#i’m not neglecting him stop that
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prettyboykatsuki · 7 days ago
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king can i fool around with isagi while you’re busy with the guys of the game
THIS IS INSANE ?;$4!(@;;!/‘
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heroesriseandfall · 2 years ago
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Fanon mischaracterization of the Drakes is how I end up making a post defending Tim’s parents from baseless fanon bashing only to immediately after make a post complaining about their canon parenting.
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carefulfears · 2 years ago
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the way that when mulder sees his dad in colony he reaches out to hug him
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and gets cut off with a handshake
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is so sad to me because the next time that mulder goes to see his dad, in anasazi, he instantly shakes his hand
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he just notices and internalizes everything around him and the way people respond to him and what people want from him, and moments like this where he’s remembering and acting out of that learned information, are so telling
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sammygender · 5 months ago
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wrt dean hitting sam and how its obviously something with an established history of happening from the way sam acts about it (‘you satisfied?.. guess not’ ‘take a swing’ etc). i personally think this has been a pattern in their life pretty much forever. wait i ended up saying way more in the tags im gonan make another post i think
#the thing with sam and dean is also that since they were so neglected a lot of Relatively Normal older sibling behavior becomes something#different. like take in a very supernatural christmas. dean gets mad at sam and starts yelling at him to shut up#and it’s discomforting to watch!! no one is telling dean to stop or in any way contradicting the messages hes giving to sam and ur like.#christ!! but that’s like. Pretty Normal older sibling behavior i think. i was never really the kind to fight with my siblings when they were#kids like that but tons of peoples older siblings beat them up for fun when they’re like 8. but it just becomes different#with sam and dean - because dean does have all the power in a way older siblings dont normally bc usually you and ur sibling are still both#the KID. you know? whereas deans given an authority of fan. idk. deangirls like to talk about dean playing a parental role#if you subscribe to that you have to even more so admit that the way he treats sam becomes very fucked#and i’m not blaming dean for this when he’s a kid. cause how’s he meant to know better and also this is probably how john acts he’s learning#it from someone#but as he gets older? i just reckon it doesn’t ever change. he never learns that it’s unacceptable and sam always lets him treat him The Way#He Does In Canon so he just never changes. and what started off kind of as normal siblings antics quickly shifts into something entirely#different. especially as in canon when dean hits sam its usually like a punishment. after sams gone out of his control. or its to take out#his own anger. which is SO fucked up. and this most definitely was happening before canon#spn#oliver talks#sam & dean
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the-casbah-way · 2 years ago
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i feel like everyone is going to eventually get annoyed at me for still being sad about simba or still talking about it but posting abt it is easier than telling someone because i don’t know how to do that and i’d rather be annoying here where people can scroll past and ignore it and not feel obligated to reply
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anneonomus · 1 year ago
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i’m joining the war on fanon. on the side of the fanon
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cherrysnax · 2 years ago
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ugh I hate how many games I love are tainted with memories of disgusting people
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werebutch · 2 years ago
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All my dad can do is mope around about how he’s such a disappointment to everybody and he can’t do anything good in life etc etc and so many woe is me apologies. He will apologize and insult himself a million times before trying to actually improve his behavior. I am so fed up with him being like this. If he’s so horrible then why doesn’t he just kill himself. One last hurrah of self pity.
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basil-from-omori · 3 months ago
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had to show you guys. he looks so unbelievably bad. for context he always gets shit crusted in his fur because he doesn’t maintain it so my mom decided to give him a haircut and wanted to even it out
edit: hey guys it’s not that serious. can we stop insisting I’m abusing/neglecting my cat 😐 ALSO tell me if this breaches containment and gets reposted (send me an ask or whatever)
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screampied · 1 month ago
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𝜗𝜚 P*$$Y FAIRY ?!
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☆ sum. when you said you wanted to ‘milk him’ for all that he’s worth, he didn’t think you meant actually! toji, nanami, sukuna, choso, geto, gojo.
warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, LOTSSS of cum and balls and more… cum, milkin’ them dry, cowboy! toji, camboy! choso, condom breaks, sukuna lactates, nipplę play, slight usage of "mommy", cowgirl / reverse, bręeding, overstim, whiny whipped men, pregnancy mentions, praise, implied multiple rounds.
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SUKUNA ★ RYOMEN.
“h- hah, got.. some nerve,” sukuna growls, a good portion of his face burning with crimsoned embarrassment. sukuna’s securely strapped to his throne—and to top it all off, you had him wrapped in pink ribbons. sukuna’s brawny frame underneath you grew stiff, and he let out a shallow groan once you lecherously wind your hips back ‘round in a circle. he felt sooo full - his base was just pleading to be dumped, dumped inside of you for the third time.
not only were you milking him - you were also milking his pride too.
“brat, you’re gettin’ off on this arentcha?” sukuna grumbles with a pout, hearing each popping plap slap from between your dripping wet thighs. from to the very plump bottom, his cock’s already still a bit foamy from earlier. you lean into his bare chest, smugly snickering against his neck. “mmm- ffuuuck, don’t . . don’t stop though. that’s an orde-”
and right as he’s grunting mid-sentence, sukuna pauses. carmine eyes flicker at a sudden head that’s leisurely lowering against his pecs. it’s you, and as you’re still bouncing on his lap, he feels your wet, hot tongue slide a path across his sensitive nipple. “ngh-” sukuna’s nostrils flare, and it’s taking almost everything within him to not whine.
until he does.
your hips roll roll roooolls around in swift, addictive circles as you cup your lips around his pec. “mmh,” you hummed, feeling his big body writhe underneath you as your hips slowed their tempo. you could hear his cute growls as he couldn’t do anything but sit right — the pink, pretty ribbons were straight-up mockery.
sukuna could have honestly just torn them apart - besides, they weren’t even properly tied around his limbs (which he secretly found cute) but he decided to play along with your little fantasy.
but just a few seconds passed and it happened.
you feel a treacly, sweet taste in your mouth— and it pours pour pours, tickling down on your tastebuds entirely. blinking rapidly, your hips pause before you swipe the pad of your thumb across your lips that are dripping with the creamy, white droplet.
“ ‘kuna, did you just . . lactate?”
“tch. die,” he mumbles, and his face looks so lewd.
sukuna’s pink brows were parted and his mouth was pried wide open. he’s panting - heaving, raspy breath after breath leaves from his drooling lips before his fangs get caught with his tongue.
