#you’re not a prisoner and you can go be happy and no one will stop you so please

[rose-tinted-nostalgia]

I’ll never understand how a man I’ve begged to leave can pretend like I’m holding him hostage. I do, regrettably, need his support, and yet I’ve actively begged him to go over and over and over again, because I’d rather be homeless then live with this threat hanging over my head, and still, he doesn’t leave, and he pretends like he’s some god-tier husband and father, and I’m the nagging, helpless bitch of a wife who won’t put out, doesn’t appreciate his efforts, never lets him have a moment of peace, and is actively keeping him here against his will, killing him with some misery I’ve forced upon him, as if he’d allow me that kind of power.

[luveline]

omg post prison Spencer and concussed!shy girl….I would go feral I fear

“I’m gonna be sick again,” you whine, covering your eyes with both of your hands. The nausea roils and the pain in your head reaches a new crescendo. You moan without thinking about it, worse when someone grabs a hold of you from behind. 

“Don’t bend!” he says, not shouting but not happy with you either. “You aren’t going to be sick again if you stay sat up. I know it hurts, but you’re making it worse.” 

Spencer’s strict voice isn’t one you’re used to. An embarrassed flush rushes over you, quick to cry ‘cos you’ve wanted to for hours. 

“Sorry,” you mumble tearily, slouching back into your seat with a wince. 

“Oh, angel, please don’t cry again.” 

“I’m not.”

“I’m not angry with you, I just need you to listen, because being sick like this isn’t good for you, and you’re gonna feel sick again if you bend over. It’s your head, angel. It’s the inertia.” 

You shuffle across the couch to flop against his chest. It’s a desperate move; if he doesn’t hug you, you’re going to start crying for sure, so you’re begging him to hold you without having the courage to say it out loud. “Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s okay.” Hands wrap around you immediately. “Don’t be sorry. Just stay like this for a bit, until the nausea stops. Please.” 

You’d love to stay there. You can smell the black coconut soap he uses on his skin, rubbing your nose into his neck and taking obvious breaths. 

Spencer pats your back, saying, “Good, take a breather.” He sounds surprised, but when you glance up at him he isn’t panicking or moving. He’s closed his eyes. His hand is on the small of your back.  

You hit your head so hard the very first thing that happened was the wave of vomiting. It just… didn’t end. And for a while all you could think about was nothing, just being sick and crying and a hand on your back, eventually traded for colder ones, bright white lights and strangers asking how you were feeling. You couldn’t not defer to Spencer, not really sure if he was Spencer in a permanent sense but aware intrinsically that he was to be trusted to answer for you. 

Your brain is shaken, then stirred. 

“If I give you a pill, do you think you can keep it down? It’s okay if you can’t. Honest answer,” Spencer murmurs. 

“I don’t know.” 

“An anti nausea pill you need to swallow isn’t exactly mankind’s best invention.” He cradles the nape of your neck, then, sounding more on your side than anyone ever has. “I wish I could fix it.” 

“You should’ve put your brain to work for science,” you say agreeably, “you can fix anything. Big pharma are lucky you chose to catch the bad guys instead.” 

“I meant your concussion.” You can barely hear him, and at the same time, it’s like he’s speaking into your marrow. 

“You did fix that,” you say, tipping your head back to see him. “You took me to the doctor.” 

He smiles. “Yeah, I did, but you’re still sick and hurting.” 

It’s not that bad in Spencer’s arms. You had dreams like this, daydreams and sleeping, where he’d wrap you up and comfort you after some hurt, but you’re struggling to remember what made it feel as painful as it did at the time. Spencer felt far away. Now he’s right here. You curl your arm behind his neck to be squished together, tight tight tight. Spencer actually groans. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No, m’not in pain. I can’t remember the last time I got to hold you like this for so long.” 

“I don’t know why.” 

“I do, and it’s okay. I know why you get freaked out. I’ll never rush you. I don’t mind. But I feel guilty ‘cos I’m enjoying this and you’re in pain.”

It’s a dull throb in the skull. You can barely feel it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I’m confused.” 

“That’s a common theme tonight.” 

“You feel guilty ‘cos I’m hugging you?” 

He covers your eyes with his hand. You laugh at first, but it’s oddly nice. Warm, dark. The throbbing pain ebbs a bit. 

Spencer can feel you relaxing against him. He’s all warmth and smell and sound under your ear. Exhaling, humming, the sound imbued with a fondness you don’t understand. His chest is solid under you, his hair begging to be touched where it flirts with his shoulders, the slopes and lines of him a tactile wonderland for your greedy hands: you want to feel everything. You haven’t the faintest clue as to why you weren’t allowing yourself the privilege before. 

“I just need you to get better fast,” he says, breathless. “That’s all.” 

“I am trying my best.” 

Spencer rubs a thumb over one of your eyebrows, start to end. “And you’re so, so good at it,” he says. 

You aren’t concussed enough to miss the lightly mocking coo of it. But you don’t care. Your nose drags up the line of his neck clumsily, in what you hope says tease me more, but more likely says concussive brain injury, second degree. 

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[misserabella]

your love took me hostage

dark! spencer reid x fem! reader

cw; +18 content, minors dni!, post prison! spencer reid (my beloved), no description whatsoever of reader, spencer turning into a psychopath, pervert! spencer, violence towards second characters, stalking, kidnapping, use of chloroform, spencer being completely and utterly obsessed, masturbation (spencer), blood, mutual attraction, fighting, reader being held hostage, spencer being basically a sugar daddy, manipulation, cursing, noncon/dubcon in sexual acts (reader likes it ??), fingering, multiple orgasms every time, squirting, oral sex (r! receiving), pussy talking, piv sex, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), spencer is hunggg, cervix kissing, spencer’s wishful thinking about fucking into your womb, breeding kink, lots of cum, reader saying no but not really meaning it, dirty talking, praise, choking, hair pulling, scratching, pet names, etc. please read all the warnings!!

dark! psychopathic! spencer who has changed. maeve’s death broke his soul. jail; his body and mind. all that was left was a brilliant brain and the broken carcass of the man that had been ripped apart by the world.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had given up on being happy. on love. until he saw you. you with that bright smile of yours, that sweet tone on your voice when you’d wish a good day to the clients on the coffee shop… his eyes met yours and it had felt as if the world —the one that had stopped moving for him— started right back up again.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knew he had to have you when;

“sweet guy, right?” you inquired him and he frowned.

“i’m sorry?”

you smiled brighter. “you seem like one of them. let me guess...” you talked to him as you brewed a new order. “loooots of sugar in your coffee, right?” his mouth gaped and you giggled.

god. that sound. he’d kill for that sound.

“how did… how did you know?”

you shrugged. “call it barista’s intuition.”

“well...” he red out your name from your tag. and the way it rolled off his tongue. god. “you’re right.” he smiled. a real truthful smile. one he hadn’t given anyone in what it seemed like forever.

you hummed with a smile, proud of yourself —and kind of completely and utterly smitten with this man, but that was not the case, or your job.— “and what can i get you…?” your eyebrows raised and he cleared his throat. god, reid, get it together.

“spencer. spencer reid.” he gave you his name and you wrote it down on the clear to-go cup.

“well, what can i get you, spencer?” he had to bite down a groan. fuck, a moan. ‘cause the way you said his name? jesus christ. he wanted to hear you saying it over and over again. no, better-moaning it.

“what do you recommend?”

you smiled. “let me surprise you.” and you winked at him. winked.

later, when you called his name once again and gave him his order, he couldn’t suppress the groan that left his throat in delight when the sugary drink hit his taste buds, and when he saw the little smile you had drawn next to his name? he couldn’t suppress the sick need to have you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who found each and every one of your social media accounts within a few hours and may have not stalked them every day since, touching himself to your posts, to your stories. he couldn’t get enough. he would be shooting blanks and still couldn’t stop stroking his swollen —yet still painfully hard— cock.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who memorized your scheduled. he knew when you’d have a morning shift. when you’d have an afternoon one. time you’d clock in, and when you’d clock out. the color of your car. your designed parking spot…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who kept visiting you over and over again, asking for the same drink you’d made for him the first day he had met you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had learned your address by following you back to your place. he had to. to make sure you made it safe and sound. right?

dark! psychopathic! spencer who would stay near the coffee machines or sit at the bar to have a better view of you, and for a chance to chat.

dark! psychopathic! spencer whose obsession only grew when you started drawing hearts along with the smiley face on his cups —cups he never trashed and kept hidden and safe—.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d get jealous at anyone who approached you, that smiled at you, that talked to you…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who has been near to killing multiple men who had danced with you, touched you, tried to kiss you while you’d be out with your friends, sending them with critical wounds to the hospital without feeling any type of remorse or guilt. no one could touch you. only him could.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’d also grow more and more scared by the passing days. with the field in which he worked in? he believed anything bad could happen to you at any given moment. he had already lost maeve. he couldn’t lose you. he had to protect you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer’s mind. who starts to scatter.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows he has to do this. for you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who whispers soft ‘sorry’s into your ear when you’re closing for the night, pressing a damped-in chloroform napkin to your nose until you were passing out onto his arms.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when he finally, feels your body pressed against him, who gets hard just by sniffing the coconut shampoo you used for your hair. fuck. you just smelled as sweet as you were. would you taste as sweet too? he had to take deep breaths to not bust in his pants.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who knows how to make you disappear with no trace left behind. who knows what to not do to not get caught.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who’s right there by your said when your eyes snap open once again. you’re in a bed you’ve never met. in a place you’ve never seen before. “hi angel.” he’d smile, brushing off hair from your face, helping you when you hint you want to sit up.

“spencer? what-? what’s going on? where am i?” you question and he keeps that sweet smile of his, but still frowns.

“what do you mean, honey? you’re home.” and that’s when you frown looking at your surroundings.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had brought your furniture over to this renovated-basement wonderland he had spent all his money on and created just for you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had also hacked your internet search, your pinterest… and bought you your entire wishlist. that new couch you had been saving for? paid in cash. that kitchen isle you’d been dreamed of having since you were a kid? taken care of and built on your right. and that incredible brewing machine you’d been drooling over? right on the new and shiny kitchen counter, ready for you to use.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had not only bought and built you your wished apartment —in a basement, but who cares about that?—, but had stocked your wardrobe with the pieces on that said wishlist. all brands you could only dream of having. dresses, tops, skirts, jeans, heels, shoes… hell, even the latest and most beautiful bags. and jewelry. sooo many pieces of the prettiest jewelry in the world.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who had spent his whole life living off the most basic things, saving all his money. money he wanted to spend on you. solely you. because you deserved it.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who doesn’t understand when you panic. when you try to get away from him. when you beg him to let you go.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who stays calm, ‘cause he knows you must be in shock. he can read your expressions, your body, almost your brain. he was trained to do so. so he knows just the right things to say, when to touch you. when to not touch you.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who gives you space. who waits for you to get comfortable.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who is just waiting… to finally pounce. like predator lurking on its prey.

and the moment finally comes. and spencer is a great predator.

dark! psychopathic! spencer that groans as he kisses you like you’re the last woman he’ll ever kiss. you will be. forcefully pushing his tongue into your mouth.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who moans when you harshly bite down on his lip, filling up his mouth with blood.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who only pulls you closer despite your fighting. “keep going darling, i love it when you fight me. but you know this is just a facade you’re putting up. you know you can’t keep fighting me forever.”

you shook your head as he kissed and nipped at the skin down your neck.

“you think i wouldn’t see it? that i wouldn’t notice it? the way you looked at me that first day? how your eyes kept fleeting back to my lips when i spoke? how you’ll seek to touch me? how your body posture will change while being near me? you like me.”

“no.”

“i bet you dreamed of this, didn’t you? of me getting you all to myself… keeping you hidden where no one could see you… touch you… except for me.” you shook your head. “then why are you letting me touch you, huh? why aren’t you pushing me away?”

your back arched as his fingers met your hardened nipples. what. the. fuck? why weren’t you fighting? why were you letting this happen? why were you… liking it?

he ripped off your pajama bottoms and panties, exposing your soaking folds to his hungry eyes.

spencer hummed. “look at you. poor thing. have i broken you yet? so wet and i haven’t even toyed with you yet...”

a pitiful moan got ripped out of your chest as his fingers —long, beautiful fingers you had of course not thought about before— met your core and spencer cursed. “fuck baby. you’re dripping. all this for me?” he sucked at your neck, his fingers moving up and down in between your slick lips, fingertips meeting your engorged clit. and a gasp leaves you, hips canting for more. “spencer…” you whine and he sighs right against your ear, as if he were in pain.

and he was. he had never been this fucking hard. be was sure his cock was about to rip through his slacks.

“fuck. juuust like that, baby. moan my name just like that.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who fingers you soooo good… deep and slow, the hard and fast. until you’re a blabbering and squirting mess, begging him to stop. but you really don’t want him to, ‘cause it feels so good…

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then leaves you to take care of his raging boner, sucking and sniffing the fingers he had fucked you with and coming so hard his sight goes white.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who slowly starts to feed you more and more of that unforgettable pleasure; sucking your nipples until they’re raw and sensitive, fingering you until unconsciousness, rubbing his hard clothed cock against your naked core to leave stains of your cum on them —which he may or may not proudly wear to work, telling the team it’s just coffee that had spilled on them—.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who spends so much time in between your thighs eating you out that his jaw will hurt for days.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who, when he finally fucks you, you’re crying. ‘cause you know you should hate him, hate all of this. but he has broken you. with his pretty face, his soft touch and way of treating you —like a goddamn goddess—, with his fingers, with his tongue, with his huge fucking cock. and you can’t help but be this wet. to want this. him.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who can’t believe just how fucking tight you are, praising you, going slow at first so you could feel every vein, every ridge, and he could feel every bump, every clench of your walls around him.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then starts really fucking you. pounding into you until your screams filled the flat, until your nails are scratching down his back so hard your drawing blood. and he’s growling “yes baby, mark me up. i’m yours. fucking yours.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who chokes you, who pulls your hair, making you feel a new kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. and you want more, more, more.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who —after he’s made you cum like crazy—, nears his own release and pushes your legs onto your chest, leaving you in just the perfect mating press that pushes the head of his cock against your cervix over and over again. god, how he wished he could fuck through it and fuck into your womb. pump you full of his cum. well, i guess, just one of those things he could do.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who tells you so. just how hard he’s gonna cum. how he’s gonna fill you up with his cum, and you shake your head, telling him that he can’t come inside, that you were not on the pill.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who just smirks and chuckles as your meek voice tells him you don’t want it. “you don’t want it? are you sure about that? ‘cause this pretty thing down here sure as hell does. just listen to her. so fucking wet and ready for it. to be bred. to take my babies.” and the you moan. you fucking moan.

your face flushed. your hands clamp over your mouth. and you’re mortified. ‘cause the thought of it has you so close to the edge once again…

you’re sick.

“you want it, doll? want my baby? want me to leave you dripping?” and you shake your head, begging him to not do it, but your body betrays you, your cunt getting slicker, tighter, nipples pebbling and back arching, legs falling apart for him, inviting him deeper. “shhhhh.” he hushes your little ‘no’s. “now keep your legs like that for me. gooood fucking girl. open up. take it. take it all baby. fuck. take my fucking cum.” and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head when his fingers pinch your clit and his cum fills your womb in thick heavy spurts. “fuuuuck yeah.” he groans as he feels you cumming once again, squirting all over his stomach, his thighs, his cock, drenching the sheets. “that’s it angel. milk that cock. good fucking girl.”

dark! psychopathic! spencer who that night fucks so much cum into you that you are a dripping mess for days.

dark! psychopathic! spencer who then slowly starts to starve you from the pleasure, to make you dependent of him. to make you obsessed with him. to turn his obsession reciprocate. and it works. of course it works.

a/n; this kind of got out of hand (but i kinda love it)

[inkdrinkerworld]

Maybe Spencer is having a bad BAD day, full on ptsd, and sunshine!reader is trying hard to cheer him up. It gets to a point where Spmcer just snaps and says something mean and starts a fight

Spencer can feel the bars around him. He feels trapped in his own mind because he can see that he isn’t in prison anymore, but his brain has been conjuring these vivid dreams of him being back and of Shaw sending men to beat him up.

