#and even though both of them are men now and in bad situations there's almost a reversal

[non-un-topo]

Writing on company time today anyway because I'm not stopping this train and I've only got a few chapters left before the big climax

[perseephoneee]

heatwave [clark kent x f!reader]

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

request from @eurydiceauxenfers

a/n: omg GUYS i'm remembering to do REQUESTS bc my life isn't CHAOS anymore yippeeee but also i'm still working on some passion writing projects so grant me some levity. anyway, this one is for you Eurydice my love.

wc: 2.1k

Heatwave | Clark Kent

Smallville had been smoldering with the recent heatwave, the humidity wearing down on everyone’s skin and leaving people miserable. It was a record high for the town, having not been so hot in several decades. You could probably fry an egg on the sidewalk if you so desired.

You and Lana had escaped to the Talon after school, almost collapsing in the doorway by the blast of cold air. You had thrown on shorts and a tank top, holding your hair off your neck from the sweat, causing it to stick to your skin. Lana wasn’t fairing much better, but she had the natural cheerleader charm that caused even glistening skin to look good. 

“Hey Lana,” you panted, heading lolled back against the couch cushions. Lana turned to you. “Can you tell my parents I loved them when I eventually die from this heat?”

“I’ll even write you a eulogy,” she chuckled. You swatted her arm. 

“Such a supportive friend.”

“The Talon has A/C; it’s just…struggling right now,” Lana gestured to the vent that sounded like it was running a marathon to cool down the place. You were going to respond when the front door opened, and Clark walked in, causing both you and Lana to shut up. 

To say Clark was attractive was an understatement. He was tall, all muscle, and way too nice, which wasn’t helping the situation. Right now, he was downright torturous. 

“What happened to you?” I asked, my voice strained as I looked him up and down. 

“Spilled water on myself,” Clark shrugged. “But it was cold water, so that’s nice.”

“Yep, super nice,” Lana sighed, shooting you a look. Clark’s shirt was completely soaked through at the front, leaving the offending fabric to be plastered to his pectorals and abdomen. You felt like this was the Garden of Eden, and he was the apple you were really not supposed to eat. 

“I’m getting water,” you announced, sitting up in your chair and going to the bar. Literally, anything to get you stopping from having salacious thoughts about Clark. 

Even though you were finally starting to cool down, your skin still felt warm to the touch, and your clothes were uncomfortable as you walked. The denim of your shorts was too thick for the weather, and you wished you had opted for a dress of some kind. You made it to the bar without any hiccups and started pouring yourself a glass of ice-cold water. You debated the merits of just dousing yourself in the ice. You didn’t realize when Clark appeared behind you. 

“Hey Y/N–”

“Jesus!” you swore, dropping the glass of water all over Clark’s already wet shirt. You both stared at each other. You were easily startled, as evidenced by the fact your water was now on Clark. He tried to squeeze out some of the water, but all it did was reveal his defined abdomen. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I’m so sorry, I get surprised easily,” you apologized, grounding yourself back in reality. Clark just smiled at you, giving up. 

“You’re okay, I shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”

“You didn’t sneak up on me.” I scratched the back of my neck. “I’m just not observant.” 

Clark gave you an easy smile as if it really wasn’t an inconvenience. You suppose it wasn’t, considering the heat, but you felt bad. You also felt incredibly turned on, which you were electing to ignore by reciting dull facts in your head. You snap out of it long enough to offer a solution. 

“I have an extra shirt in my car if you want it; it’s a men’s XL.” You gestured outside, raising a brow. 

“That’d be great, thanks,” Clark grinned. You loved his grin because it was toothy and innocent for a boy who, from the outside, looked like a man. You spun on your heel quickly to head outside, actually groaning when the suffocating heat hit your skin. Clark just chuckled behind you. 

“Don’t laugh! It’s awful out here, and I hate it,” you mumbled, crossing your arms. Clark walked up beside you. 

“It’s a sauna.”

“A sauna is a field day compared to this Hell,” you cursed. Clark just shook his head at you as you walked to your car. It wasn’t parked far away, thank God, and you grabbed the extra shirt quickly and tossed it at him. He started peeling off his shirt right on the sidewalk, and you promptly covered your eyes. You could hear him laughing. “Public indecency, much?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been staring,” Clark replied, and your cheeks heated, not from the temperature. You finally uncovered your eyes to see he’d changed, your shirt actually fitting him normally where it was baggy on you. You huffed.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” you hummed, poking his chest. He grabbed your wrist, thumb brushing over your pulse. Your breath hitched. 

“It’s easy to tease you,” he smirked. You playfully hit his chest with your other hand. 

“When did you get cocky?” you raised a brow, shaking your head slightly. Clark shrugged, letting your wrist go. 

“Not cocky, you just…make me feel confident.” He said it like it made perfect sense, even though you felt like you were trying to keep up. You had no idea how anything you did could make him confident. Sometimes, just when you thought you understood him, you were proven wrong. You coughed, looking away from his gaze. 

“I’m going back to the A/C,” you started, maneuvering past him. 

“Oh, wait!” Clark exclaimed, grabbing your bicep as you tried to pass. He immediately let go of it, blushing. “I actually did have something to ask you.”

“Okay?” you crossed your arms.

“I’m struggling on this assignment from Ms. Lewis, and I was wondering if you could help me.” Clark looked down nervously. “You’re the only one I know who does well in her class.”

“I can help,” you smiled. “I…can come over later? If you want.”

Clark beamed like you’d given him an award. 

“Sounds good. 6pm work?”

“Yep,” you gave him a quick smile. You both returned to the Talon, you actually skipping in once the cold air hit you. Who knew heat could make you so ridiculous?

You stayed there with Lana there for a while, Clark heading home at some point to help his parents out before dinner. By the time you left, the sky was only slowly making its way down in the sky. It’d be several more hours of sweltering heat before the cold air set in. You drove to the Kent’s, the windows rolled down and the A/C blasting the whole time. You had on your favorite music, and it was the most at ease you felt all day. By the time you pulled up at their farm, the sun had gone down some more, and the heat was slowly easing up. Not a lot, though; it wouldn’t become bearable for a while. 

You made your way over to the barn, climbing the steps to where you knew Clark would be. He was fiddling around his telescope when you got up there, and he deliberately made your footsteps creak so he knew you were there. 

“Whatcha doing?” you asked, making your way up the last steps and walking over to him. 

“Just…some adjustments,” he mumbled, finishing and wiping his hands up. He stood up to his full height and gave you a smile. Your heart skipped a beat, and you brushed it off. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you shrugged, moving to sit down on his couch. You saw he had his papers out, and you glanced over it. Your eyes scanned the words before you took a pen and crossed things out. 

“What’re you doing?” he inquired, brows furrowed. 

“Correcting your grammar,” you replied. “For a journalist, I’d assumed you’d be better.” You gave him a teasing smile at that, which he just glared at. 

“You’re as bad as Lois,” Clark grumbled, which just made you laugh. 

“Do you have any water?” you asked, looking up amongst your corrections. Clark nodded, running away for a second and coming back quicker than humanly possible. You smiled in thanks, taking the cup and taking large gulps. You missed the way Clark’s gaze fixed on your throat and then your mouth as you wiped the drops away. “Thanks,” you murmured, gesturing to the cup. 

“I-I have your shirt as well.” Clark grabbed it from one of his desks, the shirt freshly clean and neatly folded. 

“You could’ve just kept it,” I said, giving him a glance. 

“It’s yours,” he replied, and that was that. 

You helped Clark with his essay for a while, only taking a few unsavory glances a couple times. You were quite proud of yourself for your ability to hold it together, even if he made it difficult. By the time you were finished, the sun had started to set. You glanced at the pink and purple rays out of the corner of your eye and got up off the couch to see it more fully. 

The barn had the perfect view of the sun, the horizon a dark splotch as it slowly disappeared behind it. It gave a golden hue to everything in Smallville, the clouds an array of pinks and purples. Out here in the farmland, it was peaceful. You took in the sunset with reverence. 

When it was finally starting to disappear, you turned and collided with Clark, who you hadn’t realized snuck up behind you. He reached out a hand to steady you, and you glanced up at him unexpectedly. He didn’t remove his hand from your arm, his touch a warm presence as you worked to settle your heart. His eyes scanned over your face as if looking for something, and you had no idea what it could be. His free hand went up to your cheek, not really cupping it, his thumb lightly tracing your cheekbone. You shivered for the first time that day. 

He stepped in closer, and your heart became a steadily beating drum. His other hand left your arm to touch your neck, brushing over the hair that had come out of your ponytail.

“Clark,” you murmured. “Are you sure?” You weren’t entirely sure of what you were asking. Still, you felt uneasy letting the moment continue without speaking up and acknowledging that this was a choice, not an instinct. 

Clark gave a small smile. “I’m sure,” he muttered before he pressed your lips to yours. 

It was soft and gentle, with barely any pressure at all. Almost a test to see if you’d run away. But you’d run away, not from this. So, you pressed back into him, deepening the kiss. You let out a gasp as his hands dropped from your face to your waist, encircling you as he tugged you closer. You were on your toes to reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. His kiss was a smoldering fire; it didn’t burn you alive but rather warmed you from your head to your toes. His hands were gentle, never touching you in salacious ways but rather holding you. Like he was preparing for you to change your mind. 

You parted with a gasp, struggling to catch your breath. Clark pressed a kiss to your jaw and then the spot on your neck where your pulse was the loudest. You shuddered. He pulled away, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes as he awaited your response. 

“You’re– this–” you breathed, words failing you. You ended up laughing instead, which seemed to relax Clark. He chuckled alongside you. “You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” you settled on saying, brows furrowed as you looked down. Clark barked a laugh. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy.” He cupped your cheek, tilting your head up. “I mean, look at you.”

“Look at me?” you raised a brow. “I’m not doing anything, Mr. “Oh-I-spilled-water-on-myself-and-now-everyone-can-see-my-abs.”

Clark laughed right as his father yelled from the barn’s entrance that dinner was ready. You looked at him with alarm, even as he seemed perfectly calm. 

“I can’t go to dinner with your parents looking like this,” you hissed. Clark just looked at you with amusement. 

“Looking like what?”

“Hot and bothered,” you responded. Clark chuckled because, of course, he was finding this situation so amusing. You swatted his arm, which didn’t help his laughs. 

“Hot and bothered was the intention.”

“I will smack you again.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

You hit him one more time, his laughter echoing through the ramparts. 

[softaestluv]

Sticky When Wet

Three times Ghost swore he hated honey with his tea and one time he admitted he couldn’t live without it.

Alpha! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Omega! Reader

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega stereotypical behavior, Scenting, Angst, Miscommunications, Denial, Simon is bad at feelings, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Size difference, Eventual smut

CW: This chapter does contain a little bit of non consensual touching of the face & harassment. However, Ghost is not the one doing it.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2 of 4, Pt. 3, Pt. 4 | masterlist | ao3

It’s not that you needed someone to look after you, truthfully. You weren’t some weak omega who needed an alpha’s protection— Ghost’s protection.

Ghost just so happened to find himself in these situations; he didn’t want an omega to protect.

Maybe he was lying. Maybe.

However, he couldn’t sit and do nothing about it; his alpha wouldn’t let him, not when it involved you. He could only stand there and listen to a group of trainees rave about you, your honey scent, for so long. They were supposed to be training, but all they seemed to focus on was your lithe frame across the gym and your tempting movements.

Ghost didn’t even know why you were here. Why you chose to work out at this specific time for everyone to see. You didn’t need to work out. You worked in the cafeteria on base; it’s not like you were about to be deployed. Not like Ghost would even allow that to happen if it were possible.

You didn’t need muscle; he was all the strength you would ever need, enough for the both of you. You could remain soft and squishy, plump in all the right places. Just like an omega should be, supple flesh, bulging curves for him to hold, squeeze, use as leverage.

Yet there you were, across the gym during training, for all the recruits to see for some reason. It’s like you fucking wanted them to ogle at you. Ogle at the pretty omega working out in an outfit that seemed too small to be proper clothing. Shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass, rising every so often to reveal a sliver of plump skin during certain movements. Fitted shirt that cinched in the front, deep neckline jutting the fat of your breasts out.

Simon didn’t even want to acknowledge the rest. He didn’t care about it, really. Didn’t care that the plump flesh of your thighs jiggled with each new exercise or how your breasts bounced softly, tauntingly.

He didn’t notice any of it.

Didn’t notice the sweat cascading down your precious skin or how it collected in your collarbones, cleavage, or upper lip. Covering your body in a glistening sheen. Ghost didn’t see any of that; he didn’t even care enough to spare you a glance.

Why would he? He could fucking smell your stench miles away, even through the other alpha's strong scents.

The tones of sage honey and sweet tangerine remained, but now a natural musk joined. An overwhelming scent of sweat and exhaustion intermingled with your sweetness. Ghost supposed you would smell that exact way during sex, though it lacked the arousal that would seep from your scent glands. Tainting the saccharine smell raw and tempting.

He didn’t know what the big deal was. Why all the other men couldn’t keep their urges in their pants to save their lives. No one else complained about your pungent aroma; instead, they seemed to do the complete opposite. Foaming at the mouth like they’ve never smelt omega before. Like your scent was divinity on earth.

The perverted men almost disgusted him more than your scent. Enraged him when they talked about you like you were their dessert.

“Jesus, training ain’t so bad when you get a pretty little show like that, huh?” A recruit laughed, gesturing to your form on the yoga mat.

“You got that right. Practically wearing nothing too,” The second alpha added, smirking wolfishly in response.

The first recruit clapped the other on the back, pulling him closer to mumble to him as if Ghost still couldn’t hear the deceitful words he wanted to share, “Like she wants us to watch her. Especially with that honey fucking scent, begging for our attention.”

“Watch her? She’s probably close to her heat. She's desperate for one of us to fuck her,” the other chuckled.

Ghost's skin was already burning, scalding his bones, but those words, even the thought of another man taking you during your heat had him seeing red. Your heat of all times to take you. When you were so desperate you’d take any alpha that was willing. Regardless of their ulterior motives, regardless if they wouldn’t take care of you the way Ghost would.

You wouldn’t be able to think straight during your heat, just searching for a mate who could knot you, and the fact that the other alphas even thought of taking advantage of your vulnerable state made him seethe with rage.

Besides, Ghost is the only alpha that could take care of you the way you need.

Not like he wanted to help you through your heat.

But at least he would honor your boundaries; your limits. Give you what you craved the way you wanted, not the way he did. Make your throbbing pain go away with his thick knot, keep you nice and satisfied on his cock.

Not like he wanted that.

He was appalled by the thought of your honey scent. Disgusted by the thought of your honeyed slick coating his knot, drenching him sticky, squeezing him tightly.

“Little petite thing too; she’d be easy to make obey.”

God.

Simon was sure there wasn’t a god, but just hearing those words had him hoping there was a higher being to control his actions. Unfortunately, the trainee was right. You were petite. Small structure, lithe frame, dainty little figure. Easily overpowered by every alpha in this room, by Ghost. Tiny little thing in comparison to his massive body. Which is why you do need an alpha’s protection, especially from these men.

You would obey. Though not because you wanted to but because your instincts had no choice but to submit to an alpha’s voice. Simon wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t use his alpha voice with you; wouldn’t even let his scent seep into the room. Intense training had taught him how to control his scent; he would keep the room as sterol as possible keep his dominating scent to a minimum so that your decision was ultimately made by you and not instincts or hormones.

One of the men walked to you, bending over your lying frame on the yoga mat. His dark shadow loomed over your body as you looked up in shock, sliding your headphones off. Simon couldn’t tell what the other man was saying from here, but his jaw ticked in irritation watching you chuckle lightly at whatever he said, sitting up from your lying position.

The man reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he iterated smug words to you. Ghost’s alpha snarled loudly in his chest, plotting the other man’s death for even putting his fingers on your pure skin. Tainting your purity. Your scent instantly soured, natural musk turning into apprehension and fright.

Ghost's feet were moving before he even realized, alpha urging him to do something to eliminate the threat to the omega. His hand gravitated to your chin, tilting your head to look up at him. The nervous energy seeped off you, your irises drowning in anxiety as you flickered your eyes at him.

“Hmm?” The alpha hummed, “A dainty omega like you should have an alpha to fuck you through your heat, no?”

You gulped thickly, “N-Not gonna go into heat anytime soon. I’m on suppressants.”

That sentence had Ghost swallowing just as loudly. If this is how strong your scent radiated off you on suppressants, he couldn’t even imagine how strong you would smell off of them. Honeyed scent already ruined his black tea, ruined his food. Made his head throb in irritation and disgust from how overwhelming your sickly sweet scent filled the mess hall. He was sure his head would pulse erratically, probably explode in frustration, if he ever smelt your raw, unfiltered scent. Nauseate him to the core with how sweet you would smell, rot his teeth from one breath.

“What a shame,” He continued, “Though, doesn’t mean you still don’t need an ache met.”

“I’m not looking for that right now,” You mumbled weakly, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his domineering gaze.

“No? Why not? I could give you what you want,” The sergeant continued despite your obvious apprehensions.

“Sergeant.”

The man's eyes snapped up to Ghost’s, raising his eyebrows at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ghost snarled, practically yelling in anger, rage purposely seeping through his scent glands to ward off the other alpha.

“Just talking to this little bird is all,” He responded, smirking proudly as he rubbed his thumb over your chin.

A motion that had you flinching away slightly. A motion that had his alpha growling loudly in warning, balling his fists. A growl that had the other man halting his movements.

“Do I need to take this up with Captain Price? Or would you rather I address this issue myself?” Ghost gritted through his teeth, holding in the urge to solve the problem by ridding him of this Earth himself.

“No, s-sir. You don’t have to tell captain,” The other man stuttered, confident tone disappearing as Ghost stood over him, skull balaclava casting shadows on his face.

“No? Then get the fuck out of here before I use you as an example during sparring.”

The sergeant nodded swiftly, running off just as all the other men had when they met Ghost’s wrath. You shifted from foot to foot, wearily looking up at him.

“Why do you let them do that?”

“Not to sound rude, sir, but I’m not letting them harass me. They just do it. Can’t really fight back against an alpha. I mean,” you chuckled lightly, hands gesturing down your body, “Not really built for that.”

Simon clenched his fists tightly, focusing on your doe eyes so his irises wouldn’t follow your movements, trace every curve on your body. He knew you weren’t built for that. God, did he know. But your dainty frame was definitely built for other things.

“Maybe if you didn’t parade your scent around they wouldn’t approach you so often.”

Your brows furrowed, just as they did in the cafeteria, confusion blooming on your face once again, “Sir, I am doing no such thing. I’m on suppressants.”

Ghost sighed, eyes twitching in irritation, “Next time, come get me. I’ll deal with them.”

Your face flushed a pretty pink, swiping your tongue across your lips, “You don’t have to-“

“Come get me.”

His gaze pinned you to the spot; end of your sentence evaporated from your lips as he interrupted you, nodding your head in agreement.

“Thank you for always looking out for me.”

Ghost grunted in acknowledgment, turning around to walk away, but you grabbed his sleeve before he could, stopping his movements. He looked down, your lip pinched between your teeth as you avoided his gaze.

“Um, is there a certain way you like your tea?” You asked, tiny hand awkwardly falling from his arm.

“What? Why does that matter?”

“Well, I always see you drink it in the mess hall, but if you want anything added I could always mix it in for you. Like milk.”

You paused, eyes shifting to find his.

“Or honey.”

Ghost almost grimaced as you said the word. Voice dripping in the same sugary warmth of your scent.

“Your scent already sweetens it enough as it is.”

The pink on your cheeks bloomed red, spreading to the tips of your ears at his words.

“I’ll try my best not to anymore, sir.”

And if the next day the mess hall smelt sterile, void of all sage honey and sweet tangerine, Ghost didn’t care.

If you served him a tray with scent blockers covering your scent glands, he didn’t feel guilty.

If he drank his black tea, it didn’t taste stale, didn’t lack any sweetness he craved. He was grateful even; he could finally drink his tea plain, just how it always should’ve been.

If he just so happened to leave his cup of tea untouched that day, it was simply because he wasn’t thirsty. Not because it burned his tongue bitterly.