“and don’t- don’t call it that, woman. just- keep going. ‘m close. soso fuckin’ close.”
gliding the tip of your balmy, tepid tongue over toward his other neglected nipple—sukuna shudders. you couldn’t lie, him being wrapped in nothing but pink ribbons like a present while sitting on his notorious throne was a sight you honestly wouldn’t mind getting used to.
“mmm, not with that attitude,” and he moans, feeling you starting to suck against his hardened pecs. “ask nicely,” and you give him a cheeky smile, reaching a hand down to stroke a few sloppy pumps against his cock. it was such a mess - streams ‘n streams of foamy slick everywhere, drizzling down between the cracks of your legs and sticking onto sukuna’s beefy toned thighs. “m’lord.”
“you’re tryin’ me. how dare you defy m- ngh- i’m sensitive.. thereee,” and sukuna shivers beneath you, feeling your tongue glide across his nipples for another time. even still, he’s leaking as you rode him, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. sukuna’s lids were getting heavy - drooping lowly as he hears the wet plaps of your pussy milking him dry.
he’s about to shoot blanks again, and sukuna’s mind actually turns blank once he feels the edges of your teeth nip against his pec. “mmngh-”
“mhm, c’mon ‘kuna. inside,” you whisper, both thighs sloppily sticking together like glue. your cunt’s just so eager, swallowing all of his barbaric hungry pumps until his tip swiiiipes its way near your throbbing clit thrice. spit dribbles from your lips as you speak and he watches, grunting each time his cock twitches inside of you.
you’re making sure to roll your hips - sway after sway, and right as you pinch his other leaking nipple you hear him whine.
sukuna prowls gruffly against your ear, wrapping strong, bulky arms around your waist as your body ruts into his.
his dick’s pouring yet another spumy load of cum and that’s when you started to come to a slow. he’s melting like putty - inside you especially, and sukuna starts to pant as he feels your tongue lick up the last bittersweet-tasting remnants that spill from his chest.
“ugh- such a nasty, ‘lil thing,” he holds the back of your head, darting half-lidded ruddy eyes at you. a thumb glissades over your wet lips and he groans as he sees you giving the tip of his tongue a playful nibble. “wipe that grin off your lips, girl.”
“or what? you gonna lactate again for me?” you tease, stilling your hips as his cock that’s now flaccidly soft, oozes its last final spurts of cum. right away, sukuna shoots you a glowering glare, but it’s more of a pout because he’s already missing your lips wrapped around his swollen, reddened nipples.
only you know his two weakness.
you, and his overly sensitive nipples.
“s- shut up,” he tsks, letting off a hoarse, raspy breath once peeks down and sees the buttery, white ring bubbling around his base. sukuna’s been entirely milked, and judging from him seeping his fangs lightly into your neck to suppress his faint whimpers, he only wanted more. “keep.. just keep . . doin’ that,” and sukuna swallows, gently tracing circles around your thighs with his whetted nails.
“keep suckin’ here,” he gingerly guides your head near the bottom of his pecs - it’s far redder now, glossed with dewdrops of your saliva while it’s still drizzling from the puffed centers. it wasn’t even like sukuna was telling you anymore, he was desperately asking.
“please..”
SUGURU ★ GETO.
“milk me, yeah?” geto raises a ravened brow, his voice almost taunting you. his tone - it’s always as smooth as silk, the type of tone to make your thighs squeeze together in anticipation. it had the perfect amount of rasp with a pinch of slyness too.
as you gave him a smug smile—he’s inhaling, preparing for a deep, heavy breath as he sees you sinking back down on his cock.
it’s pulsing, fluttering around your insides as it disappears between your dripping folds, earning a low scratchy hum from him. “do.. hhah- your worst then,” he raises his head, sweat already tearing from every corner of his sleek forehead.
and oh, you do.
one moment, you’re slamming up and down on his fat cock, the next—you’re riding him in reverse. but not only that. all because of the never-ending rolls of your frenetic hips, you milked geto for hours.
his muscles prominently bulged through all the weighty sides of his cock, and he’s sweating profusely, keeping hooded, darkened eyes fixated on you the entire time.
“ugh-” he’d groan, hiccuping at each popping squelch of your cunt. it sounds so pretty in a way.
between your legs - you were forever vocal, letting off occasional sloshing sounds as you slammed up and down against his cock. geto was just downright big ‘n thick, and every single time, he stretched your orifices open like it was nothing. you’re moaning with him, facing directly in front of him while wispy, hot breaths collide against both open mouths.
“ ‘m not sure if i have enough for you this time, princess,” he jibes, tears of sweat racing down the thin edges of his arched brows. “y- you milked me so good.. mmgh- this new stamina of yours though, ‘m lovin’ it.”
“sugu-” you moan against his mouth, bringing sultry kiss after kiss toward all corners and sides of his twitching, rose-colored lips. speaking of lips, they were dripping with strings of his spit, softly sucking against his quivering lower lip as your ass continued to sway around in a circle.
you’re riding him like you were riding a boat, rocking back and forth with your cunt nearly drowning him from how unapologetically wet you were. “ ‘m close, ‘m so close, suguru.” the frantic, unsteady beats of your heart were starting to pick up and it was so loud that it sounded nearly identical to broken, defeaning speakers.
the bed was much louder than you both, screaming out groans of mercy as its creaks nearly drowned out all lustful moans and grunts that sang through the fogged, steamy air..
“yeaah, yeah- gonna cum on me, pretty girl?” geto groans, cupping a hand around one of your bouncy breasts. you whimpered at his gentle touch, your thighs merely sticking against each other from the remnants of pasty cum. geto’s girth of his dick widely expands inside of your clamping walls, and he could feel your legs trying desperately to not squeeze shut.
leaning his head to level up with your chest— he slides his tongue across ‘n around your sensitive nipples - giving it a nice, proper lick. with a loud ‘pop’ that echo from his lips—geto’s half-open eyes look at you while he’s talking with his mouth stuffed full of one of your tits. “mngh- my horny messy girl wants me to get really fuckin’ milked, hm? ‘s that why she’s bein’ so greedy today?”
as he’s still filling you up with his veiny, big inches, you can feel your tongue starting to salivate from the inside with impatience. “ ‘m cummin’ - hahh, cum with me, sugu pleaseplease,” you’re whining, the curling of your thrusting hips accelerating faster.
your arduous speed had the bed groaning louder, and geto’s grunting in your ear once his base’s feeling fuller than ever. with hot pounds of skin against skin roughly slapping against each other after each second, the two of you felt the same pangs of pleasure and fervent dizziness. “inside, in-fuckin’-siiiide.”
