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rowarn · 9 months

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TAKING WHAT YOU NEED (m.)

tags: afab!reader, no prns, a smidgen of hurt/comfort, soft!simon as usual, established relationship

cw: wet&messy, masturbation(reader), multiple orgasms, riding him<3, u pin him down and he lets u, creampie, simons uncut bc i said so, tiny praise, overstimulation

note: i wrote this against my will it was supposed to be simon bein lazy and making u ride him and do the work and it turned into a sickening beast. please enjoy it. MDNI!

; in which ur terribly horny and neglected for simon but hes so busy and tired u have no choice but to take what u need </3

3.5k words

he's been so busy lately, almost distant without meaning to. you still get the sweet little bits of affection he always gives; a kiss to your forehead, and soft hand on your back when he passes behind you in the kitchen, your hand wrapped in his while u watch tv late at night, his hand petting your hair as you lay against his chest in bed.

but you want more, you're greedy.

it's been days since he last touched you. you're not used to the dry spells, simon always willing and ready to fuck u stupid into the mattress until u cant keep your eyes open anymore.

ur fingers simply could never compare to his. he's a man who studied your body, spent the better part at the beginning of your relationship playing with you and learning what exactly made you cum the hardest and easiest -- what your favorite spots and positions were. ur fingers tired quickly, leaving you with an orgasm u knew would be better if simon was the one with his fingers buried in your pussy

what did he expect you to do, honestly? when he came out of the shower with his towel low on his hips? his back to you as he rifled through his drawers looking for something comfy to sleep in, his back muscles flexing with the movement? were you just supposed to be able to roll over and sleep, go take a shower and act as if your panties weren't sticking to you from looking at him?

you wanted him so badly that it actually brought tears to your eyes. you didn't care how silly it was; you wanted him so bad it hurt.

"si..." you whimper, unable to stop how your voice wobbled when you spoke.

his head snaps back to look over his shoulder, brown eyes wide in concern. he briskly walked to the edge of the bed where you crawled to, sitting on your knees looking up at him pitifully.

"what is it, love? what's wrong?" his eyebrows were furrowed as he cupped your cheek, thumbing over the soft skin as his eyes analyzed every inch of you for signs of injury -- a little habit he always had.

"wan' you," you whine, placing your hands flat on his chest, moving down over his stomach where his abs flexed under the ticklish touch.

he scoffs, rolling his eyes before batting your hands away, "thought you were actually upset."

he sounds a little miffed, turning his back to you again to pull out the pair of sweats he had been eyeballing. he lets his towel fall and pauses when he hears you actually whine.

he says your name low in his chest, a warning. whether he actually wants you to stop because he's not in the mood or he just doesn't want to get started with it, you don't know. but it makes you pout a little, flopping back in the bed with a huff.

you hear simon shuffling about, getting changed into the sweats before turning off all the lights, save for a little nightlight you keep on beside you until you're ready to sleep -- on the dimmer side so it doesn't bother simon while he sleeps.

he crawls into bed with a sigh, leaning over where you're still pouting into the pillows to kiss your temple.

"i'm just tired, love," he coos, no malice or annoyance to be found in his voice. his hand comes up to rub your back and you fucking whine again, making him pause, "pouting like this is a little pathetic."

he's teasing you, you can hear the huff of a laugh under his voice. tears prick your eyes again and you petulantly push his hands away to sit up. he's leaning back against the headboard, staring straight at you.

"it's not my fault you've been neglecting me!" you whine, crossing your arms over your chest.

he actually throws his head back and laughs, "neglecting you? 'cause i haven't given you dick in a few days?"

"it's been more than a few days!" you spit back. although he's taking your bratty behavior in stride, you're actually a little annoyed.

he rolls his eyes and holds back a yawn, "you'll live. just...use that little vibrator you've got, it'll get the job done."

he goes to roll over and go to sleep but you make a noise that doesn't sound like your usual pouting -- it sounds actually upset. it pauses him in his tracks and he looks at you through the dim lighting.

"it's not just that," you mumble, flopping forward to smush your cheek against his chest, "i wanna have sex because i like being close to you, si...of course it feels amazing but i like being connected with you like that....'cause i love you."

he's still for a moment before his hand finds purchase on your back, softly rubbing against you in slow circles. he hums in his chest and kisses the crown of your head.

"'m sorry, love," he coos, "didn't think about that."

"it's okay..." you mutter before sobering up and sitting up to smile at him, "u get some sleep, i'm gonna go...take a shower."

he watches you crawl out of bed and root through your drawer, pulling out that vibrator he just mentioned and slink into the bathroom. it makes his heart ache a little but he slowly lies back against his pillow. his eyelids grow heavy as he lays there and before he knows it, he falls asleep.

he wakes again when you crawl back into bed, the smell of soap still fresh and wafting off of you. you keep your back to him as you curl into yourself in that cute little way that you do. it makes him drowsily smile to himself before he closes his eyes again.

but he can't fall asleep. you begin shifting and fidgeting almost as soon as he settles, it keeps him awake. he wonders what the problem is but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

you roll onto your back and he hears you sigh to yourself. his eyes crack open and he sees you staring at the ceiling. you glance over at him, not seeing the way his eyes are ever so slightly open.

he watches you slowly spread your thighs and your hand slide under the blanket, watches the way your brows furrow as you begin to slowly work at yourself.

his cock twitches in his pants; as tired as he is, no man would be able to sit there like nothing was happening while watching the one he adored touch themself.

he watches you, vaguely hears the wet, sticky noises of you touching yourself. he wonders if you're just working your clit in tiny little circles or if you've maybe stuffed a finger or two inside to get the feeling of being stretched. his cock hardens even further against his thigh and the sleepiness he felt begins to melt away but he can't bring himself to fully open his heavy lids.

after a few minutes, you make a frustrated little huff and pull your hand out from under the blanket, using a tissue on your night table to wipe your fingers off before flopping back into bed. you don't make another move to touch yourself, instead stare into the very dimly lit room in what he can fully understand is frustration. he even hears your sniffle a little bit.

his heart gives a painful little tug. he watches you close your eyes and obviously attempt to fall asleep. his own cock is throbbing by now and he's sure you're uncomfortably wet.

"got a problem, love?" he asks softly, voice thick and heavy with sleep.

he sees you jump and your eyes snap open before you look at him, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. how cute, he thinks.

"si?" you whisper, "did i wake you? i'm sorry..."

he can actually hear the guilt in your voice as you apologize, "all your tossin' and turnin', not a man in the world woulda been able to sleep through it," you look even guiltier and he reaches out to place his hand over yours that's on your stomach above the blanket, "thought you went and took a shower to take care of that problem?"

you look almost defeated and shrug, then a look of embarrassment crosses your face and he feels the need to click his tongue and tell you none of that, but you speak before he can, "couldn't um...you know...finish..."

he's quiet when you say that. he could tell, obviously. the way you pulled your hand out of your panties and nearly cried in frustration. he huffs through his nose in a noise you mistake for annoyance and give him a sheepish, half-hearted smile.

"sorry, si," you mutter, leaning over to kiss his nose, "i'll be still so go back to sleep, 'kay?"

he watches you lean over and flick the switch to your little nightlight, plunging the bedroom into complete darkness at last. he feels you shift one last time and then nothing.

he should simply go to sleep, he needs sleep. he's got a busy day ahead of him, like always. his hard on is starting to flag from watching the sad little display of you so embarrassed and disheartened. he could easily close his eyes and drift off, get his precious z's in.

but he just can't. knowing that you're going to sleep with sticky panties and completely unsatisfied because you can't seem to make yourself cum despite how badly he knows you need it.

he sits up and leans over you, hearing you make a confused little noise before he flicks the dim little light back on. you're staring at him in confusion but he doesn't offer any answers as he grabs your arm and hoists you out of the blanket you'd nestled yourself under. you let him manhandle you until you're sitting on his lap with him laid back in his pillows still.

"let's get this off you, love," he mutters, hands sliding up the t-shirt of his that you wore.

you make another confused noise but let him strip the fabric off of you anyway, "si..? what are you doing?"

"what do you think?" he asks, shoving the blankets away from him and haphazardly tugging the band of his sweats down so his half-hard cock is freed.

"y-you should be sleeping, si, really--" he interrupts you by forcing you to stand on your knees so he can tug your panties down and off.

you're so wet that there’s a mess of stickiness that clings to the fabric, making little strings that break when he pulls them down all the way.

"fuckin' hell, love," he whispers, his cock quickly hardening completely once again against his stomach, "you were plannin' to sleep while you were this fuckin' wet?"

you look sheepish again, "w-what else was i supposed to do..?"

he grits his teeth because he knows you're right; he hadn't exactly done anything except brush you off and tell you to deal with it yourself. it wasn't like he gave you the green light to ask him for help.

"sorry, love," he whispers, cupping the back of your head to tug you down for a kiss, "shouldn't 'ave been such an ass."

"wha-?" you shake your head, "you weren't, si. you were tired and i was just bein’ too needy."

he huffs out of his nose and grabs your hips, shifting so you sit directly on top of his heavy cock. your eyes roll back a little at the feeling of his hot length against your sensitive cunt.

"nah, was bein' selfish," he mutters, "knew you wanted it 'nd i chose to sleep. you even told me you just wanted to be close with me and i shrugged it off. i've missed you too, love, you know?"

"really?" you ask softly and his heart gives that painful throb in his chest again. had you doubted him? that didn't sit right with him.

"course..." he whispers, biting his lip. he wasn't used to being vulnerable and open with his feelings, so being put on the spot while telling you how he missed you made an uncomfortable feeling stir in his chest.

quickly understanding this, you shift against his cock, grinding your hips back and forth in smooth, slow motions. it makes his head sink back into the pillow; you're so wet that you slide effortless against him, covering him in a coat of slick juices. your motions also make his foreskin slide along his length as well, making him twitch every time the leaky head is stroked.

