thats the last time you meet Wooin? He deleted all his pictures and his number on your phone. Blocked you on socmed, change his username everything. He, himself, take down and delete all post you made about both of you on your socmed.

Even waited at Joker place, he said Wooin wont come back. You endup staying at his place for few days before going home.

Yeah he didnt comeback.

All his friends refuse to talk to you. Or answer anything regarding him.

What break you the most is he didnt put his dick inside of you :D ----------------

i got an ask long time ago to write specifically Wooin from Sabbath being toxic in relationship. and i feel bad to ignore this ask too long so i decide to use this ask. thankyou for reaching out. sorry for taking long time. i went through a lot.

based on real event