“ay,” he pops his lips away from your tit before giving it its final loving suck, squeezing your cheeks together. “pretty girl, ‘m gonna getcha full again but you better watch that mouth,” geto eyes you, sneaking a wet, hot kiss against your trembling lips. your body’s just drenched with sweat, and his cock’s searching through your insides while locating all the exact spots perfectly.
clit - check! g-spot - check! a-spot - check!
geto’s swollen crown of his cock was wiiiide, and it made sure to give each erogenous spot inside of your pussy its deserved kisses.
big, grabby hands hold onto your jerking waist and he’s winding your hips against his lap while your mind’s turning into straight mush. it’s all thanks to geto bouncing you up ‘n down on his dick that you could barely think straight. the only thing that was thinking in your mind was that you wanted him to fill you up over and fuckin’ over . .
the incoming high was inevitable - heavenly even, and it’s like a rush that never stops overwhelming through your bloodstream. deeply, the sticky prints of his thumbs pierce into your flesh, and you could see his adam’s apple bobbing once he finally cums. at the same time, you finished too and the feeling was simply orgasmic - literally.
another load bubbles into your cunt as your rotating ass comes to a sudden freeze. shared, breathy breaths fall against each pair of lips as your forehead lies against his. “mngh- suguruuu,” you’d moan, shivering once you felt two of his fingers smack against your leaking pussy. you were filled to the very brim, and despite how he’s still inches deep, he wanted to fill you up just a bit more.
you had him primal now, and geto’s smearing his cum all over the opening of your stuffed cunt before stuffing it back inside. “more, d- don’t stop.”
“wasn’t.. going to,” geto grumbles, letting off a soft prowl once he feels the adhesive-like stick of your pussy keeps its hold on him. you’re addicting, and you’re moaning once he suddenly lifts you from his cream-leaking shaft.
with a spurting ‘pop’ sound, he lies you flat on your back, rubbing his achingly cherry-colored tip over your dripping slit. “fuuuck,” he licks his lips, admiring the filthy sight before gathering a wad of spit in his mouth before with a wet ‘ptou’, geto spits riiight on the outer part of your creamy pussy. “nasty ‘till the end, huh,” he clicks his tongue, inching his head down.
“sugu-”
“ah- not a word from you right now, gorgeous. she’s gotta get a few words in too, hm?” and you whined, hearing the brief ‘slap!’ of his palm make direct contact against your pussy. “now spread these pretty legs for me. ‘m kinda.. hah- starved.”
NANAMI ★ KENTO.
“oh, h- hoooney,” nanami hiccups, muscly soft arms wrapping around your rickety torso. he’s holding you close, giving you a secure bear hug as your cunt’s just wetly slapping up and down against his twitching cock. you’re so close up to his chest that you feel two things—nanami’s soft, rounded belly, and the dozens of scattered blond chest hair that painted the entirety of his abdomen like a canvas.
the two of you had been at it for hours, and he was practically sticking against your body. sheets and sheets of sweat glue against both rutted bodies as each of you continued to rock rock rock in unsteady sync. he’s been milked stupidly by you, and a viscous trail of cum continued to stick against your thighs as you moved.
“mng- ‘ken,” you’d breathe thickly, hearing each clashing slap! of your pretty hips slam against his thighs each second. his mind’s empty, tied in knots — and speaking of, nanami was preparing to surprise your stuffed pussy with another big knot of his own..
“t- that’s it, don’t stooop,” and as your voice shakes, you’re arching slightly once his tip massages a loooong pattern through your insides. you’re clamping down hard - swerving your hips around in random directions continuously while gripping his ruffled, checkered tie.
“fuck, f- fuuuck,” and nanami’s starting to trail slender, callused fingers toward the edges of your ass.
you’re bouncy - twisting all round ‘n round while focusing your weight on your knees. as you kept moving—you leaned in, shyly biting into his neck. “hah- kentoooo,” you whimper, cutely dragging out his name. his tip thrashing against your g-spot’s got you sounding more dramatic than usual. sneaking four torrid, wet kisses against his slick-spit lips. “c.. can you gimme one more?”
“at this rate, ‘m gonna get you pregnant again too,” he gutturally whispers in response, a hand gently pressing onto your tummy. nanami’s just inside you sooo deep — sooo nice ‘n snug that his thumb swirls across the very center of your stomach before feeling a familiar bulge.
browned, warm eyes look into your eyes before he sighs. “feel that, honey? that’s.. me,” he grunts, talking over your sweet, repetitive wantons of whines. as nanami grabs a nice handful of your ass with his free hand, he nibbles against your earlobe. “but- if my wife wants me to.. fill her up once more, i won’t mind.”
you gasped once nanami suddenly lifted you with care — careful not to hurt you, treating you like a porcelain doll. his roughly-textured hands place you on the flat of the mattress before he’s already aligning his cream-covered tip against your slobbering cunt.
“mhh- how many are we gonna try to make t- this time, sweetheart?” he stammers lowly, smacking his angry vermillion-colored crown against your pussy. he’s met with wet squelch sounds in response from below, and nanami licks his lips before delving his way back inside your compressing entrance. “o.. one? two.. threeee?”
with a pout, your legs were already violently shaking — struggling pathetically, hopelessly trying to stay open but to no avail.
once nanami’s making love to you again. he’s pinning both of your knees up to your chest. “just.. just don’t miss, ‘ken.” you whimper, your voice cracking with each bumpy syllable that slips from your lips. he’s puncturing you deeply with each thrust as if he had some kind of purpose.
deep, deep thrusts..
nanami’s using all vigor of hips - pounding into your precious pussy, dragging out moan after moan from your raw, straining larynx. it was starting to sound a bit hoarse—and each time you swallowed, nanami’s thrusts were more precise.
“b.. baby, you’re really.. hah- gonna.. milk me,” he groans, feeling the back of his thighs starting to gradually tighten. his face buries between your chest, lolling his tongue out before getting a subtle taste of your bouncy tits. “hngh- ‘m gonna get this pretty belly so round, gonna make you a pretty wife again and an even prettier mama.” and as he continues to speak, nanami’s feeling your nails pierce into the ridden flesh of his skin.