Every night, the dreams end with Spencer never being found not guilty and him having to spend five years in prison and his eventual death from Shaw’s men.

He’s gasping and shaking and there’s a sweat spot on his sheets. He apologises every morning, you tell him it’s okay and that you’re here to talk. He never wants to talk about it and you never push.

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night and it makes him irritable.

When he comes into work, you try not to internalise the way he brushes you out of his path as he beelines for the coffee pot.

“I already put your cup on your desk. With breakfast.” You try to temper your cheeriness when you notice the way his shoulders tense.

Spencer wants to be grateful, but all he can think is, ‘I can do it myself. I can take care of myself.’

He doesn’t say anything, not a quiet thanks, not even a half smile.

Your nerves are frayed immediately.

You don’t know what Spencer experienced in prison, he’s told you bits and pieces, the nicer parts of living in a 4 x 4.

Yet, you know the signs of PTSD and as the day drags on, you’re almost certain Spencer’s having a rough go of things.

He’s been snappy with Luke, nice with Penelope, and then flippant with you all over again. It’s hard not to feel like nothing you do is helping.

“We could go out to get lunch. From the place you like, the burger joint.” Spencer’s been slipping in and out of this conversation and the longer he hears your sweet voice, the more it sounds like chalk grating a blackboard.

At his silence, “Or we could order in? Whatever helps, Spence.”

Suddenly, his coffee cup is shattering in the wall behind your head and Spencer’s chest is racing. “Stop!” You feel hot tears prick behind your eyes at being yelled at; at work no less.

“It would help if you weren’t fucking hovering all the damn time. I can take care of myself, I don’t need your help. As a matter of fact, I don’t want your help. Go find someone else to be happy go lucky with, some of us can’t stand it.”

Your breath hitches, you’ve never heard Spencer speak with such venom. You reach a hand to your cheek pulling it away to find blood on your fingertips. Spencer must see it too because he’s on his feet, reaching for you as you step away from his outstretched hands.

You try to remind yourself that he’s just reeling, that he’s been having a rough couple of nights, that this will pass and that you don’t need to be mean to him too. “Fuck you Spencer.” The words are out of you before you can think about it much more. It’s honestly the nicest thing you could muster right now, embarrassment and defeat hot in your chest.

Emily and Matt rush in, finding Spencer tugging at his hair. Emily sighs as she sees the broken mug, Matt sighs as he notes your missing presence.

“Fucking stupid.” Spencer murmurs to himself, pushing back his chair, digging around in his desk for a first aid kit. “I’ll come back and clean it up,” no one is really listening. Emily will do this for him while he cleans up his other mess.

Spencer finds you in the bathroom with Penelope cleaning the little shards from your hair and cheek.

She glares at him and Spencer feels even worse; to top it off you don’t even look at him, just at his shoes.

“I’ll finish it, Garcia.” She stills, not knowing what to do. As she looks at you, you give her a little nod and she leaves, rubbing your back as she goes.

Spencer doesn’t approach you for some time, standing there like you’re the one who exploded and he’s waiting for another shout.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, taking up the tweezers Penelope left behind and reaching for your cheek. Spencer cradles your face gently as he picks the shards out. “I shouldn’t have thrown the mug, or said any of what I said.”

You don’t say anything, letting him continue. “You don’t hover, and I love that you’re always smiling and happy. It’s not an excuse but my dreams are really getting to me, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

You offer Spencer your other hand. You weigh your words, “No you shouldn’t have. I understand that some of what happened while you were in prison is too hard to talk about, but you need to talk to someone Spencer. You can’t just throw things and scream and then shut people out.”

He nods, “Luke recommended me to a psychiatrist for people suffering from PTSD, but I guess I felt like going would be me admitting that things there got to me.”

You sigh, “I’m not sure if I can do this if you’re going to shut me out and be violent like that.” At Spencer’s panicked eyes you continue. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but this unchecked shit is going to. Whether you mean for it to or not.”

Spencer opens the first aid kit and swipes at your cheek gently, grateful that it hadn’t been a deep cut. Still he knows the silver scar it’s going to leave will eat at him forever.

“I made an appointment for tomorrow at nine.” He mumbles, worry and dread eating at his stomach. “I know it might take a bit for you to trust me again-“

You roll your eyes, “I do trust you. I trust that you’ll go to therapy, use all the tools given to you and cue me in when things are too hard. I trust that you won’t do this again Spencer. I’m not going to punish you for having an off day.”

Tears spring to his eyes unconsciously, “You don’t want to leave? Because I’d understand if you wanted to.”

You kiss his wrist, “No I don’t want to. I know you’re going to get better, but if there’s a next time, Spencer I’m not staying.”

“There won’t be a next time, I swear.” He kisses right under your injured cheek, tender and soft.

[unluckiestmember]

ARCANE WOMEN (or just vi!!) BEING FED STRAWBERRIES BY HAND BY THE READER?

Coming right up!

Arcane Women X Reader: Eating Strawberries

Characters: Powder/Jinx, Violet "Vi", Caitlyn Kiramman, Sevika and Mel Medarda.

Warning: Suggestive Themes, but overall SFW.

A/N: Who sent me this request? I'm gonna kiss you, because this is too adorable. Who sent it?!

Powder/Jinx

“Mmm, that’s delicious, toots! Give me some more- Ooo, wait, wait, wait! Throw it! I’m sure I can catch it in my mouth- Watch!”

Jinx hasn’t really ever eaten fruit due to the environment of Zaun and because she doesn’t go out of her way to experience delicacies like strawberries. But when you had her try some, especially by you feeding her some, she got giddy at the taste and the sweet gesture. She loves you feeding her anything, so strawberries are just a welcomed addition to the moment you two share of you babying her.

She loves you feeding her, but also loves making a game out of it, wanting you to throw the fruit into her mouth to catch or even pulling you down to her height to kiss you so you can taste the fruit on her lips. Moments like these are what Jinx cherishes with her favorite person in the world. Just be careful because sometimes it can get messy.

Violet “Vi”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a lovely snack like yourself to feed me a snack, but please don’t stop. Mmm.”

Violet only had prison food for a good chunk of her life, so she’s open to eating anything and everything. You noticed she was big on sweets so one day after work, you fed her some strawberries and she instantly fell in love with them. Whenever she’s tired from a long day, she doesn’t expect much from you, so when you surprise her with a feeding sesh, she gets the biggest smile on her face and is so quick to lay her head on your lap or sit you on her lap and feed her.

Sometimes she’ll leave the strawberry on her teeth and pull you in to eat it yourself or if she’s feeling playful, she’ll toss some your way, leading to a night full of giggles. Because of you, she’s lived for being fed by you, even requesting you feed her some desserts or feeding you herself. At this point, you guys are pretty sure it’s your love language.

Caitlyn Kiramman

“Is it me or do these strawberries taste sweeter than usual? Do you want one?... They’re delicious, right? Here, have another.”

Caitlyn is used to the delicacies that fruit has to offer. She wouldn’t say strawberries are her favorite fruit or even type of berry, but she does like them from time to time. Especially if you feed them to her to start her morning or end her day. Externally, she’ll hum at the sweetness of the strawberry and at you, her beloved. But internally, she is melting like an ice cream.

It really relaxes her when you feed her strawberries or any fruit, and she isn’t afraid to feed you as well, either taking turns eating strawberries or slipping some in your mouth and humming at your delight. Eating strawberries makes her happy, especially when you are happy as well because your happiness means so much to her. Oh, and don’t expect to feed her without her ending your bonding moment with a sweet induced kiss to your cheek or your lips.

Sevika

“Now this is the life. You’re gonna make me become addicted to these things, you know that? Especially if I get to have a view like this to match.”

Sevika has had her fair share of strawberries before from some being smuggled into Zaun or someone in the marketplace selling some. And she enjoys them, even if they’re not his favorite fruit or berry. That being said, she lives for you, feeding her like a baby while she lays beside you or sits next to you while taking in the lovely scenery of her significant other keeping her company.

Sometimes she can’t help herself getting a bit experimental with strawberries and their usage, but regardless of the nights you share turning sweet in more ways than one, Sevika enjoys the feeding session as much as she enjoys a good battle, a job well done or even a happy ending. She’s also not afraid to feed you too, just expect her to tease you the entire time before she kisses you. She can’t help it, but you’re kinda cute when you pout.

Mel Medarda

“You know what will really set this off? Some cheese. Maybe some grapes too- Can we please get a platter over here with all the fixings? Thank you.”

Mel loves fruit platters and assortment trays, so strawberries are always a yes for her. She is fine with feeding you strawberries or you feeding her strawberries while you both relax together from a day of hard work in the council or away from one another. Don’t expect her to stop at strawberries though. No, this is Mel Medarda we’re talking about!

Before you know it, she’s feeding you every fruit under the sun, tasting some with you even and indulging whenever you feed her. Even if it gets a bit out of hand sometimes with the both of you taking a tour of fruit, it always ends with the both of you enjoying each other’s company, getting physically affectionate with kisses on the cheek or nuzzles against one another. It’s always nice eating with her, excess and all.

If you have requests for Arcane, X-Men '97 or Blue Eye Samurai, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay safe, stay hydrated and have a good day!

[reidrum]

hi lil headcanon: can’t stop thinking about how Spence sees the worst of humanity and lots of violence for his job so when he comes home to you he is extra gentle and savors your goodness and cherishes doing mundane things with you- tidying up and listening to his music, going on walking dates, holding you close literally always- he is extra protective of his beacon of peace and hope in humanity :,)

this is so post prison spencer coded

(i yapped again im so sorry)

following his release spencer reid would struggle to return to normalcy for some time after his whole life was turned upside down for months but the pockets of peace he creates with you he finds are essential to his well being.

your spencer reid wakes up early on the rare saturday mornings he has off making sure you’re still sleeping and sneaks off to the kitchen to make breakfast that will soon wake you up in a few hours with the wafting smell of waffles and coffee. he dons a ‘kiss the chef’ apron you ironically got for him that he unironically treasures deeply as he finishes plating the spread on the tray and bringing it back to the room.

maybe on saturday mornings you always go to the farmers market and you always buy a fresh bouquet of flowers because having them on sunday makes for a good omen for the coming week. and even on the saturdays spencer reid can’t be there you send pictures of the bouquet you picked out that day and it makes his heart so so happy. his favorite thing is when he tells you the significance of different flowers and they show up in the bunch the week after. if one day you don’t go to the farmers market or there just isn’t a bouquet in the house that day spencer reid absolutely cannot have that and so he goes out on his own curating the perfect bouquet of flowers because he’ll be damned if you don’t have your flowers!

i think he would also encourage you to ramble as much as he does because he loves hearing you talk, even if he knows nothing about it or it doesn’t make sense. like for someone who loves info dumping and telling people cool facts, spencer reid is much quieter around you because hearing you talk especially about things you love is so so special to him. he would trade his voice like ariel in the little mermaid if it meant he could hear you talk on and on about anything and everything for the rest of his life.

and like, because this is spencer reid there will be a time that something happens to you because of what he does (alexa play peace), kinda similar to matt and kristy when she’s held hostage at her work or derek and savannah when she gets shot. hotch has to physically keep him away from the scene because he’d be so close to losing it and risking everything by going solo but who can blame him when you, the other half of him that the prophecies say you’d spend your whole lives searching for but he was fortunate and grateful enough to find you so soon, could get hurt. he would harbor the same guilt hotch feels dating anyone after haley because after maeve spencer reid refuses to let anything take you away from him, but here he is putting you in a situation he caused because an unsub he put away has a grievance to settle.

and eventually you’re safe and back in the apartment with spencer reid and he’s just. in crisis mode. because he genuinely is not sure if he can handle something like that happening to you again. but he’s not even sure how to prevent that from ever happening. and he’s so proud of you for how brave you’re trying to be but it’s breaking his heart entirely to watch you do that for him, and he’s so sure he does not deserve your grace at all. so it’s not even a hard decision when he decides to increase his university teaching hours and step away from the bau just to be with you more.

because now you and spencer reid have more time to make flower bouquets at the farmers market every week. he’s bucket listed every museum up and down the eastern coast and fully intends on finishing it before the year ends. he carries a little trial size vial of your perfume in his satchel whenever he misses you a little too much, even when you’re just in the other room. spencer reid wants nothing more than to live a simple life with you, and after the world has dealt him too many bad cards, he’s more than grateful to get to hold these little moments of you close to mend his bruised heart.

[manmuncher777]

Visiting kuna while he’s in prison. Eughhhh 😈😈😈 especially if he gotta go buzz 😩

Awh hell yeah nonnie, you just like me fr. Enjoy my love🌟🌟

18+ MDNI SMUT

“I-I” you stuttered out, unable to come up with an explanation that might soothe the feral man beneath you. Nothing good coming to mind

“You-You. You what sweetheart?” His gruff voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your brain fog. Visiting your boyfriend in prison had it benefits. Especially when hes a well known gang member. It allows for certain perks. Like him being allowed to have your visits in his room, a room that he doesnt have to share. For this you were very glad, seeing as you were straddling sukuna on his bunk, having a very private conversation.

“Come on baby, use that big girl brain of yours and tell me, I wanna know.” Sukuna had been in prison for months now, and each night you were getting lonelier and lonelier. And of one of the nights you were missing him… badly. Deciding to write him a letter, describing exactly how badly you needed him, what you wanted him to do to you, and if that wasnt enough you included a few photos of yourself to show him how much you missed him. Only that had now backfired on you as you realised you had riled up an imprisoned man, and now you were going to have to face the consequences

“ I wanna know exactly what you were thinking when you sent that to me.” Huge hands that previously rested on your hips now travelling to your ass, holding the flesh tight through your skirt. Pressing you down onto his growing buulge that was highly visible in his orange jumpsuit

“Because to me, thats just not fair, teasing me with those fucking Polaroids, looking all pretty and shit when you come and see me.”

“Kuna…” your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. No actual words flowing though your minds, only filthy thoughts of the man beneath you. Face flushing as he speaks. All you can do is try and focus on what hes saying to you, but that same feeling if need you had the other night is now crawling up your spine, soaking your little panties.

But Sukuna wasnt happy with that reaction, he wanted more from you. He wanted to get you as needy as you had made him that night.

The air in Sukuna’s cell is thick, charged, the tension palpable. His hands, lazily resting on your ass, don’t move—but his smirk? That deep, knowing smirk is a weapon in itself. He lounges against the cold wall like a king on his throne, utterly at ease.

And yet, it’s you who feels trapped.

Because his eyes, dark with amusement and something far more dangerous, trace the curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath hitches every time he exhales against your skin. He’s enjoying this—enjoying you—and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

If you weren’t going to talk about the letter, he was just going to have to tease it out of you.

“So,” he purrs, tilting his head. “A little bird tells me you’ve been thinking about me.”

Your body tenses at his words, mind buzzing with so many thoughts, but you force yourself to answer him, doing your best to cling onto he little resolve you have left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chuckle is low, taunting. “Oh, don’t play coy now, sweetheart. Not after that filthy little letter you sent me.” His fingers flex against your thighs, not quite gripping, just there, a reminder of how easily he could control the situation if he wanted to. “What was it you said? You couldn’t stop thinking about me—” he drags the words out, watching your reaction closely, “—about my hands on you?”

Your stomach twists, heat rushing up your neck. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did.” His grin widens, razor-sharp. “You even described exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” His eyes darken as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Such a dirty little thing, putting it all in writing. You wanted me to read it and ache for you, is that it?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to push away, but his hands slide up to your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Not squeezing, not forcing, just holding—a warning.