"fuckin' hell..." he groans through gritted teeth, "c'mon love, you do the work, yeah?"

you desperately nod your head and stand on your knees, gripping his cock to line him up with your entrance. he stops you for a moment with a hand on your wrist, a little glare in his eyes.

"you need prep?" he asks, a sweet little question that makes your heart melt despite yourself.

simon was a lot to take, thick and long. he always bumped against your back wall before he even fully bottomed out. the stretch was a sting that always made you both pause until it went away lest it hurt too much to continue.

you shake your head, "i-i used the toy and my fingers...earlier..." you remind him.

his grip on your wrist slackens at that and you take the chance to slowly and carefully sink down on him, jaw dropping open at the feeling of being stretched so fully by him after however many days.

you're greedy and needy, not even pausing as you quickly descend and take more and more of him in. it's faster than you usually handle it and he moves quickly to grab your hips and stop you, intent on making you take a second to adjust before taking all of him that you can.

you make a strangled noise akin to a sob in your chest and look at him with angry little tears in your eyes. the sight makes him pause and his cock twitch.

you slap his hands away harshly and continue taking all of him despite his apparent protests. he's taken aback by the little show of aggression.

"shit, love," he growls, brows furrowed, "is that how it is then?"

you nod your head and let your eyes roll back. it wasn't very often that you got to ride him, simon was more of a 'do all the work' type of man but this position definitely allowed you to take more of him than you usually could when he had you folded up into whatever positions he wanted.

once you took him as deep as you could, your hand flew down to your clit and with a few little circles and slow grinds of your hips, you were clamping down around him and cumming with a cute little squeal and a gasp.

he felt you soak him with your cum, his eyes locked onto where he was buried deep inside you. when you pulled up, he could see the creamy ring of cum around the base of him.

his head slammed back against the bed as he gripped your hips, your hands on his flexed forearms for support as you began to fuck yourself on his cock with a vigor he hadn't ever seen from you.

you hadn't ever been this needy before. seeing you fucking yourself completely stupid on his cock, only moans and sobs of his name to be heard besides the underlying squish of your cunt being stretched and stuffed.

"fuck!" he groaned, feeling the way your pussy clutched and pulsed around him as you angled your hips just right to hit that tender little spot that made you gush messily around him.

you once again slap his hands away from your hips. he glares at you, preparing to scold you for being such a brat but then you do something that shocks the words right out of him.

you grab his wrists and pin them beside his head on the pillow, using the grip as leverage to really begin fucking yourself back onto his cock. his jaw falls open, little moans and gasps escaping his throat as he watches you work yourself to another peak.

your tits bounce from the way you fuck yourself back on him and he wishes he could reach up and cup them, pinch and roll your hard nipples just the way you like. but he doesn't want to break this little hold you have on him, pinning him down like you think you're in charge. it's cute, really, the little show you're putting on.

it's clear he's denied you so much this whole time that you've simply snapped and now you're determined to get your fill until you've orgasmed so much that your little brain just melts. and he's more than happy to be there, not even lifting a finger and merely being a nice, hard cock for you to cream all over.

he has to admit, it's alluring to see his sweet little love acting so desperate.

he doesn't know how many orgasms you work out of yourself, but it's enough to have covered his cock and thighs thoroughly in your cum. he doesn't mind. you've always been quite a bit messy when he made you cum. but you've never came this hard and this much before. he's not even sure you're giving yourself a chance to come down from one high before you've worked yourself into another.

he's speechless, content to just lay back and watch the desperate show you've put on for him until your movements finally begin to slow.

you go from bouncing on him and pinning him down to grinding against him and cupping your own tits. your body is covered in a sheen of sweat from the workout and he's sure your thighs are fucking burning by now. you're panting and your eyes are half lidded as you stare down at him.

for the first time in a long time, simon feels...small. you had just fucked yourself better than he ever had using his own cock. the thought of that made him twitch inside you and he sees the corner of your lip twitch up and you smile at him. the heady, frustrated, desperate look in your eyes fades and you look so satisfied. the weight that he hadn't realized had been on your shoulders is gone and you lean down.

he tilts his head up and meets your lips in a kiss. your tits squish against his chest and he finally moves his hands from the position you'd pinned him in earlier and he smooths his palms down the length of your back, making you shudder.

"gonna let me cum now, love?" he asks breathlessly.

when you nod, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back, simon pins your legs open with a rough grip under your thighs and begins working his hips.

it's clear you're painfully sensitive; your clit is swollen and tender, your whole body twitching when he meanly presses his roughened thumb against it. your hands once again find purchase on your tits and you squeeze and tug at your nipples.

he fucks you at a leisurely pace, listening to the filthy, clicking noises coming from the complete mess that you've made of your cunt. your eyes roll back and he rolls your tender little bud under his thumb until you seize up in one final orgasm that makes you kick your feet out helplessly.

“there it is…” he coaxes, tossing his head back to moan when you tighten like a vice around him, “so good f’me. that’s it, ride it out, little love.”

you've no choice but the ride out this final, painful orgasm on his cock as he fucks you through it to his own end. he spills inside you, pumping his hips a few more times, watching his own cum mix with the mess of your own that oozes and drools out of your gooey little cunt.

you flop against the bed when he pulls out, both of you panting and you trembling from the overstimulation.

he flops down onto his side of the bed with a sigh, eyes finally growing heavy once again as his exhaustion catches up with him alarmingly fast.

usually, he would clean you up and fix the mess you both left behind but he just truly can't bring himself to even consider getting out of bed. so he tugs you against him, listening to you whimper when more cum drools out of you from the way you involuntarily clench from the continued aftershocks of your numerous orgasms.

he hums and holds you close, dragging the blanket from the foot of the bed over both of you, kissing your forehead before tucking your head against his chest.

he would deal with the aftermath of the night tomorrow, when you both have clear heads. though, he's sure you're going to be sore. he can't wait to see it, he muses.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod x reader #cod smut

7K notes · View notes

supercutszns · 5 months

Note

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky.

This year, there were two.

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls.

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love.

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day.

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen.

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility.

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him.

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away.

“You alright there, sunshine?”

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile.

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you.

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes.

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls.

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does.

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him.

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice.

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you.

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer.

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt.

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh.

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on.

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear.

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.”

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is.

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink.

You haven’t talked to him since.

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too.

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale.

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you.

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next.

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin.

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?”

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both.

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers.

He will not. Stop. Looking at you.

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there.

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way.

Luke, calling your name.

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him.

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear.

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks.

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.”

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it.

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!”

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly.

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.”

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in.

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth.

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

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nariism · 9 months

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ೃ⁀➷ MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE ★

a/n: fluff!! neuvillette being a touch starved loser (affectionate) + lots of terms of endearment. happy belated neuvillette day! may all neuvillette wanters be neuvillette havers ≧◡≦

Neuvillette can't stand coming home if not into your arms.

The deafening silence of a sleeping home drives him mad. It used to be welcomed after his terribly loud days. Now only serves to remind him of the millennium he spent alone, of the heartbreak he had to endure with no one to hold him, and of the growing emptiness within his heart long before he knew you.

It's unlike him to come home so late, but duty calls and as the Iudex of Fontaine he must go wherever summoned.

For days he has come home well into the latest hours of the night, sliding off his shoes in the darkness of the hall and allowing the silence to swallow him up whole. Five unbearably long days of missing your smile greeting him at the door, hands all over his face and squeezing his cheeks until he nudges them away in lieu of kissing you hello.

He expects tonight to be the same. It's so late that there was not a single soul wandering the streets of the city, no one awake to witness the very tired, very cranky Chief Justice.

You always find a way to defy his expectations.

The hall is quiet when he cracks open the front door. Crushing loneliness swells in his chest and sinks into the pit of his stomach when he realizes that you must have gone to bed long ago, as anyone sane would do. But then there's a click, followed by a small flame dancing in the dark.

You ignite an array of candles one by one, each additional glow illuminating your beautiful face in warm light. Neuvillette can't stop the hitching of his breath, nor the confusion knitted through his brows.

"What are you doing awake?"

You know he doesn't mean to scold you. Soft laughter fills his ears as you saunter over to him slowly. Realization crashes down on him as you approach, allowing him to see closer what has kept you up.

"Happy birthday, my love."

It's so late that midnight passed hours ago. He hadn't even realized amongst all the chaos of his work that the 17th had come and gone, making way for his birthday.

Only you would remember. It was a talent you had, memorizing every detail about him that sometimes even he lost track of.

("Neuvillette, dear, I picked up some dark roast on the way home today." He didn't even realize he had run out.

"Welcome home, I made ragout!" He wasn't aware he was craving it until you brought it up.

"Do you want this?" It's the last cookie in the bag, saved especially for him because you know it's from his favourite bakery in town.)

He leans in and blows out his candles, eyes never leaving yours as he blinks at you slowly. You look so beautiful even now, in the dimly moonlit hall. Darkness envelops your bodies again and yet he never tears his gaze away. Not even for a moment.

"Now put the cake down, please."

"Hm?" Your head tilts, clearly confused by his request.

"So I can hold you," he quickly explains, fingers itching at his sides because of how much he aches to hug you.

You gently set the cake down on the entrance table before you get scooped into a warm embrace, pressed snuggly to his chest as he memorizes the outline of your body against his once more.

"I've missed you, my dear," he says, face burrowed into the crook of your neck.

"It's only been a couple days," you laugh, and then remind him: "I see you every day at lunch."

"No, this is different." He pulls away slightly, forehead pressed against yours as he looks into your eyes. There's something in there— vulnerability and love all mixed into a beautiful purple harmony. "I miss coming home into your arms after long days," he admits.

"Oh, love," you breathe, reaching up to cup his face the way he's so used to. "Things will settle down again soon."

His eyes close as he savours your presence, soaking up all the affection you're giving him in his moment of weakness. You've always spoiled him.