“f- fuuuck me, kento. pleasepleaseee, gimme another baby,” you’d whimper, your voice shifting from normal to shaky as his hips start to strike into your very core. he’s fucking you stupid, and he’s also getting dumb himself all thanks to your pussy taking the fatal, wet blows.
it was just something about your warmth. your cunt - it always hugged him, gifting him with a slick hotness he could never put into actual words..
you’re clinging onto nanami tightly - showing your body just how ‘bestial’ his hips could be as he continues to drill into your sobbing pussy. it’s so wet, and he hears it all too. the sweet ‘lil cries that were sounding more like pathetic squelches of mercy, and your chants of his name forming in inaudible babbles were just the icing on the cake.
“mngh- upsie-daisy, honey,” nanami groans, gently pushing your legs over your head. now, he’s got a straight view of your face that’s just covered with glistening sweat. the more nanami’s pupils dilate at the pure sight of you — his beloved wife, he sees how you’re just effortlessly kissed by the sun’s rays that shined near the bedroom window. pangs of pleasure coarse through your veins and his, and nanami’s just about at his very limit.
once he cums for the nth time - it’s even thicker than before. his rounded belly laid flat against your chest with his blond happy trail tickling against your tummy. you’re whimpering, covering his back with scratches before he pops a velvety, hot knot deep inside of your greedy cunt.
“mhm,” you’d coo out in satisfied surprise, hearing nanami’s breath hitch against the lobe of your ear. a lot of it dribbles out of you, pouring down to your hole and staining into the sage-colored bedsheets. nanami’s hips pause, and he’s just allowing you to milk him dry, filling you gallon after gallon with cum.
“a- again,” you’d mewl airily with a pouted puckered out lip, bringing a leg to wrap around his waist. nanami’s got a timid smile, pressing a kiss to the top of your forehead. of course you wanted more.
nanami wriggles his hips ever so slightly, making sure he had all of his load stuffed inside of your dripping pussy before caressing your right cheek with his thumb lovingly.
“my, and i thought my breeding kink was bad during this time of year,” and as he’s still inside of you, you moaned, feeling nanami’s cock pop its way out between your puffy-drooled slit before sliding its way back in. those loud sloshing sounds of your slippery pussy was so carnal - and he could just listen to it all day.
you couldn’t help but gasp again, feeling nanami lift your legs behind your head before giving you a long, fervent-tasting kiss. “but fine, one - hah, more.. load for the pretty wife comin’ right up..”
SATORU ★ GOJO.
“h- hoooly.. fuckin’ shiiiit, baby,” satoru hisses, drawing in drafty breath after breath as he watches the fat of your ass slam back against his sticky, meaty thighs for the zillionth time.
constantly, you’re placing all your weight down into your knees as your hips rocked and rocked. satoru leans back, holding back sultry-sounding moans as his leaking tip sloppily swipes a wet stripe up ‘n down the opening hood of your clit.
he’s in so deep, and he’s still trying to get over his most recent release. “look at her - so fuckin’ sloppy,” satoru puckers his lips, letting off a teasing low ‘ooooh’ once he ogles down at the translucently white ring that wraps around his cock. it coats all nth-inches of his shaft as he’s still weakly thrusting his hips up against your pussy that’s thrusting riiiight back down.
he hears the rubber streeetch at each pumping thrust and it’s just so loud. with a loud ‘snap!’ it ends up breaking mid-thrust.
polished, peach-colored lips of his tremble at the electrifying friction of striking skin and he grunts throatily once his cum-covered tip swerves its way past your clit be for jackhammering a single thrust near your g-spot. “mmngh- ‘toru, fuck,” you’d whine out a gargled sob, wobbling your lurching ass back into his bare lap. as you bring a hand toward the back of your rear, you spread the left cheek apart before arching a bit more forward. “s.. satoru- might..hhaah- as well.. take it off before you cum.”
it didn’t take much for him to realize the ‘it’ you wanted to be taken off — was the broken rubber. by now, it’s probably stuffed with satoru’s cum from previous rounds, but you only imagined how much better he’d feel raw..
“heeeh- and you call me the nasty one in the relationship,” he grunts, brushing a thumb down your dripping pussy. your rhythm was as slow as ever, and his sapphire-shaded irises just couldn’t depart from your body. not for a single second. you still had your panties on too—but the grey string was pulled to the side, all thanks to satoru.
you moaned at the touch of his wiry, padded thumb gliding a straight line down your sopping-wet pussy. with a single hand, satoru snatches the clear, sticky condom off his cock - hearing the subtle ‘riiiip’ noise occur from his current action.
“f.. fuuuck,” satoru groans, raising your hips for a second then removed the broken rubber. he’s damn close - soso close, and his jaw tightens. as it’s now removed from around the entirety of his length, it leaves a bit of printing ring around the lower part of his dick, and a prominent vein shoots its way up his skin once the cool air hits it. “baby- ‘m not gonna last long if ‘m gonna.. hah- finish inside you raw, y’know.”
with a roused hum leaving from your pursed lips, you give your ass a cute spank before wriggling your dripping cunt against satoru’s flushed, ruby tip. “good. finish inside, baby,” and satoru’s breath gets caught in his throat once he sees your fingers spreading the lower dripping lips of your pussy apart. “riiiight in here, fill me up, s- satoru.”
your filthy, needy words against his ear slid from your lips so smooth like honey. he just couldn’t keep his eyes off of you — more importantly, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your pretty, jostling ass. it’s almost taunting him with the way it moves ‘n wriggles around his pelvis in an alluring circle. “ffuck, baby. know t- that’s right, ride that fuckin’ dick- ngh-” and a whine rips straight from his throat once he sees you slooowly arching inward.
his tip wetly slides its way from between your sniveling cunt as you bent forward - letting him view the dried-up stringy strands of cum that were glued against your sprawled apart thighs.
“mhmm,” you bite back a moan through clenched teeth, wrapping a hand around his veiny cock. you align yourself back on his dick, and his veins immediately malfunction from the sheer hot rawness of your slick, weeping pussy. “pussy’s all yours ‘toru,” you hummed, hearing his gasping ‘oh shiiiit’ ‘s huff out from his lips once he’s bottoming out again.