Tag List: @terrifiedanimegirl @night-girl-301 @identity2212

[archangeldyke-all]

giggling so bad imagining R shaving her bush and sevika being like oh my god do u hate me?!?! what did I do?!?! how can I make it up to u I'm sorry pleeeeeease never do this again we can talk it out next time please 😭😭

LMAOOO

men and minors dni

last month, your period crept up on you, and you woke up half convinced you'd been stabbed in your sleep.

you and sevika didn't even try to salvage the sheets, just throwing them in the trash before re-making the bed. your pajamas were ruined, and, grossest of all, your crotch was a sticky, bloody mess.

so, this month to avoid any more incidents, you've been sleeping on a towel in anticipation, wearing a pad to bed just in case, and... you've shaved.

you haven't shaved in years. you and sevika are both bush enjoyers, and neither of you have ever felt the need to take a razor to your pits or legs since you started dating. finding a razor to use is almost impossible, but you manage to find one buried in the far back of your bathroom closet.

you feel so... cold. and smooth. you're hyper-aware of the feeling of your underwear rubbing on your skin. it's strange. not unpleasant, but strange. with one last look down your pants at your hair-less pussy, you shrug and crawl into bed.

you think that's the end of it.

you go to sleep easily, waking up about an hour later when sevika crawls in bed behind you. she kisses you gently and you hum, wrapping your arms around her before you both fall asleep.

in the morning, though, you wake up to a horrified gasp.

"what!? what is it, is someone breaking in?" you ask, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. as you pull your hands away, though, you don't find sevika sitting beside you where she should be. she's hovering on top of you on all fours, a horrified look on her face. "sevika, what?!" you ask, your heart pounding in your chest.

"you shaved?!" sevika cries. you blink, your mind still half asleep, before finally looking down at your crotch.

you burst into laughter as you do. sevika's pulled your pants down your thighs in your sleep, clearly trying to give you a nice wake up call, and she's just now seeing your bare cunt. "sevika, for fuck's sake, i thought something horrible happened!" you laugh.

"something horrible has happened! why the fuck did you shave!?" sevika asks, her eyes wide and heartbroken. "d-did i piss you off, or something? whatever it is, baby, i promise i'll make it up to yo--"

"sevika!" you cackle. sevika pouts as she looks up from your pussy to your face. "baby, i shaved because my period's on the way and i didn't wanna deal with the mess again."

sevika's looking at you like you've lost your mind. "wha-- fuck that!" she whines. you chuckle. "what the fuck am i supposed to do when i'm goin' down on you now? my nose is gonna get all cold, i won't have anything to run my fingers through..." sevika looks seriously upset. you giggle just a little at the absurdity of the situation, then reach up to cup her face.

"it'll grow back, baby." you promise. sevika frowns.

"but then you'll just shave it off again!"

"no, i won't babe." you say. "not if you feel this strongly about it. plus, it's a lotta work-- i was scared to death i was gonna cut one of my lips off or something."

sevika chuckles. "thank you." she sighs, kissing your lips. you grin.

"thank you. y'know, most people have to deal with the opposite-- their partners forcin' them to shave before any intimacy at all... i'm glad you prefer the option that requires the least amount of work possible for me."

sevika giggles and kisses you. "i am pretty amazing, aren't i?" she asks. you nod.

"the fuckin' best." you agree.

taglist!

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@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

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[restinslices]

Can we take our beautiful boy Smoke's virginity? 🙌🏾

I was thinking of a drabble but you can write this however you find easier ;)

If Tomas has no fans, then I'm dead. No gender is specified and reader is a softie because it's what everyone in this situation deserves. Also POV jumps from his to the readers. This was supposed to be a drabble but then I kept typing :D

Tomas was considered behind when it came to certain life experiences. It wasn't something he was necessarily ashamed of, but it was something he knew was true. His type of life didn't allow him to worry about certain things.

Dating was one of them. He knew that teenagers and young adults were supposed to date and experiment, but he never did. Never dated anyone, never held hands, kissed someone, went beyond that.

That didn't mean he had no desire to.

"Are you sure?" You asked softly, eyes observing his reaction to everything. "We can stop. I won't be upset or anything". The truth was that you wanted him badly, always had and always would. You would've certainly lost track if you had to count the amount of times you daydreamed about having him all to yourself, lips on yours, hips moving in a steady rhythm. But a relationship and sex wasn't a one way street. You wouldn't pressure him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with, even if you would be old and wrinkly by the time he wanted to be inside of you.

Tomas on the other hand felt a sense of nervousness he had never felt before. As bad as it sounds, killing someone was easy. He did it without thinking. Now though, you were depending on him for pleasure. "I'm gonna be incredibly bad at this... " he mumbled.

"That's alright" you said in the same soft tone, hand wrapping around his, which was wrapped around his cock. "Everyone's first time is weird. You'll get better over time. I'll help you".

Your other hand cupped his face, your thumb tracing his cheekbone when you noticed him leaning into your touch. "You can say no whenever and we'll stop. I promise"

"I want this". Nerves and all, he wanted this. Your hand stayed on his, guiding him closer and closer to your entrance, his nerves becoming stronger.

And then his nerves stopped, replaced by something far stronger; pleasure. He felt a chill go down his spine, and he only had the tip in. How long was he expected to last when you felt this good?

He felt equally good to you. Sure, you had been with other men before, but they were smaller. Everything about Tomas was bigger - his dick, his arms, his pecs, his height, everything about him made him better than any man you ever met.

You continued guiding him, making him stretch you around his cock slowly until eventually you could feel his balls pressed against you. And although you wanted him to pound inside of you right then and there, you forced yourself to remain patient. Tonight wasn't just about you. It was about him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer to you, taking in how pretty he looked with his lips parted and deep breathes coming in and out of him.

"Wow" was all he could muster when he finally spoke.

"Good wow or bad wow?

"Definitely good- wait. How long am I supposed to last?

"Uhh" how long? Um, long enough? You didn't know if there was an average time, but you knew the chances were low that he'd make it. "Don't worry about lasting long. It's your first time, okay? You'll last however long you last"

He nodded before his lips found yours, muffling both of your gasps as he pulled out, then pushed himself back in. "Was that okay?

"Perfect. Keep doing that" your legs wrapped around him, keeping him close as he began to find his rhythm.

Tomas couldn't understand why he hadn't done this with you before. Well, he understood that he simply wasn't ready before now, but the way you gripped him made him forget all about those previous worries. You were perfect. Stretching you open was almost too easy, but now that he was inside you, your hole held him tightly, letting him feel every bit of you. Every bit of your insides that were made for him.

He didn't know how fucked out he looked. That's what added to your pleasure besides the obvious. He had bit down on his lip to stifle his moans at first, but after some time he just couldn't keep quiet. If he wasn't kissing you, whines were falling out his mouth. Here he was, an assassin with arms bigger than your hands and a heavy cock in between his legs, whining because of how good you felt.

It wasn't one sided. He felt perfect to you aswell. His thick cock stretched you open, his veins rubbing against your insides. You hardly needed to instruct him. His tip always managed to be exactly where you needed it to be.

"I'm-" his sentence was cut off by a choked groan, his eyes squeezing shut as he shot his load inside of you.

You placed soft kisses on his cheeks, soothing him as he came down from his orgasm. "You did really good" you praised in between kisses.

His head fell to the crook of your neck, your fingernails gliding along his scalp and you unwrapping your legs around him. "You didn't cum" you heard him mumble against your neck. Well, you both had known he wouldn't last long

"No big deal. Tonight wasn't about me, it was about you. Did you like it?

"You have to ask?

You chucked, "I just enjoy clear communication"

"Then yes, I liked it". He lifted his head up enough to give you a kiss on the cheek, "should I feel this tired after?

You nodded, then tried to push him off only to feel him swat your hands away. "Wanna fuck you again, just need to breathe. Stay"

Who were you to turn your pretty boy down?

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Residual Effects

Spencer Reid x fem!reader x platonic!James Wilson

wc: 5.8k

note: I came up with this as a second part to Differential Diagnosis, but you can read it as a standalone if you prefer. I hope you like it; I tried to humanize both men as much as possible. In other words, they make mistakes and are foolish, but they're still good guys.

Solving cases almost always left the team with an emotional burden that was difficult to recover from. That's why most took the opportunity to return home, rest, or relax as much as possible before being called upon again. However, this situation had turned out quite well: just a few victims and an unsub who wasn't truly dangerous—just a confused, somewhat unstable man, but not exactly deadly. Plus, it was local, which meant no wasted hours on the jet or the annoying process of packing and unpacking.

That meant good humor. And good humor always manifested itself in the desire to go for a few drinks.

“I’ve got them”

“You spoil us too much, Rossi,” Penelope commented with a cheerful laugh. No one, not even her, balked at the suggestion. Although, in reality, you hadn't decided where to go either.

You and Reid had been left behind, walking out of the building more slowly. He had that slightly hunched posture, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. You too, hands in the pockets of your leather jacket, trying to ignore the slight tingling of tiredness in your back.

“Will you go?”

“Maybe. I'm kind of tired. I'd just go get a soda or something. Are you going?”

“Yeah... I mean, if you go,” he said, and finally looked at you, half smiling, “Then I’ll go.”

Ever since that case in New Jersey, almost a month ago, Spencer had been behaving differently toward you. Not weird or hostile, but definitely not the same. Sometimes he was quieter, shyer, as if he didn't know where to put his hands when talking to you. Other times, he looked for any excuse to be close, to comment on something, to stay a little longer. Just like now. As if being by your side was his priority, even if it meant fighting his social awkwardness.

You were about to say something, maybe a joke about how everyone needed to relax a little, when your phone started ringing. You had to fumble your hands out of your pockets and search for your phone, which seemed to be caught between the fabric and the lining.

Even though you moved quickly, it wasn't fast enough. Spencer managed to read the name that appeared on the screen. His expression changed almost imperceptibly: his jaw slightly tense, his eyebrows a little lower.

"Hello?"

“Is this a bad time to call?” a warm, familiar voice asked.

Hearing it, a smile spread across your face, almost reflexively.

“No! I'm just getting off work. We finished a case, and I was about to go out with my colleagues for a drink. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just... I’m around.”

That simple phrase brought you to a complete stop. So did Spencer. You turned slightly to stand back from the group and hear him better.

“What? What do you mean you’re around? In Quantico?”

“DC, actually. There was an oncology conference today at the convention center. As the head of department, I had to attend. It wasn't anything spectacular, but I'll stay until tomorrow. And… I don't know, I was thinking about you.”

His voice sounded honest, a little unsure.

“I thought if you had time, we could have dinner. I know a really nice Italian restaurant a few blocks from where I'm staying. But if you already have plans, I don't want to interrupt anything.”

Your heart beat a little faster, though you weren't sure why. Maybe because of the surprise, or because of the way he said it. It wasn't just an invitation. He'd been thinking about you.

“You’re not interrupting. Seriously. We were just going somewhere. Nothing planned. If you’re here... I’d love to have dinner with you.”

In the background, you heard Emily playfully call your name. It was clear there were several curious ears.

"I'm at the Hilton, right across from the convention center. Do you want to meet me at the restaurant? Call a taxi, I'll pay for it."

“Oh, no need, I brought my car today. Is 40 minutes okay for you?”

“Perfect. I’ll take a shower and wait for you there.”

"That sounds great to me"

“I’m glad you said yes,” he added, more quietly. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

There was no way to hide your smile anymore, and you didn't try either.

“See you in a bit”

“I’ll be waiting for you. Drive carefully.”

You murmured a goodbye and then hung up. Emily and Morgan, like vultures circling emotional drama, immediately approached.

“And that happy face?”

“A friend invited me to dinner,” you replied without thinking much.

“A friend?” Morgan repeated, raising his eyebrows. “One who makes you smile like that on the phone?”

“He’s just a friend,” you insisted, even though you knew it wouldn’t convince them.

“It’s a he!”

By this point, the rest of the team was speaking more quietly to catch some of the conversation.

“What do you call this ‘just a friend’?” Emily asked with a mischievous smile.

“James Wilson”

Morgan burst out laughing.

“Is he handsome? Smart? Tall?”

“He’s a doctor. We met a few years ago.”

“He better be a cardiologist… because someone here is going to need help,” Emily joked.

While they laughed, Spencer remained silent. He didn't look at anyone, just at the floor.

“Aren’t you coming then?” he asked suddenly, without looking at you.

“I’m sorry, Spencer. I said yes.”

His posture made you feel like you owed him an explanation. He nodded once, briefly, almost as if he had trouble keeping his teeth from clenching.

“Okay. Have fun.”

“Is something wrong?” you asked softly.

“No. I just... thought we'd all go together. But it's okay.”

Emily and Morgan exchanged a look. Morgan, as always, was the first to break the awkward silence.

"Boy, if you want, we can invite the doctor too. Maybe you'll even become friends, you know, nerd to nerd."

“Very funny,” Reid muttered, walking toward the street without waiting for the others to follow.

This kind of behavior was unusual for him, and it made you wonder what was causing it. Your friends thought of a probable cause, but they didn't want to mention it. It was better for romantic matters to be resolved between those directly involved and not through mediation like theirs.

The other curious people had already realized that you wouldn't be accompanying them, because as soon as you got a little closer, they all crowded around you.

“I would love to go with you, but…”

“Say no more. We understand.”

“Should we expect a ring soon?”

“Come on, Garcia,” you laughed at how reckless the comment seemed compared to JJ’s. “He’s just a friend I haven’t seen in years. There’s no mystery to solve.”

You said goodbye to everyone with a hug, except for Spencer, who offered you only a wave. Distant and simple. But that's how he was when it came to contact, so you respected him and tried to take it in the best possible way.

“Have fun, drink responsibly, and don’t do anything you might regret tomorrow.”

“Or in nine months”

Emily winked at you, and the rest of them burst out laughing. Sometimes—most of the time—they were a total nightmare.

At the chorus of jeers, you just shook your head and started walking in the opposite direction. A smile still floated on your lips, but also that stabbing feeling in your chest that you couldn't understand where it was coming from. You're supposed to be excited about the invitation, right?

The drive was surprisingly short, and by the time you parked, you were a nervous wreck. You tried to fix your makeup as much as possible and were thankful there were no chases or anything that would make you sweat until you were smelly. Your hair didn't look too bad either, and you'd picked a nice outfit, thank God.

Then you looked at the bright sign on the building: RPM Italian. Wilson had texted you the address, and honestly, the place hadn’t disappointed at all.

It wasn't hard to find him once you were inside, after all he was the only man sitting, alone, at a table for two.

And it was impossible not to notice.

He wore a light blue shirt, impeccably buttoned to the neck, and a dark-striped tie that gave him a classic, almost collegiate look. The black jacket accentuated his straight shoulders, and the contrast with the restaurant's warm lighting brought out the softness of his skin and the subtle shine of his brown hair, combed to one side but with a few unruly strands falling over his forehead.

He had that kind of presence that made everything around him seem more contained, more intimate. Effortlessly elegant.

And just as you saw him, he saw you too. He looked up as if he'd been waiting for you all along. His smile—quiet, gentle, all his own—littered his face as soon as he recognized you. And that smile—the one you tried to hide—inevitably appeared on yours too.

"Hello"

“Hi,” you replied, moving closer as his gaze scanned your face with an expression as serene as it was genuine.

His cologne filled your nostrils: sophisticated, with notes of wood and something citrusy you couldn't quite identify, but it made you close your eyes for a second. It was a clean, masculine scent, as if his mere presence gave you a feeling of calm. As if it were his natural scent and not that of a fragrance perfectly chosen for him.

He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look beautiful,” he said naturally, as if it were a fact, not a compliment.

Then, with a subtle gesture, he pulled your chair out for you.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. Even without traffic, the streets are a mess."

“Okay, my invitation was too hasty. I didn't even know if you were busy.”

“Today was a good day, cases don’t always turn out so well,” you began, watching him sit down in front of you.

He asked you to go deeper into the day's events, and you happily shared them with him. A bottle of wine was perfect for accompanying the conversation and, in the process, lifting both of your spirits.

Wilson told you about the conference, how everything had gone, the activities, the hustle and bustle of the day, and a little bit about what had been happening in his life over the past month. The past few years, actually, since the conversation you'd had while in New Jersey lasted only a minute. Although it was logical, after all, you couldn't gossip with him in the middle of such a delicate situation.

Now the night was yours.

“It’s so weird seeing you after so many years, you know?”

You frowned at his confession, not quite sure how to interpret it, and at the same time you smiled at him.

“Is it something bad or…?”

“No! Of course not. I mean, I didn’t think I’d see you again. I figured you’d be like most of the interns we have at the hospital, but when I saw you in House’s office that day, it was like… I don’t know, like I’d gone back in time or something.”

“It was a good time, wasn’t it? My twenties crisis seems like a breeze next to what it's like around thirty,” you murmured, making him laugh. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

"Really?"

“Yes. And I mean that as a compliment, for the record. I mean, you always seemed so… so human. Kind-hearted, gentle, funny. I always wondered what made you House’s friend.”

“He’s not that bad,” he defended him. “He just needs a little help sometimes. And patience most of the time. Deep down, he’s a good man, he tries hard to save patients.”

“I see you and I feel that every time you find a mess you think 'I can fix it,' and I honestly don't know if it's an act of selfless love for the world or some kind of self-imposed moral burden.”

“Are you saying I should stop being friends with House?”

“I’m saying you’re a complex personality. Very bright, polite, and kind, but at the same time, it’s as if something compels you to collect outcasts from around the world to try to rehabilitate them or something,” you smiled. “Forgive me if I took the liberty of assuming things about you. It’s part of… well, you know, my job.”

Wilson didn't seem offended. It was more like he was impressed by what you were telling him, perhaps too close to the truth.

“I can't imagine how complicated it is. The human mind is so… unpredictable. I rely on medical evidence, on tests, on the effectiveness of medications. But trying to understand the twists and turns of humanity—that's a challenge.”

“Sometimes it's enough to look a little deeper. You think you know something, but in reality you're looking at it from the wrong perspective or you're not seeing it objectively. It all depends on the person you are, who they are, their life story, their modus operandi. You have to look at things from the outside. It's like... when you eat something that seemed like the greatest delicacy in your childhood, but, as an adult, you realize it wasn't as good as your memories had led you to believe. Maybe I'm digressing, but…”

“No, I understand perfectly,” he finished. He looked at you with a certain admiration, though with those bright, tender brown eyes, it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just a natural reflex.

You were about to say something more about it when a hand placed on your shoulder made you jump. You doubted it was a waiter touching you so familiarly, and when you turned around, you found yourself staring into the face of your elegant Italian colleague.

“Rossi?”

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi. I want you to know we're not spying on you or anything.”

“What?” you squealed. He was speaking plural, what was it…? “No way.”

Your answer appeared a couple of tables over. They were all sitting at one of the tables, the whole team, laughing amongst themselves. Almost as if he felt your gaze, Spencer turned in your direction until he met your eyes; a second later, he focused on Wilson.

“It turns out we suddenly had a collective craving for Italian food, and since this is the best restaurant I know…” he shrugged, smiling, “What can I say? It’s just the coincidences of life.”

James watched with some interest and a touch of entertainment, as if he was enjoying the scene he was witnessing.

“Wilson, this is my… he’s my coworker, his name is David Rossi. Dave, this is Dr. James Wilson, one of the best oncologists in the country.”

“Just James,” he murmured, standing up to shake his hand. You could feel the BAU’s eyes on you. “It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine. How lovely to see our darling so happy.”

You were going to make sure you killed him one of these days. Or if not, at least make him suffer. Your mind immediately went to how much fun the others must be having seeing you blush, and suddenly, you thought you wanted to kill them too. Spencer was the only one who watched everything impassively, as if he didn't want to be there. But he never went places he didn't want to be, so what was happening to everyone?

“Well, I appreciate you coming, but I think it's best if you advise our friends on the dishes. After all, you come here often, don't you?”

“You’re right,” he smiled. “We’ll be there if you need anything.”

You practically shoved Rossi out of your way and tried desperately to ignore how tense the atmosphere had become, at least from your perspective. Wilson wasn't uncomfortable at all; he was even smiling slightly.

“So those are your colleagues?”