"I suppose so," he agrees, a smile finally settling on his lips. Your thumb runs along it, tracing the curve of his happiness. There's a beat of silence before you open your mouth again.

"What did you wish for?" You ask curiously, voice growing quieter as you lean in to kiss him. And the answer he gives comes naturally.

Neuvillette has always wished for things he read about in novels; imaginary promises of treasure and desire and fame, sealed with the wispy smoke of blown out birthday candles. He isn't even sure if he has ever actually wanted any of those. But as he looks at you, with the slow beating of his heart and the brushing of your lips against him, he can't think of a single thing he could want more than this.

"I did not wish for anything," he tells you honestly, giving your waist a squeeze. "I already have everything I could ever want."

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daisiescomelate · 3 months

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Prompt: Sukuna keeps getting tattoos because you keep kissing every inch of them.

Content: Mature, drabble.

div. plutism

He already had the dark lines running along his body when you met and they got a good amount of attention. Arms, legs, chest, back and face. And then one day he got a random tattoo after so long, a small thing over his chest that won him a peck every time he got off the shower.

He got a second tattoo after that because one of his friends saw that new one he got and asked him to accompany him to get one of his own. Already in the shop, Sukuna asked for a big piece on his arm that you traced every night in bed while waiting to fall asleep.

By the third one he started to notice the patterns.

If the tattoo was small it gained him butterfly kisses, and if it was bigger you took your time to trace every line. Kissing and kissing his skin. To get the line art, the details and the specs of color.

Then the third and the fourth and walking around the house without a shirt on were kisses garantied, and t-shirts stopped being a thing for him at home.

The neck tattoo was a great investment. Every time it caught your attention it gave him a solid thirty minutes of love and nibbles. You would climb onto his lap and trace the leaves and the roses and the skull with your lips and the tip of your tongue, and he would melt over the back of the couch or the pillow, keeping his head back and exposing his most vulnerable spot to you to bite and bruise it as you pleased.

At times he used his discovery to his advantage and with devious intent, like the quote that run from the middle of his ribs to his V line and down to his tight. It was a random line that you had mentioned in passing that you liked so he just put it there, and he shivered every time you kissed it letter by letter, rewriting every character with soft and warm kisses and pressing them with your teeth. No skips, no rush.

Yes, in the beggining he was trying to be hot about it and put more thought into what the pictures were, but he soon run out of ideas and even at some point it didn't even matter to him what the tattoo was. You mentioned you thought sharks were cool? Done. There is a type of flower that he noticed had caught your attention? Awesome. Some dumb lyrics that you kept repeating? Good enough for him. It saved him time and energy that way.

What was truly important? How would the lines flow over his body, where would your lips fall. Long lines dancing up and down, spiraling over him, thought-out for you to care for. Delicate, without rough edges so you would take your time.

A wink to one of your hobbies over his shoulder blade. A single feather of a bird you liked. A random drawing in your favorite color. A shrine because you had a date on a temple once. Of course he didn't tell you what they meant, and you couldn't tell because he was smart about it, only hinting at things in the images and waiting enough time for you to forget that you mentioned something before he got it, never picking something too obvious.

The picture didn't matter. Your breath over his skin, the sweetness of your lips, the way they locked your eyes all over him, were all the tattoos real purpose.

Ink, and ink, and ink, every tinted inch of skin was your conquering. A game that you didn't even knew you were playing, and where Sukuna was willing to give it all up.

#jjk #fanfic #ryomen sukuna #x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #fanfiction #sukuna x tattoos

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thebibliosphere · 9 months

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Okay, I'll admit it. I'm one of those people who priates books. But only because I've bought so many books that disappointed me! I need to flip through a bit of it before buying.

Sometimes, if the author has kofi or patreon or something, I like to just give them the full price of the book. That way they get it all. But I also know that this isn't the perfect answer because it messes with stats and actual readership and therefore advertising and the platform they are selling on promoting it....

It's complicated. Maybe I should buy the book normally and tip the author what the publishers/printers/distributors take? But that can get really pricey fast. Ugh.

Books are often a luxury when you have no money. I’m very familiar with that. I've saved up for several months sometimes because I wanted a $5.99 ebook and didn't want to steal from the author. That’s just what being poor is. Wanting something doesn't entitle me to it.

That said, most books these days have a reading sample on purchasing sites so you can see if you like the style. Most sites also offer refunds, at least on digital books, before you reach a certain point. (please be sparing with refunds if you can. The refund is taken from the author/publisher, not Amazon. Same with audible. My audible funds are often close to zero or negative because people just return and reuse their monthly credit.)

You can also check and see if the books are available at your library, and if not, request them. Honestly, library sales are so, so, so good for authors. Libraries pay higher lending license rates to authors, and also, depending on the country, every time someone checks out my book via Libby or the local equivalent, I get a little tiny amount of money (we’re talking literal pennies, but it can add up), and it increases the library’s likelihood of re-purchasing the library lending license the following year.

You can alsp sign up to be an ARC (advanced reader copy) reader through places like NetGalley or by checking if the author offers ARCs as well. In a world of algorithms, books live and die by reviews. Some of us are quite happy to give out ARCs for new and upcoming titles.

Failing that and you have absolutely no other option... Yeah. Ko-fi or whatever is an option. Even if I wish they didn't do it because it fucks my sales metrics, I still appreciate when I get a little ding on ko-fi for the exact amount of the book. It's always telling. I even sometimes get little anon messages going “sorry for pirating your book it was really good.”

Like thank you. Please buy the next one properly, lol.

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vaspider · 11 months

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Last year I wrote about what happened at Pride when a couple of kids didn't understand why us older folx were so bitter about Reagan.

This year, I have something a little softer.

Someone who looked a little older than me came up to the booth wearing a pink t-shirt proclaiming him one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, San Francisco chapter. As I was ringing him up, I asked if he'd been involved for a while.

"Yes," he said, "for a bit," in that way us middle-aged people do when we're sort of wincing and feeling old.

"Okay, well," I said, sitting at my register in my queer booth full of queer clothes and patches and pins, topless in public for the first time. (I had pasties on for my own comfort bc I was working, but I live in the city of the Naked Bike Ride, and I took full advantage). My baby brother and both of my partners ran around behind me, my brother wearing a loose tank top that makes his scars visible.

"I need to tell you that you all helped keep me alive."

He blinked at me as I continued, "I was a kid in high school in the early 90s. I lived in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, and what you all were doing was so loud and so out there that even I heard about your work. It was one of the things that kept me alive. So thank you, and please thank the rest of the Sisters."

I heard about them through people in my parents' church complaining about them, and then I sought more information through the beginning of the internet, through newspapers, through anything I could find. I found the cover of Newsweek that one of the Sisters was on. I read about their "exorcism" of fundamentalist preachers whose books sat on the shelf in my parents' basement and probably still do. I saw how loud and colorful and unapologetically queer they were.

The knowledge that someone was out there, so full of defiant joy, refusing the shame that people kept trying to put on them? Oh, that kept me alive. I saw them, and I knew I could make it through. I wrapped my hands around that knowledge, and I held on so tight.

It took me a long time - a long, long time - to unwind most of it for myself and get to the point where my fat butch ass was sitting bare-chested in the July breeze, looking up at him as he held out his arms and said "you're actually giving me chills." I answered, "I mean every word. You helped keep me alive. So thank you."

I never know what to say when people come up to me in public and tell me that I helped them or changed their life in some way. I appreciate it, and I genuinely love the people who apologized for "fanpersoning" at me last weekend, I just never know what to say. I'm incredibly grateful that the Sister I spoke to was incredibly gracious, saying "usually we give blessings, but I feel like you blessed me." Another member of the party let me pet their tiny dog, who was not very interested in me, and that's okay. It was an overwhelming day. Then, they moved on.

Me? I'm still sitting with the fact that I looked last weekend into the faces of people who didn't know they were holding my head above water, and that I got to tell them the work they do matters. It's a rare thing to get to tell someone, "You saved me," and I'm treasuring it.

Last weekend, I wore my new battle vest with nothing underneath it, unless it was too hot, and then I just sat in my chair, chatting and ringing ppl out with my skin free to the air. I decided last year that top surgery isn't for me, but that also I'm going to love this body unapologetically, and it's no less a transmasculine body because the soft new dark hair on my belly isn't accompanied by pink scars along my ribs.

I didn't get here on my own. I got here because someone else cut through the undergrowth ahead of me so I could take another step forward. Here I am, decades later, still taking step after step, one at a time, and trying to lay paving stones behind me.

Last weekend was another step along that way, another step through unwinding the fear and shame and sadness that my parents and their church built into me. Another step out of hating myself for hiding parts of myself for so long, for acting out in other ways to distract people from my queerness, for feeling so much guilt when other people tell me I'm brave, because I know how much of myself I hid for how long because I was a coward, because I was afraid.

Another step into expiating stigmatic guilt.

#sisters of perpetual indulgence

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luveline · 6 months

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anything bombshell reader I would adore!!!

Oh my god, Spencer thinks desperately, could she give me a break?

You waltz into the conference room wearing a smile (your smile, as heartbreakingly perfect as always) and a motorcycle jacket buttoned to the chin. There's something about it. Spencer doesn't know what it is, just that it makes you even more attractive than usual. He toys with the word sexy, and sure, you are when you want to be, but he thinks about it long and hard. You're a fucking bombshell, and you're going to kill him one day.

“What's with the outfit?” Morgan asks immediately.

“You can't wear that to the precinct,” Hotch says, though he sounds curious rather than annoyed.

“You called us in unexpectedly,” you defend, holding up two perfect hands. Calluses from shooting practice line the palm of your dominant hand and you've a cut down the side of the other, and they're still perfect. Everything about you compliments everything else. “I was out.”

“What, on your motorcycle?” JJ asks.