“f- fuckin’ damn right she is,” he grumbles, reclining himself back, giving your left cheek a whacking spank. you’re moaning once your jolty hips start up again, riding him in reverse with your ass hitting back against his lap repeatedly. with how impactful you slammed back into his lap, each rigid bounce of your ass was just seismic - and satoru’s just … about … there.
he’s hearing ring after ring in his ears, and it’s got his empty mind going for a whirl. your pussy was just ruthless - almost unfair at how good you milked him each time. satoru’s ethereal icy-like pupils that were fully dilated mindlessly lulled to the back of his head. “god- ‘m gonna give you another,” he moans, hearing those same smack smack smacks of your cunt messily pounce back into his lap. the way you rode him in backward oh-so flawlessly, - it was just so… risqué.
the enticingly, saturated grip your pussy had on satoru’s cock was enough to make him drool. as skin continued to rude crudely clash into each other at full speed—creating a sharp unforgettable collision, and it was not long before satoru’s bursting blanks yet again.
this time though - actually inside you.
a looooong, raspy groan scratches from his throat but it’s sounding a bit more high-pitched if anything. he’s inside you raw - finishing inside you raw, and satoru’s gripping your ass with one hand while whining your name into your neck.
“mhm-hm, good girl, oh- s.. shiiit ‘s still comin’,” he breathes deeply, seconds after dumping a fresh buttery load of cum inside. as he’s spasming underneath you—his thighs felt glued to the mattress, and his knot floods into your cum-filled pussy. “damn.. she’s.. hah- more of a slut than you are, look at it spillin’ all out.. f- fuuck, baby-”
“don’t stop now, satoru,” you’d hold in between raucous breaths, still feeling his lustrously, syrupy cum trickling inside of you.
it shoots deep deep deep - pouring into your womb in thick, slimy molasses. satoru’s staring the entire time, bright-eyed ‘n bushy-tailed practically, melting at the way your cunt swallows all ribbons of his seed as if its thirst was finally quenched. well - almost.
“mng- one more, baby,” and he grunts, feeling your ass playfully rooooll into another circling toss. your pussy slaps back down against his cum-oozing tip before you hunch over his lap once again. “ ‘toruuu, one more.”
“my girl’s never satisfied, huh,” satoru dryly laughs, squinting to get a clear good look at your pussy that’s just overflowed with ropes and ropes of velvety, hot cum. for a split second - satoru pulls out, in awe at the sight of his cum streams out your slick orifices. it’s so creamy, and he moaned, still feeling the intensity of his body as his tip silently aching to give you another fill.
your back’s still prettily arched over to a certain degree—and you crane your neck slightly to give him a frisky simper as he continues to play between your thighs. “especially h.. her too,” and satoru’s thumb swipes up a few remains of his cum that wetly sobbed down the slot of your entrance. after a while, he’s even starting to hear his jagged breathing pick up before he aligns his florid-colored tip between your slit again.
as you’re holding in choked moans by biting the inside of your cheek, satoru sits up—making you lean allll the way forward until your cheek’s pressed into the cushioned pillow.
you’re not riding him anymore - instead, he wanted to see the pretty view from behind this time.
“hah- f- fine then,” and he’s grunting, poking his tip in ‘n out of your pearly, drooling pussy before slickly easing it into place. “gotta show this pussy wha- o- ooooh fuck, ‘m cummin’ a-again.”
CHOSO ★ KAMO.
“oh! my fans love you, baby, look.” choso timidly grins, holding in a guttural groan each time your ass steeply bounces right back into his lap.
the room was dim with hardly any light except for the exception of choso’s multi-colored monitor that flashed with pretty colors of LED lights. his stream mostly included the dedicated audience of his 6.9k viewers who usually spammed his chats with thousands upon thousands of lewd, unserious comments all at once.
it was mainly comments specifically saying how you’re just so pretty, how they wish they were you, and egging you on to make choso whine just a liiiitle bit more.
“h.. hi, chat,” you’d huff out in jagged breaths. all you took was a single side glance toward his set-up, but you were sure that thanks to his special guest - he was about to reach 7k viewers within no time.
choso liked including you in his streams—it’s usually not with you riding him, but you were more than willing to entertain his viewers for a little while. he was celebrating a milestone, and the best gift he could’ve ever got was you - you and your dangerous, rocking hips that he was forever obsessed with.
every few seconds, he’d hear that re-occurring ‘ping!’ notification whenever someone donated.
your ass moved like water — so perfect.
your body - it sensually rocked against choso’s lap as your feverishly wet lips pressed against the crook of his neck. “mhm- ‘y always make me feel s.. so good,” he shivers at your lukewarm touch, taking a few blurred peers at the gleamingly-bright screen that shined back into his face.
“hey- look at me,” you’d coo, pressing clammy hands at each side of his face. tousled, inky-shaded strands slit down the corners of his forehead before he meets your gaze. instantaneously, choso softens at your touch, letting off a sweet whine once your thumb rubs against the scarred bridge of his nose.
“they’re not riding you, i am, choso,” and right at that exact moment, your cunt lets out a sobbing wet squelch that makes all jolting limbs judder in an elated frenzy. “so let’s give ‘em a show, hm?”
“y- yes, mommy.” choso locks eyes with you, his pupils dilating and he’s hearing the booming loud sounds of his heart thump-thump-thumping straight out of his bare sweat-covered chest.
“mommy?” you tease at the sudden term.
“b.. baby, i mean.” he grunts, one of his hands fishing down toward the lower part of your jerking ass.
he’s so impatient - so eager to just give you another one of his loads. choso’s stream’s probably been running for about a good two and a half hours—and with the way you were riding him, he didn’t ever want you to stop.
your hips were gonna make choso fall in love all over again. embarrassingly enough, choso’s face heats up at his sudden slip up of calling you ‘mommy’ but he couldn’t lie, the moment he called you that, he felt the tip of his dick twitch in rousing thrill.
pound, after pound, after fuckin’ pound. .
by this point — you were the one fucking choso, and he didn’t even mind at all. he’s louder than you, his gruff whines and whimpers turned more melodic at each cute cracking strain. “pleaaase- please, fuck me, fuuuck me- milk me.” he starts to ramble, gasping once you lightly push him flat back against the pillow.
his fall from your playful shove was soft - not as soft as your insides though. your pussy’s just squeezing onto him, preparing to wring him dry like a wet, soggy towel.
choso’s tongue lolls out his mouth and he’s panting rapidly like a dog - moaning once you attack sloppy, unkempt kisses onto his bitten, raw lips.
they’re a hot pink, glossed with saliva and he’s even starting to drool from the very corners all because of your slippery, hot pussy trying to suffocate his cock with your gripping warmth. “hng- good boy, ‘cho. let your fans hear you,” you whisper, bringing your trail of kisses toward the lower part of his bottom lip. then, you reach toward his chin, giving the tubby part of skin a playful nibble. “cum again for me, choso. ‘s okay.”
the piles of donations continue - loudly pinging, and his chat’s just being flooded with even more thirsty, needy fans direly wishing they were in your place or hell - maybe even being in choso’s place instead. .