"I swear I didn't tell them where I was. They must have heard it on the call or…"

“Does it bother you?” he interrupted. When you looked at him, confused, he continued, “That they’re here, I mean. That they see you with me.”

“No! My God, of course not. What I'm trying to say is, I hope you're not uncomfortable with them being here or anything. They're a bunch of gossip and… I'm sorry.”

“Do they know you like me?”

While that was true, it didn't stop you from freezing completely. You never expected him to express it so shamelessly, so directly and casually. A nervous laugh soon emerged, almost touching disbelief.

"Sorry?"

“Oh, it’s just… I don’t know, I thought you told them about the little conversation when you went to the hospital. Or your friend, anyway.”

“For starters, Reid isn't a big mouth. Second, that's none of their business. And third, you just said I like you, and in any case, the correct tense would be past tense: I liked you. A mild crush that all college girls eventually have, nothing more.”

A chuckle escaped his lips and you dared to look at him.

“Does this amuse you?”

“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just… I don’t know, I thought it was really cute when I found out. I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of House, but I kept wondering how accurate his conclusions were.”

“House is reckless and an idiot”

“But most of the time he’s right,” he smiled, watching you closely. “Don’t feel bad.”

“I don't. That's in the past, Wilson. Besides, you are older than me.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you're married”

Suddenly, it was his turn to pale. He hadn't even mentioned his current wife, and the way his hand unconsciously went to his ring finger, searching for the non-existent jewel, gave you the confirmation you needed.

And yet, you felt like you'd just hit back. He didn't know for sure if you had ever been—or were ever—attracted to him, and you weren't sure a wife even existed. You were playing the same game, even though he didn't think you knew the rules.

Poor, naive Wilson.

“How… how did you know?”

"I made some guesses. You're not wearing your ring today, but you have a habit of going to that area with your thumb, as if you're used to playing with it. Just like you, a moment ago, I was just throwing a guess into the air."

He remained silent, observing you, as if your comment had activated a mirror he didn't know he needed. His expression didn't show annoyance, but rather a strange mix of vulnerability and respect. As if he felt exposed, yes... but not entirely uncomfortable about it.

Receiving no response, you continued:

“What I find curious is that you decided to forget it today. Maybe trying your luck? Are there a lot of pretty female oncologists at the conferences you attend?”

James didn't answer immediately. His hand slowly moved back from his ring finger, as if you'd caught him in the act. He cleared his throat, his smile barely visible.

“Things with my wife haven’t been going well for a while now…” he said, lowering his voice slightly, as if he knew any misspoken words could backfire on him “It wasn’t a planned gesture. Sometimes, when I’m feeling confused, I just… don’t wear it.”

“That sounds dangerously symbolic. Not wearing the ring, I mean. As if you're subconsciously permitting yourself to be a little less of a husband.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly “I promise.”

He understood the nature of your comment. And, honestly, he couldn't blame you. He'd be lying to himself if he said he hadn't contacted you as an attempt to escape the routine, to see if maybe you were what his life was missing.

But he wouldn't tell you, of course not.

“Can I say something without sounding nosy?”

Wilson nodded, looking at you with genuine interest.

“Maybe... and I say maybe because I don't have all the answers, okay? But... maybe you should think about whether you're there because you still love her or because you're afraid of being alone.”

He gave a short laugh, with no trace of mockery.

“Would you say that from your own experience?”

“I say this because loneliness often disguises itself very well as commitment. And because there's nothing more exhausting than trying to keep a dead relationship alive just to avoid the silence.”

Wilson seemed to process this more seriously than you'd anticipated. He looked at you as if you were much more complex than he'd initially believed. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly.

“You are quite perceptive.”

“I already told you, it’s my job.”

As you watched him speak, with that polished charm that had once seemed unattainable, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment.

For years you had idealized him, as if James Wilson were the perfect representation of the thoughtful, brilliant, and emotionally available man who was so scarce in the world. But now, standing before you, you no longer saw the idol you had once fantasized about from a distance, but a real man: one who made mistakes, who made selfish decisions, who could be emotionally irresponsible without even realizing it.

You were still attracted to him (because it wasn't easy to shake off the feeling), but now it was tinged with reality and maturity. You might like him, you might desire him, but you also knew that trying something with him would be like walking on glass: complicated, unstable, and probably painful.

The parallel with your previous analogy –the objective view of your favorite food– felt like a bitter omen.

A comfortable pause settled between you. The restaurant music, the murmurs, the drinks, everything seemed to continue, ignoring the conversation you'd just had. Until he spoke again.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

It wasn't a loaded question. There was no ulterior motive. But you still looked at him with some suspicion.

“Was that a flirtation attempt?”

“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly, his hands raised. “I just… wanted to know. That’s not why I came to you, I just wanted to see you. I thought it would be a good idea to invite you to dinner”

A relaxed smile suddenly appeared. You felt more comfortable now that you knew he wasn't trying to get into your pants, although, to be honest, a month ago you would have accepted the offer without a second thought.

“It’s okay. I'm glad to know I'm not a whim of your midlife crisis,” you admitted. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

You said it sarcastically, and he smiled. You reminded him a little—too much—of House, and he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. He was surprised to think that the passing of time had taken away that insecure little girl, whom he now saw in Cameron, and made way for a worthy apprentice of the doctor. Perhaps that was why you had argued so much during that visit; two such strong personalities didn't get along so easily.

Oblivious to the other person's thoughts, your gaze involuntarily returned to the other table. Something in your chest suddenly tightened.

Spencer.

He wasn't laughing. Not like the others. He was watching you.

His eyes met yours, and for a moment you couldn't read him. He looked confused, annoyed... or just plain hurt. But it was him, after all, so nothing was as simple as it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Wilson asked, following your gaze.

“Yeah,” you answered, looking away from Spencer as if that would make him less important.

He knew who you'd been eyeing. He also wondered if your answer about a relationship was only half-truthful. If you'd been hiding something or had subconsciously been searching for the object of your desire after answering the question.

“House was quite impressed with your friend. He said he was brilliant.” James poured himself a little more wine, not hiding his curious tone “Rare for him to praise anyone other than himself.”

“Reid is… peculiar”

“I read some of his publications. The guy is a genius,” he took a sip. “And he seems very serious. I wonder if he’s always like this or if he’s just trying to kill the man in front of you with his eyes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. You knew Spencer was good at keeping his emotions under wraps, but you also knew he had a way of letting them show when he wanted. That was one of them.

Wilson looked at him once more.

“I think I just made an enemy without knowing why.”

“You’re not his enemy,” you said, your voice calm. “He’s just not used to seeing me outside of certain scenarios.”

“Like on a date?”

“It’s not a date”

“But it might seem so”

“Now you’re implying that he likes me?”

“No,” he murmured, without a trace of lying “I’m just saying what I see. Just like you.”

The sudden setback he gave you, with your own arguments, made you laugh while you shook your head.

“You know, of all the things that could have happened, I didn’t expect our evening to go this way.”

“Nor me. But I'm glad it did.”

"Why?"

"Because sometimes it's good to talk things through. To avoid misunderstandings."

“To think that I'm still in love with you, for example?”

“Or assume I’m trying to cheat on my wife with you.”

Suddenly, the atmosphere felt like there was a certain complicity, you could even say a certain unresolved tension. As if you were saying those things, but deep down, you were thinking that if you had kissed at any moment, it would have felt natural.

In a sort of tacit agreement, the topic of conversation changed, and you continued eating dinner as normal. The wine glass in your hand was almost empty, but you did not attempt to refill it. He didn’t either.

You both paused in that strange, comfortable moment that occurs after a long conversation, one that seems to have lasted minutes and yet a lifetime. The murmur of the Italian restaurant was soft, discreet, just enough to envelop you in a bubble where no one else seemed to exist.

At some point, dessert arrived, and with that, the time to say goodbye. You hadn't realized your friends were no longer at the next table, which made you wonder how long ago they'd left.

“It was… nice to see you,” he finally said, that nostalgic smile forming in his eyes more than on his lips “I didn’t know how much I needed it until it happened.”

“Yes,” you replied barely, in a soft voice. “I didn’t know either.”

He looked at you more closely, and then he said it. No drama, no cheap insinuations. He just blurted it out, as if he were confessing it more to himself than to you:

“If one day circumstances were different… I don’t know, I’d like to see you again.”

And there it was. The phrase that left the air suspended between you. You could have done many things with it: laugh, say yes, shake your head, respond with something equally ambiguous. But you did nothing. You just looked at him. And he understood.

He paid the bill without much insistence, and you didn't argue, because you knew it was a way to close the moment; to make everything intact, without cracks. When you left the restaurant, the night air greeted you with a light breeze and the scent of distant rain.

You wanted to say something else, but whatever thought had crossed your mind was cut short by what you saw. Spencer, standing on the corner, hands in his pockets and the collar of his coat pulled up to his cheeks. He didn't seem rushed, but he did seem expectant. When he saw you, his frown softened slightly... until he noticed who was walking beside you.

“Dr. Reid! It’s so nice to see you again.”

The aforementioned greeted him with a nod, trying to be as rude as possible, and saying a soft hello.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“A taxi,” he muttered dryly.

The idea of giving him a ride immediately occurred to you, and as you looked at Wilson, it was as if he'd already read your mind. A soft smile told you he agreed.

“I can take you home.”

“Thanks, but I already called the taxi. It would be very rude to just leave.”

“That’s no problem,” the doctor chimed in. “I could have yours. I was thinking of taking one to get back to my hotel.”

Reid looked at you then, as if seeking confirmation that the option was really valid. Then he looked at Wilson, assessing without hiding it. The moment became intense, although no one said anything.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Either way, James was about to leave.”

“I was thinking of walking you to your car, don’t think I’m a savage,” he joked, and you laughed softly.

That brief, carefree laugh made both men look at you. For a moment, you were the exact center of two opposing universes.

You turned towards the elder.

“If you come back to town, please call me.”

“Same here. Even if you're not in Jersey and want to call me, I'm available.”

You leaned forward to say goodbye, with a hug, and he leaned his head down to kiss you. A simple, polite touch, with no ulterior motives… but not entirely innocent. Because Spencer saw it. Because Spencer felt it. And because you noticed it too.

“Sleep well. Good luck on your return flight.”

“Take care,” Wilson said, before saying goodbye with a last smile.

You gave Spencer a small nod and started walking toward the car. He followed you, but not before saying goodbye to Wilson with a formal handshake. You didn't want to pressure him. You decided to wait. You knew that if something needed to be said, it would come from him.

He walked in silence for several minutes, with his hands in his pockets and his steps slow.

“Did it go well?” he asked, without turning around completely. His tone was calm, but there was a barely perceptible tension in his words.

“Yeah. It was quite nice. I liked the food, the wine… the conversation was good.”

There was another pause.

“I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

You raised an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

“I don’t know if you had plans to go somewhere else afterward.”

You paused before looking at him again. You were almost back at the car.

“We just wanted to have dinner. Sleeping with married men isn't my style.”

Spencer turned his head, now yes, to look at you fully.

“Is he married?”

“As I feared,” you said, with a dry smile.

Your friend didn't know how to interpret that and looked down for a moment. The cold ran through you, chilling you to the bone, and you wondered if you could ask him for his coat to warm you up a little. But that would have been cruel.

“And if he wasn’t?” he then asked, without embellishment, “Would you have something with him?”

The question took you a little by surprise. Not because you weren't expecting it... but because the way he said it was too direct, even for him.

You sighed, letting the warm air escape through your lips.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered. “He’s kind, very handsome, and I like him, but… today I realized there are things about him, emotional things, that I don’t know if I could deal with. He’s full of voids that I don’t know if I want to fill.”

Spencer didn't say anything for a second. He just looked at you, as if trying to read what was behind your words. As if it hurt him that you weren't sure, but also as if he was relieved to hear that you weren't entirely convinced.

When you got to the car, you leaned against the door for a moment, searching for your keys. Spencer stood by your side, his hands still in his pockets, as if the weight of his coat could keep him firmly on the ground. The night was still warm, but you couldn't tell if the trembling in your hands was due to the weather or everything you'd said to each other. And everything you hadn't.

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No, Reid, it’s okay. I know you hate doing it.”

Your thoughtfulness made him smile, and he climbed into the passenger seat. You were grateful that it was warmer inside, something that would improve once the air-conditioning was on.

The man snuggled into the seat, staring out the window at the streets, and then you sat for a while enjoying the comfortable silence in the car. The only thing that remained was the murmur of the radio, which had just changed songs. A guitar filtered through the speakers, followed by a slightly nasal voice.

I met her in a club down in old Soho…

Spencer blinked, then tilted his head slightly, as if recognizing an old acquaintance. And when the song reached the chorus, he smiled.

“Did you know this song was banned on some radio stations for mentioning a soda brand?” he said suddenly, without you asking.

You barely turned your face towards him, without taking your eyes off the road.

"Huh?"

“Coca-Cola,” he explained, with that half-smile that appears when he’s about to share a piece of trivia that probably no one asked for but that he finds fascinating. “In the original version it says: 'Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Coca-Cola' But the BBC didn’t allow explicit commercial references, so The Kinks had to go back to the studio to re-record it saying 'cherry cola' just so it could be played on the radio.”

“Are you kidding?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. And it wasn't even because of the song's content. Which, if you think about it, is a lot more scandalous.”

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world…

He raised an eyebrow, as if the song had just proven its point for him.

“It was written in 1970. A song about a relationship with a trans person or drag queen, amid the Conservative era. Ray Davies wrote it after his manager realized, too late, that Lola wasn't the woman she seemed. The fascinating thing is that the song never pokes fun at the subject. It's more… tender. Confusing, yes, but honest.”

You chuckled, impressed.

“I've never heard it before. It's a beautiful song.”

You were silent for a moment, listening.

“Also,” he added, in a softer tone, “it’s a good metaphor for embracing the unexpected. Things that don’t fit with what you believed. Or what you were prepared to feel.”

You didn't say anything, because you didn't need to. You just kept driving, while Lola continued singing her cheerful chorus, and you wondered if, in some way, that song sounded a little like what Spencer wasn't saying.

[acexsmhking]

Poly!Brim x GN!Reader

╰┈➤ General Head-Canons for Brian & Tim

Summary: General Head-canons for our two lovely older men

Warning(s): 18+ content, sexual content, GN!Reader, Canon & non-canonical content, personal adaptations

SFW!!

Okay so… this is a.. very weird, complex yet not complex situation

Brian and Tim’s very individual relationship is… unlabeled. It’s so platonically romantic that there just wasn’t a label to fit them

Best way to describe them is soulmates, they just are what they are.. and it’s kinda gay

Brian and Tim have been together like this for years, almost two whole decades. Since back in their college days they’ve been inseparable

You most definitely meet them sometimes after Brian resurrects (he is not dead!!! As they drag me to a padded room)

At first everything is just friendship, it takes awhile to gain their trust, especially Tim’s as he some.. heavy survivors guilt

The romantic part of your relationship starts happening very… uhhh natural?? Not rlly talked about kinda way

At some point those cheek kisses and friend dinners just had a shift in them and none of yall addressed it

It wasn’t until you took them home to meet your family and introduce them as your boyfriends subconsciously that you all had “ohhhhh” moment

I literally cannot explain to how absurdly healthy a relationship with Brian and Tim is. Like it is so emotionally, physically, and spiritually fulfilling

Like whether poly or individual they are so Jowwnoanswn

Ahem. Pardon

Brian is most probably the tallest one, since he is 6’4 and he EATS it up. He just loves when you or Tim call him to grab something that he may or may not have placed too high

Don’t be fooled though, Tim is definitely the strongest one out of pair. He can hold you and Brian

That one couples TikTok

They BOTH spoil the ever loving shit out of you. Like it’s just constant. They come home with flowers or trinkets or something

Brian is the most likely one of out the two to bring you things like rocks and shells

It goes without saying Tim is.. incredibly socially awkward. Although not nearly as bad as when he was younger

When he’s talking to new people he has a nasty habit of picking his fingers, Brian always holds his hands when he’s there and you pick up on this habit. Also holding Tim’s hands

Tim is the middle sleeper. A duty bestowed without his knowledge

He’s just soo cuddly and Brian really likes his leg space

You and Tim both collectively steal Brian’s cloths. His jackets, hoodies, shirts, boxers, pants, shoes. The man can’t even defend himself

You are now Toby’s mom.. figure.. kinda. He’s a little hostile towards you at first (more like a lot) but he warms up to you.

You very much so live an American dream type lifestyle. Gated community, pretty houses, wrap around porch. Whole shebang.

Again I mean… being possessed by a white.. tentacle.. static entity isn’t fun and you miss “basic” forms of living

Meeting Hoodie and Masky though was… well.. something.

Occasionally Masky would just front to hang out with you and Brian. Of course early in the relationship you never knew these “behavioral changes” were him and only Brian did

Hoodie typically only fronts on occasion when Masky is around. He’s still a little mad at Tim and likes making him beg for it

However, seeing them in their clothes that you had once noticed shoved into the corner of the closet was.. scary

They don’t hurt you, but I mean just walking downstairs for water one night and seeing two masked men in your home?? Yeah you reached for the gun

Of course it was a weird confrontation, they can’t talk so they could only give you hand gestures until Hoodie calmed you down enough to grab a piece of paper and pen

Safe to say… you were pissed. In a way. And that’s when you learn about everything. Who they are, what they’ve done, what they do and what Toby is

It bridges a lot of unanswered questions. Questions you never really asked cause again they make you feel so safe and secure your mind kinda just.. goes dumb around them

Hoodie is the most physically affectionate. And I mean.. rlly affectionate. Masky is very.. shy. He has to warm to you a bit before even sitting on the same sofa as you. But once he feels comfortable oh boy

It can be a bit… suffocating

Sometimes Masky will just come and lay on you. And while Masky/Tim aren’t super tall they ARE big boys with some hefty muscle and fat(dad bod Tim<3) … like their cocks OMG WHO

Date nights with Hoodie and Masky then become a thing. Typically at home dates since they feel more safe in their masks, like a barrier from the outside world and anything that can harm them

Masky is now the one bringing you rocks, sticks and shells

Hoodie brings you little flower crowns/rings

The boys LOVE seeing you in their clothes. Masky especially.. try not tease him too much

Jessica is definitely you’re bff, you both have scheduled girls dates to relax and just vent/rant about things and gossip

You also meet Jay but it’s very rare as Hoodie and Masky like to keep you away from them, ESPECIALLY Alex.

You learn to cook for Toby. He surprisingly very specific about very certain things. Not picky. Just specific (he’s picky)

Yeah Brian and Tim don’t let you 20ft from a forest. You are told to stay VERY clear from those and if you hear static not to look up

You learn basic first AID from Hoodie/Brian as Masky/Tim is the one that usually comes home the most hurt

NSFW!!

WOWZA.

Bro, you ain’t getting out of bed LMAO imma be so fr

CAN WE TALK ABOUT BODY-WORSHIP. like these boys will spend at least two fucking hours just worshipping you

Kisses, biting, eating you out, massaging you

THEY ARE SO

Crashing our sorry

First of all, they’re both the kind to like wining and dining first but, if you have those real needy needs, especially after they’ve been gone a while? Yeah you gon find out today

You are 100% between them in some way, shape and or form. And god are you getting CREAMPIED. Tim is definitely more open to cumming without a condom with Brian influencing him

Like the devil on his shoulder LOL

they’re just perverts with an unspoken cum fixation

WHO SAID THAT OMG

Now.. threesome with Masky and Hoodie? May you rest in piece. It’s Masky’s turn to influence Hoodie, making him a little more rougher and uncaring than usual. Wow do y’all have a lot of outdoor sex

PRAISE PRAISE PRAISE PRAISE

Having sex with Tim and Brian is actually so loving it’ll like make you puke. Ugh. #needthat. But also they’re both more than open to uhh.. exploration

HOODIE RECORDS EVERYTHING

Like I mean he edits that shit he is INVESTED

When they’re gone Hoodie will fr just send you videos un-announced a little “thinking about you<3” type thing

Perv

The aftercare; dude. No cause like it’s top tier

Candles, food, shower then a bubble bath afterwards. It’s godly. They will actually DoorDash whatever the fuck you want, spend that money babes they don’t care

That thang is worth every penny to them

LMFAOOO

They lovvvveeee cuddles, so much. Tim/Masky can actually be quite clingy and since Brian/Hoodie are so used to it they fr just encourage it. Sigh imagine laying between them<3

SOMEONE SEDATE ME😭

Brian will never admit it but he loves it when you get your nails done, loves seeing them all pretty wrapped around his cock

Tim lovvveeeessss hair, loves any and all new haircuts you get. Want to decide on a hairstyle? He’s your guy. He will wank that shit too if you have like even the smallest inch

Ngl, Tim’s usual spot is between you and Brian but after sex they both just love cuddling you, like I mean Tim will literally lay you on him and Brian will just be wrapped around you both. Good luck trynna breath

Brian is hiding sex toys that he’s too shy to bring up to you and Tim. Once you find them you actually tease the living hell out of him. Yeah, good luck using those on both of them

HELLO BRIAN/HOODIE PUTTING A REMOTE CONTROLLED VIB IN YA WHILE YOU GUY EAT OUT OR SOMETHING.