“Your motorcycle?” Emily asks.

“I didn't know you had a motorcycle,” Garcia says.

“You're ganging up on me. Spencer, honey, would you save me?” you ask, though the tone you use doesn't express much urgency as you unzip your thick jacket and toss it aside, its logos and sponsorships crumpling over the back of your chair. “You're the only one who looks pleased to see me.”

“I am pleased to see you,” he says honestly.

You don't make it to cases every time; you're on a different type of leasing, you always say. He doesn't have the subtlety to pretend he isn't happy you're here. You flirt with him, sure, and he enjoys it even while being out of his depths, but he likes you. You're fun and smart and good to be around. You listen.

“They couldn't keep me away from you if they tried,” you say, head dipped gently to one side, smile far from teasing..

“Since when do you ride a motorcycle?” Emily asks.

“If we could get back to the case at hand,” Hotch says, and for a moment everyone looks rightly chastised, until he adds, “we can discuss Y/N's choices afterwards.”

What's worse than your jacket is the quickness of your brain, the connections you make, your endless suggestions. You're so good at your job it makes Spencer feel funny. Rossi, who'd been mostly silent during the exchange, sends Spencer a pitying look.

When the case has been introduced and everyone sent to make preparations for another trip, you and Spencer remain in the conference room. You, because your go bag is already here and you don't have much to do, and Spencer, because you're here.

“Do you really have a motorcycle?”

You tap your nose. “Need to know, babe.”

“I sort of do need to know. If you have a motorcycle, I should probably be spending more time worrying about you.”

“Well, it's not mine.”

He feels a crushing wave of rejection descend on him. “Right,” he says. He knew this would happen. He knew you were just being nice—

“I'm borrowing it from a friend. Mostly to see if I still knew how.” You put your chin in your hand, smiling knowingly. “Who's did you think it was, Dr. Reid?”

“Don't do that,” he says.

“Or what?” You ease up anyhow. “If you don't like being flirted with, Spence, I won't do it.”

“I didn't say that, just don't– don't look at me like that.”

You sigh morosely, but your dramatics are unconvincing, and a smile plays on your painted lips. “Alright, I won't. But it's how you were looking at me, you realise? How's that fair?”

Spencer is about to say you know how, but do you really? Why is it fair for him to ogle you (albeit without meaning to) when you walk in, but when you make your soft googly eyes at him, he tells you to stop? Maybe because his are real, and yours are… questionable in authenticity.

You're smart enough to see that debate before it forms. “I have less choice over it all than you think, you know?” you ask, softer than before.

“I know,” he says. He doesn't, obviously, because the idea that you flirt with him accidentally is hard to accept, because who is Spencer to you? Your nerdy, socially clueless coworker who very clearly has a crush on you. Why would you like that? So he doesn't know about that, but he knows about having little choice in the manner; he sees you and he trips over himself trying to get you to see him.

“I say it every time, but I've missed you, handsome. How have you been?” you ask.

Spencer forgets the depth of his crush in the face of a friend. “I'm good, I've been reading all this Russian existentialist literature–”

“Yeah? Anything good?”

Spencer beams. “Actually, yeah. There's this one writer, you've probably read him already, Dostoevsky…”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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toast-on-dandelioms · 7 months

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Disclaimer

I am not the biggest fan of dc but I do know the story and everything, so if any character from the batfamily is wrong please tell me so I will try to fix it.

Another story of Neglect

You were another one of Bruce's children, born by one of his nightstands with a model to which he just gave child support and didn't really visit.

You never cared, you didn't even know that he was your father since you were happy with just your mom and the life you were living at the moment, but everything changed because of a stupid drunk driver that ended up crashing the car against your mom's one and killing both of them at the impact. You were only 12 and your life just changed in one night.

You had no one else, or at least no one that could take you in since everyone was busy or couldn't be bothered to have another mouth to feed so you ended up in front of Wayne's Manor, two suitcases full of stuff plus all the boxes from your old room and house that you managed to save from the relatives who tried to grab everything valuable in the house.

After getting in your room and setting everything up, making sure your photos with your mom and you were safe and sound, you tried to interact with your new family, wanting to make the best out of a bad situation but you didn't think that they would be so different from what you saw in the media.

•Bruce Wayne: you heard that he was a playboy but very nice to his kids, you saw how he looked at Damian or Dick, a look full of love and adoration that your mom used to give it to you.

But to you, he looked at you like you were just a nuisance that wasn't supposed to be here, he made sure to tell you the first day that you came here to not expect much since he wouldn't have the time to take care of every small needs and to just tell him or Alfred if you wanted to do something out of the school activities since you would be changing schools.

You tried to interact with him, to learn from what he likes so you could just try and hold a conversation with him but he always left you behind for another one of his kids that needed him at the moment, leaving you there with a small smile and just a small light of hope that maybe he will come back to talk to you.

But he never did.

•Richard/Dick Grayson: you thought he was the nicest big brother you ever seen, especially from what you saw him talking or playing with Damian, Tim or even Jason.

(You did find out pretty soon that they were the famous vigilantes since they didn't really keep it hidden from you, especially since you saw them in costumes and even training while they ignored you or didn't even notice your presence.)

You tried to talk to him but he was just like Bruce, leaving you for Damian mostly or using any excuse to not spend time with you.

Even when you tried to ask him to do some acrobatics since you knew he was from the circus, he just gave you an excuse 'sorry but it's been a while since Damian and Tim saw me and I wanted to go out with them, maybe next time (wrong/name)", leaving you before you even had the time to correct him about your name.

•Jason Todd: honestly he was the most decent family member, second to Alfred who treated you better whenever you were left alone, since he just straight up told you that he didn't care and to not bother with him.

You did try a few more times, thinking he was one with a tough exterior but a softie inside, thinking that he just needed time but him accidentally punching you in the face and leaving you with a black eye from you walking up behind him made you understand that he didn't care, especially with the way that he looked at you with an annoyed expression before walking away.

At least you didn't have to spend months trying to gain his favor, he already made it clear that he didn't care about you.

But it still hurts you know?

• Tim Drake: he was the only one you couldn't really put a pin on who he really is, not of some double life or something like that.

It's just that sometimes he would act nice, talking to you but the next time you would see him, even if the time passed between the two intervals could be of 1 hour, he would act like you were an annoying thing or would just ignore you.

You understood that he was sleep deprived and just started leaving him some candies that could help him sleep, wanting to help in a small way, especially since he was the only one you could actually help a little.

And the last, but especially the worst one was none other than Damian Wayne/al Ghul since he first acted like you were gonna steal something from him, especially considered that you were a year or two older than him.

He harassed you, using his animals or just his assassin skills to torment you for years even though you never gave him reasons to do so.

Not more than once you had to patch yourself in the bathroom because of his harassment, the scars still visible but luckily in places you could hide so no one would question you for them.

After two or three years he finally stopped and went to be one of the family members to give you attention to completely ignore your existence, acting like you weren't even someone worthy of his attention.

You always wanted to just hit him back but it would be relatively impossible to even try to land a hit on him because of his assassin training that he had.

But one thing you still had that connected you to your old life, to when you were happy and still with someone who loved you was dancing, which you still went to practice everyday and tried to invite your family but everyone was either busy or straight up told you that they didn't care.

Only Alfred would show up but it was also rare, but it would fill your heart with joy everytime you saw him in the audience of whatever ballet you were casted in, even if you weren't the main protagonist and just a side character.

You also tried to be the best in school, just to show it to Bruce and make him proud like your mother was whenever you were in the top but with a family filled with geniuses like Tim Drake and Damian Wayne, it was difficult to even compare to them.

But every day, you still had hope that maybe, if you opened the doors of your heart they will finally enter and make you part of the family.

That you can finally be accepted again, and maybe even join them in their vigilante jobs but alas, they always had excuses, excuses and even more excuses.

You were getting tired of all their excuses.

After a while you understand that maybe the problem is not you, it never was.

You opened up many times in the past years. You gave them every piece of your broken heart to hold but they would always break it in even more little pieces.

But, not everything always goes to plan does it?

So, instead of continuing to try, you also decided to ignore them back and live your life, counting the days of your eighteen birthday so you could finally get out and be free from the mansion you were supposed to call home.

Part 2 is here!

#yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batboys x reader #dc universe #spiderman #platonic yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere batman #yandere dc

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roseykat · 8 months

Text

KINKTOBER DAY 14

TITLE: Some things are better left unknown

PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x Felix x reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: a threesome with Chanlix where you’re yet to discover a very sobering truth about the pair of them.

TAGS: explicit language, threesome, oral sex (f!reader receiving), porn with plot, use of the name 'baby girl' and 'angel', swearing, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex but protected anal sex, double penetration, big dick!Chan agenda, praise, slight body worship if you squint, kissing/making out.

A/N: Aussie line fucks hard, bye. (If there are mistakes, I will fix them. Currently running on v low sleep)

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @luneskies @queenmea604 @kibs-and-bits @kbitties @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung

Milk, nori, rice, raw tuna, coffee, yoghurt, bread, and eggs.

This was all Chan sent you to the supermarket for. All of which could have been easily picked up from the convenience store down the road. Maybe minus the raw tuna which has to be high grade since Chan wanted to make an attempt at onigiri for the first time. However, you would’ve saved an entire trip to the busy supermarket.

Not to mention, grocery shopping sucks in general. At least that is when you’re on your own. In your apartment that you share with your good friends Chan and Felix, two people are responsible for the shopping per week which rotates each time.

If you’re with Felix, sometimes you both tend to muck around. Not to mention forgetting almost a quarter of things on the shopping list which ends in a stern lecture from Chan. On that matter, if you’re with Chan, it’s an in-and-out task at the store in less than ten minutes.

Efficient and practically timeless.

Even though it’s no trivial matter, you manage to get through the pointless shopping before heading home to the apartment. These could’ve been picked up at the convenience store, you think to yourself again. A sigh leaves your lips as you unlock the door, bumping it open further with your hip as you slide your shoes off.