“ ‘m cumming- hold me, baby, ‘m fuckinnn’-” and he gets cut off, feeling the lower half of his body erupt into such final stages of utter rapture.
he’s so hot that it feels like an active volcano, and in reality—the magma is his cum—hotly spurting inside of you, bubbling in thick, frothy bubbles before oozing right back out. you’re both moaning in sync, and choso’s face is just shading into a ripe shade of vibrant red as he’s letting out such a large load.
he’s awkwardly clinging onto your hips the entire time as he holds you close, and he takes one single peek at his chat that’s still virtually cheering him on in the background.
‘choso my goat finally getting some pussy? 2025 is off to a great start!’
‘she is sooo hot.’
‘me when me when me when.’
even though the majority of them were clowning him like always - he grumps, shifting his focus back towards you as he’s still pumping in such viscid, milky ropes.
you’re slowing down finally, rolling your hips around before coming to a halt as you’re whimpering into his neck. choso’s got a sleazy grin - and oh, he was the literal epitome of pussy drunk. he’s filled you up so much that it got to his head, and his clingy hold against your ass never left.
in fact, he squeezes it tighter - giving it a soft spank before shyly burying his face in between your tits - his comfort place. “can we.. do that again?” he pouts, hissing once he feels the mere non-existent bouncing of your hips.
already - he’s missed it, but he was still giving you a fresh nice ‘n hot creampie so it’s not like choso was one to complain.
he’s bringing his thin-pressed lips up to yours before kissing you, whining impatiently against your mouth as you contemplated a reply. “i- i want you to milk me again-” and he reaches in, shutting his laptop.
“hhaah- with no one watching this time. just us. p.. please, mommy?”
TOJI ★ FUSHIGURO.
“f- fuck, didn’t know a pretty thing like you knew how to ride s- so fuh- fuuuck,” toji stammers over his words, getting rudely cut off by the clashing slams of your whetted, brutal hips.
toji slouches further back in his rocking chair before raising his pinched front cowboy hat. its jet-black — flawlessly matching his eyes, and a piece of straw stuck from between his scarred lips. tilting his hat downward, he gets a picture-perfect view of your pretty, perked ass riding him ‘round in reverse.
toji’s full weighted base was stacked - just pumped and stuffed with so many milky, dewy wads. it’s been rounds - and you’ve already milked him to the max. but you wanted to milk him again, and again, and again..
at first, toji thought you were interested in milking the actual cows in his feedlots - but oh, you wanted to milk him instead.
“mhm- what’s.. the matter, cowboy?” you breathe, bringing your hands to hold onto his knees for leverage. you heard the clanking loud clanks of toji’s cowboy boots occasionally slam into the dusted ground. your cunt’s just feral at this point, and he’s grunting hoarsely as he sees your body ride him better than you did of any of his horses. “too much stamina for you? maybe i should.. hah- slow down.”
“quiet, ‘lil girl,” he hisses at you, swatting a black-gloved hand at the rotating globe of your ass. with just a rippling smack, your skin instantly jiggles at the contact of his palm and it makes his dick twitch inside you. speaking of, his crowned tip - it’s an angry, carmine shade of red that’s akin to a pepper. the tight-fitted mahogany-colored chaps that toji wore were loosely pulled down, his jangling buckle barely hanging on to his slim waist. “don’t slow down. better ride me good, atta girlie— fuuckk.”
despite how toji was trying his hardest to keep up his prim façade - he knew, he was no match for your sweet, sweet cunt..
“mng- now now, darlin’ . . fuck,” he brings two thick fingers up toward the dip part of his hat as ravened skinny bangs nearly shield his emerald eyesight. your hips had more horsepower than anything, and he’s clenching his jaw at the same time as you’re clenching down on his throbbing cock.
toji felt soooo full, fuller than he’s ever been—and he’s hearing those slippery, sloppy sloshes sing away from your pussy like a lewd western tune of its own.
your ass was sharp and very, very precise. just one smack against his wet lap and toji’s losing all sorts of a train of thought. “good- good fuckin’ girl, put those h…hips-” he lowly purrs, pausing for a second to swallow. “put those hips ‘ta work for me. ride me then- make me proud, heh- cowgiiiirl.”
but once toji gets a wild wild wild taste of cloying overstim - it’s fuckin’ over.
your hips were disgusting - in every best way possible. it didn’t take long at all for his smug act to tear away though, and now, you had an utterly milked-out cowboy right underneath you.
he’s been ringed dry, and he’s probably pumped out such webby masses of cum inside of your pussy. you felt so stuffed, and toji’s barely able to keep up with your stamina. your constant bouncing had him dizzy - and you watched as his hat fell from the crown of his head, falling to the pile of hay that surrounded you both near the wooden century-old chair.
“hng- fuck,” he groans huskily, clicking his tongue at the sharp swats of your clapping ass. his turgid cock’s stretched inside you through ‘n though, and with a single, stretchy thrust - he’s french kissing his way near your convulsing g-spot. he hits that same spot thrice - not once, not two - but thrice, and he sees how your mind’s already starting to go blank just from your cute dumbfounded expression. “h.. heh, what’s the matter, darlin’? no more horsepo- ngh-”
as your ass kept up its crazed pace of slamming up ‘n down on his heavy shaft, you wrapped a hand around toji’s throat. the milked-out cowboy eyes you intently, feeling your soft hand slide around the fabric of his verdant-colored bandana. “less talking, more hahh- milkin’.” you moan, giving his neck a slight squeeze. toji lets out a moan - a slutty one at that, and you spot that glint in his eye.
he’s always been one for a challenge, especially a pretty ‘lil cowgirl who dared to compete with him in riding.
in the background - it’s just the faint sounds of bellowing moos and neighs from the animals nearby in the other stalls. as toji’s wholly milked out, his meaty thighs felt like they were permanently stuck against yours like velcro.
he’s at an utter loss of words—quietly groaning as your cunt swallows up every drop, greedily demanding more and more fills. “f- fuck, y’er quite the rider,” he breathes, burying the soles of his boots into the ground. “ugh- ‘m gonna c.. cum again, doll- shit.”
with your hips purposely stuttering over his lap, toji's head sexily tilts back to a certain degree. you gawk as his black lashes flutter - and he’s feeling each vigorous slam of your ass pound back into his naturally sculptured pelvis. toji’s groaning, running his gloved fingers up your waist, trying oh-so-hard to control the movement of your hips but failing miserably.