He tilts his head, feigning concern. “Look at you. All flustered. You weren’t so shy when you were begging on paper.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips are so close now, brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Should I remind you exactly what you wrote? Word for word?”

You shake your head quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you, but he just hums in amusement.

“Mm. No? Shame. It was my favorite bedtime story.” His tongue clicks, mock disappointment laced in his tone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhales against your neck, letting his breath ghost over your skin. “I wonder… if I touched you now, would I find you as eager as you claimed to be?”

Your breath stutters, thighs instinctively pressing together, pressing yourself onto the bulge beneath you. And that’s all the reaction he needs.

His smirk sharpens. “Ahh… There she is.”

And you realize—he’s not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

“Now what was it you said?…:His hips subtly shifting upwards into your, pressing himself deeper into you. Knowing it was driving you wild. Fake pondering as he recalled your writing “You wanted my fingers, because yours couldn’t stretch out that pretty little pussy like mine do.”

“I- um” your eyes flit about the room, struggling to stay locked on his, his predatory gaze watching your every move

“How badly you missed my cock, deep inside” One of his hands trailing around to press on your tummy gently, right where his cock would show when he fucked you.

The words dying in your throat as he gives you a Cheshire Cat like grin. You were fucked.

“Tell me girl, did I get that right?” His pearly white teeth flashing as he spoke, fully aware he already knew the answer.

A small nod was all you could muster. But that was enough for him.

Sukuna’s hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your skirt, and you feel the ghost of his touch against your thighs—light, teasing, deliberate. He hasn’t even moved to lift it yet, but you swear your breath is already hitching, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, dragging the tips of his fingers along the fabric. “Wearing something so short to see me… were you hoping I’d take it off?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his grip finally tightening, just enough to make you squirm. “Come on, sweetheart. You had all that confidence when you wrote to me. Tell me…” His fingers inch under the fabric, knuckles brushing against your bare skin. “Did you get wet thinking about me touching you like this?”

A sharp gasp escapes you as he pushes your skirt up, exposing more of your thighs. The cool air kisses your overheated skin, and you reflexively grab his wrist, a weak attempt at stopping him.

He laughs at the gesture—deep, rich, cruel.

“Oh? Now you want to act shy?” His other hand trails up your back, slow and possessive. “Should I stop?” His voice is a mockery of innocence, but the look in his eyes is pure hunger.

Your silence betrays you.

His smirk deepens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then—so agonizingly slow—you feel him peel your skirt down, the fabric dragging over your thighs, your knees, your ankles until it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Sukuna leans back against the wall, gaze devouring the sight of you. “Now, that’s better.” His hands settle on your now-bare thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You look much prettier like this, trembling in my lap.”

His lips curl as he watches you, his next words laced with dark amusement.

Sukuna hums, dragging his palms up your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. He spreads his legs a little wider beneath you, making sure you feel the hard press of him beneath you, and fuck, you can’t stop the way your body tenses at the realization.

His smirk deepens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers skim higher, brushing over your inner thigh—light, teasing, barely there. “You were so bold with those little Polaroids… don’t tell me you’re already getting shy?”

You bite your lip, trying to glare at him, but it only makes his smirk widen.

Sukuna leans in close, lips ghosting against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark and syrupy, “when you wrote that letter… were your fingers between your legs?”

A sharp inhale. Your whole body heats at the question, and the moment you hesitate, his hand slides up—fingers just grazing over the heat between your legs.

Your hips jolt instinctively, and he fucking laughs. You can feel your mind slowly slipping with each passing moment, struggling to keep composure

“Ohh, you were, weren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, amused. “You really laid in bed, all alone, spreading your legs and touching yourself while thinking about me?”

You should deny it. You should push away that smug grin of his, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your clothed core makes any coherent thought vanish. Prickles of pleasure flow up your skin as you finally get the touch you had been missing.

He watches you struggle, loves how easily he’s unraveling you. “Didn’t even have me, and you still came all over your own fingers, huh?” His voice is so mocking, so cruelly sweet, and then—without warning—his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear.

Your breath stutters.

Sukuna exhales a low tch the second he feels it. “Holy fuck.” His fingers slide through the slick heat of your needy cunt, languid, slow, as if testing just how drenched you are for him. His smirk sharpens. “You’re soaking.”

You bite back a whimper as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your wetness, moving in agonizingly slow strokes that make your thighs twitch. His free hand grips your waist, keeping you still in his lap

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the edge of a chuckle laced in his words. “Knew you’d be a mess for me.”

And then, just when your body starts to tense, when you need more, he pulls his hand away.

You make a noise of protest before you can stop yourself, and he grins. “Oh? You want more?” His slick fingers trace teasing circles against your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you so clearly need. “Then ask for it, sweetheart.”

Your pride fights against the growing, unbearable ache. You try to grind against his thigh instead, desperate for any kind of friction, but his hands are there, holding you in place.

“Ah, ah,” Sukuna tuts, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “You’re not getting shit until I hear you beg for it properly.”

His fingers stroke your thigh again—so fucking close, but still not enough.

You shudder, swallowing your pride. “Please.”

His smirk darkens. “Louder.”

You glare at him, breath shaky. “Please, Sukuna—”

And fuck, that’s all he needed.

He shoves his hand back between your legs, two fingers sliding inside you in one slow, deep stroke—so smooth, so effortless, your walls stretching around him as if your body was made to take him.

You choke on a gasp, clenching down around his fingers, and he groans against your ear. “Ohhh, there it is,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction. “That pretty little cunt was just waiting to be filled, huh?”

His fingers pump into you at a leisurely pace, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, curling slightly with every deep stroke. Your head tips back, breathless, aching, because it’s still not enough.

Sukuna’s fingers work you open slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every deep stroke, every lazy curl of his fingers against that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. His other hand is firm on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you don’t squirm away from his relentless teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts to him, the way your walls clench around his fingers every time he drags them out just to push them back in, deeper, rougher. “You’re so tight. Haven’t been properly fucked in a while, huh?”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your thighs tensing around his hips. He smirks. “Poor baby,” he muses, voice dropping, “Makin me feel bad for not being there to fuck you properly”

He buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside you that has you gasping, nails digging into his skin.

“Ahh, there it is,” he laughs. “That’s the spot, huh?” His fingers curl again, harder, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. “Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me already?”

Your head tips back, your body rocking forward instinctively, chasing every stroke of his fingers, aching for more. But Sukuna sees it, sees you getting desperate, and instead of giving you what you need, he slows down.

Your breath stutters, a frustrated whine spilling from your throat as he deliberately drags out every motion, keeping you right on the edge without letting you tip over.

Sukuna grins against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Tch. Look at you,” he murmurs, amused. “So fucking needy.”

He presses a kiss to your pulse, almost mockingly sweet. Then, with a slow, devastating thrust of his fingers, he curls them just right—just deep enough, just sharp enough—

And you break.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure ripping through you as your walls flutter around his fingers, your breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps as the tension inside you snaps. Your thighs shake against his hips, your nails scraping down his arms as you ride it out, grinding helplessly into his hand as he works you through it.

Sukuna groans, his free hand gripping your waist as you tremble against him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you coming apart in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. So fucking messy.”

His fingers don’t stop until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and only then does he pull them out—slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch you shudder.

Then he brings them to his lips.

You watch, dazed, as he licks the slick from his fingers, humming thoughtfully as he tastes you. His eyes darken, tongue dragging over the pad of his thumb as he smirks.

“Always miss your taste sweets.”

He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your wrecked expression. “Think you’re ready for my cock now?”=

Sukuna’s fingers leave you aching, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. No, he just smirks, eyes burning as he watches you struggle to catch your breath, utterly wrecked in his lap.

Then, with a sharp grip on your hips, he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how painfully hard he is beneath you.

You whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, and Sukuna groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Ohh, fuck,” he drawls, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back to you, hungry, dark with something ravenous. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

You can barely think, let alone answer.

He chuckles, teeth flashing. “Of course you do. You’re already rocking against it, huh?” His hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against his length, the thick heat of it pressing between your slick folds. “Tch. So fucking desperate.”

Your breath shatters as he moves your hips again, forcing more friction against your already aching clit, and the sensation sends lightning through your veins.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sukuna mutters against your ear, voice thick with amusement, but fucking starving at the same time. “You got me so hard, you better be ready to take it.”

He shifts beneath you, one hand reaching down to free himself, and when you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock slap against your slick folds—thick, unrelenting, already leaking at the tip—your whole body shudders.

Sukuna smirks. “Ohh, I know you’re wet enough for it, but—” He grips his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick but not pushing in. “—I wanna hear you beg for it first.”

You whimper, grinding down against the head of his cock, desperate, but he just laughs.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me how bad you want it.” He presses his tip just against your entrance, teasing, mocking, but refuses to give you more. “Or else I’ll make you sit here and fucking wait for it.”

His free hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back slightly, his mouth grazing your throat.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

His cock nudges at your entrance again, but still—still—he doesn’t push in.

And with the way your body is aching, the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way his breath is so fucking heavy against your skin—

You know.

He’s going to make you beg for it.

And he won’t stop until you’re screaming his name

But you can’t help it—your body is on fire, still desperate for him, and every breath feels like it’s drawing you closer to the edge again. Sukuna leans back, his smirk never fading as he watches you struggling to even form a coherent sentence at this point

“Missed your cock so bad Kuna~” you whine out pathetically, hoping he would show you mercy and give you exactly what you had been craving

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark. “You really thought I’d let you get off that easy? Tch, you’re adorable.” His hand snakes around to your back, fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he pulls you closer—pressing your body flush against his. The heat of his skin, the weight of him, it drives you wild all over again.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine. “All that teasing? I’ve been waiting for you to beg for me. You wanted me, now you’re going to take it.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, he grips your thighs, pushing you higher up his lap. You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing, just barely brushing you. His smirk is cruel as he watches your face flush with the need. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t need him to say it twice. With a sharp, needy gasp, you push down onto him, feeling his length stretch you, fill you as you sink down slowly, painfully, inch by inch. The stretch is almost too much, but the ache is exactly what you’ve been craving.

Sukuna’s eyes close for a moment, his lips parting in a low groan as he feels you grip him. “Fuck, that’s it. Such a tight little cunt. So fucking perfect for me.”

You rock your hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support as you start to move, his body perfectly aligned beneath you. Each thrust you make is slow, deliberate, a mix of pleasure and need, the way his hands dig into your skin, urging you on. His grip tightens with every movement, guiding you, making you feel every inch of him as he shifts beneath you.

But he doesn’t let you forget he’s still in control. “You’re so fucking desperate,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Cumming on my fingers like that, and now you can’t even think straight. Pathetic.”

Your body shudders with each word, the way his cock fills you deep, pushing you to the edge of insanity. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You push harder, riding him, needing more, needing everything.

Sukuna’s hand finds your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath catch in your throat as he pulls you forward. “Come on. You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is low, commanding. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you need it.”

“P-Please! Kuna, need it so bad”

The way Sukuna’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he watches you unravel, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of you—every piece of your will, your dignity, your ability to think straight. He’s controlling the rhythm now, forcing you to take him deep, making you feel every inch of him. His eyes are intense, burning with something darker than lust—something deeper, something possessive.

“Look at you,” Sukuna growls, his chest rising with every breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. You… you make me wait, tease me, and now you’re finally giving in. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind spinning, body on fire, each movement more desperate than the last. But Sukuna doesn’t care. He’s not slowing down. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, pushing you harder, deeper, rougher, making you feel every inch of his cock, every thrust.

“You like that, huh?” Sukuna snarls, pulling your body flush against his, his teeth grazing your neck as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You love to tease me while im locked up in here”

His words only seem to make it worse, your body clenching around him with the reminder of what started all this. He remembers, and now you’re paying for it.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, almost as though he’s surprised by it himself. His voice drops low, and for the briefest moment, there’s a sincerity to his tone that almost makes you forget he’s the King of Curses. “Missed how you taste. How you feel. How good you are to me. How you stayed with me”

He doesn’t give you time to process the weight of his words. Instead, he slams into you harder, faster, your body shaking with each thrust. He’s relentless—determined to take every ounce of control, making sure you’re his.

Your body is a mess of sensation, the pressure building, rising higher and higher with every thrust, every growl of his voice. The way his hands are gripping your body—like he’s scared you’ll slip away, like he’s afraid of losing you all over again—pushes you to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “Tight. Perfect.” His grip tightens, and you feel him hit even deeper, the force of it pushing you toward the brink.

You can barely think now, only feeling—only craving the release that’s so close but seems just out of reach. His words—his confession of missing you, his twisted affection—sends something raw through you, unraveling every last shred of control you had left.

And then, without warning, he shifts his grip, pulling you harder down onto him, and that’s all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps. The orgasm rips through you in waves, overwhelming your senses, and you let out a ragged cry as you come apart in his lap. Your body shudders, spasms of pleasure wracking you as he holds you steady, refusing to let you go, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Sukuna doesn’t stop, though—his thrusts become more frantic, chasing his own release, but he doesn’t let go of you for even a second. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer to him as he moves faster, his voice rougher now.

“Fuck,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic. “You’re so fucking perfect. Cumming on my cock like the perfect girl you are”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he’s there, spilling inside you, his body shuddering as he grinds against you, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, both of you tangled up in the aftermath, trying to catch your breath.

His hand slides to your back, holding you close. “I’m not letting you go,” he mutters, almost like a promise—or a warning.

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the intensity, but you feel him stiffen slightly, his grip tightening even more possessively around you. His lips brush your ear again. “You’re mine, you know.”

[bigfatbimbo]

I love you like an Alcoholic

2.1k words,, Bill x Reader

a/n — You did it, you saved the town.

warnings — NSFW, dom!reader, sub!Bill, toxic relationships, book of bill time era, orgasm denial, ambiguous superpowers, NOT PROOFREAD**

summary — Bill goes to his incredibly powerful (moreso than him) business partner, you, to try to get him out of theraprism. Things take a turn.

“I had to pull a lot of strings for this Bill,” you cross your legs and lean back in your thrown. 

Bill straightens his bow-tie, “Well toots, what if I told you I can make it worth your while?”

You breathe and then get up from your chair, “I’d tell you to stop floating in my lair. It’s distracting.”

Snapping your fingers, a bar appears in your otherwise empty room. While pouring yourself a drink, you can feel Bills eye-roll from across the room.

With a tip of his hat, his more human form appears, and sits down at the bar stool next to you. “Better?”

“Could do with more abs.”

He laughs but doesn’t change his appearance, “So, y/n. We go way back, right? I’m not gonna sugar code it, you’ve always been one of my favorites to do business with, doll. Wanna know why?”

“The fact i’m always so interested in what you have to say?”

His eye practically twitched at your indifference. Your attention was never payed in full. “Ha! Don’t flatter your self, pal. No, i’ll tell you why: did you know out of everyone in the galaxy, you’re the only equal I do business with?”

Your eyebrow arches, “equal?”

“Humor me,” he doesn’t give you the chance to reply before continuing. “Now, given my current position in ‘necessary therapy’—“ he makes a point of doing obnoxious air quotes, “—I don’t have much to occupy my days. And we both know i’d be of better use to you out here, right?”

You took another sip of your wine before getting up from the bar and walking over to your throne. The bar disappears behind you, leaving cipher ass-flat on the ground.

“Oh come on—“ His open eye turns red momentarily, before he dusts himself off, “Look, it’s hard being a god, y/n, I know that much. With that responsibility, I think a business partner would do you good. And all you’d have to do is bail me out, that’s practically no downside for you at all, buddy.”

Your patience had been wearing thin, and without further consideration you let out a larger grown from your chair, “Cipher, you’re a liability. I don’t want you. I’m honestly struggling to find enjoyment in sharing a drink with you, despite our history.”

A flick of your hand lifts him off his feet and brings him over to you, “Thought you had a no floating policy, eh?” There’s no fear in his voice, but there is in his eye. He’s losing.