Please tell me I’m not the only one.

The mixture of praise and slight degrading/bulling between these two is actually chefs kiss. Delicious

All in all, being with these two is the highest form of honor really and your holes are definitely satisfied LOL

: ̗̀➛ Bro I wrote this forever ago and just like deadass got distracted LMAOOO @an-3moia this is for you pookie. Also y’all Tim will be getting his own fic soon. This will prob be the last fic I post for the day while I work on other things in my bat cave here. Good day my loves — Ace

[hederasgarden]

The Price of Survival

Summary: Rescued by a stranger from a dangerous situation, you quickly find yourself thrust into an even more perilous one, forced to depend on him for protection in a world where survival means trusting no one. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2.6K Rating: 18+ only, mature themes. Modern zombie AU, references to attempted SA, brief descriptions of violence and murder, and overall dark/gritty themes. Lucius is a little morally grey (perhaps soft dark?) in this story but he is not a bad guy.  A/N: I may turn this into a mini series if people are interested. Otherwise it can be read as a standalone fic. Thank you to @ryebecca, @writercole, @mayhem24-7forever , and @aliensupastar for their help! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

You’re making too much noise.

But you’re no longer concerned about the undead. The mindless, decaying monsters are a distant worry now. It’s the living men who are after you — the ones chasing you, the ones who want you back. Twigs snap underfoot, and leaves crunch with every hurried step you take. Your breathing is labored in the otherwise still air.

You push yourself harder, muscles screaming in protest. The scents of pine and damp earth fill your nostrils as the cold air burns your lungs. The zip ties around your wrists cut into your skin, tightening with each frantic movement, biting deeper the more you struggle. The blood beneath them stings, the friction leaving raw marks on your flesh. Still, you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

The voices of the men reach your ears, growing more insistent. Their words aren’t fully distinguishable, but the tone is unmistakable — hungry and malicious. They're closing in. You veer left, only to stumble as your foot sinks into an icy stream. Cold water rushes over your ankles, the shock of it halting your momentum for a brief, disorienting moment before you force yourself to continue.

As you run, the forest blurs around you, your heart pounding so loudly in your ears you can hardly hear anything else. You don’t see the figure emerging from the trees until it’s too late. You slam into them, the collision sending you both tumbling to the ground. A jarring pain shoots through your side where you hit the earth. You nearly miss the sharp intake of breath and grunt of surprise of the man beneath you. Though you’ve landed half on top of him, in the blink of an eye, he shifts, rolling you under him.

You try to scream, but his hand shoots out, clamping down over your mouth, silencing you before the sound can escape. Panic floods you and you twist away, instinctively trying to free yourself from his grasp. He holds you still, his body a solid weight pinning you to the earth. When you look up, the first thing you notice are his eyes: dark, intense, and unyielding amid the chaos of the forest. A sliver of moonlight cuts across his face, highlighting a rugged beard and wild curls. He’s not one of the men hunting you, but he’s still a man, and that fact alone gives you pause. 

For a heartbeat, the two of you just stare at each other, the tension in the air thick. His eyes move over your face, quick and assessing, before he seems to notice the zip ties binding your wrists. He tilts his head slightly, a flash of confusion passing over his face before glancing in the direction you came from. His brows knit in concentration as he scans the woods and you both hear the footsteps of the men as they grow closer, louder. You can almost hear their voices, too, faint murmurs cutting through the stillness of the forest. The stranger’s gaze snaps back to you and he stares at you as though weighing his next move. 

His grip on you loosens, but you can feel the tension in his body, the way he stays poised, ready to move if needed.

“Why are they after you?” he asks, quietly, so only you can hear. 

His question catches you off guard. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the panic still rising in your chest. His eyes remain locked on yours, his gaze sharp, waiting for you to answer. The longer you stay silent, the harder his expression becomes, a subtle edge creeping into his features. You shake your head and slowly tug your hands away from his to touch the torn collar of your blouse. His eyes follow the movement. 

“They want what all men want,” you murmur.

Your eyes lock onto his, searching for some hint of understanding or sympathy. You’re looking for something that might tell you what kind of man he is, whether he’s like them or not. His jaw tightens, and for a split second, his expression darkens in a way that makes your breath catch. He nods once, sharp and decisive, as though he’s made a calculation and found his answer. Then, without another word, he pulls you up by the arm.

“We don’t have much time,” he warns. 

“Who are you?” you ask, wariness threading through your voice.

He looks at you, his gaze steady and direct. “I’m someone who’s not here to hurt you,” he says simply.

The part of you that clings to the idea of how things were wants to believe there are still good people out there, who will help you survive. But you’ve learned the hard way that the world doesn’t work that way anymore. Everything good and kind about people died a year ago when the dead rose up and cities fell. Governments crumbled and everything you knew was replaced by a brutal, unforgiving reality overnight.

You started out with hope in a small group of survivors bound together by nothing more than circumstance. At first, it was almost comforting — traveling together, sharing food, and looking out for one another through the chaos that had engulfed the world. But that hope faded, slowly, painfully. One by one, they were lost to raider attacks, the relentless and unstoppable undead, and illness. Your world shrunk and the people you once trusted slipped away like sand through your fingers. And now, the same men who had slaughtered the last of your group were hunting you. 

You swallow hard, fighting the emotion rising in your throat. Trust is a weakness, a mistake you can’t afford to make again. But before you can find your voice the stranger is pulling you deeper into the trees, a firm hand locked around your bound wrist. He’s fast, moving with an efficiency you can’t match, his boots barely making a sound on the forest floor as he drags you along. You stumble after him but he doesn’t slow down until the brush opens to reveal a small, sheltered hollow between the trees. He pushes you into it and crouches beside you as his eyes scan the darkness.

“Stay low,” he directs, his hand firm on your shoulder as he guides you down onto the cold, damp earth. “And don’t make a sound.”

You nod, barely able to breathe as you sink into the shadows of the thicket, the chill of the earth seeping into your skin. The silence of the woods is loud, almost painfully so, but it’s shattered seconds later by the sound of heavy boots crunching through the underbrush.

A twig snaps. Another voice speaks, this time clearer. "She’s gotta be close. Keep looking.”

“I want the first crack at her, " a new voice adds.

Your eyes flick toward the man when he slinks forward slowly. For the first time, you notice the hatchet strapped to his waist, its handle worn from use, the blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He grips it tightly, his fingers brushing over the handle with an almost unconscious familiarity. Without a glance back, he disappears into the trees, a shadow among shadows.

A quiet rustling follows with a muffled thud, like something heavy hitting the ground. Your pulse spikes. Another noise, softer this time, a grunt, a brief, sharp inhale, then...silence.

Your heart races and your eyes dart to where he disappeared, your body rigid with fear. The men are closer now, their voices sharper, more urgent. One calls out again, “Where the hell is she?”

There’s another thud, followed by a sickeningly wet sound that makes your stomach churn. You can’t see what’s happening, but you don’t need to. You press yourself lower into the earth and try to make yourself as small as possible while the struggle continues. The smell of dirt and blood mixes in the air, filling your nose until it feels like you might choke. You can't move. You can’t even breathe properly, too afraid that a single sound will give you away. 

A voice, closer this time, shouts, “What is that? Who’s there, who —”

The words are cut off by another thud and a gurgling noise. It doesn’t take long for the sounds to die down, and when they do, the silence rushes in, swallowing you whole. It’s an oppressive kind of silence, heavy and suffocating. The absence of sound is somehow worse than the chaos that preceded it. Every nerve in your body feels raw and taut with the tension of waiting for something – anything – to happen. Minutes stretch on, each one thicker than the last, until finally, the stranger emerges soundlessly. Although his clothes are streaked with dirt and blood, his posture is calm, almost detached. 

The instinct to flee hits you with such force that you scramble back, your bound hands held out in front of you like they might somehow stop him. But you know they won’t. He stops an arm’s length away, crouching down. Before you can react, he produces a small blade and grasps your elbow, tugging you forward. He slices cleanly through the zip ties around your wrists and then releases you. 

Your throat feels dry, the words caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. Finally, you manage to whisper, “You...you killed them.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but after a beat, he simply nods. Your mind swirls with a thousand questions you don’t know how to ask. One thing is clear, though. This man, for all his brutality, just saved your life.

“You need to go now,” he says, helping you stand. “Head north. That’s your best chance.”

Your mind struggles to keep up with the fast turn of events. Even though you were scared of him seconds ago, the thought of walking into the unknown, alone again, churns your stomach, and a cold wave of fear settles over you. You think of the endless days of running, of barely surviving, and for a brief moment, the idea of leaving him is terrifying. What little supplies you had were taken by the men whose camp you have no hope of finding in the darkness. 

The stranger watches you, sensing your hesitation, and steps closer. His eyes are unblinking, focused on you. "There are worse things in these woods than those men." “The undead,” you begin, but before you can finish, he cuts you off, his lip curling back in a snarl that surprises you. 

"The undead aren’t what you should be worried about." His words are sharp, and dismissive, as though they mean nothing compared to what really lies ahead. “Go. Now." he urges, his grip suddenly tightening on your arm, pulling you away from the shelter of the trees and into the open.

You stumble as he shoves you forward. 

“Maybe we can stay together. I can be useful,” you promise him, the words leaving you in a rush. “I have medical training.”

A soft, almost imperceptible look crosses his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. His jaw tightens and his expression hardens.

“Leave,” he grounds out. “Before it’s too late. Before-“

His voice cuts off and he looks away toward the dark trees, scanning the distance. Whatever he finds makes his posture go rigid and his breath leaves his lungs in a harsh exhale. You step closer to him, afraid of what you can’t sense but that seems to agitate him more. 

“My, my, Lucius, you’ve been busy. Macrinus sent you to hunt dinner, not men.”

The voice rings out from the edge of the trees where an unfamiliar man melds out of the shadows. Your rescuer, Lucius, tenses at the sound, and you can feel the shift in the air, the way the atmosphere thickens. He doesn’t respond to the man immediately. Instead, you watch his fingers move with practiced ease, slipping a slim, deadly knife from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, the blade is poised and ready.

For a brief moment you wonder if he means to kill this man too, but then, to your shock, two more figures emerge from behind the first. Lucius exhales through his nose, a quiet sound almost lost in the air between you, and you see the way he forces himself to relax. When you glance at his hand again, the knife is gone, as if it had never been there.

“Viggo,” Lucius greets curtly. “There are rabbits in the trap and a buck back by the stream. I did as he asked.”

The short but powerfully built man, Viggo, raises an eyebrow and glances at you, his grin widening. 

“You certainly did that and more. Looks like you found yourself a little something too, hmm?”

“A pretty little fawn,” another man comments with a smirk, reaching out, his hand extended like he intends to touch you.

Panic surges through you, and you instinctively take a step back, but you don’t get far before Lucius pulls you behind him. You wince as his fingertips brush over the torn skin of your wrist. 

“You know the rules,” Lucius growls, his voice low and deadly. “Take a step back if you want to keep your hand.”

Lucius’s stance doesn’t waver, still shielding you, but his expression softens for just a moment as he glances over his shoulder at you. In that fleeting look, you catch a hint of something else, regret or perhaps guilt? You blink and it’s replaced by a cold mask. You’re not sure what to make of him. Fear and appreciation tangle together as you consider his actions. You wonder what exactly he’s trying to protect you from, and why he seems so unsettled by the need to do so.

“Macrinus needs you back,” Viggo presses. "He’s waiting on the game. We can take her back to the settlement,"

“I don’t think so. I’ll bring her in,” he responds, jerking his head toward you, the motion sharp, dismissive. 

The words hang in the air, but it’s not just the command that catches your attention — it’s the hollowness in his tone. The men don’t challenge him, but they exchange a brief look before leaving. Lucius remains in front of you, standing rigidly, staring into the blackness. You get the sense you’re still not quite alone, something Lucius confirms when he turns to face you. He raises a finger to his lips and the warning is gentle but firm. Don’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with a grief that sends a wave of unease through you. He takes a step closer and reaches for the rope hanging from his belt, uncoiling its length. 

 "What…?" you breathe, but the question trails off into the air, unfinished. 

You feel the panic rising in your chest as Lucius begins to wrap the rope around your forearms, the rough texture biting into your skin. Every muscle in your body screams to flee, to run from this situation, from him, but deep down you know that escaping would be futile. There’s nowhere to run, no one to turn to. The fear doesn’t stop you from trying, though, from taking a small step back, but Lucius’s grip on you tightens immediately, pulling you toward him again.

He doesn’t look at you as he works, lips pressed tight as he continues binding your arms, careful to avoid your torn wrists. When he finishes tying the knot, his hand lingers on the rope for just a moment, as though he’s second-guessing himself. Then Lucius shakes his head, a sharp, quick movement, almost like he’s clearing away his thoughts. His eyes flicker briefly to yours and he hooks his fingers under your new bindings, tugging you towards him. 

“You should have left when I told you,” Lucius says solemnly.

Part 2

[ronearoundblindly]

Lineage

platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

part of Companion Animal (see previous or series)

Summary: A news story leads your father straight to you, but do you care what he has to say? Steve and Bucky sure don't...

Warnings for mild language and talk of bad situations (child abuse, alcohol abuse, injury, death) ((that sounds awful but it's quick, I swear)). Angst with a happy ending. For safety, though these things are only vaguely discussed, MINORS DNI for this chapter! WC ~2k

The storms have lasted 44 hours so far. Since his apartment is too small for two full-grown humans (who aren’t a couple) to live, you’ve spent the majority of these cooped-up days as Alpine. Buck has resorted to cleaning a rifle on the coffee table, and in doing so, he triggered the laser scope.

Of course, now he’s going on the second hour of using the laser to play ‘kill the bastard red dot’ with you. He’s delighted at your animated, affronted attack on the lightning fast devil, playing along that the perfectly uncatchable point is simply slipping from your paws. It is a blast to chase, but his laugh values even higher than you can jump up the wall.

The dot disappears.

Your eyes are wild, your furry chest heaving from the exercise of jumping and flipping.

Bucky’s phone is turned over in his hand, and he glares seriously at the screen, taking a deep breath. You think it’s because he’s been called to a mission.

Instead, he bites his cheek and looks your way. “Pretty girl,” he says softly, “I need you to not freak out, okay?”

That can’t be good.

“Human-style freak out, I mean.”

Your eyes sting in the drying wind lashing past your fur, but as much as you’d like to blame the alarming tap of errant raindrops in your face, it’s actually that you would be crying were you in your real form right now.

By the time you and Bucky walk up to HQ, you’ve decided it’s best to get this over with. You’d choose to never do this, if you could, but that ship has sailed.

“You don’t have to go in there,” Bucky assures you, the stairwell door clicking shut to give you some privacy to shift. “You give me the word and Steve sends him packing.”

“I’m fine.” You yank the door open and barrel past him. “I’m fine.”

Bucky whistles and ticks his head the other way down the hall. In your defense, you’ve never gone to Steve’s actual office. You’ve only been in this building a handful of times really.

The first face you see inside is his, deliberately placed to show you concern and empathy, because Steve, like Bucky, fears this interaction.

Your father doesn’t even look up.

He sits on a small couch, wringing his hands, a flask and the news article with your picture, smiling, on the coffee table in front of him.

That’s how he found you: a candid photo where Tony Stark stood beside you after creating your collar. The blur in the corner of the photo is Steve’s back if you remember correctly.

Dad focuses on the small vessel like booze will answer all his prayers. 

Some things never change.

“Could we have some privacy?” he asks you meekly.

Before your lips can part, both men behind you bark “no,” punctuated by Steve’s “no way.”

As much as you don’t want Steve and Bucky to know about your previous life, you’re comforted. You cannot stand for them to leave you alone with this man. Buck perches in a corner, looking fittingly scary. After you take a seat across from your father, Steve remains at your shoulder but not too close, arms crossed over his broad chest.

And so it begins.

Though less contentious than you expected, Dad starts into a long-winded excuse that lacks almost any detail. When your father says he looked for you, Steve bristles and bites out a strained “not good enough” before chewing his tongue instead. The sudden gesture not only made your father squeak in alarm, but you shrank away from him in the chair.

He brought alcohol in a flask but swears it’s been hours since he’s had a drop.

“I have a theory that you’re like me…and I drink so I won’t…change.”

 He’s ready to tell you even if you aren’t; Mom knew only that he left home at a very young age, but the truth is he ran away.

Your grandparents fought a lot apparently, and grandpa beat his wife and son. Dad was abused, and abused, and then he escaped by ‘changing.’

He doesn’t specify. He just…changed. He ran, terrified for many reasons, and couldn’t get back home, couldn’t control it, and got caught in a sticky trap and had to rip skin off of his foot.

It hurt, your father swears, so he tried to numb it like he saw his mother and father do. Alcohol made it easier, but he couldn’t control it. 

“Stole jewelry mostly, small things I could carry and hoard, so when I changed back, I could pawn them,” Dad confesses. “You see, when Princess came around and meant so much to your mom, I drank. It was the only way I knew how to stay human! So—so the cat wouldn’t hurt me, but if I couldn’t…”

That’s how he lost ‘his job,’ which wasn’t a real job and wasn’t being supportive of you and mom and certainly wasn’t being a good man anyway.

He hoped you weren’t like him. If he’d told you or Mom and you’d freaked out? He thought he’d end up in a lab somewhere. He was so afraid all the time. Then Mom died, you ran away, he realized you could have shifted and been scared. He looked for you but has no answers, no real understanding of any of it, no stability to offer.

Dad is close to tears, his fingers instinctively stretching toward the flask.

“I wasn’t worth coming back to. I know that. I’ve done too much—too little in the past to be forgiven. I was never wanted this way.”

He becomes jumpier and more agitated by the minute, and then Steve grumbles a single phrase.

“Abused becoming abusers in different ways.”

Your father shivers, squeaks again, and begins to shift. His clothes pile there empty, cascading from the cushions to the floor until a pink nose nuzzles out from between a shirt tail and waistband.

“Oh,” Bucky startles. “Oh.”

“It’s…it’s a rat,” Steve deadpans in confusion. They weren’t paying the closest attention to your father’s implications, likely horrified to know this much more about your past and childhood, this stuff you never talk about because you like to focus on the future.

“Give us some space,” you sigh reluctantly. “Please.”

You know he needs to feel safe but won’t with two super soldiers towering over him in an unknown building.

“Only because you asked,” Bucky says loudly. “Be right outside.”

Steve’s hand rests on your shoulder for a long moment while he debates moving at all. Finally, when Bucky holds the door open for him, Steve lets go and steps closer to the couch, several terrified squeaks coming from the corner.

“We would never hurt her.” Then near silently. “We love her.”

He’s out before you process the words.

In the quiet that follows, while your father calms down and you…think, you go around to the other side of Steve’s desk, hoping the physical distance will help both of you feel less caged.

There—in the righthand, prominent spot by the pen cup—is a framed sketch of you, as Alpine, sleeping. Your chest tightens, full of the lucky feeling that springs from being so much better than the broken creature on the other side of the room. You were older when you shifted. You found Bucky on day one. Those two sweet and patient men barely blinked when you posted needed them.

Dad had none of that.

He coped, but he coped poorly.