“I’m back. Remind me to buy an umbrella next time-”

Your body freezes on the spot. The bag of items falls from your possession, collapsing onto the floor. Something inside it broke but it’s nowhere near enough a distraction for what is in front of your eyes.

Maybe you need your vision checked because if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, then you wouldn’t have just seen Chan and a topless Felix who are both making out. The two of them sat on the edge of the bed, still lip-locked until they caught onto your presence.

For the few seconds you stood there, rooted to the ground, felt the absolute longest.

Neither of them was as internally panicked as you when they noticed you standing there. Nor did they have hundreds of questions zapping around their brains in the span of a few seconds. It was like your entire vocabulary had turned to dust and were blown away because there were no words to describe what the hell was happening.

Maybe it was a dream.

“T-That was quick,” Chan stammers with an awkward chuckle, breaking away from Felix, almost pretending like nothing just happened.

Felix looked like a complete mess. Dark brown hair mangled - clearly from Chan either running his fingers through it or tugging it - the air gets stuck in your throat with those two theories in mind, painting very interesting visuals and an odd sensation in your stomach.

Chan looked equally dishevelled. There’s a dark red splotch peeking above his collarbone that you had no trouble guessing how it got there. On top of that, his pants were already half undone, and his lips were bitten red and wet, and they both looked so…so…

“What…the fuck…” you manage to speak once your mind has cleared the only one per cent of its capacity to grasp the circumstances.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Felix quickly says as he stands up from Chan’s lap and walks over to you.

It was useless for him to try to take advantage of your shell-shocked state because once your surprise had completely thawed out, your words started coming back to you.

“Oh my god, what am I even doing?” You ask, clamping your hands over your eyes, ready to head right back out of the apartment. “I’m heading out.”

“Wait!” Chan calls out, arm outstretched towards your direction. “You don’t…you don’t have to go. If you want, you can maybe join us. If…if you like.”

Join them? Blindsided by those words, there was no trouble for the difficulty you had in trying to figure out if you heard right or just imagined what Chan said. Why would he ask you that question? But more importantly, why were they hooking up in the first place? It was evident that there had been something going on between Felix and Chan - unless this was just a new one-time thing.

However, even if it wasn’t, you had been left out of the secret. Nonetheless, you quickly came to your senses. Whether they hook up or not is none of your business.

“J-Join you?” You stammer.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chan emphasises. “It’d be rude to not let you in on the fun.”

You definitely weren’t hearing things, and this wasn’t a dream.

At first, you can’t understand why you’re even considering their request, but there is one piece of information that sprung to mind and that’s your sex life. It hasn’t been entirely sex-filled as you’d like it to be, not to mention your slight lack of experience with threesomes wasn’t vast - but it also wasn’t limited either, especially after that encounter you once had with two of their friends Changbin and Hyunjin on a separate occasion. Although, they didn’t need to know that at all.

That being said, this takes the cake. You can’t even comprehend what Chan or Felix are like in bed but, the opportunity seemed too ridiculously hot to pass up.

“You...you want me to-“

“Like Channie said, if you want,” Lix assures you, interrupting your babbling.

You aren’t somewhat surprised that Felix would ever want a threesome. He’s had sexual partners here and there in the past, multiple ones at a time. However, Chan never struck you as the type to have sex with more than one person. Even after a year of living with him and getting to know him, he’s still pretty private and exclusive.

With the matter at hand and the more you think about the prospect in front of you, you aren’t opposed to the idea. So with your brain taking full control of your body, you hesitantly step over the discarded groceries lying on the ground. This is happening. Felix picks up on the right cue and extends his hand out to you as you take it gently.

He guides you over to the edge of the bed where Chan is still sitting, but as you’re led over, he rises to his feet. There were a few seconds where you’re a little bit bewildered by what’s going on, but when you look into Chan’s dark eyes and as he takes your free hand, you become more centred.

Before you know it, he leans down to kiss you and kisses you good. You’ve never felt anything like it and as Felix releases your hand and sneaks behind your body, your mind starts turning into jelly. He gently swipes your hair to the other side of your shoulder while his other hand freely roams around your waist, underneath your shirt to feel the heat of your skin. His mouth places chaste kisses from your shoulder up to your neck.

It feels so heavenly to be sandwiched between them; Felix kissing, biting softly over your skin while Chan continues to explore your mouth. It was impossible to think that just a few minutes ago, you were at the grocery store and now a complete world shift just seems to be occurring within that time frame.

Chan breaks away from you for a second, kissing you tenderly one last time before sitting back down on the bed and moving up to the headboard. God this is really happening. You’re too deep in it now to not follow him like a lost, yet obedient puppy. You can see that he’s hard and want to touch him so badly but-

“Sit between me and face towards Felix,” he instructs before you can even reach for him.

Your cheeks burn. While you have no idea what’s entirely in store, your body is getting excited and very obviously, so is Felix. He crawls over to you once you’re snug in between Chan’s legs before he tugs your shirt up from the hem and tosses it aside. Then, he finds your lips and kisses you until you have to silently beg and chase him for it.

Squirming in place, you feel hot and subjugated by Chan sitting behind you - snaking and trailing his hands around your now half-bare body, and Felix in front of him, who’s now gone on to give his supposed man some attention too.

He’s up on his knees with his body so close to you that you can feel the heat from him. Chan tilts his head up from resting on your shoulder and lets Felix take what he wants. The slick wet sounds of them both kissing along with the tiny moans you can feel in your ear, makes you shiver all over. You’re only still comprehending this all, that this is still actually happening.

“So needy,” Chan says as he breaks away from him, inches away from his face when Felix hears and feels you unbuckling his belt. He straightens back up and consumes how flustered you are, observing the way you blink up at him pleadingly, displaying how badly you want it now.

Felix smirks, gently grabbing your face with one hand and lowering down just enough to kiss you senseless again. But he cannot stray away from his other plans so frees himself from your lips to help slide your pants off down and discards them to the side.

Immediately, you can see where this is going.

“Aw, look how bad you want it,” Felix comments, swiping his thumb over the damp spot of your underwear with enough pressure for you to muffle a whine by biting down on your lip. You do want it bad and already seem to be losing a fight to the pleasure Felix is barely giving you.

“Don’t tease her too much,” Chan cautions.

Felix doesn’t seem to hear the warning for him as he helps you shimmy your underwear down. From there, Chan takes over. He hooks both of his legs over yours and separates them to not just expose you for Felix but to hold you down for what’s about to unfold.

Heat accelerates through your cheeks as you feel embarrassed. At this point, your brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that you never show this much skin, let alone any skin in front of either of them. But that was going to be an afterthought for you when Felix distracts your mind by gently prying your legs open from your bent knees.

Pathetic whimpers slip past your lips as Felix lies down on his stomach, his face inches away from your pussy while he pets and glides his two fingers in between your folds.

Your head shoots back onto Chan’s shoulder, very narrowly missing his face, “f-fuck…oh my god.”

Without warning, you feel the tip of Felix’s tongue lap a few times over your clit. If it weren’t for Chan acting as a human restraint to hold you down, there would’ve been a solid chance of you lurching forward. His arms are still wrapped around your abdomen, preventing you from moving forward so that you can take what Felix is giving you.

It’s cruel, but Chan thinks it’s necessary for you to feel everything. Which you do when your hands grip each of Chan’s thighs, nearly squashing him backwards between you and the wall.

“How does it feel?” he asks you.

“F-Felix, mmm-” you breathe out his name, unable to answer properly and feel some vibrations from Chan’s chest to suggest that he was chuckling. Mainly at the fact that you weren’t able to directly answer his question.

But it’s not long until the room quickly fills with your whimpers and moans mingled with the beautiful wet sounds as Felix keeps eating out your pussy. Tingly sensations spread like wildfire throughout every cell in your body from his mouth. It’s gradually becoming impracticable to keep up with his tongue. Not that you’ve ever imagined it before, but he does give good oral, good enough to put your breathing pace out of whack when he sucks on your clit.

He’s not afraid of enjoying himself either. You can hear and feel his moans reverberate throughout your lower half. It even adds to the sensation of bliss that’s forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. So even though you don’t know, this is as good for Felix as it is for you. To him, it’s like going to heaven.

What you also didn’t seem to know was when Chan unclasped your bra from behind your back and placed it to the side. His hands went from just holding you to now groping and playing with your tits as your body continued to melt into Felix’s mouth.

“You’re loud aren’t you?” Chan whispers in your ear, rolling both of your nipples in between his thumbs and fingers to make you mewl and squirm. The different methods of pleasure send interesting messages to your brain that only make that crest of ecstasy build higher.

You can only mewl until coherent words appear in his brain and out through his mouth, “s-sorry.”

Felix’s head game is so ridiculously mind-blowing that it makes you forget what language you speak.

Chan chuckles, purring into your ear, “don’t be sorry. You just can’t help it can you?”

His hand circles up to your jaw, tilting it towards his face. He confirms in his mind how much of a mess you are. Cheeks stained pink with a fucked up expression that reads ‘I need more’, to which Chan reaches down and kisses you, sloppy and lazy.

The velvety feel of your mouth when you open up more is slick with warmth. It’s starting to become more obvious how close you are when you start moaning repeatedly into Chan’s mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you after this,” he breaks away, just inches from his lips again.

You never would’ve guessed that Chan was even capable of forming such a dirty sentence. Then again, you never would’ve guessed that you would ever be in the position that you’re in now - having a threesome with your two housemates.

“I’m…you’re gonna make me cum,” you sob, turning your head towards Chan on his shoulder, almost as if you were trying to escape the expansion of euphoria. He couldn’t help but kiss your forehead, waiting for you to brace for that wave.

“Yeah?” Chan rouses. “Want to cum for us baby girl?”