“I’m gonna make this clear to you. You’re gonna take your disgusting human form, and you’re gonna march your happy ass back to theraprism, and you’re gonna stay there. Want my advice? Stop being so damn pathetic.”

A portal opens to take him back and he struggles in your invisible grasp, “No, wait! Please, I’ll do anything, just wait!” 

A human form was already a disadvantage, one he’d accepted in order to strike a deal, but a disadvantage still. And he hadn’t had any contact in a long time, aside from various psychiatrists telling him what’s ’wrong with him.’ 

So, you being someone he has history with could have contributed to his annoyingly human problem. Maybe it was the excitement, your attention or the lack there of, but something terrible happened at that moment. 

“Jesus, Bill. You really have hit rock bottom,” You murmur to yourself as you pull his floating body closer to you, your fingers dance around the bulge without touching it.

“Hey, hey, watch it— Your the one that made me have this stupid fleshbag, anyways— cut that out!” He struggled in the air, finding that he just couldn’t turn back into his normal form. You’re doing, he’d assume. 

To his dismay, you giggle and lean back, “Well now i’m enjoying myself. Now this I could help with, Cipher,”

“Ah, ah pass! Just get me down from here and—“ Back to prison? He’d have to swallow his pride on this one. And besides, it’s not like he wouldn’t like it… “Whatever you want, doll. I’m here all night.”

You examine him further, “Is that so?” 

Before he can answer, you drop him to his knees in front of you. “Ow! Careful with the merchandise, sweetheart. I’m not in mint condition these days— ah!”

Your foot presses down lightly on the bulge in his pants, and your fingers grab onto his chin, “Been a minute since we’ve done this. Huh, Cipher?”

He nods, going to say something, before you interject, “So i’d be good if I was you, baby.”

You press down on his hard-on with more pressure, watching Ciphers face flicker, biting his lip, before letting on a whimper. 

Despite not being his first encounter, so to speak, with you of this nature, it never failed to eat as his pride. And furthermore, despite this, it felt good. If Bill was anything, he was selfish. He could admit he was letting it happen for himself, instead of in spite of himself. So it can’t be that humiliating?

But in this position, there’s always shame.

“Y/n — give me a break—“ He breathed, eye twitching. 

You rolled your eyes and snapped your fingers, with that, his pants were gone and his dick was exposed. That’s another thing he could do without: your unpredictability 

“Next time, say please. Asshole.” You say, lifting him up with your powers once more.

“Wow, buddy. I’m not the one being the jerk here—“ It came out quick, as Bill words often did. But these ones he regretted immediately.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Tough crowd?” He felt a sensation tugging at the base of his dick, indicating the start of mind games that wouldn’t end anytime soon.

He backtracked. Play it off. “Yeesh, you’re a tough crowd! Did I say jerk? You heard me wrong, I meant lovely— Ah, wait! Wait!”

A wave of pleasure flooded his senses abruptly, followed by a short pinch of pain, similar to what a mortal feels when they prick their finger on a piece of metal. Does that happen a lot? They’re all so clutsy, can’t be that out of the ordinary—

“Smooth talk your way out and maybe I’ll lighten the blow, yeah?” You smile cruelly, hand dangling out, flexing as if teasing what you could do to him.

“I— I know we’ve had our disagreements but I— augh!” A spike of pain, his eye rolled back a bit, “You— I’ve always admired your work— Yes! Respected you even, you’re an idol, sweetheart, ah, yes!”

With each compliment a burst of pleasure would go through him, landing at his unnatural dick, now leaking with precum. He was nearly babbling, but he was as aware of that as he was aware of the fact it was dearly encouraged.

“Very good, Billy. You’re too sweet, really.” Your voice was smooth and you bit your lip, watching him writhe with pleasure mid-air.

“A-anything for you, toots! Ah, more, more!”

He didn’t notice he said anything wrong this time until it was too late, but your face had noticeably darkened at the statement. 

“That’s awful demanding for someone in your position, dontcha’ think?” You weren’t actually mad, of course you weren’t. But you loved to you with him, and you took every opportunity. One of the reasons Bill tried to avoid you when he could; you were far too similar people, dealing in cruelty for the sake of entertainment.

“Wha- No wait!” The attention to his dick ceased to exist, and he was left with only aching for attention again, despite the fact you never gave anything physical in the first place. 

All mind games. “That’s- That’s not fair!”

“I’d watch who you were talking too, baby,” You flick your hand, spreading out his body parts mid air, hard leaking cock protruding out, crying for any kind of sensation. 

“You know what I can do. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” You sigh expectantly.

Bill tried to speak to defend himself, to talk his way out, but he found his ability to gone.

“I can make you do what I want, Cipher. Can make you feel whatever I want. Extraordinary pain—“ He cries out for a split second, eye flashing with fear, “—Or overwhelming pleasure.”

This time his eye rolled back, and he moans in wonderful agony, unable to move expect for wriggling his body parts weakly. His dick twitched.

“You like that feeling?”

He nods weakly, eyes fogging up, letting a small whimper escape.

“Don’t want me to hurt you?” Another nod, “Want me to make you feel good? Think you deserve it?”

“Ah— y/n, I need…” He swallows, revising his words in his mind, “Please, I need this.”

It’s true, Bill had never reached such a low in his entire existence. And he wasn’t sure if this interaction was pushing him further down or making him feel better. Now, however, he was struggling to think.

“Aw, baby. You have taken your punishment well? Been having a rough time too..” Your tone switched to something softer, almost to a condescending note.

His pathetic appearance did him justice, he pretended this was on purpose. 

Either way, a whine slipped from his throat and he shut his eyes, playing into it. You cooed in response, bringing him closer to you in order to run your hand along the side of his cheek. 

A spurt of pleasure shoots through his dick once more, and now he can’t help but yearn for something more. “Touch me— I need it— Please.” He threw in, trying to help his chances, despite the struggle at forming a coherent thought other than need.

“Hm,” You consider. Finally you reach out, running a finger along the base of his cock, to the tip. “You really want me to?”

He nodded desperately, mouth falling open to let out a small whine. Swear bedded his hot, red face, and dripped down, make his multiple chins glisten. Ugh, you preferred him further away. His already greasy looking hair was now slick against his forehead, and his eyes were glazed over. 

You slowly shift all of your fingers onto his shaft and then saintly drag them up and down for the first few strokes. A gutteral whimper falls from Ciphers mouth, “Oh, yes!”

“What do we say, baby?” You ask, grip tightening suddenly as if to bring him back to reality, but not too tight. 

“Ah— Thank you!” He’d almost forgotten to detest you for making him say that. And he’d almost forgotten to remind himself to be mad after he was done feeling good.

He used to daydream about taking you down after these sessions. Rising to power and having you at his feet. But now he only wants to keep your attention on him. Now it’s all he can think about. 

You continue to stroke his leaking cock, leaning in to kiss his cheek fat, “Good boy.”

He moaned, “Don’t do that-“

“I’m not patronizing you. I mean it, you’re acting better than usual and i’m glad. Maybe you’re more desperate, or touch-starved, but you’re doing good. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Ah—“ He would have came right there if he could. And in the most literal sense, he couldn’t. You weren’t letting him. “Please, let me come. I can’t do this, have mercy, I’ll do anything—“

“I don’t know, I’m having a good time. Why should I?” Another desperate need to release wipes over him, an uncontrollable need that was actively being controlled. 

Despite himself, he teared up. His fingers rose to touch his face, which he realized, was now damp with falling tears, “No, no, no! I can’t- I’ve never- Human bodies— I need to. Please!”

You look at him and smile. 

“I’ve been good,” He reminded you.

With that, you have in. Your other hand moved away to snap your fingers, a gesture that wasn’t need to carry out the action, but to show that he’d earned his reward. 

“Yes! Thank you! Oh gods— Oh-“ He leaned back, finally having the orgasm that was being withheld from him. And god, it felt good.

You felt good, and he hated that. 

[writesvani]

Dear Me | 02

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TWs (for this chapter): abandonment, unrequited love, emotional pain, jealousy, self-doubt, isolation, neglect, heartache, betrayal, loss of friendship, overwhelming feelings, loneliness

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 4,2k // date: 22nd of March

CHAPTER TWO — It's you – well me again, UGH happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey everyone! holy moly, i am literally sobbing seeing how much support this fic is getting. like, i can’t even. y’all are just chef’s kiss. pls keep reblogging, liking, and sharing the love because i appreciate it more than i could ever express! BUT. and this is a big but (no, not that kind of big butt lol), i’m absolutely OBSESSED with reading your comments. seriously, i live for them. your thoughts, your reactions, your theories, ALL OF IT. i am lurking, waiting to reply and fangirl with you. you can also come talk to me on my blog – my ask box is always open, let’s chat, let’s get unhinged. thank you again for all the love, you’re all amazing, and please never forget, i adore you all. now go comment or i will personally haunt your dreams (jk… or am i?) 💕

— love, vani

You’re not certain about many things in life, but there is one undeniable truth: you are a creature of habit. A prisoner of routine. A slave to the ticking clock.

Everything about your life follows a rhythm—a comforting sequence of events that you know like the back of your hand. The way your mornings unfold, how your afternoons stretch on, and the quiet predictability of your evenings. It’s not just familiarity. It’s safety. A shield against the chaos that could unexpectedly break through.

Since childhood, you’ve held tight to the belief that routine is the antidote to disorder. It was the one thing you could count on, the one thing that offered stability in a world full of unpredictability.

But now?

Now, there’s a disruption. And it’s not a small one. It’s as if the very fabric of your week is being unraveled, thread by thread.

There’s a gnawing ache in the pit of your stomach—a hollow feeling that you can’t shake. It burrows into your thoughts, quietly slipping into the spaces where your peace used to reside. It’s a feeling that’s eating away at the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself. A slow, relentless erosion of the calm you’ve worked so hard to protect.

The worst part? It’s not just the present. It’s everything that’s been hanging over you, lingering like an uninvited guest.

The whole damn week—every second of it—looms in the back of your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you shouldn’t be thinking about it. It doesn’t matter how many distractions you try to throw at it. The thought still creeps in, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, never letting you rest.

The email.

Not just the email itself, but the fact that it’s coming again.

It’s maddening. The thing that claws at you the most isn’t the dreaded message itself, but the fact that you can’t remember what you wrote in it.

You’ve been writing these emails since you were just a teen. The words, the phrases—they’ve become second nature to you, so familiar that they’ve lost their meaning. But now, now it feels like they’ve become ghosts. You can’t grasp them anymore. It’s as if they were written by someone else, someone you no longer recognize.

Too many things have happened. Too many choices made. Too many pieces of yourself you’ve buried so deep that even you can’t recall them.

Possessed. That’s the only word that could possibly describe what you’re feeling.

You wake up with an unsettling giddiness, the kind that makes your stomach twist, and as soon as Wednesday arrives, it consumes you. A nervous energy builds inside you, bubbling up with every passing minute. You try to focus, to concentrate on the task at hand, but it feels impossible.

At work, you can’t seem to get anything right. The moment you step into the kitchen, disaster strikes. You knock over a pan with a loud clang, the sound echoing like a mistake that can’t be undone. The judgmental glare from your boss stings more than you expect—why does she have to work from home, anyway? You don’t need her disapproval hanging over you.

But the pan is just the beginning. The soup, which you had so carefully planned, boils over on the stove, its aroma turning sharp and unpleasant as it becomes too salty. You have to start over, again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t get it right.

Then, while washing the dishes, you break not one, not two, but three plates in quick succession. Each crash is like a sharp reminder of how out of control you feel. Your hands shake, your breath quickens, and you nearly cut yourself in the process. Almost.

You know exactly why you’re like this. Why everything feels so off, so wrong. You know it’s not just clumsiness or nerves. It’s because today is Wednesday. The first email came last Wednesday. And that means—

It’s coming. And it’s coming today.

And the anticipation, the weight of it, hangs over you like a dark cloud you can’t escape.

You close the door to your apartment behind you, the soft click of the lock a familiar sound that echoes in the quiet of your space.

Water clings to your skin like an unwanted reminder. Droplets trail their way down your body, dripping messily onto the wooden floor beneath you, leaving small puddles in their wake. Your shoes, heavy with mud, leave their own trail—a mess you’ll have to clean up later.

Your teeth chatter from the cold, and a curse slips past your lips before you can stop it. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut: you’ll be scrubbing this floor again.

"Ugh," you groan, the sound of frustration hanging in the air. You swear to God, you’re going to start carrying an umbrella every day—yes, even when the sun is shining bright.

This morning, though—this morning had been perfect. The lazy rays of sunlight stretched across your room, coaxing you awake with their gentle warmth. It was just warm enough to wear a T-shirt and pants, courtesy of Spring's tender touch. You had woken up to the harmonious melody of birds and nature greeting the new day.

But then, work ended. And as soon as you stepped outside, the heavens opened. The rain came pouring down, without mercy.

You barely had time to brace yourself—a small, five-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment, and you were drenched. Now, the cold seeps into your bones, creeping up your spine. You can already feel the tightness in your throat, that familiar ache that will make swallowing a painful ordeal, which—coming from a chef—is nothing short of devastating.

And your nose? It’s already starting to run, that disgusting, constant drip of misery. The irritation swells inside of you, a sharp, biting frustration that makes you wish you could just disappear into the warmth of your dreams, away from the cold, the rain, and the never-ending annoyances.

You try to stretch out your shower, clinging to the warmth of the water as it pours over you, trying to let it soothe away the tension of the day. The heat surrounds you, but your mind pulls at you, relentless, reminding you that there’s no escaping what’s coming.

Before you even realize it, the evening slips away from you. Dinner’s a blur. After it, you’ve made your favorite—green tea, comforting and simple—but it’s not enough to calm the storm inside you.

You sink into your couch, the soft fabric wrapping around you like a too-familiar embrace, but it doesn’t quite hold you the way you need. Your laptop rests in your lap, its weight small and familiar, like the way your legs drape over the coffee table in front of you. A simple, normal scene. But nothing feels simple right now.

There’s an unsettling quiet before you break it.

Click.

Click.

You open the email.

It feels almost too much to bear, too heavy for the moment. The words on the screen seem to stretch, pulse, and mock you, as if daring you to face whatever’s inside. The thing you've been running from all day. The thing you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.

And as your eyes fall onto the text, a wave of something tight and cold wraps around your chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Dear me,”

You bite down on your cheek, a small habit that betrays the nervous energy running through you. Your eyes skim lazily over the words on the screen, barely registering the flow of text at first.

“It’s you—well me again, UGH. THIS SHIT CONFUSES ME TOO MUCH BECAUSE LIKE, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ADDRESS US? SHOULD I USE ME, US, YOU? I’ll probably be using all of those. Anyway, the past week has been the first week of high school, and I LOVED IT.”

A small, almost involuntary smile tugs at the corners of your lips. She loved it. You can feel that warmth in your chest, a tug of nostalgia for the beginning of your high school journey. The days were full of excitement, each one an unknown adventure. You remember how every second of it felt—like you were just waiting for something to change, to begin.

“Anyways, what’s new is I made TWO new friends, their names are Yoongi and Nina.”

Your heart flutters, that familiar warmth surging within you as thoughts of the twins invade your mind. Your chest feels lighter, as if your heartbeat is dancing just a little faster. You remember those first shared glances with them—the way their presence seemed to fill the room, just as it does now.

“THEY’RE TWINS, ISN’T THAT SOO COOOOOL? AND THEY’RE FROM NEW YORK, WHICH HELLO, SINCE WHEN ARE BIG TOWN FOLK MOVING TO THIS LAME CITY?”

The words ring in your mind, playful and free, as you imagine them—their voices, their laughter, the energy they brought with them. You can’t help but smile, the memory of their faces suddenly so vivid, so real.