Sure, you were both scared and confused, completely caught off-guard by the shift, but you were angry, too. You were grieving and determined. You were…

…not alone.

“I learned to control it,” you project over the desk. “You can, too. In fact, I—I hope you do because burying all your worries and insecurities in alcohol isn’t fucking working.”

Dad reforms in the corner by the couch, pulling his clothes over him quickly. “I know,” he admits.

“Mom would have wanted you to get better, to feel better without numbing yourself. She…she really loved you.”

“I know.” You spin the desk chair around while he slips on his clothing. “They really love you here, too, huh?”

You bite back a smile, realizing the truth of it. You’re not in a ‘phase’ of life. You don’t have to move on from them, your people, your family.

“This—“ you say confidently “—is not a place people like us need to hide.”

Bucky takes over handling your father’s travel back to his home. Dad will be offered any resources he needs to learn to shift at will, but it won’t be you who oversees it. You’re not there yet.

Steve’s hand is on your waist or the small of your back from the instant you emerge, uncaring who in the hallway is watching. Once your father is out of sight, he steers you into his shadow and asks what he can do, what you need from him right now, and you squirrel yourself into the office again.

Steve’s steadying hand becomes an arm then the other, an all-encompassing hug that warms you somehow deeper than your very bones.

Family is exhausting. Family is everything, too.

“I was so young,” he whispers, face buried in your hair while yours nuzzles to his chest, “but I know Ma was…I know my father had his demons. Then my ma fought everybody’s—taught me to fight everybody’s demons—but you don’t have to. It’s an excuse. Unless he proves he’s sorry? Well, even saying it doesn’t undo—“

“Can I stay here a while?” you interrupt. It’s not that you don’t appreciate what Steve’s telling you, but you’ve had enough of talking, you’ve had enough of listening, and you want to settle your soul in the comfortable place it was just hours ago, joyfully bouncing around chasing an uncatchable dot. That feat seems more possible now than fixing a broken relationship.

“Of course,” Steve mumbles to your temple.

You let the shrinking feeling takeover and shift into Alpine. He immediately understands you’re done talking, returning to his desk, assuming you’ll curl up on the couch for some distance.

Rain batters the lone, thin window. Bucky won’t ride back to the apartment in this weather if he can help it, so he’ll wait it out as well.

Instead, you hop into Steve’s lap and watch him type out a message to Buck that you’re okay.

Before you lay down for a nap, one desperately needed to replenish your wiped out emotional bandwidth, you step up on Steve’s pec to headbutt his strong jaw. The fondness makes him chuckle.

He cups his hand around your side and kisses your soft head.

“Careful there, cutie, or I’ll take you home with me.”

Wouldn’t be so bad, you think, enjoying the soothing pitter-patter of drops down the glass pane and the subtle roar from wind, since he loves me an’ all.

[Next Part: Borrowed For Blue]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

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[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 41 || The Cute Bartender

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, very cute fluff, & teasing.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.6k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOUR QUESTION REMAINS unanswered for quite some time. To constantly weigh out your options of who would be a better lover for you is going to take time.

But, as of right now, even if you wanted to choose Gojo over Choso, he's already made it clear he's not allowing that. He doesn't think he's good for you and, in case you forgot, you're technically supposed to hate him.

That being said, your choice is already made for you.

But none of that is important right now. You were allowed a break until the semester began again but, since your university's winter break was a span of two, almost three months, you were honestly ready to finish the list by late January.

Even though you said you were taking a break from the men, you still kept in contact with them. You'd text Choso on some days but he'd often scold you about how you wanted a break, which only made you want to talk to him more.

Then, you even had your phone calls with Gojo which consisted of him doing the same damn thing-- pestering you by saying 'As much as I love listening to you talk, sweets, you're supposed to be taking a break from me' which, was just as sweet as the messages Choso would send.

Yeah, you were definitely falling for both of them in your own way and nothing could stop that. Even so, you were ready to get back to the list.

There was one name left. You couldn't believe it. As of now, you were laid out on your bed, your delicate fingers curled around a pen as you went down the list of yours. Reading over each name reminded you of your experiences with them, whether it was good or bad, and you were surprised you finally made it this far.

At one point, you doubted you could even do this. So many lessons have been learned, so many personalities and so many situations have been experienced. It's almost, emphasis on almost, beautiful when you think back on it.

To go from a broke and regular college student to one whose life is filled with drama, good (for the most part) sex, and men who've somehow managed to fall for you. It's the kinda thing you never imagined for yourself.

Just one semester ago, you were worried about even landing a job and now look at you; you've managed the money from Gojo better than ever so you're truly set for quite some time.

With a sigh, you place the pen down beside your journal and trace your fingers over the final name; Nanami Kento. Once you sleep with him it's over. It's almost bittersweet to think about.

As you stare at your journal, you think you have a plan for it once the list is complete. A plan that you've talked to Gojo about and he's agreed to-- the two of you are going to burn the list.

Neither of you want any physical evidence of it so you think burning it once it's complete will prove to be a nice way to say goodbye to the memories that come with the list. Nowhere in your text messages or his do you two discuss the list explicitly, just in case someone were ever to go through your devices, and the only time it's been talked about aside from in person is over phone calls.

But, you're not worrying about that getting out. Someone would have to dig really deep to find the recordings of you and Gojo's phone calls. Like, to the police deep to find them. Or hacking your cell. But, you have no reason to worry about that, right? Gojo said he's not involved in anything illegal and you trust him (to some extent).

So again, it's bittersweet to think about this list finally coming to an end. It was like a game you had to play and knowing that the end credits were about to roll soon just made you feel odd inside. Yeah, you wanted it to end but as it was actually happening, it was like leaving a chapter of your life behind.

After all, you'll never be able to undo what's been done. You can't go back and change who you've slept with or how.

So, with that final little thought, you sigh again and then shut your journal. Getting up to put it away in its locked drawer compartment, you wonder what it'll be like to finally meet Nanami.

You have a good feeling about him.

And no, not one of those good feelings that result in disaster but, an actual good feeling. Something about the thought of this tall, blonde, and sexy man whose facial expression holds a stupidly attractive seriousness at all times just makes you feel calm.

You feel like you're going to be dealing with someone so mature that it'll ease your mind, kind of like how your mind was at ease when you first met Choso.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

And you had every right to be in good spirits about meeting Nanami because the man did, in fact, turn out to be one of the best and lightest experiences for you.

Despite how difficult he may seem, Nanami is just a man you couldn't catch at the right time. That was the only reason why you ever considered him to be 'hard' to seduce. And no, it's not some magical effect you had that made your efforts work, it was this genuine and raw connection that formed when you met him.

It was surely a night to be remembered.

A simple pair of black heels lightly clacked against the floor as you walked with your head held high into that damned nightclub-- the same nightclub in which you couldn't run into Nanami at the right time for the longest. This night was different though, as you had arrived before him for once.

It wasn't planned or anything but, your arrival to the building was before he'd gotten there. The dress you wore to accompany the heels on your feet was just as simple and was shaded in the same color; black. It was moderately tight-fitting and hugged your body just right.

Unlike some of your past dresses, it didn't make you feel like you were going all out and you thought you blended in nicely with everyone else that was there. Around your neck was that same necklace Gojo gifted to you on Christmas as you never really had the heart to leave home without it on.

Your excuse for wearing it all the time was because it was really pretty. It had nothing to do with Gojo of course. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself anyway.

Making your way to the bar, you took a seat in an area you knew Nanami to typically sit at and then you scouted the area for either him or the cute brown-haired friend he's always with. Finding nothing and no one, you sigh and decide to order a drink.

After which, you gave yourself thirty minutes before you'd leave and try again in another two weeks. You didn't even tell Gojo you were starting back up on the list yet so it's not like there was any pressure for you to seduce Nanami tonight, maybe that's what made everything so different.

Your nails tapped across the bar as you waited and at some point, you even made conversation with the cheeky bartender. The thing about this bartender is that you've seen him talk to Nanami plenty of times and you're pretty sure they're friends.

He had this really cute face and pretty brown eyes that made you feel safe in a strange way. Every time you see him he's got this beanie on top of his head and his clothes are always baggy, something you saw his manager scold him about a few times at one point.

Either way, today was your first time actually talking to him and you learn that his name is Ino Takuma and that he actually recognizes you, having paid attention to the few times you've been there.

"Are you waiting on someone, beautiful?" Ino had questioned you.

Oh yeah, and he's also been complimenting you nonstop from the moment you two began talking. It's in a friendly way, you think. It doesn't seem like he's flirting, just being kind, which you like.

You smiled at the man, "Is it that obvious?"

He makes this silly face in thought and you note how expressive he is. "Hmmmm, I mean for me, yeah. But that's only because I see you come here around the same time every two weeks."

"Yeah?" You meet his eyes with a smile on your face and he holds the eye contact for at least five seconds before he looks away. He's adorable. "So, you've really been paying attention to me all this time?" You ask before going to take another sip of your preferred drink of the night.

Ino laughs and the sound is so joyful it almost heals something in you. "I mean, nooo..." He drags out, smiling through his words before he shrugs, "I pay attention to everyone. And plus, how could I forget a pretty face like yours?"

You're still staring at him and you don't think you've ever paid attention to how much someone avoids eye contact before dealing with Choso. After that man, it's so obvious to you now when someone gets nervous to look you in the eye for too long.

"Is that a compliment, Ino?" You ask softly, the use of his name making his ears flush a cute shade of pink.

He clears his throat and wipes down a part of the nearby counter. There are not that many people at the bar tonight so that gave him the leisure to speak to you. "...Yeah," Ino replies, trying to focus on his small task instead of your eyes gazing at his face.

You hum. "Thank you," You say before moving to rest your chin in the palm of your hand as you rest your elbow on the bar.

Ino finishes his little task and then places the cloth he used elsewhere, finally looking at you now that your eyes have gone elsewhere, "He'll be here soon, by the way."

You blink and your eyes flick up to Ino's face, confused by his words, "Who?"

He flashes that friendly smile at you, "Nanami."

You're not sure if you should pretend not to know who Nanami is or if you should ask how Ino knows you're waiting on the man. For now, you swallow, "Nanami?"

Ino moves his hand up and over his head a bit, "He's like this tall, blonde," The brown-haired male gestures toward his eyes, "Wears these funky glasses sometimes?"

You bat your eyelashes at him in confusion, "Okay... Why uh, why're you telling me he'll be here soon?"

"You know him, don't you?" Ino asks, his thin and well-kept brows furrowing a bit as he innocently tilts his head.

"I know of him, I suppose," You answer vaguely, "But, why'd you think I know him?"

His shoulders raised a bit, "Cause' he asked me about you."

You swallow the sudden nervous lump in your throat, "H-He asked about me? Why? When?"

Ino chuckles at the worry in your face. To him, it just seemed like you were nervous in a shy sort of way, "He just asked me if you came here any other times. Like, times when he's not here."

"Why?" You ask.

"I dunno'," Ino shrugs casually, "I think you caught his attention." He adds on with a little wink.

Your lips pull into a straight line, "I highly doubt that."

"Why? You're pretty," Ino compliments yet again.

"Thanks but I've seen Nanami enough times to know that I have not caught his attention. Trust me, I know how men operate when their attention is caught." You scoff as you glance over to the dance floor and watch some of the people there.

Ino doesn't seem to understand what exactly you mean by that and his brows furrow, "You caught my attention, and yet this is my first time talking to you." He points out.

Almost naturally, as if you'd grown accustomed to flirting, your gaze trails back over to the cute bartender and you smirk, words slipping out of your mouth without thought, "I've caught your attention? How so?" You ask, unintentionally adding a sultriness to your tone.

He gulps and his eyes avoid yours yet again, "I mean you are an attractive woman. S-So I just mean it in that you catch more people's eye than you think. A-And uh, y'know, not everyone's gonna approach you first because sometimes attractive people make others nervous..." He stammers out.

He's so ridiculously nervous and it's the cutest thing. You lift your head from your hand and cross your arms over the counter, leaning forward a little and your chest unknowingly growing more visible as you do so, "Am I making you nervous right now, Ino?" You whisper.

Okay, now you're purposefully teasing him.

He chuckles, kinda awkwardly, "N-No? Pfft... I'm not nervous. Y-You-," He clears his throat, "You're not making me nervous."

You raise but a single brow and keep your gaze on him, "You can't even look me in the eyes while we talk."

Ino suddenly looks at you, meeting your unwavering gaze and sweating a bit. "I'm lookin' at you now."

You stare long and hard, right into those brow irises of his and he tries to stare back but, he can't help but glance to the left or right for a split second before trying to keep his eyes on yours.

A slow and taunting smile spreads across your features, "Barely." You point out.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, "Whatever. I wasn't nervous I'm jus' not good with eye contact."

You tilt your head at him and narrow your eyes, "That's not true."

"Eh?" Ino's brows push together, "How are you gonna' tell me..." He says with a pout.

You giggle, "You manage eye contact with everyone else just fine."

He moves for a nearby empty glass someone's placed down, and glances at you as he does so, "So you've been paying attention to me, then?"

Of course, your eyes have hardly left his. It's fun teasing someone like this, "A bit, yeah."

Ino moves with the empty glass to place it with other dirty ones, humming a little nervously, "Oh..." As he does so. Then, you watch him pick up a clean glass and move to make a new drink right in front of you.

"Is that okay?" You murmur. Your voice has this purposeful flirtiness to it and it does not go unnoticed, "Am I allowed to pay attention to you, Ino?"

He gulps, "Course' you can."

Your eyes drop to the glass in his hands as he pours alcohol into it and you smirk, "Ino..."

His gaze flicks to your face for a moment, "H-Hm?"

"You're shaking." You point out.

Ino nearly fumbles the glass in his hand entirely and you watch him miss the cup for a moment, a bit of the liquid he'd been pouring trickling onto his hand and then the floor, "Shit," He curses.

You chuckle slightly at first, earning a little pouty glare from the man.

Then as he goes to clean up you hear him mumbling to you, "That's not funny..."

Your chuckling proceeds to elevate into genuine laughter, "Yeah it is," You snicker, "You're adorable, holy fuck."

Ino's face is a little red as your words hit his ears and he drops down to clean the mess on the floor. After which, he pops right back into your line of vision, seeing you still laughing at him and pouting yet again.

"I am not 'adorable'," Ino grumbles.

You giggle, "Yes, you are."

He shakes his head and sighs in this sassy kinda way, "Am' not."

"Are too," You argue.

His eyes meet yours and despite being embarrassed, he's got a little smile back on his face, "Nuh-uh."

You nod, “Yuh-huh."

Ino then rolls his eyes, still smiling, before he puts all the items he had in his hands down to the side. You then watch one hand drop down into his pocket before his phone is pulled out. Ino unlocks the device and then places it in front of you, sliding it closer to you with an empty contact slot on the screen.

"Put your number in here," He sighs, smoothly requesting your contact info like it's nothing.

You raise a brow, "Are you asking for it or are you demanding it?"

Those almost innocent brown eyes of his trail over to yours and he holds eye contact for a longer moment, "I'm asking. I like talking to you so, can I get your number?"

"Hmmm..." You hum playfully, purposefully taking your time to answer, "Is this to be friends or something more?"

He's still looking you in the eyes, "Uh, friends? I'm not sure I could even handle a woman like you."

You raise a brow.

"I mean that in a good way," Ino clarifies.

You shrug and move to enter your number in his phone, "Thanks. I was only asking that 'cause I uh..."

He tilts his head and watches your fingers tap across his screen, "...Have a lot going on?"

"Something like that, yeah." You answer before you finish adding your info and then slide the phone back to him.

He picks up his cell and pockets it before shrugging, "I see, well, if this makes you feel any better, I always try to get people's numbers after a nice conversation with them."

You frown playfully, "Aw, so I'm not special?"

Again, he's flustered, "W-Well, I mean you are b-but I just-"

"Ino," You snicker, "I'm just teasing you, relax."

He rolls his eyes again and sighs, "You're driving me crazy."

For one last time, you tilt your head and give him this flirtatious look, "Am I?"

Ino looks at your expression and gulps, "Yes ma'am."

Okay, is it weird that a part of you wishes he was on the list too? Holy shit is teasing this man fun. Even so, you've got enough men to worry about in your life and you don't need to add to that.

You chuckle and your expression returns to something more platonic, "Alright, I'll stop then."

"Please," Ino begs quietly in a joking manner.

That makes you laugh again and this time, he laughs along with you. Then, you watch him go back to preparing that drink from earlier and he does it flawlessly this time, his nerves calmed after you stop all your teasing.

As the drink is finished, you sip on yours and then a pleasant smell slithers into your nose. It's cologne, a strong but ridiculously pleasant scent filling your nostrils. You blink a few times as you take in what you're smelling and for a second, you wonder if it's coming from Ino because he got kinda close as the drink he prepared was placed next to you.

Your question is answered within the next second though because you hear a voice that accompanies the scent. A deep, sexy, and soothing voice that makes your posture straighten due to how surprisingly close to you it is.

Nothing more than a simple, "Thank you," Was voiced but even so, it was extremely attractive.

Then, you curiously turn to where the voice came from, which was to your right, and you're met with your last target; Nanami Kento.

There he was, in the flesh, right next to you. Like, literally sitting in the barstool next to yours. And that drink Ino made? Yeah, it was his. Your eyes were all over the man, drinking in his features shamelessly.

The man seemed to be more muscular than you thought he was as the blue button-up shirt he wore clung to his body so delectably. The sleeves were rolled up near his elbows and you could see how muscular his arm was, veins decorating his skin as they became visible from his elbow and down.

The shirt was just hugging his body and you couldn't help but stare. Then, for a moment you look down at his pants. He wore these khakis that were just as fucking tight as his shirt and you swear you didn't mean to look at his crotch but because of the way he sat it was like your eyes were there before you even rendered it.

God, his pants hugged his thighs and you just drink in the way his hips push up slightly as he adjusts the way he sits. Holy fuck, you had to force your eyes up because you swore you could see his manhood, or at least imagine what he's hiding beneath those clothes of his.

So, your eyes went back up to areas more respectable to look at, such as his shirt, which you noticed he had enough buttons undone to reveal a teasing amount of his chest. His collarbone was so sharp and defined and you could only imagine the rest of his body.

Then, you trailed up just a bit more to his neck, then his jaw which was sharp as fuck, to his defined cheekbones, and then his eyes-

And shit.

He was already looking at you.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[justakaku]

Confidentiality - Chapter 9. - yandere!ATEEZ OT8 x f!reader

Introduction: Joining a peer support group for mentally ill was a good idea for the last two times you were there. Then it's only natural for the third time to go well too, right?

Pairings: yandere!Hongjoong x reader, yandere!Seonghwa x reader, yandere!Yunho x reader, yandere!Yeosang x reader, yandere!San x reader, yandere!Mingi x reader, yandere!Wooyoung x reader, yandere!Jongho x reader

T/W: This story will include talk about mental health struggles such as body dysmorphia, paranoid thoughts and more. Possessive and obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, violence. Dark themes are to be expected. A/N: Long time no see... It has been almost two months since the last chapter but here it is! I had planned to finish this after Christmas but I was sick for the rest of the vacation TT. This chapter isn't that full of action, but it has some important details. Word count: 3 453

There you were, sitting in a circle on the floor like in kindergarten, gathered around a board game. As if the setting hadn’t reminded you of your early childhood enough already, the guys you were sitting with were making it even more nostalgic with their childish fighting. 

“No, Wooyoung! You can’t move four spaces when the dice shows only two!” San exclaimed, grabbing Wooyoung’s token from the game board, which was a single macaroni found from the floor. He moved the token two steps behind from where Wooyoung had set it.

Yeosang and you exchanged concerned glances as San and Wooyoung started arguing about the macaroni’s rightful place. You were still feeling quite bitter about Wooyoung presenting your menstrual pad to everyone earlier during the day, so you hoped San would win the battle. 

Unfortunately, suddenly Yeosang and San’s dry macaroni pieces were snatched from the board, and disappeared into Wooyoung’s mouth. All three of you watched in horror as Wooyoung swallowed them before turning to look at you. 

With a creepy grin on his lips, he leaned closer to you. In return you leaned slightly away, enough to not feel his breath on your skin but to keep it polite, but you couldn’t escape from Wooyoung’s intense gaze challenging you. 