You nod, too helpless to form an answer when you’re on the cusp of a forceful orgasm. He underestimated the strength he needed to hold you down, especially when you’re about to cum. So just when he needed to add more force, your body stiffens. Your legs so desperately crave to clamp around Felix’s head to help triage the pleasure, but it’s no use when Chan has you completely locked in.

Your eyelids flutter, head pressing back further into Chan’s shoulder, “yes! I’m cumming!”

With ragged, heavy breathing, the all-consuming pleasure takes you by the throat as the pleasure surges without control. Even though you’re being held down, it doesn’t stop your body from quivering. It lasts for what feels like an entire minute – one of the best orgasms you think you’ve ever experienced.

Felix’s tongue slows down to a snail's pace, licking a few final stripes before kissing his way up your body, from your clit, abdomen, and then up to the base of your throat. His chin glistens as he adorns a smug smile.

“Fuck…” you sigh out defeatedly, the aftermath of experiencing a volume of pleasure was starting to take its toll. “Oh my god.”

Chan kisses the side of your head, “sound so beautiful when you cum. Lix, switch with me so I can fuck her, yeah?”

“Wait-“ you pause, trying to reorient yourself as you hold onto Chan’s forearm for support. “I wanna ride you.”

Felix looks down at you, “you sure angel? Channie isn’t exactly small.”

From that statement alone, it was obvious to you that Felix was speaking from experience, a strong indication that they had in fact mucked around at least once in the past if not multiple times. But it didn’t matter if Chan or Felix for that matter was packing twelve inches, you needed to have something inside you to tame that need of feeling full.

“I want to ride you-“ you nod to Chan – “but I want you to fuck me at the same time-“ you indicate towards Felix.

Neither of them expected you to be into that. Then again, they didn’t necessarily expect you to join them in bed either so anything was a surprise to them at this point. Chan and Felix can’t deny how insanely hot it is to hear you not only ask for them to do something but specifically ask you to do that.

“Are you sure baby?” Chan has to ask you for assurance.

“I can…I can take both of you.”

Still stunned at your answer, Felix ushers to Chan, “you heard her.”

He cannot lie and say that he’s not excited, because he is – they both are. So while Felix goes into the bedside table for a condom and lube, you move yourself off of Chan, turn around and start unbuckling his belt and helping him take his jeans off, almost like you’re in a rush. The imprint of his hard dick is enough to make your mouth water, and as Felix said, Chan definitely isn’t small.

“Easy, I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, reorienting himself on the bed so that his head is on the pillow.

Felix returns with the items he needs to help prep you, taking it as a sign to straddle over Chan’s legs and slowly tug his black boxers down. His cock springs onto his abdomen, the dark pink tip reaching just under his belly button. He had to be at least eight inches. Maybe just under, just.

“Ready angel?” Felix asks, kneeling behind you as you straddle Chan. The position would allow you to not only ride Chan but to take Felix from behind too, a dream so delicious that you can’t help but wonder how it was still all possible.

“Yes,” you mutter.

“Okay then,” he replies.

Chan then holds the base of his cock steady for you, watching you slowly take those eight inches. The tip of his dick gently slots into your pussy, taking your time with sinking down. The warm heat engulfs his length, already sending shockwaves throughout his lower half.

“That’s it, baby,” Chan says encouragingly, his fingertips delicately massaging over the skin of your things. “Good girl.”

You bite down on your bottom lip at the extraordinary stretch. In the meantime, Felix squirts a dollop of the lube onto his fingers to warm it up a bit before applying it to your hole.

He thumbs over it, sending shivers up your spine. It’s vital to him to make sure that you’re prepped well for him to fuck your ass. So he starts small by slowly inserting the tip of his finger, before gradually using slow yet long strokes, enough to make your head loll back.

Felix has to express in awe when he sees the result of your efforts to fully envelope Chan’s length, “look at that. You took all of him, angel.”

You know very well that you have because you can feel him in places that other men in your past haven’t reached. The stretch still sings a bit but it could easily be confused with the gorgeous satisfaction of Chan filling you right out.

“So…big,” you strain out, scratching your nails down Chan’s abdomen, almost like a cat, just not as painful.

Meanwhile, as Felix has slowly been stretching your hole out with his fingers, he uses his teeth and his free hand to peel the foil back of the condom packet. He had already freed himself from his jeans when he went to reach for the lube beside the bed so was hard and ready to roll the condom down his cock.

“M’ready Lix,” you say to him, unable to see the smile you brought to his face from how eager you are.

“I know baby, just one second,” he replies before aligning his cock with your hole.

Very carefully and slowly, he starts pushing his tip in. Your eyes flutter shut, steadying your breathing in the process in preparation to take all of him as well. Chan rubs up and down your arm, distracting you from the temporary sting. With the lube doing its job, Felix can continue to push in at a leisurely pace right until he has the majority of his cock wrapped up by you.

“Doing so well Y/N,” Chan says reassuringly. “Just stay like this for a bit until you’re ready to move yeah?”

You nod, allowing your body and muscles to relax and ease into the pleasure that’s starting to fade out the burn. It’s difficult to comprehend a fuller feeling than this; to have two cocks stuffed in you to the hilt, and after a few moments of getting used to it, you slowly start to move.

“Mmm, yes fuck,” you sigh with satisfaction, using your hands on Chan’s abdomen to steady your body as you being to move your hips. “You both…feel so fucking good inside me.”

Your words were difficult for Felix to not listen to who was trying to ward off from thrusting for a little bit until you were comfortable with him starting to fuck you. It wasn’t until your movements became a bit quicker that he began to catch up to your pace. Very quickly did the room turn into a space brimming with moans, wet sounds, and the sound of skin slapping. It was plenty to add to the intense sensation you were hurtling towards.

Chan’s eyes are fixated on watching your pussy swallow his cock with every long stroke you take on him, “oh my god.”

With his tank top still on, Chan lifts it by the hem and holds onto it with his teeth. It wasn’t just to make sure that your hands weren’t going to be slipping on him as you use his abdomen to support yourself when you rock down, but it was also to restrict a whole bunch of moans that were about to rip through his chest. But even that couldn’t put a lid on the groans and growls rumbling from him.

“Taking us both so well angel,” Felix says exasperatedly in your ear.

His deep yet velvety voice has you leaning back slightly so that half of your back is pressed against his chest. With the help of you turning your head towards his face, Felix’s mouth crashes onto yours, almost tasting the remnants of yourself from before. He kisses you passionately, moaning into your mouth like he’s going to die if he doesn’t.

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, diverging from your mouth to dive into your neck to suck a few hickies in and groping your tits from behind. “Can’t get enough of you dammit.”

You sob out as he pinches your nipples, but also when Chan reaches down to your pussy, finds your clit and begins to rub in perfect motions, “god – fuck, I can’t…s’too much!”

Their cocks hit spots so phenomenally that each time they stroke over them, your holes involuntarily clench around them. Not to mention the total stimulation they were feeding you.

Felix’s hips haven’t faltered since they started pumping forward into your ass. The upward curvature of his cock seemed to be scratching the part of your brain that is responsible for making your eyes roll back. Chan’s dick on the other hand had you shaking. The length and girth were sickeningly satisfying.

“Not gonna last,” you whine, still keeping up the same pace when you rock down on Chan and feel Felix continue to thrust in and out. “So close…”

The hem of Chan’s shirt is long gone from his mouth, already given up on trying to suppress whatever was going to come out, “gonna cum for us again, huh? Such a good girl, taking us both at the same time.”

Chan couldn’t lie either, but he was close a long time ago, probably the second you decided that you wanted to ride him. Felix happened to be on the same page. He couldn’t get over this entire situation, finding it so fucking hot that even just a dream of it would be a blessing.

Words start to slip away from your brain once more. Aside from your orgasm swimming towards an astronomical high, you try to cling to that amazing feeling before it eventually disappears. But all good things come to an end. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs while Felix has one arm barred just under your chest as the other hand doesn’t let up on your nipple. It throws your pace off balance and staggers your breathing when you start reaching that very pinnacle of euphoria.

“Yes! Fuck, I’m cumming!” You scream out.

Your thighs clamp around the frame of Chan’s lower half, shaking and shivering in place as the pleasure reaches its apex. Felix didn’t let up on his pace, fucking you all through your orgasm as Chan replaces your motions by fucking upwards and into you. Both of your holes spasm and contract around their dicks, enough to actually make them cum by the time you’ve reached the height of your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum, holy fuck, s’too good,” Felix’s head rests on your back, watching his cock disappear in and out of you before he starts to bust inside of the condom. His fingernails brutally dig into your hips when he cums.

Your moans easily fill up the room once more now that you have no choice but to succumb to the euphoria when your orgasm hits its hardest. Chan’s head tips back further into the pillow, eyes screwed tight shut as he’s hit with a tsunami of pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he exclaims loudly, his chest heaving up and down as he spills inside of you. He’s lucky that he did because as the pleasure reached a point where it was too much for you to bear, you slowly lean forward towards Chan, their cocks sliding out of you in the process.

On each exhale your body shudders, like the surges of aftershocks while the pleasure slowly plateaus. From this angle, Felix can still see you contracting, watching Chan’s cum leak from your pussy. If he wasn’t so fucked out, he would’ve had the energy to eat you out again.

In saying that, he is the first to recover and come to his senses a bit faster than either you or Chan. He takes the condom off, ties it, and discards it in the rubbish bin in the corner of the room before putting his boxers back on. Meanwhile, you’re still panting trying to catch your breath, resting on top of Chan’s body, you feel his hand run soothingly up and down your spine.

“Such a good girl for us,” he says caringly. “Felt so good.”

Felix sits beside you both at the top of the bed. He cards a gentle hand through your hair, observing your distant expression, “you there baby?”

You blink up at him and nod, your brain still trying to process that sort of orgasm.

“When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up yeah?” He smiles softly down at you.