“They’re kind of shy though—but they sit behind Kook and me, so I finally got them to talk to us yesterday,”

A flash of Yoongi’s young face suddenly strikes you—a brief, sharp image that you can’t shake. You remember him clearly, sitting in the back row, shoulders slouched, his nose buried in a book. The memory is so vivid, like a photo you’ve never forgotten. That was Yoongi. The bookworm. The quiet observer. He was always tucked away in the corner of the classroom, never seeking attention.

You can still see him now, the way his eyes were always lost in the pages of novels, the weight of words pulling him deeper into worlds only he seemed to fully understand. Yoongi wasn’t the kind of person to take up space with noise or drama. He was the kid who avoided the spotlight, who didn’t need the chaos of teenage gossip to exist. Instead, he was happy in the quiet, turning page after page, writing essays that won competitions without ever trying.

And you loved him for that. For the way he could exist without needing to be anything other than himself. The mutual love of books had bonded you two in a way that few others could understand. It was an unspoken connection that stretched back to high school, back to when the two of you would spend hours talking about novels, about the worlds between the pages.

Now, years later, you’re both far from those early days—living in apartments fifteen minutes away from each other, with careers that have shaped who you’ve become. But Yoongi remains a fragment of that high school you—still here, still unchanged in ways that matter. He’s the piece of you that didn’t fade, didn’t leave when everything else seemed to shift. He stayed.

You bite your lip, the weight of those memories pushing you back into your seat. You’re thankful for having the luxury of knowing Yoongi—having him in your life. You’re thankful that he didn’t abandon you.

Your thoughts drift to Nina, her image flashing in your mind with an almost effortless clarity. Nina was always so beautiful, in a way that felt natural, like it came easily to her. From the chestnut strands of her hair, which would catch the sunlight in just the right way, to the lazy hum of green in her eyes—a color that seemed to flicker, almost mischievously. Even though she and Yoongi were twins, they didn’t look alike in the way you would expect. They shared that one thing—the gummy smile, the one that colored both of their faces, but that was where the similarities ended.

Nina was the embodiment of the teenage dream—the one everyone noticed, whether she wanted it or not. Wild. Reckless. Effortlessly captivating. She never had to try, never had to force attention on herself, yet it always found her. Even when she tried to avoid it, when she would feel the heat of all those eyes trained on her, even when her ears would flush with the soft pink of embarrassment, she was always the center of attention.

And it felt so familiar, like deja vu.

Much like Jungkook. So much like Jungkook.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of him. Your body twitches involuntarily, like some cosmic force is urging you to look away, to move on from the screen.

But you can’t.

You simply can’t.

“I don’t know them well enough, but both Kook and I think they’re cool. Well, I mostly talked with Yoongi because he was reading Wuthering Heights AND I NEVER SAW ANYONE, LET ALONE A BOY READING IT? HELLO? 911 I FEEL LIKE FAINTING.”

You laugh softly, the sound escaping you almost involuntarily, and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, the familiar gesture one that feels too gentle, too intimate for the moment.

“And Nina is sooooo pretty. I feel like I’ve never met a prettier girl in my life AND she’s kind,” your gaze drifts, and in your mind, you nod at your past self, agreeing with her—yeah, Nina is pretty. She’s sweet too.

“But I think Jungkook thinks she’s pretty too. Which is weird. Lowkey.”

The words slip too easily, but there’s a weight now, settling somewhere deep inside you. Your stomach flips—suddenly queasy, your skin prickling. Nausea spreads through you like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating. The cold that you feel creeping up your spine could be from the chill in the air, or it could be from the words you’re reading. You're not sure which one it is. Maybe it’s both.

This is it. The beginning. The words you’d been dreading, the ones you knew were coming, yet couldn’t prepare for. Reading about Jungkook and Nina. The start of whatever they were. The start of whatever love they shared that grew so greatly.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly feeling the weight of something heavy in the pit of your stomach. The feeling of something real starting. The one thing you’ve feared the most.

Your gaze flickers down to the bottom drawer of your desk, and your heart skips a beat. The envelope. It’s still there, untouched.

The invitation.

The invitation to their wedding.

The wedding Jungkook didn’t tell you about before inviting you.

You try to force yourself to focus on the rest of the email, but the words blur in front of your eyes—nothing seems to matter anymore. Some mention of a fight with your mom over laptop time, a new dish you cooked, but the sentences fall flat, blending together into a haze of indifference. They don’t matter. Not like Yoongi, not like Jungkook, not like Nina. And certainly not like Nina and Jungkook together.

And their wedding.

You can’t shake off the gnawing sense of dread that’s settled deep in your chest, weighing you down. Your stomach twists, heavy and sick with the kind of nausea that feels like a thousand broken shards scraping inside. It's as if someone stuffed it with rocks, cold and jagged, leaving you gasping for air.

You had no idea Jungkook was getting married before that invitation showed up in your mailbox. And it eats away at you, slowly, relentlessly. You hate it.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You two just drifted apart, right? It’s been years. Of course, he didn’t feel the need to tell you something so big. But it still hurts, deep down. It gnaws at you—steals your sleep, pulls you under.

Because years ago, you couldn’t have imagined your best friend getting married and not telling you. It would have been unthinkable, absurd. The younger you would have sworn this was just some terrible, cruel dream. But it isn’t.

It’s real.

To be honest, the shift in your dynamic with Jungkook wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some abrupt change that left you reeling—it was slow, almost imperceptible, like the tide eroding the shore little by little. Neither of you noticed it at first, and you’re certain that if either of you had, one of you would’ve stopped it.

It all started when you were eighteen. At that point, you knew you didn’t want to go to college. Everyone around you was shocked, confused. Everyone, except for your mom and Jungkook. They understood the real dream—the one you weren’t ready to share with the world. Your summer in Europe. The plan you’d built with your mom to travel and immerse yourself in new cultures, learning recipes from every corner of that continent.

But everyone else? They couldn’t understand. You had always been the perfect student. The one who always did well, excelled. So when you chose to follow something different, they whispered. Lazy. Stupid. Reckless. It didn’t bother you, though. You knew you were doing something others were too afraid to—chasing your dreams, and the thrill of it was enough to drown out their voices.

Jungkook was different. You expected him to do the same—to follow his own path, to go after his dreams, too. But instead, he gave up. He had to.

“I have to go to law school. This drummer thing isn’t gonna pay my bills,” he said one night, voice quiet, almost ashamed. He whispered it after a fight with his father—words laced with a pain you could feel in your bones.

Your heart hurt for him, in a way that felt like it was ripping you open. Because Jungkook didn’t have the luxury of being himself. Not when the weight of his father’s debts was constantly looming over him, threatening to crush him under its heavy burden. He had no choice but to give up the dream that once seemed so bright. And it broke you to watch him do it.

So, you spent the last months of your senior year getting ready for your trip, the one that had been your dream for so long. Meanwhile, Jungkook was buried in his textbooks, his focus unwavering. He wasn’t a natural student, but his determination—his sheer persistence—was something you couldn’t help but admire.

He didn’t sleep. He barely ate. His entire world revolved around those books. You remember just hanging out at his house while he studied, watching him from across the room. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched over the pages, the necks of his textbooks cracked and worn from hours of use. Pens and highlighters were scattered around him, as if chaos had taken over his once organized space. And his face—his beautiful face—was painted with the telltale signs of exhaustion. Dark circles under his eyes, hair falling messily over his forehead. It was then, in that quiet moment, that you first felt the shift.

Then came prom. You were supposed to go with your boyfriend, but right before the event, he broke up with you. You were left standing there, heart in pieces, but Yoongi—always the good friend—was there. He was thinking of skipping prom altogether, but you begged him to take you. You never really saw yourself going alone. Prom had always been something you were excited for. The satin dress, the heels, the makeup, the perfect hair—it was all so meticulously planned in your head, down to the perfect date.

But your dream date wasn’t Yoongi. Not even your ex boyfriend. Your dream date was supposed to be Jungkook. He was taking Nina instead. And even though you tried to push it aside, it hurt. Deeply. So, you begged Yoongi—because you couldn’t let your perfect night die completely, not without something to hold on to. It was the only way you could make the night feel even a little like the one you had imagined.

Nina and Jungkook got together two months before prom, and no one was surprised—not even you. They were always destined to be. The quiet charm they shared, the shyness that somehow made them more magnetic, their popularity, and those soft, knowing glances—they were always a perfect match. Everyone, including you, saw it coming. It was written in the way they were together, how effortlessly they fit into each other's lives. No one doubted it for a second.

And despite the ache that twisted in your chest, despite the quiet pain of seeing them together, you smiled. You smiled because it was what he deserved. It was what you wanted for him—even if it wasn’t you standing next to him. You offered them your support, effortless and kind, even as the weight of your own heartbreak threatened to drown you from the inside out.

You wanted him so much it consumed you, but you kept quiet. You kept silent because you knew deep down that you would never be the one. Not for him. Not in that way. And even though it was tearing you apart, you told yourself it was worth it—because you wanted the best for him. Even if that meant letting him go.

And then came the summer. A season that promised escape, adventure, and a chance to rewrite your story. You spent it immersing yourself in the art of perfecting a croissant in France—its golden, buttery layers a silent testament to the dreams you were chasing. You learned how to make pizza dough in Italy, each knead of the dough a reflection of the foundation you were building for yourself. You basked under the Tuscan sun, feeling its warmth seep into your skin, a quiet comfort in its consistency. You stood in the loud streets of Greece, perfecting gyros with the same passion you had for your craft, and you immersed yourself in the history of the Balkans while sitting on a beach in Croatia. The world was wide, and you were exploring it in a way you had always dreamed of. It was a dream made real—but it never fully filled the hole in your chest.

And Jungkook? Jungkook spent his summer falling in love with Nina. You knew about their secret places, their quiet moments. You knew about the way he looked at her—the same way you used to look at him, the way you still wanted to look at him. He spent the summer laying in the grass with her, the breeze pulling their laughter into the air. They visited hidden beaches in your town, their footprints imprinted on the sand, and he held her close, just as you once imagined he would hold you. He made love to her, touched her, and gave her the things you had always wanted for yourself but would never get.

It hurt, more than you could bear, but you got used to it. It was the kind of pain that didn’t go away, the kind that you learned to live with. You told yourself you would, at least. You had to. You had no other choice. It was the reality of it all—the world that had shifted around you without your permission, without your consent. So, you buried it deep, kept smiling, kept writing to him, kept pretending. Because sometimes, pretending was all you had left.

And then, just when you thought your heart couldn’t take more, life threw you a chance. You were in Montenegro—another place to explore, to escape. It was on a whim, a moment of passion, that you ended up cooking for strangers at a small, bustling seaside restaurant. Someone noticed you. Someone tasted your food and liked it. It was an ordinary day, yet it was the turning point you didn’t see coming. You were offered an opportunity to work as an assistant chef on a yacht.

At first, you hesitated. You had never even imagined such a huge thing. But you always watwd it, so you took it. You grabbed it with both hands, like it was the one thing that could save you from all the lingering emptiness. You had always dreamed of something bigger than what your life had been—the same routine, the same city, the same old connections that kept you tethered to the past. And here it was, an opportunity for growth, for something different.

Your mom traveled with you for the first few months, like a safety net. She was your anchor, your lifeline in the chaos of new beginnings. But she had her own life to return to, and soon, she left. You stayed—alone, scared, but driven. Cooking and cruising around Europe, on a yacht you never thought you’d be on. You cooked for a woman you didn’t know, on a sea that seemed endless. The hours were long, the days blurred together, but you found purpose in it. The work wasn’t easy, but it was yours, and you were making something of yourself.

When you came back, after months of moving from one coastal city to the next, she offered you something real—something solid. She made you her private chef. It wasn’t just a job anymore. It was a new life, a new beginning. You had carved your own place, built a career from scratch, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you had something truly yours.

But even with all this success, all this newness, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was missing.

Jungkook went to college. The path you thought you’d walk together diverged, and like so many things in life, the distance grew in small, almost unnoticed increments. The calls, once so frequent, became rare—each word feeling heavier, too shallow to bridge the gap that was silently growing between you. You were busy, too busy building your life, carving a future that you never quite pictured would look like this. He was tired, burnt out from the demands of his studies, struggling to keep up with everything.

You were up during the day, hustling in the kitchen, perfecting your craft, and when the clock hit 10 pm, you collapsed into bed, exhausted from the relentless pace of it all. He was the opposite—up all night, pouring over textbooks, and by the time he called you, you were already asleep. When you reached out to him, he was caught up in his studies.

And somewhere, between the rush of your schedules, the world you shared drifted away, unnoticed. You both tried, maybe, but the threads slipped through your fingers, unraveling, until neither of you recognized the version of each other you were becoming. The late-night calls, the inside jokes, the shared dreams—they faded into the background. The connection you once had felt like a distant echo.

And you never found your way back to each other.

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[misstycloud]

Haunted House

Ghost yan x ghost reader

TW: suicide mention

——————

It was with curiosity you stared out the window. A car had pulled up in the drive way. Through the car windows you sa two adults and three children in the backseat. Well, it was definitely not a maintenance company then. It always bothered you so when they came and meddled with your house; though it technically didn’t belong to you anymore you still considered the building as you home, and prison.

You watched as the kids ran out of the vehicle to inspect the house. You had to admit, they were rather cute. Before you hadn’t really thought about having kids and weren’t sure if you ever would, but now you found yourself wondering if you would have made a good mother. One always ponder about the choices out of one’s reach.

They seemed happy, the family of five. Perhaps you would be fine with them around.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” A voice interrupted your dazed thoughtfulness as your mood instantly soured.

“Nothing so you can leave.”

The man behind you sighed. “Do you always have to act like this whenever I’m around?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, fearing that the sight of him would send you into a frenzy. “I do when you’re the one who ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? We were happy together, in fact, I remember you telling me ‘I promise to love you even in death’ but I guess that doesn’t apply, not with the way you treat me.”

You nearly gasped at his audacity. The nerve some people had!

“What? Are you actually serious right now- you can’t be? The way I treat you? You want to talk about the way I treat you? You killed me!” You shouted.

You had turned around now. Your eyes took in the handsome man you had once called the love of your life. Despite the hatred for true actions and pain he caused you, a small part of you still felt something when you looked at him. Maybe it was affection? Maybe it was the anguished feelings of a happy life that could have been? You weren’t sure.

He stilled for a moment before speaking again. “I know, and I am sorry it had to go that way-“

“Had to? You weren’t forced to do anything. At least take responsibility for your actions!”

“I wouldn’t have had to do it if you had just stopped flirting with those other men.” It seemed like it was his turn to become angry. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at them, how your eyes lit up when you saw someone you very clearly fancied.”

“Oh my- we’ve been over this a hundred times, they were just coworkers nothing more. Besides, they have wives and kids of their own!”

It didn’t matter how much you insisted, your (ex)husband did not relent in his accusations.

“That doesn’t mean they’ll be loyal. You have no idea what a treasure you are, many would do anything to get to have you.” The man twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, entranced by your beauty.

“Oh, like you, you mean?” You fired back.

“Stop that.” He said. “I don’t want to fight with you, we’ve already done enough of that. I did what I had to do and nothing will ever change that. Now we’ll be together for ever, even in death, just like we promised each other at the altar. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope that one day you will understand how deep my feelings for you go and see things from my perspective. I love you, I really do.” He turned to leave you to your lonesome. Before he left, he told you one final thing, “No one else will adore you as much as I, especially now considering no man will ever see you besides me. You’re nothing more than a ghost after all.”

The tear threatening to escape earlier finally welled up. You cried and wiped your eyes with you cold, dead hand.

——————

Just as you had imagined, the family did bring you a new sense of happiness. Whilst not exactly ideal, watching over(spyin on) the parents and the children made your days more fulfilled. They brought laughter and fun back into your undead life.