“It looks like you and I are the only ones left in the game, baby,” he smirked. 

You wondered how you got into the situation of playing with macaronis with grown men. The plan for the night had been to sleep at Yeosang’s place, so you wouldn’t have to sit in front of your front door, waiting for morning and the locksmith to arrive. In an area like that, you never felt safe even in your own apartment building at night. 

But you didn’t feel exactly safe now either. Yeosang was your friend, trustworthy enough for you to sleep at his place, but surprisingly there was an addition of two men, both from the infamous therapy group. Apparently, they had come there earlier to have a game night with Yeosang. If they stayed the night, you couldn’t guarantee you’d ever wake up again. Or if they were merciful enough to let you live, your head would have been shaved bald like a bright bowling ball – most likely from Wooyoung’s suggestion. 

“I don’t want to play anymore,” San huffed after he had been forcefully kicked out from the game. 

Yeosang nodded his head, “Me neither. Let’s do something else.” 

The macaroni-devourer man frowned, ready to throw a fit, “You’re just sore losers. Y/N and I can play although you two are bad at this game.” 

You wanted desperately to do something else, afraid of what could happen when the game was only between you and Wooyoung. His eyes were fixed on you like San and Yeosang’s macaronis weren’t the only thing he wanted to eat – you'd be the next one swallowed. 

“I-I think changing the activity is a good idea,” you muttered. 

Wooyoung couldn’t do anything when all three of you were against him.  

He wasn’t complaining for long though when he got the permission, not from you but Yeosang and San, to spread home-made facial mask on you. Your bottom was hurting from sitting on the floor for so long, but you kept silent; San would probably volunteer as your official chair, setting you on his lap, if you said a word. 

The room was dim, and there was relaxing music for meditation playing on the background, failing to ease your nerves. Wooyoung’s face was way too close to yours; if you leaned a little closer, you would be able to kiss his pretty lips. He was rubbing the facial mask on your cheeks, squeezing them together until your lips pursed. 

“You look like a duck,” Wooyoung stated. 

The frown he got from you as response made him chuckle, “A cute one. My pretty little duckling.” 

You could see Yeosang and San, who were doing facial masks for each other, looking at you, listening intently every word that left Wooyoung’s lips and watching your reactions. It felt like they were evaluating you, but you had no idea what was the correct reaction they wanted. 

“Eyes on me.” 

Quickly, you turned your gaze back on Wooyoung, who was looking at you much more seriously now. It was for a second only when his eyes were stern and void of any light, but then he smiled mischievously again. The hand which had tightened around your cheeks went back to spreading the mask on your face. The way he massaged you would have made you relaxed if it wasn’t for the crazed look on his face just a moment ago. 

Were you just overthinking? It wasn’t unusual of you to see people’s expressions and gestures as alarming. A smile from a stranger passing by was the grin of a psychopath planning how to kill you, and a baby looking at you in the queue was a robot sent to spy on you, its eyes serving as cameras, filming your every move. 

You recognized those thoughts as insane; robot babies couldn’t look that real after all. 

“Is it done?” you asked Wooyoung when he took his hands off of your face. 

“Close your eyes and lean your head back for me, would you?” 

If it had been just the two of you, you would have never put yourself into a position of vulnerability in front of Wooyoung. Even blinking was too risky when that menace was close to you. 

However, San and Yeosang would hopefully protect you if Wooyoung tried anything. You followed his request and let your eyes close. 

Soon something wet weighed on your eyelids, and you could only guess Wooyoung had placed slices of cucumber. 

“Voila! Master Wooyoung has finished his masterpiece,” you could hear the man clasp his hands together, “Time for the payment.” 

“I thought this was free!” 

“Oh, come on. I don’t need much.” 

Suddenly, you could feel his breath tickling your ear. It had been a mistake to close your eyes, considering that man was capable of anything – except when it came to things that required thinking sanely. 

Your body tensed up, sitting straighter and fists clenched in nervousness. 

“I just need a little kiss. Show those two that I have your full attention.” 

Wooyoung’s whisper was warm on your skin but it still made goosebumps rise. The words shouldn’t have shocked you, given the fact they were said by him. They could have been considered attractive by someone, but you knew better – at least you thought so. 

“Please. Even on the cheek. Just a small peck.” 

 Wooyoung pressed his face into your hair, sniffing it. As you tried to lean away from him, he grabbed your head and brought it back to his nose. He definitely took his time filling his nostrils with your scent, every breath out making your skin tingle. 

“Smells...” he spoke, “Smells like shit. Go take a shower, girl.” 

Just like that the intense moment had been cut off. You took the cucumber slices off of your eyes to look at Wooyoung who was grinning widely. You weren’t the only one glaring at him, since Yeosang and San had heard his insult too. 

“Watch your mouth,” to your surprise it was Yeosang who warned Wooyoung. He looked even madder than you or San who was often the more confrontative one. 

Still, you were embarrassed by Wooyoung’s comment, fearing that you were stinky for real. As you moved away from him to sit with Yeosang and San, his grin fell downwards, now a worried pout. 

“Y/N, come back here,” Wooyoung whined. 

“No. If I’m so smelly, you should be happy I’m staying far away from you.” 

If you hadn’t felt bad for him, seeing his sad, regretful eyes, you would have felt proud. Finally, you had defended yourself – in some sense at least. 

Unfortunately, him and San had decided to stay for the night. Wooyoung was sentenced to sleeping on the floor without a mattress for insulting your scent, while San got the second worst option, couch, not because he did anything wrong though. 

You felt awkward, wearing Yeosang’s t-shirt and sweatpants as nightwear. He had generously lent them, so you wouldn’t feel bad about sleeping on his bed with the clothes you had been wearing during the day. Wooyoung’s comment had left you afraid of being stinky. 

Yeosang made sure you had climbed onto the bed comfortably before turning the lights off and settling in the bed with you. Both of you stayed silent, staring at the ceiling. Yeosang and you were close, having spent quite a lot of time together, but being this close physically was nerve-wracking. Perhaps not in a bad way. 

“You don’t reek, Y/N. Your smell is very pleasant.” 

His quiet assurance surprised you but eased your fears, which Wooyoung had brought back on surface with his careless comment. It hadn’t been the first time you were called stinky. “Sweaty sock – Y/N” was what the other kids had called you. Was it really your fault if your parents had been too poor to buy you more than three pairs of socks? 

Yeosang and you fell asleep after some time of quietly conversing, sharing your concerns and thoughts about who might have stolen your keys. Some people would have told you that you just forgot them on the floor, but Yeosang disagreed; he was on your side like always. 

It was dark so there was no use to even opening your eyes. Still, they fluttered open in the middle of the night as you were woken up by the hot puffs of air hitting the nape of your neck. In and out, you could hear someone breathing heavily. Goosebumps rose on your skin. 

An arm was slung around your waist, holding onto you tight. It was a vulnerable position, not seeing who had trapped you in their excuse of an embrace. But you had a feeling who it could be. 

“W-Wooyoung?” 

“I’m flattered you knew it was me.” 

You sighed in relief, not necessarily because Wooyoung was supposedly a safe person, but he probably wouldn’t have the balls to murder you when Yeosang was sleeping next to you. 

“You know, I could do anything to you right now.” 

Never mind. He was a man capable of everything. 

Wooyoung’s arms tightened around you, his hand finding its way to touch the place on your chest where your heart lied, not too deep away from your skin. It raced like it would explode in your chest any moment now. 

“I was too scared to sleep alone, but based on your heartbeat it seems like you’re the one more scared,” he chuckled. 

“Could you rather cuddle with Yeosang?” 

The silence that followed your words was threatening; it hung in the air, thick and tense. Wooyoung’s breaths felt heavier on the nape of your neck. It was clear you had said something wrong. 

“Don’t be silly. Why would you want me to cuddle with someone else?” 

“Because I’m uncomfortable.” 

You could feel Wooyoung almost flinching at your words, but you couldn’t understand. Did he really think you wanted him to cuddle with you? The two of you didn’t know each other well, not to mention he called you stinky, so you had no desire to be close to him despite being quite touch-starved. 

“But I’m scared.” 

“What are you scared of?” 

Wooyoung stayed silent for a couple seconds like he was hesitant, but then he spoke. 

“I’ve been receiving weird phone calls, letters, and text messages.” 

The man’s revelation caught your interest. You didn’t like hearing the word ‘letters’ at all, but this could be a lead to what you had experienced before Jongho’s disappearing. 

“Tell me more, please.” 

Wooyoung sighed, sounding relieved that you didn’t dismiss his experiences, “They are practically all the same. Phone calls, letters, text messages... they all tell me the same date. Nothing more.” 

So, Wooyoung’s letters didn’t have any proper writing there. Therefore, you couldn’t compare the handwriting in your letters to the one on his. Maybe you could check if the letters had been written with the same pen. 

“Can you show me one of those letters?” 

“I don’t have pictures of them,” despite not being able to see him, the smirk on Wooyoung’s face was obvious from his voice, “But you could come to my place, and I’ll show you.” 

That didn’t sound like fun time at all. You’d step nowhere near Wooyoung’s apartment if you didn’t have strong men like San or Yeosang for protection. Or Jongho. Jongho who had been missing for quite a while already, disappeared like he never had even existed in your life. 

“Can’t you bring the letters somewhere public?” 

Wooyoung sounded pouty when you refused his offer, “Oh, come on. I’ll cook something for you. A sensual, romantic dinner without Jongho tossing plates at everyone.” 

You didn’t know whether to chuckle or get sad just at the thought of Jongho. Most of all, you were just left surprised. 

“You know about that?” 

“Of course I know. Yeosang shares everything and everyone with us,” Wooyoung giggled, squeezing your waist. 

He knew just how to sound as creepy as possible; you weren’t even sure if the insinuation was about you, but your gut feeling demanded you to stay far away from him. 

Despite your desperate need for safety, you had to find out more about who had been contacting Wooyoung in such weird ways. The chances of your stalker and the one having sent Wooyoung letters being the same person were quite big. It may have sounded crazy, but you had to accept his offer. 

“Fine,” as soon as you opened your mouth, you already regretted your decision, yet couldn’t take it back, “I’ll come to your house but Yeosang will come too.” 

It didn’t seem like Wooyoung was bothered by it at all. Eventually he dozed off, happily holding you like you were his favorite childhood plush animal to sleep with, which he had drooled on and squeezed to death for years already. You had a little harder time falling asleep, but it was impossible to fight back the exhaustion forever. 

“No, it’s not the time yet.” 

“Why not? It’s the perfect opportunity.” 

“You’re too impatient.” 

You woke up alone in Yeosang’s dim bedroom. It was a beautiful weekend morning but you didn’t feel quite fresh; Wooyoung’s embrace hadn’t left you a lot of space to breathe, and now you felt like a sad, deflated balloon. 

The voices coming from behind the door were quiet and it was hard to hear all of the words being spoken, but Wooyoung’s voice was so much louder that it became easy to recognize the subject of the conversation by context. 

“I think she woke up, so shut your mouths. I’m going to check up on her.” 

You barely had time to close your eyes before San was standing by the bedroom door, inspecting your act of sleeping which definitely looked less natural than you wanted it to. 

Maybe it was your shaky breaths or the unusual sleeping position that gave you away, but San immediately noticed your attempts at fooling him. 

“I’ve seen you sleep before. Stop acting like I wouldn’t notice that you’re awake,” San chuckled. 

With your sleepy brain, you didn’t even pay attention to his words carefully. 

You heard the door closing, but opening your eyes immediately would have been a risky move. All you could do was keep quiet and eyes shut for a second before checking if the door had left San outside or let him in. 

A few moments passed, and the room was full of tense silence. It was nerve-wracking, not being able to see what and who was around you. You held your shaky breaths in case San was still in the room. 

But after some time, it felt like you were alone. Your eyes opened carefully. 

San was in front of you, crouching. Even in the dim room you could see the wide smile, dimples prominent on his cheeks. The way his eyes were staring straight into your soul made your heart skip a beat – not in a good way. They weren’t unkind, almost even too eager which made it worse. His face was so close to yours that you could hear whenever he swallowed. 

“You heard us, right?” San’s smile made you feel uneasy. 

He clearly didn’t believe you as you shook your head ‘no’. 

“Liar. Do you want to know what we talked about?” 

This time, you weren’t sure whether to shake your head or nod. The things he’d reveal could be terrifying and make you feel unsafe. However, you couldn’t just stay oblivious; you nodded. 

San stayed silent and stood up from your level to his full height. He looked down at you as he spoke. 

“You’ll find out sooner than later, princess. Just don’t worry for now.” 

San’s words, the conversation they were having, and Wooyoung’s mention of someone contacting him had left you puzzled. As you arrived back home when the locksmith had finally granted you an access to your own apartment, you thought you’d feel safe again. 

But as your gaze fell on the state of your home, you decided it; you’d stop going to the peer support therapy. You’d report a crime to the police. There was no way you could keep this up, even though it meant that the social assistance would be gone. 

Even by the first glance, you could see the television screen which didn’t look broken by accident. Many other surfaces that once presented your reflection had been shattered as well. It looked like the mirrors had been smashed with a hard object – definitely intentionally. 

The glass doors of your cabinet were in smithereens on the floor and the objects from inside it, that were dear to you, had been stolen. In the middle of all the fear, a pang of annoyance perked its head up at the knowledge that the robber could have just opened the doors to get your prized possessions from inside the cabinet. 

But it wasn’t just a mere robber. You wished it had been, but what kind of a robber would have left a small teddy bear sitting neatly on the couch? 

Your careful steps were quiet but the beating of your heart wasn’t. You knew you should have called the police before walking into your own home which had become now a crime scene, but the plush bear basically called out your name. 

When your fingertips brushed against the soft fur, a song suddenly started playing from the teddy bear. Almost anyone would have found the beat familiar, and by the first words you recognized the song to be “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. It was a song some people used at their weddings but you had always thought the lyrics were creepy. 

The sound was crappy and lyrics barely comprehensible. The song choice definitely wasn’t coincidental. You knew the stalker was back – and this time he had already been inside your apartment. Someone had definitely stolen your keys at the yesterday’s therapy appointment and paid a visit to your home. 

It took too long for you to come to your senses, but you eventually took out your phone. Your shaky fingers tapped on the screen, dialing the emergency number. Your head was spinning with fear, senses heightened and listening to every possible sound in the apartment other than the singing teddy bear. 

“Every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you.” 

The plush bear kept serenading you. Its crackling voice and the beeping sound the phone made filled the silent apartment. Every second felt too long; the stalker could still be in your home, watching you. 

The beeping sound stopped and your heart lurched when a calm voice answered. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

Finally, some help. If the police believed you, maybe the stalker would eventually get caught. They had never believed you before with those multiple desperate and distrustful reports, but this time you had evidence other than just your own suspicions. 

You were about to explain the situation urgently when the teddy bear suddenly interrupted. Apparently, it could do more than just sing. 

“I love you so much. I hope you know that I’m always by your side, behind you and in front of you. I’m in every direction and place, every corner and space. I love you. So. Much!” 

You found it hard to believe the factory would have given the teddy bear lines like that. Someone very romantic had recorded a personal message for you. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” the emergency number operator asked. 

“Hopefully just me,” you answered.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ <- Chapter 8. Chapter 10. -> Masterlist ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Taglist: @devilzliaison @lover-with-dolar-sign-is-a-loser @passerbyforfun @gigikubolong29 @peqchplvto @eighttens @all-of-kpop @castingjinx @jsprien213 @cooldeermagazine 

[mariclerc]

unexpected role request here! can you do one where the situation is about the Oscar and Ollie adoption joke? where they like invite them over and spend time like a family and another fic where the timeline was when Charles introduced y/n and lily his family :))

Thank you so much for this request!! I love the idea 🥺🥺🥺 and don't worry, I will make your other request very soon!!

An unexpected role (pt.7) | cl16

Summary: you revealed your little secret to your date, you didn't expect he would take it so well. Warning: none, just fluff as usual featuring Ollie and Oscar!!

Follow the series! Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6 , Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Sunlight streams through the large windows of yours and Charles' apartment. Charles sits at the counter of the kitchen with Lily perched on a high chair wearing a bib. He's cutting up strawberries and feeding them to her, dodging sticky fingers with a smile.

In the living room, you are curled up on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You let out a surprised laugh.

“Charles, you'll never guess what I just saw!” you say walking into the kitchen.

Charles glances up from Lily, a strawberry halfway to her mouth. “What's that, amore?” he says with his mouth full of little raspberries.

Lily happily chomps on the strawberry.

“It seems you've become a social media dad already.” you say giggling.

Charles raises an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “A social media what now?” He says a little confused.

You hold up your phone, showing him a screenshot. It's a tweet with a picture of you, Charles, and Lily photoshopped beside Oscar Piastri and Ollie Bearman, the caption reads: "Charles Leclerc expanding his family with the next generation of talent! #adoptdontshop #F1fam"

Charles bursts out laughing, shaking his head. Lily claps her hands, delighted by the sound. “Oh my god, these fans... they're something else.”

“So, are you thinking of breaking the news to Lily that she has new brothers?” you say teasingly.

Charles picks Lily up from the high chair, placing her on his hip as he walks over to you. “Maybe someday, when she's old enough to understand that Oscar and Ollie are more like... racing cousins, I guess?” He leans and kisses Lily's head. “Though, the idea of them all hanging out here... it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it? I mean, you already know them and, well, they seem to like Lily a lot!”

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smile on your lips.

”You mean a whole house full of young, competitive drivers? Sounds like a recipe for chaos, you know?” you asked him.

“Maybe, but think of the stories they'd have for when they're older... "Remember that time Aunt y/n almost lost it when we turned the living room into a go-kart track?" That would be so funny!” he say grinning.

You reach out and softly touch his cheek. “Alright, alright, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. As long as they promise not to give Lily any racing ideas before she's old enough.”

Charles throws his head back and laughs, a genuine sound that fills the room. Lily joins in, giggling at the sound of her parents laughing.

“Don't worry, amour. We'll keep her grounded... For now.”

He leans in and kisses you, the promise of a playful evening with the guys hanging in the air.

***

One week later, the kitchen is a whirlwind of activity. You're juggling chopping vegetables with keeping Lily, who's sporting a bright yellow construction hat, out of the precarious piles of flour on the counter.

Charles bursts in, a wide grin on his face, followed by two young men, Oscar and Ollie, they both have shy smiles on their faces, despite already knowing them in the paddock, they tend to be a little shy.

“Here they are! The prodigal... racing sons, I suppose?” says Charles, making an exaggerated announcement when they enter.

Oscar and Ollie exchange awkward smiles.

“Hey Charles, y/n. Thanks for having us! This place smells amazing, what are we making?” Ollie says, waving friendly.

“It's nothing Ollie, we're making pizza! Lily's been demanding it all week.” You say while cleaning the flour from your hands.

Lily, perched on a stool by the counter, happily bangs a wooden spoon on a metal pot and looks up at Oscar. “Osc! Osc! Osc!” she giggles while looking at the Australian.

Oscar smiles and carefully approaches Lily.

“Hey there you girlyclerc, you want some cuddles?” He says, caressing Lily's cheek gently, she nods and extends her little hands towards him. Oscar chuckles and Ollie bumps him with his shoulder.

“So, uh, is there anything we can do to help with the dinner?” Ollie asks a little shyly as he smiles.

You smile, relieved at the offer.

“Actually, yes! Can you two keep Lily occupied in the living room for a bit, please? We need some grown-up time to get this pizza dough under control.” you smile at the young boys.

Oscar and Ollie look at each other, then back at you, a mixture of amusement on their faces.

Charles notice their hesitation. “Don't worry guys, she's pretty easy to please. Just don't let her near any markers, and maybe hide the remote... Besides, she already adores you two, so... I don't think it's a big problem.”

Oscar and Ollie share a determined look and smile.

“Consider it done. Come on, pipsqueak, let's go build a fort!” Ollie says as Lily jumps into his arms.

Oscar starts singing a children's song, earning a delighted squeal, and they disappear into the living room. You and Charles exchange a look, then you two burst out laughing.

“Maybe they'll make better babysitters than racing drivers, don't you think?” you giggled.