“inside again,” you moaned, rubbing your thumb near the lump that grew inside of his throat. toji’s mushroomy-flushed tip was just redly swollen, throbbing sporadically, and on the verge of being emptied once again, and if he wasn’t pussy-drunk then - he definitely was now.
“mngh- better h- hold on, m’lady,” toji grunts, gripping your ass firmly. he hears the latex of his gloves squeaaak against your jarring flesh, and he’s letting off continuous hoarse ‘phew’ ‘s as your sloppy cunt prepares to milk him again.
you’re rolling your waist ‘round in a whirring circle like it’s going for a spin, making sure to focus your weight in the centers of your knees. while the skin continues to pierce against skin in such a loud manner - your pussy’s just sobbing from each sloppy thrust.
toji heard it too - and his dicks’s almost sympathetic, gifting it a few syrupy ‘love taps’ with its tip as it concludes its final sloppy hits.
once toji cums - he cums hard.
he’s shooting yet another thick batch inside of you raw, feeling your quavery thighs clamp shut as he’s filling you to the utmost brim. it’s parchingly hot, and toji’s seed gradually travels its way deep into your womb. “hhah- atta girl, thereeee w- we go,” he groans, still having his fingers dug into the soft globes of your ass. you’re panting just as much as he was, and your mouth suddenly grows dry once toji’s cum starts to dribble out in cottony, satiny clumps.
for once - he’s speechless, and toji’s barely able to keep his eyes open. perhaps this time, he’s really milked out because his cock inside of you felt like it was floating. his tip’s still leaking from all reddened sides but in very small amounts, and he’s holding onto your waist with the piece of straw still sticking out from between his scarred lips. “ngh- maybe i was wrong about ‘cha, doll. you- you can ride damn good, that’s for sur-”
“i didn’t say stop, cowboy,” you bite the end of the wheat with your teeth, picking up his cowboy hat and placing it on top of your head. “c’mon, one more.. hah- riding session for the road, huh?”
with a sly, crooked smile, toji scoffs, beads of sweat streaming down all corners of his face. the overgrown bangs of hair that stuck against his forehead were all muggy from the various rounds that occurred - giving him a bit of a greasy look as his skin ricocheted against the sun’s bright rays.
“h.. heh,” and he gives your ass its final spank, the leather of his glove tickling against your flesh before he tilts his cowboy hat that remained tilted on your head. “yes ma’am.”
11K notes · View notes
makismei · 5 months ago
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❝ YOU A SUPERMAN? OR… A MINUTE MAN?
♡ fem!reader x various
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featuring…. gojo satoru, nanami kento & fushiguro toji
cw: 18+, minors dni, squirting, overstim, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, anal play (nanami)
synopsis: who’s pounding till the sun rises and who’s clocking out after one round?!
notes from mei! tbh the title doesn’t really make sense… i listened to mcnasty(?) by jay park when it came out a while back and that lyric really resounded in my soul
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GOJO ♡ a quick shot. but his dick stays hard. pretty superman-esque if you ask me.
“you idiot—fuuuck, stop moving your hips!” the sound of both of your cum sloshing together rings in your ears. you’re pushing at his tummy, quivering legs haphazardly thrown over his shoulders and tears bubbling in your lash line.
it feels so full inside of you. you’ve both been going at it for god knows how long; his release smeared on your lower tummy and inner thighs.
satoru moves your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours as he starts to press weight into each thrust.
“ahh, mmaahhh!” head shaking back and forth on the pillow, “‘m gonna cum! i can’t—satoru, m’ gonna die!”
he’s practically whining, ignoring your pleas with sweat beading down his temple as he plows you relentlessly. “baby, i can’t hold out.”
his head’s thrown back, feeling his dick twitch whenever he kisses your cervix just right, eyes rolling back into his skull.
“y’feel so good baby, why do you feel so good?” he pants, not realizing he’s filling you up with hot ropes of cum. he’s still thrusting and you swear if he keeps this up your bottom half is going to be numb.
still absolutely rock hard inside of you, he turns you on your side, one leg still on his shoulder while he grinds against that one spot that renders you speechless.
“let me have one more, baby.” he whines, legs shaking, “‘m still so hard f’you.”
NANAMI ♡ depends. he’s good at holding himself off, but he also enjoys stuffing you with multiple loads of his cum.
he’s groaning, eyes lidded as he watches you align his cock with your leaky slit. globs of his cum seep from your pussy, soiling his faintly coloured pubic hairs. someway, somehow, you managed to flip your previous positions and he’s the one laying on the mattress instead of you.
“my love,” he breathes, his large hand; callused from his work but still so gentle, caresses your hip, “i’m not going anywhere.”
it’s as if you’re in a rush, scrambling like he’s going to disappear.
you whine, legs quivering when his tip swipes against your entrance. “please, nami, i want you to cum again… it feels s’good.”
he smiles, his other hand reaching out to hold your face, thumb gently stroking against your cheek. “so needy today… have i been neglecting you?”
leaning down, you bury your face into his neck, grinding your soaked pussy onto his hardening cock. you hum shyly, distracting yourself by leaving wet kisses on his neck and shoulder.
he hums, your shyness making him all smug and sappy. “so that’s what it is, huh?”
you feel him harden, before he’s lifting you and dropping you down on his cock. you tense, squealing into his shoulder. languidly, he’s making you fuck down onto him, his own hips jolting up to meet you halfway.
sneakily, a hand makes it’s way down to your ass. he swats playfully before gathering slick at the point where you’re both connected. surprised, your eyes widen when you feel his finger start playing with your rim. it’s gentle, soft massaging as he’s jackhammering into you.
with your legs shaking, he doesn’t bother trying to move your hips, simply doing the work for you.
you’re gushing, liquid drooling from your pusey before you force yourself off of him, practically screaming as you squirt all over his lap. nanami groans, pulling you back down onto him to chase his release.