Unfortunately you weren’t able to look out for them unless they stayed in the house. It was a real pain in the ass, not being able to leave the building. If you could, you would have left decades ago- much to your (ex)husband/ dismay. You suspected he was relieved to find that you were both confined to your place of death. It meant you couldn’t leave him, which was his goal the entire time. He got what he wanted in the end.

After stabbing you out of jealousy, you died in his arms, crying and demanding answers to why he would hurt you. When you (surprisingly) woke up again, you were in the same position you had been when your life drained out of you. Your man was clutching you tight to his chest and he was stroking you hair. At first you had believed it was all a dream, then you thought you survived the whole thing. He was still petting your hair and rambling on how he loved you and how he would rather die than be separated from you. You hadn’t expected him to be so literal.

You were shocked when you had pulled away from him, only to discover a second version of him lying unmovingly on the floor next to you. Then you noticed the pool of blood spilling out from his neck, and the knife he stabbed you with in his hand. With disbelief you glanced back at the ‘living’ version of him. He smiled somewhat solemnly at you as you took in his too-pale skin and the large scar he had on his throat.

You tried not to think about it too much. No matter what he did, you would never forgive him for taking your life away from you because of his irrational fear of you cheating on him. Well, it was impossible for you to leave or cheat on him now. You were the only ghosts in the house and didn’t have the ability to take even a small step outside the front door.

Instead of spending your days avoiding him as usual, you now followed the family around the house. Mostly the children of course. They had the habit of getting into trouble whenever their parents weren’t around. You had forgotten how many times you had saved them from tripping or bumping their heads. You were lucky you could touch things in the real world for a short second. You couldn’t before so you assumed it was because you were a young and weak ghost back then.

The whole babysitting act also appeared to bother your husband, which you relished in. You remembered one day when he approached you after the family had left for the grocery store.

“Don’t you think you’re spending an awful lot of time with those children?”

“I like them so I don’t mind.” You answered and continued staring at the drawings they made that afternoon, right before begging called to get dressed and meet by the car.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right for you to do the parents job.” He sneered.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Like I said, I don’t mind.” Your wanted to leave it at that but your (ex)husband had other plans.

“Sweetie, I will be honest; I believe your getting too attached to this family, it’s not good.”

You sent a glare in his direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is I think you should let them be. They’ll eventually move on whilst you’ll be stuck here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You scoffed at the audacity he had again. “A little late for that, don’t you think? This is the only source of happiness I have, don’t take anything more from me, please.”

“I don’t make you happy, then?” He asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

You could look him in the eye, choosing silence. He grumbled something incoherent. After another long minute of silence, he sighed. He did that a lot these days, you thought.

“Alright, my love. Continue to look after these living people if it brings you joy, but remember, it won’t last forever. I will be here when you’re done.”

Once more he left you alone to look out the window. Despite your will to disagree, you knew he was right. These people- this family- they were all still alive. You were not. Your time was over, your life stolen from you. It was only a question of when they’d leave. Until then, you’d be their guardian in this haunted house.

[daryltwdixon]

Kinktober #3 Playing House

that’s it, that’s the title

Warning: smuuuuuuuuuuuuuutty wheewwy! 🥵🌶️

You and Daryl are out scavenging on a run, going through a row of houses to find canned goods to stock up for winter before the cold front hits. No one knows what winter will bring-will walkers be more docile?

Surely the cold has to slow them down like it does for people, right? But no one is sure.

When Daryl offers to make the run, you're surprised when he calls your name to join him. It's not that you're afraid-you go on runs all the time. Just... not usually with Daryl. He's intimidating and aloof, and usually you head out with Glenn and sometimes Rick. You're quick, good at getting in and out, even it there are a couple of walkers around. You can get what's needed and leave.

So when Daryl asks you to join him today, you only hesitate because you ve never been alone with the man before. But you agree, feeling like you kind of miss the adrenaline of not knowing how the day will go since you all moved to the prison. You're happy life feels safe-of course, you are-but at heart, you might be called an adrenaline junkie.

You walk a few paces behind Daryl in the woods behind the row of houses, your eyes drawn to the way his muscles move beneath his shirt as he navigates the path ahead. Every time he pauses to check the trail, you take the opportunity to watch him longer than you should. His broad shoulders, the way his fingers expertly grip his crossbow… if only it were warmer and he wasn’t wearing that damn long-sleeve, you could see the gorgeous valleys of his arms. You catch yourself staring once or twice when he turns suddenly, his eyes meeting yours. Your breath hitches, and you look away quickly, a blush rushing to your cheeks. You swear one time you catch the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

It only gets worse when you stumble on a root sticking high out of the ground, feeling the earth rushing toward your face. Daryl’s strong grip catches you before you hit the dirt, pulling you up effortlessly. He holds you there longer than necessary, his eyes scanning your face as he brings you back to stand.

“Thought you were supposed to be good at bein’ quiet,” he murmurs. The rasp of his voice sends a tingling sensation through your skin. Why did you allow yourself to be alone with this man?

“Usually I am,” you grumble. You pull away, but the feeling of his hands lingers longer than it should.

There are a few more times where you know you stare too long at his arms as he holds up the crossbow, or brush up against him when you pass by to stake a lookout to the street before crossing into the suburban neighborhood.

Finally, you reach one of the houses. You quietly open the front door, wincing as it creaks so loud it might as well paint a big target on your back for any nearby walkers. You stop just as it’s wide enough to slip through, hyper-aware of Daryl’s body close behind you, his closeness throwing you off your game. You need space to breathe. You take off into the rooms, sweeping through with your knife held high as you check around. You’re at the top landing of the stairs when you feel a hand on your leg. You nearly jump out of your skin, turning quickly to see Daryl reaching through the banister, the heat of his skin searing through the fabric of your pants. For a second, you forget how to breathe.

“We ain’t got time to mess around,” he grunts up at you. “Don’t be long.” Your eyes flicker down to his hand, and he follows your gaze, quickly removing his hand as if it’s burned him.

After checking the rooms, trying to shake off the goosebumps from his touch, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. Your nerves are still buzzing, but you realize Daryl is nowhere to be found. You trust he’s around somewhere. You reach up on your tiptoes to quietly sift through the top cabinets above the counters, your fingers coming into contact with a cool metal can. As you pull it down, you read the label—Baked Beans. You’re about to set it on the counter when you feel a hand wrap around your waist, fingers firm on your side. Your breath catches as another hand covers your mouth before you can make a sound.

The grip is firm, possessive, and for a split second, your body tenses in shock, adrenaline spiking in your bloodstream. But then you hear the familiar rasp of Daryl’s voice in your ear.

“Easy,” he growls quietly, his breath hot against your skin. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Your heart races in your chest, but not from fear. The roughness of his palm against your waist sends a shiver down your spine, and though his grip softens, he doesn’t pull away.

He’s close, too close, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes your knees weak.

The smell of leather and sweat clings to him, his warmth radiating into you as his hips press you forward, pinning you against the cold surface of the counter. You suck in a breath, goosebumps rising as his voice rumbles low in your ear.

“Wanna play house?” The words are playful, teasing, but there’s an edge of something darker, something that makes your pulse quicken. His lips brush against the shell of your ear as he speaks, sending a jolt of heat straight through you. He pulls his hand from your mouth now that you’ve settled from the initial shock of his appearance.

There's a moment of heavy silence, the tension between you thick. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest, the weight of him pressing into you as if he's been waiting for this, as if the world has finally stopped long enough to give him this moment.

After a beat, his voice comes, low and gravelly. "Ain't like I just thought 'bout this today," he mutters, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. "Been thinkin' about it... for a while."

You swallow hard, your pulse racing, utter disbelief clouding your thoughts. "You have?"

His grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel every inch of his strength. "Yeah," he admits, his voice rough but certain. "Tried to stay outta your way, but.." He pauses, his breath catching for a second. "Every time I look at ya, it's like... I can't stay away."

He shifts behind you, his mouth hovering dangerously close to your ear again, his words thick with something between need and frustration. "Ain't good at sayin' shit like this, but... you gotta know, I been wantin' this... you." His voice drops even lower, almost a growl, "Wanted ya since the first time I saw you."

You feel the truth of it in the way his hands won't let you go, the raw edge to his words, the way he's so close, yet still holding back just enough for you to make the next move.

"Daryl..." you start, your voice soft, but you don't know what else to say.

His lips brush your skin, rough, like he's fighting not to lose control. "This what you want too?" His voice cracks slightly, a vulnerability hidden behind his usual gruffness. "Cause if it ain't... you gotta tell me now. Ain't gonna stop once I start."

“I—I—“ you stutter, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart.

Suddenly he’s spinning you around, his hands coming up under your thighs. You squeak at the sudden movement, your arms flying to grip his neck as he hoists you up onto the counter, your legs around his waist. He keeps your hands firmly on your hips as he says, “been wondering what you’d feel like,” he whispers, rubbing up your thighs, “your skin,” his hands move up to your face, eyes flickering down to your mouth, bringing his thumb up to trace it, “these lips,”

"Tell me," he rasps, his thumb brushing along your jaw now, rough and slow, "you want this." His lips hover, so close, yet still not touching.

The air between you is electric, and you're frozen, caught in the space between wanting more and the shock of him finally saying it.

Finally acting on it.

"I want this." It's barely a whisper, but it's all he needs.

In an instant, his lips crash into yours, rough, urgent, and desperate. The kiss is nothing like you expected-it's not soft, not tentative.

It's raw, almost hungry, like he's been holding back for so long and now he can't stop. His hand on your jaw slides up to your hair, fingers tangling as he deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer.

His other hand grips on your waist to hold you steady, keeping you tight against him, his body solid and warm.

His kiss is demanding, lips moving over yours like he's trying to memorize every inch of you, every breath. You open your mouth for him, his tongue plunging into you, discovering your taste, your tongue, everything.

His lips leave yours for just a second, barely giving you time to breathe before he's kissing down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Shoulda done this sooner," he mutters against your neck, his voice thick with frustration and something darker.

"Daryl..." you gasp, your fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the rough edges of his skin, the scars, the heat radiating from him.

He groans at your touch, his hands bringing you flush against, pressing harder into you.

"I ain't stoppin' now," he growls, his mouth returning to yours, the kiss even deeper, more desperate this time. His teeth graze your lower lip, and you shudder, feeling him smile against your mouth, a rare moment of triumph as he finally lets go of the control he's always kept so tightly wound.

His hands are everywhere now-one gripping your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as if he's afraid to let go, afraid this moment will disappear if he does. He's rough, but there's a tenderness hidden beneath the urgency, a need to show you exactly how long he's wanted this, how much he's held back.

You’re pulling at his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin radiating off of him as he pulls away for a split second to remove it, his fingers expertly finding the hem of yours a moment later, ripping the fabric off of you. His kiss is ravenous as he pulls you in again, its teeth and tongues and fire as you explore the heat of his body against your bare skin, your body feeling electric under his touch. Soon his hands leave you, and for a moment you’re left feeling only the cold counter under you until you hear the clatter of a belt coming off, and pants being pushed down. He has his fingers hooked into the waste and of your pants soon after, pulling them off in a haste. The counter is freezing under your bare body and the contrast of the heat of him on you only raises more goosebumps along your skin.

His lips hungrily trace down your neck, nipping your shoulder and skin of your chest as his lips find your nipple and his tongue flattened against it, teeth grazing just right until he’s moving to the other. You lean your head back and moan quietly. His head comes up quickly, hand in your hair pulling him into you.

“As much as I want to hear you sing for me, sunshine, you’re gonna have to be quiet out here,” he growls into your lips, pulling you in for a desperate kiss before continuing his torturous teasing of your skin. You whimper at the sight of him lowering down in front of you, his blue eyes flicking up to yours as he pulls you forward, so the apex of your thighs sits at the edge of the counter.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his breath fanning the slick heat of your center. You bring your own hand up to your mouth, biting your finger to keep quiet as he dives for you, his tongue expertly finding every crevice of you, lapping and drinking you in. He’s moaning against your wet cunt as he continues his greedy attack, and you feel the pressure of an orgasm building in your abdomen. Daryl’s eyes are on you as you whine and whimper, and he brings a finger up to tease your center. Your eyes roll back, your hand coming down from your mouth to cling to his hair. He gently pushes in a finger, quickly followed by a second, and you’re spasming under his touch when he hits the top of your g spot, making you gush around him. He hums his devotion and rapture at your pleasure.

As he pulls away from you, his fingers dive into his mouth, his tongue cleaning up every last drop of you as you grab for him. Pulling his face to you, you kiss and slide your tongue along his, the sweet tangy taste of you still on him. He’s growling into the kiss, pulling you off the counter to stand. Your knees nearly collapse at the sudden need to have to support yourself, but his hands hold you, the rough calluses sturdy against you. He spins you around, pushing you flat against the counter. The cool touch of the countertop makes your nipples harden as they press against it, your cheek laying gently down as Daryl kisses along your back.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do ya?” His voice is gravely against your skin as he kisses down your spine, his hands traveling up and down the sides of you and landing on your hips as he stands.

“Can ya feel what you do to me?” He asks you, his thick, hot cock pressed up against the center of you. You gasp at the contact, never knowing how thick he really was. You’re not sure you’ll be able to take it, and maybe he can feel the tension in your body as your hands come up to your sides, bracing yourself.

“Shhh, shh.. say the word and I’ll stop right here, right now, baby,” he says, hands gentle on your sides, thumbs rubbing circles where they lay against you. You let out a shaky breath, leaning up against him. Your hand snakes up and around his head, holding his hair while the other goes behind you to touch his side. He smiles, kissing your shoulder, bringing his hands to your front and kneading your breasts and your breath steadies.

“Just… be gentle, at first, please,” you whisper, “I don’t think I’ve had anyone— not that big,” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh.

He breaths against your neck, and you can feel the smile against the column of your throat, “I promise,”

You tentatively lay your hands back on the counter, laying yourself back down. He brings his hand to his cock then, stroking it himself before bringing it to your wet lips, readying himself for you. You hear him spit, and look behind you to see him lubing himself up with his own juices, and something about how absolutely carnal he is makes you shiver in fervent anticipation.

He holds you hip with one hand and gently guides himself into you inch by inch. You gasp at the feeling of nearly being split in half, and hear his deep, animalistic growl at the feeling of your walls constricting around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts out, barely above a whisper. He pauses as he bottoms out into you, his entire length buried so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb. After a long moment letting you adjust, you’re shaking with need. The list coursing through your body causes your mind to go blank with absolute desperation for this man, for friction, for movement.

“Daryl, please— move,” you beg, pushing yourself against him. He leans down suddenly and bites onto your shoulder.

“Say no more, darlin,” as he snaps his hips back and into you with hungry speed. You jolt forward, your body never feeling as full as it does now. He stays leaning over you as he grips your waist even harder in your hands, his hips unrelenting in their thrusts. His cock feels like it’s splitting you in half and filling you to the brim as he continues ruthlessly fucking you against the counter. You’re trying with all the caution left in you to not scream his name, only letting whimpers and small moans out, his name on repeat from your mouth.

“Drive me crazy, that’s wha’ ya do to me,” he says breathlessly between kissing your back as he moves in and out of you, “couldn’t stop thinking about you— about this. How you’d feel taking my cock, how you’d look with it buried in ya, fuck, baby,” his thrusts are becoming irregular, and he snakes one hand between your legs and your eyes widen at the overstimulation as he pulls back the hood of your clit, pressing the calloused pad of his finger perfectly on the nub, causing your legs to shake.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper into the counter, unable to stop your body from convulsing under his touch.

“C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum on my cock. Love seeing you so desperate for me, so cock drunk for me,” you barely can hear his words as your cumming again, biting your lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming and you taste the metallic hint of blood on your tongue. The feeling of your walls squeezing him like that has him toppling over the edge too, a long, carnal grunt escaping from him.

Both of you are gulping down breaths as you come down from your highs, his arms now tight around your waist. You both finally stand and you turn to face him again, your hands coming up around his neck.