As the minutes ticked by, Felix lent you a helping hand to stand up when you were ready. Even though you were wobbly on your feet, he still guided you to the bathroom and ran a nice hot shower. Both Felix and Chan joined you in a bid to make sure you knew that they were there, dousing you with as much praise as an individual could get – and they meant every word.

When you were ready to hop out, Chan fetched you one of his warm jerseys and placed it straight over your body before telling you to hop in his bed while he went to gather up the towels and clothes from the bathroom. Just as he was picking up the last items, Felix caught him right as he was about to walk out.

“She okay?” Chan asks him.

Felix nods reassuringly, “out like a light.”

“Alright then,” he sighs contently. “She’ll probably be asleep for the rest of the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, staring at a space just to the side of Chan who picks up on the subtle behaviour.

“Is there something wrong?” Chan asks as a slight concern balloons in his chest.

“When are you going to tell her?” Felix asks.

Chan stares at him, trying to figure out what he means, “tell her what?”

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, “that you like her, idiot. That we like her.”

That had been a distant thought for Chan for some time. The possibility of that ever working out between the three of you seemed like a long shot. You only all slept together. There was no depth to it other than that even though deep down, Chan would’ve liked it to be for the sole purpose that he likes you. But it’s not just him.

It’s also the one standing at the doorframe, staring right back at Chan; Felix.

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #han jisung smut #bang chan smut #hyunjin smut #changbin smut #felix smut #i.n smut #chanlix #bang chan x reader #felix x reader #chanlix x reader

2K notes · View notes

melbee · 1 year

Text

My Purpose

pairing: Neteyam x EywaHealer!Reader

summary: The same way Ewya had brought you your gifts, was the same way she brought you to Neteyam. So, when sacrifice leads to fatal injury, you will stop at nothing to make sure your love is safe.

note: thanks @directioner5life for the request! You asked for a fix-it fic, and I am happy to oblige :)) (I have my thoughts on the whole death scene, and I'm going to be writing my theories soon.) Hope you enjoy my loves! xx

warnings: Mention of being shot, blood, Angst, and some sadness. Fluff at the ending though *cries*

word count: 1,984

Your mother had said you were chosen for something. Ewya had gifted you to her in a time of great sorrow, and that the seeds of the sacred tree had blessed you during your birth ceremony.

You had flourished in medicinal value, your powers having the ability to heal the sick and injured. Your mother was proud of your accomplishments, but you couldn't help but feel the oddity in your abilities.

Growing up you were protected because of your gifts, sheltered from the world, and picked on by other Na’vi kids because of it. It didn't help that with every recoup in another's health, you could feel your body drain in tiredness.

Some days were worse than others. And some days you wished it would all disappear.

That was until you met Neteyam.

The eldest son of Toruk Makto, leader of the Omatikaya Clan, Neteyam was the poster boy of being groomed for greatness. At first glance you had felt him to be too protective, but you realized his earnest love and commitment he had for his family was admirable.

That was one of many reasons that made you fall in love with him. Your mother often joked that you two would make a great pairing as Tsahik, and that you should start counting down the days until you two would mate in front of Ewya.

If only your mother knew there were quite a few close calls.

So, when the RDA had arrived back on Pandora, and Neteyam's father, Jake Sully had to step down from his position as Olo'eyktan, you were shocked. The Sully Clan was leaving, and you were determined to follow them anywhere.

So, you did.

This led you to the Metkayina clan, where you along with the Sully clan sought refuge in order to save your people. You had gone, much to the disheartened approval of your mother. Her last words before you left were,

"Help the Toruk Makto and his family. Ewya has given you the gift to do so."

Now the RDA and their task force of recombinants were beginning to close in on you and using every Pandora creature and village to push you out.

"Ma Neteyam, please." You cried out in earnest, latching onto him as the surrounding sounds of war cries were evident all around you. The RDA had kidnapped some of Neteyam's family including Lo'ak, Kiri and little Tuk. Tsireya had also been caught, and evident by the Metkayina's response they were just as displeased.

"No. I have to go y/n. I have to save my family." Neteyam who was getting ready to leave with the rest of the clan, held close to you. He wrapped his arm around you, his hand gliding over your face before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss against your neck. "Go help the injured, there will be casualties."

You frowned, tears beginning to well in your eyes. You knew you couldn't ask him to stay, Neteyam was always the strongest in your relationship, and in life. He couldn't let his family die. You reached for the same hand he held to your face and pulled it toward your own heart. "Eywa has led me to you. Now you must be strong and lead your family to safety."

Neteyam smiled leaving one last kiss on both your eyes, a sign of earnest love and affection. "When I come back, and this is all over..."

You stopped him, your tears mixing in with your mournful laughter. “I would do anything for you Neteyam. Just promise me you won’t-” Your voice cracked, your head shaking as you tried to stop any unnecessary emotion from spewing all at once. “Just come home.” You looked up at him and smiled, holding his hand tightly.

Neteyam nodded his head, his eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears, before he pulled you both up from your sitting positions and stood back. You followed him as you both walked together, the sounds of rushing feet and the splashes of water as clan members of the Metkayina latched onto their Elu’s and the warrior’s prepared their tsurak (skimwing). Neteyam had gathered with a few of the friends and siblings of Tsireya’s, and they began calling to their Elus.

Before you knew it, they had left, and you were stranded to deal with those who stayed, and the frightful response that endured. You quickly made yourself available however, and it came to the point where many had left to join the fight. You knew you should’ve stayed like Neteyam had said, but something in you felt you needed to go.

Watching as a few members of the Metkayina left you, you went over to an Elu you had learned to ride previously and got on. Latching on you swam quickly after them. Neteyam and the rest of the clan had traveled north to where the Tulkuns were located, and evident by the smell in the air, you could tell one of the RDA ships was nearby.

You braced the Elu tightly, its soft squawks, reminding your beating heart to be careful.

Arriving at the scene, nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were about to see. So much so, you had troubles choking back the sob bursting from you.

Why great mother. You thought to yourself in anguish.

A fire had struck out, and multiple RDA ships crashed out into the rocks. However, what made your heart burn was the sight of a Tulkun and its newborn laying cold as it drifted away in the water. Your heart burned, and the unshed tears began to fall.

You had long known the RDA and group of humans posed a threat to your home world, but you never knew how much damage they could create.

Up ahead you heard commotion, you saw yelling, and the sounds of gunshots, and the familiar voice of the Sully family. You gasped, clicking at your Elu to swim forward, as you swam slowly toward the sight before you.

You could see Lo’ak much to your relief and the rest of the Sully family, including Tsireya, your eyes squinted as you scanned for the familiar face of your beloved, but couldn’t see it.

Up ahead you saw an Ikran swoop by, Neytiri perching onto the jagged rocks, as she crouched down. It was then you could finally see the circle of commotion around a singular body.

No.

Your heart fell silent, your body taking over as you began whispering prayers underneath your breath that the reality wasn’t true. Tsireya, who had been consoling Lo’ak looked up when she heard you. Her eyes softened as tears welled in her eyes, the look of apology written on her face.

“No...” You whispered, you left unto the rock, your eyes blind to everyone around you except for Neteyam. “No... my Neteyam.”

You looked upon his shaking body, his eyes squinting beneath the setting sun, as you tilted down to see his hand as well as Lo’ak’s trying to put pressure on the obvious wound. Blood was spilling everywhere, mixing in with the waves of water that crashed next to you.

Jake who was right next to you, put a hand delicately on your shoulder, you looked up shaking your head. “I can fix this... I- "

Jake nodded in earnest, “Please.” He looked over to Neytiri who looked blankly in disbelief. “Please. For our son.”

You crouched over Neteyam, the tears in your eyes now hitting his chest as he shuddered, his eyes dilating as he began to go unconscious. You gasped pushing your two hands onto his chest, urging him to stay awake. “Please, my love. Stay awake.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched at your familiar voice, a ghost of a smile evident on his face. “Y/n I- "He began to choke on air. This was enough for you to close your eyes and begin reciting your prayers.

Everything about this was familiar to you, you couldn't put on one hand how many times you had recited these same prayers to injured Navi, but this was different. Neteyam was everything to you. He had been the one pillar that stood tall throughout the entire time you had known him.

Your visions began to burst in colors, the familiar songs of ancestors reaching out through your mind as you felt your body move in harmony. You were asking, no demanding for Ewya to heal him. You felt the sensation reach through your chest and to your fingertips.

You heard Neteyam continue to struggle, as your voice grew louder as well as your tears. You would not give up on him.

Visions flashed through your mind, memories of the first time you met him, the first time you loved him. You could see it crystal clear in your mind, his adoring smile, the way he caressed you, his laughter bubbling out into a crisp day outshining any cloudy thoughts in your mind.

“Ewya gave me a purpose.” You used to joke with Neteyam, on one of the many excursions through the forest. “And initially I thought I was some sort of vessel but… I think she wanted me to meet you.”

Neteyam smiled, his hand reaching over to grasp your face. “You are my purpose.”

You felt the memory fade, as white invaded your visions, you felt your head reach up in shock, your hands trembling as you felt your powers surge into Neteyam. You smiled, before your vision began to fade, and you felt reality come back to you.

Your vision wobbled slightly, feeling the pain and tiredness roll over you. The sun had now set to twilight, the fire beside you from the RDA ship twinkling menacingly in the corner of your eye. You looked around realizing most of the Sully clan had left, which most likely had to do with the fact that little Tuk and Kiri were not evident on your arrival.

You tried focusing on one thing at a time, your mind feeling as if you had been run over by a ship. You looked down at your hands, which still laid peacefully on Neteyam’s chest, layered with his blood. You moved your hands, to see much to your relief, that the bullet wound was gone. Your eyes then cast their gaze on Neteyam’s face, who other than a few bruises, slept peacefully.