“Maybe... But at least they're good driving too amour.” Charles says, pulling you in for a quick kiss, flour dusting his cheek. “Now, about this reckless dough...”

Meanwhile in the living room, where Ollie and Oscar are sprawled on the floor with Lily, surrounded by pillows and blankets. Lily, wearing a princess crown made of construction paper, is holding a plastic microphone, belting out a made-up song at the top of her lungs. Oscar and Ollie, despite themselves, are smiling so hard at lily's creativity, completely captivated by their pint-sized audience.

***

You and Charles have managed to wrangle the pizza dough into a presentable shape. Flour dusts your aprons and the air smells pleasantly of tomato sauce and oregano.

“Alright, that looks good. Time to get these in the oven!” you say while wiping your hands.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierces the air. You and Charles exchange a panicked look.

“Lily!” Charles says exalted.

You both race towards the living room, bracing yourselves for the worst, the scene that greets you is unexpected.

Oscar and Ollie are sprawled on the floor, their faces painted in bright, uneven stripes. Lily, holding a colourful marker in one hand and a triumphantly mischievous grin on her face, stands over them. Pillows lie scattered on the floor, a half-built fort forgotten.

“Uh, she may have gotten a little carried away with the markers...” Ollie says sheepishly.

Lily lets out a giggle that's both adorable and slightly terrifying. You and Charles can't help but laugh, the tension dissolving.

“Lily, sweetheart, what did we say about markers, huh?” says Charles as he tries to keep a straight face.

Lily sticks her tongue out at him playfully and he does the same, you giggle at the father-daughter interaction.

“Well, this is certainly a first. Looks like we need to add "washing paint out of hair" to the post-pizza agenda, don't you think guys?” you say smiling.

Oscar and Ollie exchange a sheepish glance, but there's a spark of amusement in their eyes.

“Consider it payback for the flour fight Charles had us do at Monaco last year.” Ollie giggled softly.

Charles throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, a little initiation never hurt anyone!”

You shake your head, but a smile tugs at your lips. It's chaotic, messy, and completely unexpected. But as you look around at the scene - the flour-dusted kitchen, the paint-striped drivers, a giggling Lily in the middle of it all - you can't help but feel a warmth spread through you.

The sound of the oven timer cuts through the laughter, Charles pats his stomach with a theatrical sigh.

“Alright, alright, enough shenanigans. Pizza's calling! Who's hungry?” Charles says.

Lily, ever the opportunist, throws her arms up in the air.

“Dada, pizza!” Lily says smiling.

Oscar and Ollie share a look, then grin. “We could definitely use some fuel after all this... creative art expression.” Ollie says smiling.

You herd everyone towards the table, grabbing cleaning wipes on the way. Charles pulls out a high chair for Lily, her paint-streaked face a masterpiece of pure joy.

“Alright, first things first, let's get this paint cleaned up. Then pizza, maybe a movie to wind down before you two head home?” you say while wiping a smudge off Ollie's cheek.

Oscar smiles “Sounds like a plan, y/n. Thanks again for having us today.” says Oscar, wiping his face with a cloth.

Charles ruffles Oscar's hair playfully and smiles. “Anytime, mate! Just don't give Lily any ideas about supergluing my helmet on next time, alright?” he says with a chuckle.

Ollie lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

“No promises, Charles. No promises.”

As everyone settles around the table, the air is filled with a cacophony of chatter, laughter, and Lily's enthusiastic demands for more cheese. The scene fades on a warm, messy tableau of a family, unconventional as it may be, sharing a meal and a stolen moment of joy.

***

After eating the pizza, Lily, now sporting a clean face (and a suspicious orange stain on her shirt), bounces around the living room with a juice box in one hand. Oscar and Ollie are sprawled on the floor, attempting to build a precarious tower out of Legos.

“You think they'll be alright for a movie? Or will they be bouncing off the walls?” you say towards Charles while stacking some dishes in the kitchen.

“They might be a bit wired, but a good movie should tire them out eventually... What did you have in mind?” he says grinning.

You grab a movie from the shelf, a classic Disney animation.

“Something guaranteed to put them into a sugar coma... Besides, Lily's been obsessed with this lately.” you say in a sweet giggle and Charles smiled.

You return to the living room, putting in the movie. The Lego tower teeters precariously before collapsing with a dramatic crash, Lily squeals with laughter, then turns to Oscar and Ollie with wide eyes.

“Movie time! Movie time!” she says giggling. “Ollie?” she says towards Ollie, while making little hands, a sign she makes everytime she wants to be hold up in arms.

Oscar scoops her up, settling her on his lap while Ollie grabs a blanket, draping it over them both. You and Charles settle on the couch, popcorn bowls in hand. As the movie starts, a comfortable silence descends upon the room, Lily snuggles into Ollie's side, her little eyes already drooping.

A small smile plays on Charles' lips as he glances at you. You catch his eye and reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. On the screen, a princess embarks on a grand adventure... In the warmth of your apartment, your own unconventional adventure continues, one messy pizza dinner and movie night at a time.

[poeticpascal]

White Lies (Joel Miller x Reader)

Masterlist | Request here!

Summary: Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: violence, Joel kills 3 dudes (what murdaaah?), descriptions of blood and wounds, stitches, Joel feels guilt and shame but is also very soppy and very in love, fuff and angst all tangled up, descriptions of chronic pain

A/n: I have had a bloody nightmare the last few weeks with suspected endometriosis, which is what inspired me to write this. In my head, reader has endo and the medicine is some sort of contraception or strong painkillers to help her manage it. But it isn't explicitly mentioned so you can imagine whatever you most relate to. Please do let me know what you think, and as always, requests are open!

It’s a harsh winter, even by Boston’s standards.

The QZ is coated in a veil of thick snow, the blizzard that took hold weeks ago now bruising the streets with an icy fist.

Joel pulls his coat tighter around himself, grateful at least for the cover the snowstorm offered, the skies foggy and grey. He can slip through the alleyways much quicker, much quieter beneath the frost. His footsteps are erased almost as soon as he leaves them, and when things get messy, he can soothe his wounds in the freeze.

Which is good, because things get messy a lot.

Not that he’d tell you that. You were too pure, too gentle; not unlike the snow that paints your doorframe now.

No, Joel keeps those things from you. The world has been unkind enough, and if he has one purpose now, it’s to protect that sweetness of yours. To collect it, each golden ray of sunshine that so easily radiates from you, to give it back and let you bask in the warmth of your own soul. 

No one deserves it more than you do. Least not him, and yet you’d given him more love, more sweetness, than he could ever dream of.

That’s why he told you he was working a late shift today - sewage, he thinks he said - rather than where he actually is at 3am, catching his death in an old littered alleyway.

He occasionally shifts to avoid the silver moonlight dripping from the gaps in the fire-escape stairs above him. Tonight’s meeting should be a simple one, free from FEDRA’s strict patrols; he’d done this long enough now to know when, and where, was safest for these things.

He stays on high alert, though. Just in case.

Marco’s late. He isn’t known for being the most competent of dealers, but Joel was getting desperate now, and he was the only crook in the QZ who could get what he needed. He was a small man, a bit pathetic looking, really. But he was smart, and he had connections that even Joel couldn’t make for all his smuggling and dealing.

So when Joel’s supplier told him he couldn’t help him anymore, he didn’t have a choice. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

“Miller, there ya’ are.” Joel’s snapped out of his thoughts, his looming regret of this whole situation, as Marco strolls down the alley. He grins, in the same cocky way he always did, the sort of grin a man who couldn’t win a fight but has enough men who could wrapped around his finger, doing the dirty work for him.

Joel insisted he come alone. Not because he couldn’t handle his goons; he knew he could. Maybe. But it would cause a scene, and draw attention, to something he very much wanted to keep under wraps.

He’s semi-surprised to see the two men walking behind Marco. Deep down, he’d had some faith that the dealer would stick to his word.

“Quiet the fuck down,” Joel warns, seething through his teeth as his eyes search the alley behind them, making sure they hadn’t been heard. “Who are your friends?”

Marco follows Joel’s gaze towards his companions. “They’re just here to observe.”

The men are the same height as Joel, maybe a little taller. He recognises both from the sleazy speakeasies that lie beneath the floors of the QZ. Where the bad guys go. 

One is bald, with a jagged scar carved across his cheek and over his eye. He’s scowling, unlike Marco and the other man, who looks somewhat softer with thick hair grown to his shoulders and brown eyes that stayed on Joel like bedrock.

“That’s not what we agreed,’ Joel growls.

There’s tension in the air, thick, and they must feel it too because Marco’s henchmen each have a hand hovering near their sides, where silver blades reflect the white of the snow.

“I recall us also agreeing that you’d get your meds in return for the money. But we’re doing things a little differently today.” Joel remains stoic, though his eyes turn dark and angry, the moon’s light no longer illuminating his features. Marco tiptoes slowly towards him, getting so close that Joel can feel his breath and raising a hand to pick a piece of lint from his flannel shirt. “I want my money. But you might have to wait a little longer for your meds.”

Joel reacts then, squaring up to him, stepping forward and clenching his fists. The other men wrap their hands around their blades, anticipating a fight. Marco just laughs.

“‘Scuse me?” Joel asks, though they all know he understood what was going on.

“You’re gonna give me the amount we agreed. And then, you’re gonna speak to one of your guard friends, and cut me a deal. Then you might get your meds.”

Joel’s anger swells inside him like a beast, his previous care to stay hidden long gone as he imagines driving his fist into Marco’s smug, son of a bitch face again and again and again. 

He has to think this through, though. He needs those meds. Marco can see the cogs turning. “Just give me the money, Miller. Don’t make this difficult. You can’t take three of us.”

“No?” Joel retorts, already decided in what he’d do next. “I don’t think it’s worth findin’ out. Give me the meds.”

Marco sighs, dropping his head and stepping away from Joel, leaving him to face his men. “Shame, Joel. You really coulda helped us.”

He nods to his men, who immediately draw their blades and attack. The first lands a punch on his face, the weight of it surprising him as he falls back into the railing. Before he can recover, the other has already plunged a blade through his stomach, right below his ribcage. He controls himself, swallows the yell that claws its way up his throat, tries to think. The cold steel of the rail stabs into his back, and when another fist collides with his cheek and sends him to the floor, he uses it to haul himself up and tackle one of the men - the softer one - to the ground with him.

Marco only stands and watches as Joel throws his weight onto the man and smashes his head into the stone floor. The other grabs his shoulder, spinning him round but Joel’s prepared this time and he dodges the swat of his knife. Instead he throws a punch into his stomach, making him double over which gives Joel the opportunity to grab the knife strapped to his calf and drive it through the bald man’s throat. He stumbles, collapsing to the floor with a choked cry, and Joel turns back just in time to see the other man trying to stand, though the injury to his head makes him dizzy. Joel stands first, easily pushing the man to the ground, and stomping on his head with as much force as his steel-toed boots would let him. Both men stay down.

Marco has regressed into the darkness of the alley, and he looks somehow smaller than usual. He’s pathetic, and if this was any other job, he’d laugh. But this wasn’t a laughing matter, and there was only one target for him; the medication.

The smaller man reaches into his pocket, searching for his gun, but Joel anticipates the move and has already reached him and thrown him against the wall before he can find it. His movements strain the wound in his abdomen, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t feel it.

Joel’s fist pins Marco to the wall by his throat, making him splutter and flail like a fish out of water.

“Where are the fuckin’ pills, Marco?” He just continues to flail, trying to pull Joel’s hand off of him with both of his own, to no effect. Joel scoffs, throwing him to the floor and dragging his knife out of the now dead henchman’s neck. “If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ve got no use for ya.” He uses his shirt to clean the blade, the flannel already soaked in blood, his own.

“For fuck sake, Marco whines, slightly out of breath. “They’re at my place.”

“There anyone else there?” Joel asks, so nonchalantly that it almost sounds like a passing thought.

“No, no one there. But you’ll need me to get you in.”

Joel looks up again, the now-clean knife held in his fist with a vice-like grip. He stalks towards Marco, ignoring his desperate pleas. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem-” 

With that, he stabs him in the chest, letting him choke and gasp on the floor and searching his pockets for a key. He finds it, and does a quick, final survey of the alleyway. The once perfectly settled snow is disturbed, kicked up in the fight, and deeply stained with blood.

Joel curses, but leaves, only now noticing the burning pain from his torso. He leans against the wall, now stood out in the street, open; but there are no guards. He doesn’t think he’d care. Instead he grabs a fistful of the snow around his feet, packs it into the wound, hissing at the sharp pain of the ice but quickly feeling relief as it numbs him.

This was going to be a long night.

—------------------

It’s another couple of hours or so before he returns. There were, in fact, people at Marco’s place - but Joel knew that would be the case anyway. They weren’t a problem.

He’d showered in Marco’s flat, after taking out the men hanging out in there. Protecting it, he assumed. And he’d found a med pack that let him stitch up the wound to some degree; it was a hack job, but it should do the trick. He’d had worse.

The most important thing was that he found the meds.

The old door of your place creaks as he steps inside, quickly closing it behind him before the cold could enter. It’s futile, really; the wooden pillars are rotten, decaying so badly that the wind sweeps through the cracks with ease, and he can see dustings of snow on the floor around your windows. But he tries anyway.

“Joel?”

There you are.

It’s scary, honestly, what your voice does to him. Even so quiet, so distant from the bedroom upstairs, it lifts the weight from his shoulders that he thought he’d carry forever.

“I’m here, baby. I’m comin’.” He pulls off his shoes, placing them neatly beside the door just how you like, and heads upstairs. His bloodied shirt is long gone, buried in some forgotten corner of the QZ, where he has a collection of discarded items by now.

You don’t reply, he doesn’t expect you to. He reaches your bedroom, gently opening the door and sighing at the sight of you lying there, curled up between mountains of sheets and pillows.

He’d almost think you look peaceful if he didn’t know how much pain you’re in.

“Oh, honey,” he laments, crossing the distance from the door to you and kneeling down beside your head. You open your eyes, though they’re weighed down by exhaustion, and a small smile creeps onto your lips at the sight of the man before you.

“Hi,” you whisper, letting a gentle hand poke out from the duvet and brush his jaw. He can’t help but grin back at you, the total mess that took place just hours ago wiped from his mind completely, and he leans into your touch.

The both of you just stay like that for a moment, your thumb sweeping across his cheek, his eyes never leaving yours. Then you wince, and no matter how much you try to hide it, he can see the wave of pain inflict your body.

“I’ve got your tablets, sweetheart.” He reaches into his pocket, a desperation to his actions now; he hates seeing you like this. You just nod, pushing a meek but honest “thank you” past your lips, so quiet that he almost doesn’t hear it. His heart swells.

Joel presses out one tablet and hands it to you, then picks up the glass of water that stands on your side table, making a mental note to replace it later. You take the pill, grabbing hold of his hand before he can pull it away, and give it a gentle squeeze. He follows your lead and tips the water to your lips once you’ve placed the tablet on your tongue, gently helping you swallow and squeezing your hand right back.

A look of relief washes over your face, and he finally lets himself relax. He stands, letting go of your hand and leaning over to kiss your forehead, before pulling off the clothes he’d taken from Marco’s wardrobe and climbing in beside you.

He only knew heaven in these moments with you, late at night, when your hands reach for him beneath the sheets and your head nuzzles into his neck. It’s no different tonight; he’s quiet, unsure if you’d fallen asleep in those few seconds, and as much as he wishes you’d rest, he can’t deny the way his lips curl when he feels your gentle touch wrap around him.

“How was today? Doing the sewage?”

Joel swallows. “Yeah, yeah. It was fine. Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart.” His arms envelop you, holding you tight against him, one hand drawing gentle circles on your back. He’s lost in the bliss for a moment, letting it wash over him in waves, when your hand brushes his haphazard and you freeze. So does he.

“Joel,” you say; it’s still a whisper, but not the tired kind you’d given him earlier. It’s like you’re too scared to ask. “What’s that?”

He panics, holding you tighter, trying to think. He can’t believe himself for not remembering to cover it, to make sure you didn’t see. 

“There was an accident today. I did some building work before I went to sewage, a pipe fell. Nicked me real bad-” you gasp, forcing yourself to sit up with shaky arms. Joel immediately pulls you back down, his hands grasping your face, staring into your eyes like they held the world inside them. It’s dark, but they glimmer, and he just hopes you can’t see his fear.

“No no. It’s fine, baby. I’m fine. Got seen by the doc, got a couple ‘a stitches. Says i’ll be all good by tomorrow.”

“By tomorrow? Joel that doesn’t sound right-”

He interrupts you. He hates this. “I promise, baby. That’s what she said. I promise.” He wipes a thumb across your cheek, and the way you seem to settle, to believe him, makes him ache. He hates this.

You nuzzle back into his side, placated. You trust him, endlessly, and he hates that he abuses that trust just as much as he needs to protect you. A means to an end, he thinks.

The two of you are silent for a few moments, your hand lay gentle over his wound. Like you’re trying to heal it. He thinks it’s working.

“Thank you for picking up my medicine,” you say.

“It’s okay.” His words are quiet, muffled; he’s got his face buried in your hair now, revelling in your scent, and really, he doesn’t want to talk about this with you. He doesn’t want to lie anymore than he already has.

You’re still oblivious, though. Still sweet.

“I’m so glad you can make my rations cover it. I don’t know what I’d do if they made them more expensive.”

Oh, babygirl, he thinks.

Because your rations don’t cover your medicine. Neither did his. Even combined, they’d hardly cover a drink in the bar these days. He’d seen you work and work and work, in spite of the pain that bloomed in your abdomen and tortured your bones until you could hardly stand up anymore, and he saw the way they laughed in your face and turned you away when you tried to get the help you needed. When you tried to trade your labour for medicine. You were nothing to them.

So he told you he could barter the price down. That it was best if he goes from now on, to make sure you’re not taken advantage of. He takes your rations, stuffs them right back in the savings pot you keep above the shelves in your kitchen, and leaves to make whatever underground deals he needs to in order to get those meds. And you didn’t know a thing.

He must’ve been quiet for a while, because you continue. “And I’m glad you don’t do those scary things anymore.”

That gets his attention. “Scary things?”

“Yeah. Like, the smuggling and stuff.” You take a breath, tighten your arms around his waist. “I mean, I know why you did it. I’m glad you were able to look after yourself.”

Joel curses to himself, unable to wipe the tears that brimmed in his eyes as you spoke, because that would mean letting go of you.

“But I’m also glad you don’t do that anymore. You go out, and you work, even the horrible sewage shifts like tonight.” You giggle, but Joel can’t even force himself to smile. Shame consumes him.

“I’m proud of you, Joel.”

He’s silent. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels like shit.

If you notice his stillness, you don’t mention it. That alone makes his heart ache; you’d always been so understanding, so careful to make sure he’s okay while knowing exactly how to handle his feelings.

It’s odd, really, how fiercely you protect one another. He doesn’t let the darkness of the world so much as touch you, and you extract the horrors from his veins like a vacuum, making him forget the damage was ever even there.

His eyes flitter down, watching you drift asleep, finally at peace and free from pain. He exhales.

He’d never feel good about lying to you. But some things, he thinks, are worth it.

You are worth it.

And so he brushes away the hair that’s fallen over your eyes, trying to fight the droopiness of his own so he can keep them on you for just a second longer. But sleep overtakes him, and the only reason he lets himself fall into dreamland, is because he knows he’ll find you there, too.

[k-tarotz]

could u do how karina and mingi view eachother? :3

oh this is an interesting combination.. have they interacted before? I can’t keep up with so much kpop news y’all .. 💔

disc.: tarot is a form of divination, not a reliable source of information. this is made for entertainment purposes, not to spread rumours.

how mingi views karina:

four of cups, nine of pentacles, the sun reversed, knight of pentacles reversed, the hanged man

Now, y’all don’t jump me, I am the messenger here 🙏🏻 I am just saying what the cards say! 🙏🏻 I don’t ever intentionally send hate to any idol, because if I dislike them I simply just don’t interact with any of their content! Everything I will say will simply be a reflection of the cards!

So, how do I put it nicely.. ? I can’t. I am sure someone else can, but that person is not me so I will do my best to just rather be straightforward.