“If I knew this is what you had in mind, Dixon, I would’ve gone on a run with you a long time ago,” you tease, a smile tugging at your lips. He mirrors it, his rough exterior softening for a brief moment as he pulls you into another kiss.

But then, a distant snarling fills your ears, snapping both of you back to reality. You whip your heads toward the kitchen window, eyes narrowing at the sight of walkers accumulating by the woods where you came from. The urgency crashes over you—it’s time to go, and you have to move now.

“Time to show me how quick you really are on your feet, sunshine,” he says, scooping the discarded clothes into his arms before holding yours out to you.

[chereid]

೯⁺ 𖥻 𝓟 𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗬 𝟰 𝗨 ! ᰋ

ꨄ︎ 𝒫airing : : 𝒮pencer reid x reader

ꨄ︎ 𝓢ynopsis : : you’re like a cherry. small, tempting, easy to eat, but with a pit at the center. very sweet on the surface, but you might leave a bitter aftertaste if someone isn’t careful. & maybe, despite spencer reid & his eidetic memory, he forgot that. there were no strawberries left▰so he reached for the cherries.

ꨄ︎ 𝒞ontents : : angst. spoilers( maeve ). her = maeve unrequited love. one sided-love( ? ) emotional neglect. grief/mourning. unhealthy coping mechanisms. friends to almost lovers to situationship to strangers. rebound relationship. rebound!reader. unresolved trauma. self worth issues. implied depression. implied sex. abandonment themes. no comfort. reader leaving( not the fbi ). no happy ending( ...unless? ). doesn't give off the angsty vibe( in my defense, i'm more of a fluff girlie ).grammatical errors. ooc. song lyrics mentioned. quotes from pinterest mentioned. reader be legit a people pleaser. spencer is kind of a dick. lowercase. use of "&". not proofread( none of my works are ). english isn't viana's first language.

ꨄ︎ 𝓦ord count : : 2k+

ꨄ︎ 𝓒ase file shelf.

ꨄ︎ 𝒲hispers of viana : : sorry for describing reader as a cherry in the synopsis 😭 please blame pinterest,,,. it wasn't supposed to be this long but i got carried away. i also have no idea if it gives off party 4 u,,, because it kind of gives off mirrorball,, IDKDID. oh & can u guys tell that i tried to be poetic but quit. yeah, i'm no shakespeare. &&& i wasn't planning on posting this because it seemed,,, bland,,, but @yeoniverseee wouldn't stop spamming me, so wow. party 4 u is finally out of prison. USGHSH so bare w me indygis one💔 this is my first ever angst ( & i suck at writing angst ). also, the you always let him in & he always visits part is so michaelia coded lawd. ( guess who finished rereading the naturals in just one day ) @dntaed read the naturals already plsplsplspls🤞🏼🤞🏼/j

𝓨ou tell yourself it's okay.

you tell yourself every time his hands linger on your skin, every time the gentle sweep of your waist doesn't hold him fast, every time the silence following your laughter draws out too long & he backs away with a muttered apology about papers or a case or some distant pain he neglected to share. you smile through it all.

because he's at least making an effort, right? you are, too. you always are. always going the extra step, always showing up on his doorstep when you feel like he most needs you, always acting like you don't notice how his eyes are seeing right through you. acting like the hands that hold you in the dark aren't clutching cold with guilt.

he doesn't kiss you in the mornings. that's how you know it's not real. he never does. even after long nights tangled together, bodies pressed close as if closeness could buy out for the sections of him you can't touch. he always sneaks away when the sun comes up. & you let him.

it began perhaps three or four months following her passing. you can't utter her name. he won't, either. not with you.

you swallow her ghost every time you say nothing. you keep her between your ribs, where your hope used to be.

he was mourning, & you were seeking to aid. individuals like you▰those who speak perhaps too blunt sometimes, who dig their nerves deep beneath control & calculation & bullheaded kindness▰you do not necessarily comprehend how to display love. yet you tried.

you sat with him at first, quiet. made coffee. touched his wrist gently when he winced. & slowly, things began to change.

he kissed you once when he was exhausted. you reassured yourself it meant something.

you told yourself his breath in your mouth was a promise. it didn't.

& now it's this. whatever this is. the team doesn't question. but they're aware. you can see in the looks. the soft gazes from jj. the raised eyebrow from emily. the way derek half grins at you, always like he's holding back some thought he knows better than to express. & penelope… she doesn't exactly hide her pity.

& pity tastes worse than anything.

you were trained to read people. not like how spencer reads people. not genius level profiling & eidetic memory. no, you picked it up in the quiet spaces. in silences that warned you who could be trusted, in eyes that did not meet yours. you learned to know when someone was going to depart.

he has not departed. but he's never stayed.

sometimes he calls you in the middle of the night. you don't even ask anymore. you just come. & he lets you curl around him like warmth might burn the sorrow out. he never says her name. he never has to. you can feel it in the way he touches you with fingers like ghosts.

months ago, you overheard him.

you weren't supposed to. you didn't mean to, light steps from habit. the door was left slightly ajar. he was discussing something with alex.

“it doesn't matter what she looks like. she's already the most beautiful girl in the world to me," he stated.

his tone was quiet, filled with something you couldn't define.

he has no idea of what this person looks like, & is already the most beautiful in his mind, you▰someone who he has worked with for years▰could never top that.

you didn't cry then. you just closed the door. waited an hour before walking in & pretending you hadn't heard.

& now, tonight▰tonight he doesn't come home. not until late. you wait anyway, because that's what you do. wait & hope & pretend. when he finally walks in, looking like exhaustion & something rawer, you open your mouth & asked, "are you okay?"

& he stares at you like that's the incorrect question.

"i'm fine."

you despise that word. more than anything. it's the word that you both use when the truth is too painful. for spencer reid, “i'm fine” is a call for help.

"you forgot we had dinner."

he doesn't even flinch. "i didn't forget."

& there's the truth. he didn't forget. he just didn't show.

"i waited," you say quietly. "if you were arriving late, you could've at least told me.”

he touches his hair. "i know. i'm sorry. the day just got▰"

"don't lie to me."

that makes him flinch. his lips shut, eyes narrowing. but there is no anger there. only that weary, endless pain you've learned too well.

"i didn't mean to lie."

"but you did."

he breathes out, slow. "i'm not ready. you know that."

you swallow past the lump in your throat. "& what am i? a distraction? a placeholder?"

his silence is too long. it's everything.

you laugh. "i thought maybe… maybe one day, if i stayed, if i loved you hard enough, you'd see me." you whisper like it’s a secret you’ve said a thousand times before.

his face changes. pain. guilt. "i do see you."

"not like that."

he takes another step forward. you take a step back.

"don't," you tell him. "don't touch me unless you mean it."

he stands still. you can see it. the panic, the guilt, the uncertainty. all of it knotted in the air between you.

"i didn't mean to hurt you."

"but you did."

he doesn't deny it.

you wipe your face, realizing too late that you're crying. "i know she meant everything to you. i know you're still grieving. but i thought maybe i could help you heal. not. not be the wound you keep cutting open."

his hands twitch. like he wants to reach for you. but he doesn't.

"i'm sorry," he says. & it's silent. genuine. "i thought i was fine. but every time i see you, i feel like i'm stealing something i don't deserve."

"you think i don't know that?"

he's taken aback.

"you think i don't know i'm just a rebound? you think i don't notice the way you wince every time i tell you i love you?"

he shuts his eyes.

"i wish you didn't," he whispers.

you laugh once more. bitter. "so do i."

there's silence. the kind that chokes. the kind that stabs you. the kind that bleeds & you didn't even realize it until he's drifting away once again.

you press your fingers into your wrist just to feel something steady.

you don't tell him to go. he does anyway.

& when the door shuts, you let yourself collapse onto the couch. fingers curled tight in the pillow. trying to recall how to breathe.

because you'll take it. every piece. every touch. every half truth.

until you can't anymore.

but god▰you love him so much it destroys you.

you had fallen off your pedestal many times, broken so many times you think there's no repair for your soul; but no one needed to know that. your cries, the guilt you feel whenever a case comes up, how ashamed you feel because every mistake you make is equal to a person's life.

you have fallen countless times, you played a very risky gamble that left you a permanent wound.

you, a special fbi agent from the bau, will die your mother's daughter.

it doesn’t stop after that night.

you wonder maybe it should've. maybe that would've been simpler. but instead, everything settles into this odd performance, a dance neither of you planned but both of you remember now. & it's uglier than ever. you don't kiss him when he arrives at your doorstep. he doesn't hold you afterwards. you speak less. touch less. feel less▰or perhaps you simply pretend to.

but still you let him in.

& he still visits.

you lie to yourself & say it's alright. that it doesn't mean anything. that this is no longer love, that it perhaps never was, not at all. it's just a craving, a comfort, the warm buzz of flesh & breath & quiet you've become dependent upon. you don't meet his gaze when it's finished. sometimes you don't even say goodbye. simply throw on a blanket & turn toward the wall until he gets up & leaves in silence.

& he always does.

he never sleeps over anymore. not that he ever really did.

& somewhere along the way, you give up trying.

you don't brew his coffee the way he likes it. you don't ask about the topics he's very much educated at. you don't hold his hand when he shakes. you don't send him books you think he'd enjoy or those stupid little riddles you used to text him at 2 a.m. you stop arriving first thing after a tough case. you stop asking if he's alright, because the answer will always be the same.

you still love him. he's your best friend ever since you joined the team, & that's the worst part. you still love him like it's your last breath. but love doesn't mean what it used to.

it's just a quiet ache in your chest now. a thing you carry like a scar.

a scar you dress up in perfume & pretend is perfume.

one evening, he approaches you & you're already half-naked, eyes far away, movements automatic. you don't even glance at him. just drag him down next to you like it doesn't matter. like you don't matter. & then he lightly touches your shoulder, as if to speak, but you roll over before he can.

you don't look at his face. but you sense the tension. the hesitation.

he doesn't return for a week afterwards.

& that's when you received an offer

ncavc▰national center for the analysis of violent crimecriminal investigative analysis program. a split personality job. one foot in the field, the other in behavioral data & strategy. it's ideal for you. something that's like both an escape & a test. the unit is smaller, younger, located out of quantico's satellite offices. not the bau. not him.

you don’t tell him at first. you tell hotch, of course. & emily. you tell penelope over coffee, & she gasps & hugs you & almost cries, & you smile through the lump in your throat. derek claps you on the back & calls you “big shot,” & even rossi gets a little sentimental. jj was emotional, to say, at least. telling you that you better visit her every now & then.

but you avoided spencer.

perhaps you're a coward. perhaps you don't want to witness his expression when he knows this is it.

because it is. you know. this is the time where the almost turns into never. the maybe turns into no. the what if turns into goodbye.

you inform him three days prior to the transfer.

you wait until late, when you know he'll be in his desk. the team's dispersed for the evening, penelope already gone with emily & jj, & derek's somewhere plundering the vending machine. your footsteps sound too loud as you get closer to the bullpen, heart pounding harder than it should.

he doesn't even look up when you knock softly. just hummed softly as greeting & continues reading whatever file is in his hands.

you linger a second too long before uttering it.

"i'm leaving."

that cuts through.

he blinks, looking up. "what?"

you let out a breath. "i was offered a role at the ncavc. it's settled. i will switch over next week."

the quiet lands like a punch. the kind that rebounds.

he lowers the file into his hand with deliberation. "you're not joking?"

you nod. "no, i'm not."

he glares at you, eyes darting across your face as if perhaps he's looking for the part of you that's lying. but you're not. not this time.

"why?"

you shrug. "because i want to. because it's a good chance. because i'm good at this, & because it's a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

you don't say because it kills me to be around you. you don't say because i no longer want to wait. you don't say because when i look at you, i recall how desperately i wished for you to choose me & you never did.

you simply fold your arms. "it's not personal."

it is. you both know that.

he nods, clenching his jaw. "congratulations, then."

that is all he says.

you wait another second, expecting▰something. anything. but nothing happens. so you turn & go away.

just like that.

the team gave you a party two days later.

penelope organized it, of course. there are balloons & streamers & a gold banner that reads "GO SAVE THE WORLD, SUPERSTAR" in glittering letters. someone brought cupcakes. derek delivers a speech that's half jokes, half actual feeling. emily hugs you for longer than is necessary. jj hugged you just as tight. tighter, even. rossi says to you that he's proud of you, that your instincts are better than most people's & he knew that from the beginning. hotch smiles. you swear it's almost warm.

& you, you try to have a good time. really. you do.

you laugh at the jokes. you pose for photos with everyone. you take a sip of punch from a paper cup & smile like your heart isn't racing in your ears.

spencer hangs back the rest of the time.

you catch him staring at you once, chatting with derek about something, laughing at one of his idiotic jokes. you don't glance away. you don't approach him, either.

you haven't said a word since the announcement.

you wonder if maybe that's best.

but later, when you're standing by the food table, refolding napkins just to have something to do, jj approaches beside him.

they speak softly for a few moments. you can't hear what they're saying, but you notice the tension in spencer's shoulders, the way he keeps looking your way like he wants to bolt.

jj's voice is steady, but soft. serious. her hand brushes against his elbow, & he jerks away like it hurts.

you look away before you see any more.

"you could've gave a chance to let her in, spence."

his jaw clenches. "it wasn't that easy."

"it was. you made it harder."

he remains silent.

jj lets out a sigh. "she waited for you. for years. & when she finally gave up, you let her. that's what stings the most, i think."

he gulps hard.

"were you in love with her at some point?"

"i was. maybe. before▰" he was then cut off by the blonde.

"then why didn't you tell her?"

he shakes his head. "i don't know. i▰ she was always focused on her job, maybe i felt like she didn't want any distractions. maybe because she deserves better.”

jj doesn't respond for a second. then she says softly, "maybe you should've let her decide that."

& then she leaves.

( spencer will recall every word jj said for the remainder of his life. )

the party slows down gradually.

bit by bit, the team began leaving. lights get a bit hazier. penelope gives you a big hug that is scented like strawberry perfume & frosting. derek pecks your head & makes you promise to stay in contact or he will track you down. emily gifted you a snoopy mug for your new workspace. rossi tucks a note in your bag reading remember, best profiles are ones that come from the heart & not just the head.

& then there's just you & spencer.

kind of.

he stands by the windows, arms folded, looking out like the night would provide answers.

you stand by the door, coat clutched in your hand, uncertain. he looks your way, & for a moment, there's just you two. all the yelling & years & hurt between you.

he gives a single nod.

you nod back.

this is the most you've spoken in days that's just,, okay.

& it's everything.

you turn & go out the door.

you don’t look back.

he does.

he always will.

© reidscherrygirl

[inksreid]

Just Like that . / S.REID / SUMMARY—

You weren’t jealous no never , you knew he deserved to be happy after everything he been through, you just wished it was with you .. you admired his girlfriend.

Pairing— Jealous!fem!reader X post prison S.Reid / Wc: 1.k / Sad angst hurt jealousy no use of your name . Feelings get revealed after Spencer guessed it right . he didn’t mean for it to happen but he ends up kissing you . Happy ending wasn’t expecting that twist .

A/notes … I wanted to do little something where reader was jealous but she admired Spencer new girlfriend I hope you guys enjoy my little spring surprises , I love spring so much . If I missed anything please be kind still learning to process through everything. *If you liked it please consider re-blogging or liking it comments are very appreciated*

divided by @anemichorizon2

The moment you stepped into the bullpen, your stomach twisted. There she was—as she leaned on the edge of Spencer’s desk, coffee in hand, eyes bright as she giggled at whatever statistic he’d just rattled off. Her laughter rang through the room, light and effortless, like she actually found probability equations charming.

Great. She’s back.

You barely whispered it, but Derek still heard. He leaned in, grinning. “Play nice.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” he added, voice dripping with amusement.

“I’m not jealous,” you muttered, but even you didn’t believe it.