To make sure that it wasn’t a dream, you pushed your head down to his chest where his heart laid. You could feel the resounding thump in chorus to your own, and you couldn’t help the tears fall once again. You felt yourself smile, nuzzling into his chest. “Oh, my Ewya… thank you.”

You didn’t know how long you laid there, until you felt a hand creep up your neck, and to your hair, where it patted gently. You gasped, looking up to see Neteyam’s eyes fully open and a smug smirk placed happily on his face. “Well look at that, my own savior.”

If it wasn’t for the way his playfulness exacerbated from his body, you wouldn’t have furrowed your brows in frustration. “Neteyam!” You slapped him in the chest, as he groaned. You gasped, before scowling as he let out a laugh, pushing up from his lying position.

“Y/N…” He grasped your hands with his own, oblivious to the fact that blood still caked your fingers. “I was right.”

“Oh?” You thought curiously, smiling in disbelief that Neteyam still faced your own. “What is that?”

“You are my purpose.” Neteyam grinned, reaching up to caress your cheek, before leaning in to grasp your lips with his own. As you kissed you couldn’t help but feel he was right.

Perhaps that was it. Your mother had said you were a gift. You had a purpose in life. And maybe that purpose in life was in fact intertwined with his.

You were Neteyam’s, as much as he was yours.

taglist: (comment or dm and ask if you want to be in my taglist!)

@neteyum

#neteyam x reader #neteyam oneshot #neteyam fanfiction #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar way of water fanfiction #neteyam #reader #tsireya #lo'ak #spider #kiri #Tuk #tuktirey #neytiri #jake sully #Metkayina #eywa #pandora

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

Steve proposes to Eddie during DND.

He's played about a dozen times since the Vecna ordeal three years ago, just one-off stories with no real consequences, and while it took him a little bit to get a feel for the game, he's finally reached a point where he doesn't feel totally out of place.

It helps that Eddie absolutely lights up every time Steve agrees to play, that his boyfriend tends to go a little easier on the rest of the table because they all help Steve half-fumble through the mechanics. It's worth it when Eddie beams at him for figuring something out first, for suggesting a dumb play that has the table screaming when it works.

It's the summer after the kids' senior year, and when Eddie offers to run an all-day one shot to celebrate their graduation, Steve instantly starts planning. He talks to Robin, who absolutely gushes over his idea, and along with Dustin they plan it all out.

He learns the premise of the one-shot from Eddie - there's a big bad who's been taking people from the kingdom, and the king is finally forced to do something when his own son, the prince, is also taken - and Dustin helps him make a character, a fighter who is the personal guard of the prince, whose goal is to find and bring him back safely.

Eddie seems pleased with the character when Steve explains it to him, even more so when Steve suggests the idea that they've fallen for each other and have been lovers in secret. "You're such a romantic, sweetheart," Eddie says before kissing him, and Steve knows it’s a tease and a compliment, knows that Eddie loves how soft he can get over things like that.

The game happens about two weeks later, and Eddie wasn’t joking when he called it an all-day affair.

They get started at about ten that morning, Steve and Eddie, their four boys, and Erica all crowded around the little dining table in Steve and Eddie's little apartment, with Robin, El, and Max entertaining themselves in the adjacent living room.

At Eddie’s insistence, they take a break every couple of hours so everyone can get up and stretch and use the toilet, with slightly longer breaks for lunch and dinner (sandwiches and pizza, respectively, both provided by Steve and Eddie).

The big bad is defeated at around nine that night, and everyone is elated as Eddie takes them through the aftermath, letting each player character have a short moment to reunite with their stolen friends and loved ones.

Robin and the girls have moved to sit on the nearby kitchen counter to listen, partly because El always enjoys these soft moments in the story, and partly because Robin knows what’s going to happen soon.

Steve stays quiet, letting the others have their moment as he fights down the sudden anxiety that sparks through him, knowing what he’s about to do. He looks up when Eddie says his name, takes a steadying breath, and asks "Do I see the prince?"

Eddie nods, says "You do."

"I go over to him."

"He sees you approaching and he rushes to you, meeting you halfway. As soon as you're close enough, he throws his arms around you and says 'I knew you would save me, darling.'"

Steve smiles. "I say, 'I always will, my love' and then I kiss him."

The teens hoot and holler a little as Eddie grins. "He kisses you back, and for a moment it's like everything else fades to the background. All that matters is him, back where he belongs, safe in your arms."

Steve nods, and before he loses his nerve asks "Can I do something?"

Eddie quirks a brow, curious. "Of course,” he says, and Steve takes a breath to steady himself.

"I take his hand, and then I drop to one knee."

A couple of the teens give little 'ooh's as Eddie looks at him, clearly a little surprised, and Steve continues before he can say anything.

"Three years ago, I took my place by your side as your personal guard. I swore to care for you, to protect you from anything that would want to hurt you, and somewhere along the way, we fell in love."

Steve swallows, knows he's blurring the line of character and person as he speaks, staring at Eddie across the table.

"The last three years have been everything to me. Any time I'm not with you, you're the only thing I can think about, and every day spent with you is a fucking gift, because I know just how close I came to losing you."

The sudden urge to touch Eddie becomes overwhelming and he stands, watches Eddie's shocked face as he rounds the table and drops to a knee in front of his lover. Eddie's eyes are wide and he gives a soft "Steve?" as Steve takes a slender hand in his own, remembers the words he had practiced over and over with Dustin.

"I don't want to be just a fighter anymore. I want to be a paladin, set on a righteous path, and if you'll let me, I want to make an Oath of Devotion. Not to any god or angel, but to you, the love of my life."

Steve pulls the ring from his pocket and offers it to Eddie. It's very much not traditional, and at first glance seems to be just another chunky ring that blends in with Eddie's current selection. But Steve had to get it, the shield molded onto the band and the new 'beloved' engraved on the inside repeating what Steve always says, I'll protect you, I love you.

Eddie is in tears as Steve stares him down, as he gently asks "Eddie Munson, will you marry me?"

For just a second, Eddie is completely still, save for his shaky breathing. Steve doesn't get scared, he knows that sometimes it takes Eddie a second to register things when he's overwhelmed. He waits it out, and after a few seconds Eddie blinks rapidly before jerking forward, dropping to his knees as he throws his arms around Steve. "Fuck yes! Of course I will!"

Cheers erupt through the room, and a flash goes off when they meet in a kiss. Eddie looks over to see Robin with a camera in her hand and tears streaming down her face. “Don’t mind me,” she says, a bit choked up even as she beams at them, and Eddie’s head whips back to Steve.

“You planned this!” he yells, unable to stop his own tears from falling, and Steve laughs. “Of course I did!” is his reply as he takes Eddie’s hand back so he can slide the ring onto it, and he ignores the second flash from where Robin sits.

“Wanted it to be perfect,” Steve says softly, stroking his thumb over the ring, now at its new home on Eddie’s finger. “Wanted you to know how much you mean to me, and I figured something nerdy would hit all the right buttons.”

“I helped with the nerd stuff!” Dustin calls from his seat, and Eddie laughs wetly as he scrubs at the tear tracks on his cheeks. “I should have known something was up with you, Henderson. You’ve been bouncing off the walls for weeks.”

Steve stands up from the floor before helping Eddie up, and they both grunt as Dustin practically slams into them for a hug, quickly followed by a more reserved El. They hug each of the kids in turn and accept their congratulations, and after a few minutes Eddie is put together enough to actually finish out the one-shot.

Later that night as they're getting ready for bed, Eddie presses up behind Steve, one hand sliding to rest on his stomach and the other opening in front of them, revealing a simple, gold band.

"You beat me to it, you dick," he says with so much tenderness, and Steve laughs as he takes the ring.

"You can still do your proposal, if you want," Steve replies, heart swelling as he looks over the band, sees the little 'sweetheart' engraved on the inside.

"Nah, there's no way I can top what you did for me."

"I dunno, you normally top me pretty well," Steve teases, just to hear Eddie's delighted little cackle.

He turns and hands the ring back to Eddie, asks "Put it on me?" and Eddie smiles. He takes the ring and slides it onto Steve's finger, his thumb brushing over shiny metal, and Steve feels so fucking happy as they meet in the middle for a kiss.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #joey writes #steddie fanfic #heres the proposal fic #as promised #i see you all screaming in the tags and please know it brings me endless joy #ily all #oath of devotion

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januaryembrs · 3 months

Text

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

previous chpt | next chpt

'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7.

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now.

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included.

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings.

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up.

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt.

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t.

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around.

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help.

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover.

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,”

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,”

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her.

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard.

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her.

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside.

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?”

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again.

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her.

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances.

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece.

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare.

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching.

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up.

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms.

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly.

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help.

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face.

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried.

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing.

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home.

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her.

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic.

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed.

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it.

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking.

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed.

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her.

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more.

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm.

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few.

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book.

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,”

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation.

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?”

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend.

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words.

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised.

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse.

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out.

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit.

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t.

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,”

Nothing.

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of.

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot.

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver.

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,”

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then.

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,”

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out.

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle.

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before.

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise.

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,”

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished.

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack.

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese.

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this.

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her.

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,”

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?”

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid.

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty.

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there.

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her.

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now.

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound.

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too.

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning.

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol.

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips.

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.”

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile.

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,”

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks.

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway.

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in.

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later.

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing.

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months.

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was.

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again.

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door.

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time.

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years.

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab.

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed.

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was.

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans.

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!”

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck.

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with.

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought.

This never happened.

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning.

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s.

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage.

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more.

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom.

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit.

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down.

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her.

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought.

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her.

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke.

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,”

“Hm?”

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks.

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,”

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her.

He felt like a fool.

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.”

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,”

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth.

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly.

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.”

He would be lying if he said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder.

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock.

She kissed him. She had kissed him.

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again.

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together.

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep.

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow.

–

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