He views her in a pretty.. negative light? He does recognise her good qualities, though. He realises she can be kind, helpful, encouraging and a good friend to those who she lets near but there is still a sense of disgust and disconnect in energy when he thinks about her, even in passing.

It’s like.. yeah, she could be a great person if she tried but for now she is incredibly toxic, egoistic, arrogant and impractical. Possibly immature to the extremes too. At least, that is how he views her.

His view seems to stem from two things 1) how she belittles others due to thinking highly of herself 2) her sexual activities being rather lowly in his eyes.

The first point seems to stem from him witnessing how she belittles other girl idols in favour of praising herself, making herself look cool. I wouldn’t be surprised if he witnessed verbal bullying, tbh. It’s like she belittles younger girls in front of her friends and genuinely has no shame about it.. ? As in it makes her feel good, powerful, hot and like she is the “best”, on top of the world. What she leaves out is the fact that she targets girls more vulnerable than her and sometimes even lies to her friends so that they think her mean girl behaviour is justified… so she deep down knows it’s wrong, but does it anyway so she feels like she is worth something. (I do not like this girl, but I almost feel sorry for her, because she is clearly going through something mentally that causes her to act untrue to herself.. ? the damage has been done already though.)

Either way, I don’t think Mingi knows the true depth of Karina’s personally, acts or behaviour (meaning both the good and bad) exactly because he keeps his distance but he has seen enough for him to understand that she isn’t someone who he personally would consider to be a good person.

For the second point I brought up, I do admit, Karina’s sex life is none of Mingi’s business. The energy here isn’t intrusive though, but it’s rather the fact that she cannot keep it secret even though she believes she can.. so he has an opinion on what he has heard, and what he has seen.

To start off, I think Karina thrives off of the mentality of ‘if men can be players then I can be too!!! So she has (and had already) a lot of sexual partners because it makes her feel empowered. She thinks she is using them and toying with these people as she pleases, because in her mind she can get anybody she wishes with little to no effort. Yet she doesn’t realise that these men are using her. I wish I could word this in a nicer way, but I can’t. They are essentially just passing her around because to them, she is easy to get. They are toying with her, gaslighting and manipulating her all while he is in the disillusion that she is in control and dominating them and the situation. So, when she goes around bragging about how she slept with so and so these men are actively making fun of her and objectifying her. Mingi has overheard conversations Karina did not, you know? Not like he actively participated in them, or ever had any relations with Karina but he just heard male idols talk of her as less than human and she is proud of it. She could figure it out, she isn’t an idiot, but she is in denial. So she tells herself a different story. This rather seems to frustrate Mingi!

Also, a thing he dislikes her is the fact that her behaviour seems from insecurity. In the past, before she “had a glow up” (I hate this phrase so much like it’s so belittling y’all) she could have been rejected and treated harshly by men. With belittling, ignorant and disrespectful attitude. Now she goes around and does the same to men who she doesn’t seem worth it. It’s hypocritical, and gross. This is what seems to disgust Mingi. He seems like a pretty loyal guy, but he understands that respectful one night stands can happen… Karina is just doing sort of the opposite of that.. ? In his word, her attitude is bitchy.

I think he also finds it creepy that she specifically targets older men.. ? Not because he cares about age gaps between adults, but rather because she clearly has some unresolved issues that she is trying to fix through sex and using other people while living in a disillusioned world.

As a last note, I do want to say he doesn’t hate Karina herself but her actions and wishes she would get some mental help because he recognises her actions come from instability and such. His energy seems to stem from intense frustration, not misogynistic world view or anything. (I do think he has a strong dislike for her though for the bullying.. not hate because I think in the past he used to be a rude person, so he feels like he doesn’t have the “right” to hate even though he wasn’t actively bullying, just hurting people with words due to having a lot of pent up anger in him. not making excuses tho that’s messed up lowkey)

Yeah.. that’s pretty much it for this reading. I expected there to be a love reading like for example a messy love triangle or situationship.. bro is negative nancy 😞

I am sorry to all the Karina fans out there, but I will NOT lie right into your faces, that would be mean af. You are free to think of her as you wish, I am not encouraging anyone to hate on her. The cards are just like that y’all fr.

how karina views mingi:

the star rev, six of pentacles rev, the tower, four of pentacles, three of cups, queen of wands reversed

y’all, this is sort of a mess.. this poor girl 😭 I expected mutual hatred but it seems like it is muuuch more complicated than that.

Alright so I don’t know the nature of their relationship because I don’t think Karina can make up her mind at all either! It’s pretty obvious that there is something “romantic” going on here in regards to her feelings but rather than it being a fairy tale romance it seems one sided and rather ill in a sense of this harming her mental health further and further. I don’t think Mingi does this on purpose because as I said he tries his best to keep a distance from her, but rather she seems to be doing this to herself.

She can’t accept the fact that she cannot have him.

It’s like I hate you but I love you, I hate that I love you energy coming from her.. you know?

I do think that Karina has liked Mingi for a few years now, as in a romantic huuuge crush. I wouldn’t call it love, but I am sure she would.

I don’t think these feelings started before she became an idol but rather after it. She had occasionally bumped into him, and the more often it happened the bigger her crush became. The thing is, she has such an innocent energy.. ? As in, at the time of where her feelings developed. It’s sort of like… intense genuine feelings, but too pure and naive to be a real type of love. A hallway crush that was supposed to go away, but it stayed and lingered until it became more meaningful than that. I do think that at times she would even playfully talk about little moments with her members and giggle about it! “ Omg did you see that?! He looked at me!.. He looked so nice today “ It’s actually a rather sweet energy to connect to be honest with y’all. This was definitely before she started ruining herself. (Let’s be honest y’all.. She isn’t having one night stands because she actually enjoys sex that much)

Either way, I do think that she confessed to Mingi.. ? I don’t want to say several times because I do think that it’s more complicated than that. She confessed once, got rejected and tried more subtle and feminine approaches after that.. with months/years differences. This was like… a loooooong time ago. If you were to mention it to her now she would cringe and deny it because she is embarrassed. (Which is fair, she changed a lot as a person, I understand.)

I do think that something that broke her heart was Mingi getting in a relationship.. ? “Them, but not me?” kind of energy.

The thing is, that she knew it’s sort of one sided, just hoped for something entirely different. They weren’t really close or friends to begin with, just strangers who know each other from a distance at best. I do think that hurt her and slowly her feelings died down a little, bit by bit… although she still likes him, she will just deny it lol

You know that one friend that constantly gives their energy to one guy who doesn’t even care for her even though there’s one that loves and adores her and she keeps saying she will change but she never does?.. Yeah that’s basically Karina’s role in her friend circle.

I don’t think this specific thing triggered her desire to purge through one night stands, it just made her negative emotions and world views grow stronger. So that’s that.

To be frank with y’all, I do believe Mingi is currently in a relationship with someone.. ? This could be the same person but tbh I don’t feel like it is.. at max it’s an on and off relationship but definitelyyy complicated. That’s the cause of her embarrassment.

It’s like, that’s not even her man so it shouldn’t really affect her like this but at the same time she doesn’t want to see it.

It makes her hate him because she can’t have him and because she feels like she is making a fool of herself for adoring someone so much even if he clearly dislikes and doesn’t want her. To her friends and close ones she will just say it’s a hatred due to his character, the person he is.

Honestly that’s it.. ? She is pretty closed off, but even so it’s like her desires are leaking through.

She does want to be in a secure romantic relationship and stop allowing people to use her body but she feels lost and doesn’t know how to stop all this. How to have impulse control, discipline and more importantly she struggles with self love.

Y’all I feel sorry for this woman I hope she will find someone who she will match with. Like I do not like her, but she is pretty clearly hating her own behaviour too, and she isn’t stupid. She can tell when people don’t like her. She seems to be hurting quite a lot 💔

May she find peace

– Candy

[oneforthemunny]

you mentioned rockstar eddie watching her have their babies and still being obsessed ofc, and i’m wondering how janitor eddie would be, esp if she was feeling self conscious

so here's my thoughts on this, because i love janitor!eddie from the bottom of my heart, but... he's a little ball of anxiety and sometimes it makes the situation soooo much worse. like he gets in his own head, and stays in his own head, won't tell you what's going on just starts acting weird, so you think it's you and in reality, he's just in need of prozac lmao.

since oliver was adopted, there was no "down period" ya know? if anything, i think watching you be a mom to him and be sweet to him and kind and loving, it made eddie even fucking more insatiable than before in the most love sicken devoted way.

after you gave birth to olivia, it was different. through the pregnancy, he'd already been a little nervous with you. there's a full blurb about it, where he's nervous to touch you because he doesn't want to hurt you. bless him, there's not a lot out there at the time (early 90s) about having sex and being pregnant lol. so he's just scared. better to stay hands off than hurt you. which in the blurb, doesn't last because once you tell him you want to and it's ok, he's actually feral.

but after olivia, the doctor tells the usual, no sex for this six weeks or it can hurt you. eddie, ofc, asked a million questions about every single thing (turned a thirty minute visit into an hour and a half), but specifically about what could happen, how would you know if you're healed, what did they do to verify that everything was good, was there a test- like a million questions.

six weeks turns into eight, and it's really not too bad because you're both exhausted and literally collapse into each other. but around ten weeks, the routine is becoming more normal, olivia's sleeping through the night, you both feel like you can catch your breath, but eddie's still so distant with sex? like everything else is so good, but if you try to initiate, kiss him a little deeper, make yourself into the little spoon and back your ass up on him, he stills and shuts it down.

by eleven weeks, you're frustrated. by twelve, almost three months, you're hurt. wayne kept the kids for the night, wanted to give you two some alone time and wanted to spend time with his grandbabies, and you think it's perfect. you're about to go back to work, and it seems like a good time to "break the seal" so to say.

you have a dinner at home, he cooked, wined and dined you, is so so soooo fucking sweet and lovey. you're on the couch, watching a movie, but really making out like you used to. you can feel him, feel him getting hard, and when you try to make a move, he starts like panicking. apologizing, and trying to hide it.

"fuck, i-i'm sorry. i don't, just gimme a second, an-and i'll-"

"-so do you just think i'm disgusting now?" tears in your eyes, you're beyond hurt. you'd heard so many stories about men who saw their wives give birth and didn't want to have sex anymore, deemed them gross, but you never in a million years though eddie- your sweet, kind, perfect eddie would be one of them.

eddie is on the brink of an anxiety attack, because ???? why would you think that? you're the prettiest, most beautiful girl in the world to him, and he tells you so.

"then why... why are you not wanting to have sex?" you blubber around your tears. hormones still wild even after, emotional from the hurt too.

"i know you're hard. i can see it." you point to his crotch, his semi still prominent. "so it's me."

"no, no. what? no." eddie thinks he might throw up, head spinning so fast. "it-it's not you-"

"-yes it is! why else wouldn't you want to? it's because i had a baby, and-and you think-"

"-don't." eddie's throat is tight, swallowing his heart. "it's- i- i just- i don't want to hurt you."

"hurt me? you are hurting me. you're hurting my feelings because you won't even touch me."

eddie does nearly throw up, swallows bile and it's like his world is turned up side down. he was so fucking scared, petrified, of having sex with you after and accidentally ripping something. that maybe you weren't healed, that the doctor made a mistake, and he'd fuck you and cause you to like, internally bleed and die or something insane. or that he'd just hurt you, that it would hurt and he'd hear you in pain, and he'd never forgive himself.

you'd just given him everything he ever wanted, made the ultimate sacrifice out of love, and he would not- could not hurt you over that. if he did, he'd genuinely be unable to live with himself.

after he finally just tells you that, instead of being so fucking weird, you calm him down. tell him it doesn't hurt, that you'd let him know if it did.

"just... just use your fingers first. and if it hurts, we can stop and i'll go to the emergency room. i promise. you won't hurt me." you tell him, gently cupping his cheek.

and really, it didn't take much convincing after he finally spilled what had been eating at his mind, once you soothed him. i mean, he had also been in agony. every time you'd take off your top or bend over to pick up a toy, he'd have to run to the bathroom because he was so fucking hard.

it was never unattraction, it was genuinely just his own mind and anxieties and spiraling.

[endearng]

Solace

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: A particular case with the BAU makes you relive old, painful memories. Spencer holds your hand as you share them with him. W.C: 1.8k Warnings: This is sort of platonic fluff with a dash of hurt/comfort; maybe they're in love but don't truly know it yet; mentions of loneliness during childhood, canon cm type of violence (domestíc violence and mísogyny). A/N: Took me very long and I don't know if I like it enough, but I hope you guys do. Feedbacks are highly welcomed and appreciated. Enjoy! Masterlist

"Hey," Spencer approached you carefully, smiling softly. It didn't quite reach his eyes, though. You knew the reason why.

You were best friends with Spencer Reid. It was easy, being around him. You felt connected as you got to know each other because you could relate to him so much and so did he to you, so you always relied on him during tough times. This time would almost feel different, because you felt scared of exposing yourself to him. Not because of his reaction, of course, he wasn't one to judge you even if his life depended on it, but because it made you feel vulnerable for him to see the pieces of you that you didn't appreciate all that much. The insecure, bad, ugly and mistrusting sides of you.

"Hey yourself."

You had just finished a case that involved children and domestic abuse. A group of men founded some sort of cult that preached hatred towards women — a motivation that had to do with fractured childhood and trauma related to their parents' broken marriages, of course. What a bond. Situations with kids were always more sensitive than anything else, and this one in particular brought back some bittersweet memories. You had had several nightmares during the investigation, but Spencer had been the one to wake you up from one of them because you were sharing a room. You were glad he did.

You were standing in a familiar street, but the darkness of the twilight made you feel uneasy. As you walked, a trail of both sadness and worry lingered behind you — feeling on edge, as if something was about to happen. Little did you know, fate had already made up its mind. And you couldn't change it.

It was hard to breathe. Your lungs felt like they were full of smoke, so much was the sensation of your chest being squeezed and with no room for air. You sat down on a sidewalk, dizzy, afraid to fall if you stayed on your feet. As you did, you noticed a big house across the road, pristine white walls and soft yellowish lights cleared one of the rooms in the first store, where you saw a couple holding and smiling at each other. Despite the feeling inside you, you smiled, too. Like their love made the air around them change, such intense feelings made others feel loved, welcomed and safe. In the greenest grass you've ever seen, even if the absence of light stopped you from seeing everything clearly, was a blonde girl playing all by herself. As you tried to calm your breathing, you noticed another girl joining her to play in a pink and purple princess castle outside the house. For a moment, you felt calm just watching the two girls sharing the most ordinary moment of any girl's childhood. An ordinary — or so you thought it should be — childhood surrounded by love, company and, most importantly, trust. Still, a sense of dread tugged at your heartstrings.

Then, everything happened so quickly. The blonde girl's dad, who just seconds ago was with his wife, now had a hard expression on his face. Anger seeped out of him. He approached them and told his daughter that playtime was over, which made her expression, which was so full of life, change abruptly. She entered the house, now looking down at her feet. Not daring to look, let alone say anything to her father, even though she was smiling so hard with her friend moments prior. The other girl didn't even have the time to bid her friend goodbye. You were too caught up trying to understand the suddenness you just saw to pay attention to the other girl, who was now in front of you, ready to confide something with a frown on her face, "He’s always mad."

And right as he finished her dark sentence, whose intonation and weight of the words chosen sounded like an adult, you heard the shots inside the house. Unable to run. Unable to breathe. Unable to react. Unable to undo fate's ugly decision.

Then, Spencer woke you up. You were tossing and turning on the bed and he noticed it because you were sharing the bedroom. Gently, he said you were having a bad dream and that you kept murmuring a female name. You thanked him for interrupting your nightmare, but didn't really talk about what was plaguing you. He felt like his hands were tied when days passed and you kept going as if nothing had happened — you didn't let him in, which was unusual for the both of you. Nonetheless, he knew you were avoiding falling asleep.

"Is everything okay?" Spencer asked, his tone caring.

"I don't know how I feel." You answered, looking out the jet's window, even if it was pitch dark. "I know I should feel good now that those kids are not under threat anymore, but, how many other creeps are out there? Will it ever end?" You asked, more to yourself, or the world, than to Spencer.

"I wish I could have that answer."

You glanced at him. His furrowed brows and sympathetic eyes met your defeated face. His caring nature around you made something in you snap. Maybe the need for reassurance, for safety. You finally thought you didn't have anything to lose, so you poured out your heart.

"Back when I was a kid, I had this friend. She was new in the city, so I met her when she joined our class in the middle of the school year. She was pretty reserved but I was pretty annoying and I wanted to get to know her." You sighed. Spencer let out a soft chuckle at the thought of you as a kid. Sweet, persistent and lovely. Just as you are now. "We would have lunch together when she was there, because she used to miss school a lot. I remember asking why, but I can't remember the answer."

You weren't looking at him. Guilt and embarrassment were trying to take over your emotions, your watering eyes intensifying feeling sensitive, like a being that was stripped off its skin. Walking around bare, shieldless. Come to think about it, it was always like that around him. No walls were needed to protect you from him.

A deep breath. It was just Spencer. He would listen. He would understand. "I remember that it took a lot longer for her to come back this one time. I asked the teacher what had happened and she only told me that she had left. I didn't know where to and I didn't know until years later. I was heartbroken because I had lost a friend. I know it seems dumb, but I really enjoyed spending time with her. We talked a lot, I learned the name of her friends and family, we played pretend, tag, hide and seek... We'd take our dolls to play with and talked about the cartoons that we both watched. It was nice to finally have a friend."

"Some time later, I found out by eavesdropping a conversation between my grandmother and a friend of hers that my friend's father had killed his wife, her mom, and then himself. He told her to wait outside the house so he and his wife could talk." You sniffled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "What kind of person does that?" You asked, tone exasperated, voice cracking, barely a whisper. Spencer looked at you longingly, patiently waiting for you to finish. He wouldn't dare to speak unless he was sure you were done. "So, I guess this case really triggered that memory. I remember grieving because I'd thought she was dead. I had nightmares for years, but never told anybody about it. In my dreams, I always watched her dad calling her back inside the house."

"What was her name?"

"Jane."

A beat of silence. He looked down at his lap. "That was the name you kept calling when you were... you know."

"Yeah. I know, Spencer." You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. "I know..."

Spencer looked utterly lost and heartbroken for you, but he was willing to try to be good for you so that you kept trusting yourself to him. "I'm sorry you had to go through that by yourself," was what he said. You smiled, albeit sadly.

"I'm sorry too, but at the same time, thankful that now I have you to share it with."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I want to. It feels like it was such a brief moment, but I guess it still haunts me to this day. I just felt, maybe feel, powerless over it, you know? I know I couldn't have done anything, heh, I was a dumb little kid. But still. Guilt is a bitch." You voice, your eyes that were unable to stay focused on a spot for too long and your fidgeting hands revealed your anxiety.

He put his hands on top of yours. You froze, finally looking at him again. "Pablo Neruda said that love is so short, but forgetting is so long. I guess that applies to you. You were just a kid trying to make a friend, and in a way, your company made her feel safe." You brows furrowed, tears rolling down your cheeks. His hands on yours stopped you from wiping them. You didn't want him to let you. "You were a curious and annoying elementary schooler who made sure your friend had company, even though it wasn't your main concern at that time, or you didn't notice it was. Maybe it could have been. Maybe she skipped school because of the problems at home, we know now that, sadly, it does happen. And, when she did go to school, she had your company to play and forget about all of that — she had a friend. You were her solace."

Just like you are mine, his mind screamed.

You were full on crying, silently. Your grateful glance never strayed away from his; you took it that he knew everything you wanted to say but couldn't.

Thank you for saying this.

Thank you for offering me a new, better perspective.

Thank you for being my friend.

I love you.

I wouldn't know which path to take if I didn't have you.

Actually, I do. I'd take the one with you in it.

Instead, "I wish we knew each other when we were kids. Either way, I know we were destined to be in each other's life."

He laughed softly, saying your name, “That’s a nice thought.”

The love you shared changed the atmosphere around you, too. But you didn’t feel overwhelmed with a feeling something would go wrong. If anyone asked if there was something right in your life, you’d say, in a heartbeat, that it is Spencer Reid.