As you passed, she turned to you, all smiles. “Hey!”

Your lips stretched into something resembling a greeting. “Hi.”

It tasted bitter.

You kept walking, but the question burned at the back of your mind.

What did she have that you didn’t?

“Hey, Sweets,” she calls, to Spencer all sunshine and ease. “I’m heading out. Have a great day!”

Spencer gives her a small smile, the kind that makes your stomach twist. “You too.”— he says …

She turns to you, waves like you’re old friends. You force yourself to lift a hand in return.

The second she’s gone, you huff under your breath, “Does she have it out for me or something? Geez.”

You make a beeline for the break room, desperate for a moment alone, but you don’t realize Spencer has followed until the door clicks shut behind him.

“What’s up with you lately?” His voice is calm, but there’s that quiet, analytical edge to it—the one that always cuts straight through people.

Great. How are you supposed to get out of this?

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for the coffee pot like that’ll somehow sell it.

“You’re not.” His eyes study you, sharp but not unkind. “It’s written all over your face.”

You swallow hard, focusing on pouring your coffee.

“Do you think you could be a little nicer to my girlfriend?”

Ouch. You say .. thanks Spence you thought , trying to fight the tears .

Your grip tightens around the handle. “I thought I was.”

"Talk to me," Spencer says, his voice gentle. "We’re friends."

Friends. The word stings more than it should.

“I’m good, Spence. Honestly.” You force a smile, waving him off. “Please, just stop, okay? It’s not even worth getting into.”

“It isn’t?” He steps closer, studying you the way he studies crime scenes—methodically, like he’s piecing together a puzzle only he can see.

“No, it’s not,” you insist, arms crossing. “You’re happy, and I’m happy for you.” You even manage a smile, hoping it’s convincing.

But Spencer doesn’t buy it. His head tilts slightly, eyes scanning your face. “No, you’re not,” he murmurs. “I can see it.”

Your stomach knots.

“How do I prove it?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost unsure.

watching you closely.

Your gaze locks with his for a moment before you drop your eyes to the floor. “Look, Spence… I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he counters, stepping closer. “Because we’re not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on. Or do I have to spell it out for you?”

Your jaw tightens. “You tell me what you think, then, Spence.”

“Okay. Sit.”

“No.”

“SIT,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

Fine. You pull out a chair and drop into it, arms crossed.

Spencer exhales, studying you like he’s working through a case. “Ready for the truth?”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway.

“You don’t like her. My girlfriend.”

You scoff. “Please stop.”

“No.” His voice is steady, unwavering. “The reason you don’t like her is because you’re into me. You’re in love with me.”

Your breath catches.

“And you have been for a while,” he says, his tone softer now, but no less certain. “But you can’t admit it—to yourself or to me.”

Silence stretches between you, thick, suffocating.

“But I can’t keep waiting around for you,” he finishes. “For when you decide to.”

“This isn’t fair,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Fair?” Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You don’t think hearing the truth is fair?”

“No,” you murmur, shaking your head. “You—being this way toward me. It’s not fair.”

His brows furrow. “How am I supposed to be toward you?”

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Spence,” you admit, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry for not admitting it.”

Spencer stills. When he first said it, he’d only been guessing—poking at the edges of a theory, testing a hypothesis. But now? Now he knows he was right.

You’ve been in love with him this whole time.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

Your throat tightens. You look away. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “Because… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve her,” you say softly. “Your girlfriend.”

Spencer watches you closely, but you keep your gaze fixed on the floor. “She’s kind, honest. She knows what she wants. She went after it—and she got you.”

You swallow hard, trying to fight the burn behind your eyes.

“I don’t hate her, Spencer,” you admit. “I admire her. She’s everything I’m not.” A shaky breath escapes you. “You deserve to be happy… even if I don’t get to be the one who makes you happy.”

Spencer reaches for your hand, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“If I had known…” he starts, but you shake your head.

“It wouldn’t have changed things,” you whisper. “It was too late for me the moment you first mentioned her.”

Spencer wasn’t sure what to do next.

“We’re friends, right?” you ask softly.

“The best,” he says without hesitation, but his heart is racing, pounding so hard he wonders if you can hear it.

“I really wish I had known sooner,” he admits.

You offer a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s okay, Spence. Sometimes… we don’t get the person we want.” Your voice is steady, but the weight of the words settles between you like an unspoken truth.

“And sometimes we do,” you add, forcing a lightness into your tone. “Because you got her.”

Spencer watches you, searching for something in your expression, but you just smile a little brighter—like that will be enough to convince him.

“I’ll do my best to be a little nicer. Friendlier,” you say….

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, she’s not going to be around much. Today was just… um.” He exhales, searching for the right words. “She got an internship at a law firm in New York. And, um… she’s taking it. She just wanted to say goodbye.”

Your breath catches. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, trying to process it. “She’s leaving?”

Spencer nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. But… we’re gonna try the long-distance thing.”

Something tightens in your chest, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Oh.” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it.

Spencer’s eyes lock onto yours, searching—analyzing, the way he always does.

“Sorry,” you murmur, forcing a small smile. “I just… wasn’t expecting to hear that.” You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. “I’m happy for her. And I’m happy that you’re gonna try to make it work with her.”

The words taste bitter. You drop your gaze to the floor, focusing on anything but him.

“I should really get back,” you say quickly, desperate for an escape. “We’ve got case files to put away and…” Your throat tightens. “And I don’t think I can sit here any longer without wanting you more—knowing she’s leaving for New York.” The confession slips out, raw and quiet. “I’m sorry.”

You push back your chair, standing too fast, needing to leave before you do something reckless.

But before you can take a step, Spencer speaks.

“You’re sorry?” His voice is softer now, almost disbelieving.

You start walking toward the door, but Spencer steps in front of you, blocking your path.

“Please, Spence,” you whisper, your voice tight. “You’re with someone.” You say it like a reminder—to him, to yourself.

“I know,” he says, but there’s something conflicted in his voice.

“Damn it,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “How am I supposed to handle this?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging helplessly.

“You should have told me sooner.”

“Why?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

“Because—for the longest time—”

“No, Spence.” You shake your head, cutting him off. “You don’t get to do this. Because if you do this—”

Before you can finish, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

“If I do this?” His voice is low, almost challenging. “What then?”

You inhale sharply, your hands resting against his chest. “We can’t. Not like this. Not when you’re still in a relationship.”

Spencer exhales, frustrated, before pulling out his phone. His brows furrow as he reads a text, his lips parting slightly.

“What is it?” you ask hesitantly.

He doesn’t answer right away, just rereads the message—once, twice, three times. Finally, he turns the screen toward you.

I’m sorry to do this over the phone, Spence, but I’ve been thinking… Maybe long-distance isn’t the best idea. You deserve someone who can be there for you, and that someone isn’t me right now. I’m sorry.

“She… broke things off,” he says, still processing it.

“Spence, I’m so sorry,” you say, and you mean it.

He looks at you for a long moment before stepping closer. Then, without warning, he pulls you back into his arms.

“Spence,” you murmur, but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin.

“I have to do this,” he whispers.

And then he leans in, slow and deliberate.

You weren’t expecting it, he leans in to kiss you with passion like no one’s ever kissed you before ..

What now ? You say pulling back ? …

That was amazing Spencer added , “ maybe we should talk about us he added with a smile maybe over coffee or dinner? — definitely dinner you say holding on to his shirt while he has you in his arms still .. “Great, dinner it is he says .

Sam’s tags : @dearlenore @lover-rep-fanfic @cheriesbucky @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id

[leighsartworks216]

A Bargain Struck

dragon!Sylus x blind!oracle!Reader

Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Next Chapter

I almost forgot to post this today!! When I say it's been a day y'all, it has been a day

Warnings: swearing, fear of infection, intimidation, child death (mentioned), implied murder

Word Count: 923

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You think this is some joke to him. He’s walking ahead of you, albeit incredibly slowly, while you shuffle along the wall, scraped hands guiding you through what you can only assume is a cave. The walls are rough and jagged, not to mention winding. You think you feel doorways, but every time you start to turn into one to try getting any vague impression for what’s inside, he chastises you with an amused, “Over here, pet.”

You huff when your toe hits stairs. “This is your home?” you bite. You shuffle one foot forward to feel for the next step. What a nightmare. “Were you raised by Wanderers or something?”

He chuckles deeply. It reverberates around the hall. “It’s much worse than that.”

“Oh, yeah? How?”

“Hmph. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

“Asshole.”

“Careful, pet. Your god is watching.”

The cave is cool, seemingly untouched by the sun outside. The chill numbs your feet, bites at your fingertips. Even your ceremonial garb does little to keep you warm. You just bite your cheek. You’re already a prisoner here, best not allow yourself to be too weak around him. A difficult task, indeed.

You misjudge one of the steps. Your toes just catch the edge, but it’s not enough to support you and they slip. With no railing to hold, you cannot grasp for support. You tip backward with a shout.

Something hard wraps around your waist again. It holds you tightly, shoving you forward and onto a solid platform. Had that been the top step? You’re sick and tired of landing on your hands and knees like this.

You’re released as you sit up, back finding a solid wall to lean into as you cover your heart and will it to stop racing. “Ah,” you pant, “thank you.”

The “wall” suddenly steps away from you, and you catch yourself in another heart-stopping moment to save yourself from tipping backwards. “I won’t save you next time.”

“Let me go and there won’t be a next time.”

He chuckles, but it lacks any real mirth. “Get up. Or do I have to drag you the rest of the way?”

You sigh. Still, he doesn’t rush you when you sit a moment longer to calm your heart. Ever since you were a child, your health was of the utmost concern. You couldn’t do anything with the other kids, and not because of your lack of sight. Even braille books were considered too dangerous. The risk of a paper cut getting infected and killing you was a risk nobody was willing to make. As such, this much excitement was a shock to your system.

And suddenly, you find yourself worried about the tiniest cut getting infected and killing you out here.

You reach out, feeling for the real wall this time. Loose sand scrapes beneath you as you bring yourself to your feet. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

He starts walking again and you follow.

“Would you be able to use them if I said yes?”

You wish you could see, just so you could smack him upside the head. “You keep underestimating me. I suggest you stop now before you embarrass yourself.”

“That’s a gamble I’m willing to take.” He sighs, sharp and tired, annoyed. “I might have some around.”

“Well, do you have water, at least? Clean cloth?”

“You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?”

“And you’re an insufferable bastard. Neither of us are too happy with each other, but if you won’t let me go, I suggest you do the bare minimum and allow me to clean my injuries,” you hold out your palms, unsure if he’ll even see them, “so I don’t get sick and die.”

His steps come to a stop. You stop with them. Your skin prickles and crawls, unsettled and on edge. His steps approach. You lean your shoulder into the wall, holding your ground rather than being backed up to some other possibly dangerous or deadly area in the cave.

“Tell me a prophecy, and I’ll get you your medical supplies.”

You scoff. “It’s not that simple. It’s Astra who picks and chooses what futures I see. I know nothing of you. All the prophecies I know right now are for the people in the city.”

Is that his breath fanning across your face? You flinch back at its heat. You feel like an injured rabbit facing down the maw of a starved wolf.

His voice is low when next he speaks. “Then tell me one of them.”

You turn your face away. His breath hits your cheek, though tendrils of the air brush down your neck. You suppress a shiver. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “There’s a scholar there. He studies the heavens and tracks their movement. His parents are anxious for him to conceive an heir. His wife is pregnant now, but…”

“But…?”

“... The child… will be a stillborn. They won’t know the cause of death, and that shame will fall to the mother. She won’t live long after, either, once the scholar crumples under the disappointment.”

He hums. The heat of his breath disappears. “I’ll get you your medicine. Next time, I’d be interested in hearing a prophecy of my own future.”

“Then you’ll have to pray to Astra. Only he can grant you the knowledge you seek; I’m just the messenger.” “Well, messenger,” he steps around you and nudges you with an elbow, “this is where you’ll sleep. Try not to fall down the stairs looking for me.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[izzih22]

It’s my birthday today so can I have another fic as a present 🙏

This Is Why We Close the Door

Note: Happy birthday anon!! Hope you had a good day here’s a little something!!

1:24 p.m. – UConn Dorms

It’s raining, which means two things:

1. Practice got pushed until the evening so the court could be used for some athletic department event.

2. Everyone is bored and lurking in the dorm hallway like restless children.

Everyone except Paige and Azzi.

They’ve been locked in their shared room since noon with snacks, hoodies, and absolutely no plans to move.

Or… at least, that was the original plan.

Currently, Azzi is backed against the edge of the bed, shirt rucked up just enough to show the smooth skin of her stomach, breathing a little heavier than before.

Paige, somehow both annoyingly cocky and utterly love-drunk, grins down at her from where she’s bracing herself with one arm on the headboard.

“You’re staring,” Azzi murmurs, flushed but teasing.

“You’re just so pretty,” Paige says with a shrug, like it’s the simplest fact in the world.

Azzi rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. “You’re cheesy.”

“Cheesy and in love. Tragic combo.”

Paige kisses her, and it’s not exactly innocent. Her hands are wandering. Her tongue is teasing. She’s got that look — the one that says yeah, I know what I’m doing.

Azzi lets out a breathy laugh when Paige’s hand slips beneath the hem of her hoodie. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” Paige murmurs, lips brushing her neck, “you’re still here.”

There’s a knock on the door.

Then another, louder.

Paige freezes, groans into Azzi’s neck. “If that’s Ice, I’m going to body check her into the dining hall.”

Azzi snorts. “Be nice.”

“I’m busy!” Paige yells, not moving an inch.

“Yeah, we know!” Ice shouts from outside. “We heard, that’s why we’re knocking!”

Paige falls forward dramatically onto Azzi, groaning like her life just ended.

Azzi giggles under her. “That’s what we get for not locking it.”

“We did lock it.”

“Then they’re knocking for sport.”

There’s another voice now — Jana.

“Hey, tell Bueckers to stop being in love for five seconds, we’re trying to play Mario Kart in the common room and she keeps making the hallway awkward!”

“GET A ROOM!” Ice yells.

“WE HAVE ONE!” Paige yells back.

Azzi is laughing too hard to breathe now.

⸻

1:32 p.m. – Still Trapped

Paige has given up on subtlety. She’s sprawled half on top of Azzi, her hand casually tucked under her girlfriend’s hoodie again, drawing lazy circles on her hip.

“We were so close,” Paige sighs dramatically. “You were looking at me like—”

“I was looking at you like I wanted you to make me a coffee.”

Paige gasps. “Lies! Slander!”

Azzi smirks. “Maybe also a little like I wanted to kiss you senseless.”

Paige leans in. “See? And I was gonna do just that until the peanut gallery showed up.”

“You act like they’re not gonna bother us every time we get alone.”

“They’re jealous of what we have,” Paige mutters, pressing her face into Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi pats her head like she’s a golden retriever. “I mean… you are kind of loud.”

“I wasn’t even loud it’s just quiet in here!”

Azzi just raises an eyebrow.

⸻

2:04 p.m. – Attempt #2

The dorm has gone quiet.

Paige turns off the lamp. Azzi lights the vanilla candle she hides from the RA. Rain is still tapping on the window, and everything feels warm and soft and private.

They kiss slower this time. More gentle, more intimate. Paige touches her like she’s memorizing her again. Azzi melts into it.

Then—another knock.

This time, a slip of paper slides under the door.

In Ice’s messy handwriting:

“Please keep it PG.”

Paige picks it up and groans so loud, Azzi has to shove her face into a pillow to muffle her laughter.

Paige: “I’m going to transfer.”

Azzi: “You’re not going anywhere.”

Paige flops back down beside her, sulking. “This dorm is a prison.”

Azzi pulls her close, presses a kiss to her temple. “You love me.”

Paige softens. “Yeah. I do.”

Beat.

Paige: “Wanna go make out in the locker room instead?”

Azzi: “Paige!”

Paige: “Kidding. Unless…”