“oh my god—oh, fuuucckk!!” nails digging into his skin, your eyes roll back from the onslaught of pleasure. “‘s shoo gooood!”
he chuckles in your ear, but it gets cut off with a moan, flooding your cunt with his seed. kissing your tear-soaked cheeks, he smiles against your skin. “still feeling neglected, baby?”
TOJI ♡ one round and he’s hooonkkk mimimi… but he’s fucks nawwstyyy. like. he fucks you so good one round has you nearly passed out and quivering—drool and tears all over the pillow and your squirt leaving a niceee puddle right underneath you.
“that’s right, doll.” he whistles lowly, watching your legs tense, knees lifting themselves off the bed as he continues to bury his fingers into your cunt, his pupils practically dilating as he continuously prods against your sweet spot.
it’s wet and sticky between your legs, pussy glistening under the cheap glow of your bedside night light.
you’re damn near in a downward dog, face smushed into the mattress as your squirt soaks the bed. toji doesn’t let up, toying with your clit as he grins, cock twitching in his boxers.
when you slump face first into the bed, you’re practically drooling as you know what’s coming next. sturdy, thickset fingers knead the globes of your ass, before you feel his heavy cock sneaking it’s way into your slit.
“look at you,” he jeers, leaky tip pressing into your cunt. “being such a sweetheart after i made you squirt a few times.”
he buries himself to the hilt and you think you’re going cross-eyed. “yeah,” he croons, hips finding rhythm and bouncing on the fat of your ass, “you just wanna cum, ain’t that right?”
“yeesshh!” you cry. this position allows him too much control. you’re flat on your stomach, barely holding yourself up from your elbows. toji bares his weight on you, practically humping you and you know, he’s about to cum.
his tip kisses your g-spot repeatedly, scarred lips leaving wet kisses on your shoulder. “‘m gonna cum, baby,” he breathes, “you’ll take it, won’t’cha?”
you nod, eyes teary, “mmhm!”
you feel his lips against your skin, grinning. “cum with me baby, c’mon. you got it.”
as if his words have magic, he thrusts a couple more times before he feels you squeeze, and he’s a goner. groaning, he has a feeling you’re squirting again while he’s shooting rope after rope inside of you. he’s dizzy, practically blacking out after he pulls out, wiping you down with his shirt that he’s mistaken for a towel.
he slumps beside you, with his eyes closed, he slings a hefty arm over your waist. you adjust as he pulls you closer, lips brushing against your scapula.
he’s snoring before you know it.
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panel is from i’ve become the target of his affection ^.^
11K notes · View notes
kbwrites · 5 months ago
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Heated Waters
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synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.
⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it
⚝ wc: 1.9k
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“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”
Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.
Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”
Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.
“Twice a week, I suppose…”
Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.
“What about you, Higuruma?”
“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.
Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.
“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”
But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”
Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.
It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.
But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.
“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.
“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.
The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.
“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”
Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”
“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”
Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”
“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.
Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”
“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.
“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.
“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”
Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”
Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.
“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”
“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”
Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.
“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.
Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.
He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.
The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.
You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?
You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.
“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.
“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.
“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.
Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.
“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”
A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.
Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.
His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”
“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.
Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.
“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.
“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.
He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.
“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.
“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”
He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.
He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.
You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.
“g-gonna cum!”
“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.
“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.
You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.
Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.
You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.
“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.
Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.
His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.
Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
“I won’t make that mistake again.”
Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.
He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.
“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”
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babygirlbuckaroo · 11 months ago
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#i wanna write buck as a terrible person So Bad. but i’m too busy and already neglecting my fic for the big bang#i just can’t stop thinking about it today#a buck who is exceedingly selfish and manipulative and a liar and is actively fucking people over on purpose#like hes an absolute sweetheart to eddie and chris but is also really toxic and possessive about them#making himself absolutely indispensable to their lives so they can’t even think about leaving him#actively plotting against anyone who tries to ‘steal them’ from him#can’t decide how evil i’d make him. maybe capable of murder? i’m not sure#maddies the only one who knows how Evil he can be. eddie is starting to find out but he’s in too deep now it’s too late#also buck being toxic and possessive about bobby….. yeah yeah yeah#except unlike eddie bobby isn’t irreparably in love with him. so he starts investigating him and is horrified by what he finds#the absolute Horror settling into eddies bones when he learns about the things buck’s done#and the simultaneous realisation + certainty that there is nothing buck can do that would make eddie actually want to leave#the knowledge that eddie and chris are the only thing holding buck back from becoming a full on villain#the hope that by keeping him busy and giving him a nice family suburban life they can keep others safe from him#and the kinky smut potential oh my god#i Need it#ARGHHHH#i’m even giving it its own tag so i can come back to this in future:#evil buck#rambling
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rindreamery · 3 months ago
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it's just instinct, all i want is you.
how long it takes for the blue lock men to realize you’re the one. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: fluff, suggestive
note. desperate and yearning hcs next??? who knows
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it takes itoshi rin 6 months.
rin likes to think that he’s slow and deliberate with his relationships— that he’s not the type to have such decisive thoughts about someone so early on. he’s spent years building up a wall to protect his feelings, and he’s not about to let a (potentially fleeting) person ruin what he's worked so hard to maintain. he's only been with you for 6 months, and he has his doubts about whether you would want to stick around. but all it takes is, “i’m so proud of you, rin,” and his world is completely tilted off its axis.
he tries to tell himself that it's nothing; he's been complimented by other people before.
you probably didn't even think much of it when you told him. it’s just a simple phrase, one of many that people say without thinking. but it's different, it's special, when it's coming from you. your words repeat in his head, like some mantra. it's like his senses are overwhelmed by you. he finds himself focusing solely on your voice, the way you look at him with such gentle eyes, the sincerity behind your words— you. it’s scary how much it affects him. it rattles something deep inside of him, and it shakes him to his core.
he doesn't want to hear it from anyone else, he quickly realizes. those praises don't mean much when it's not coming from you. they don't make him feel unstoppable, like he’s on some high that he’ll never be able to get down from. and he's hit with a jarring realization—
“say it again,” he's standing in front of you, ignoring the incessant flashing of cameras that surrounds him and the deafening cheers of the crowd. he's only looking at you.
“i’m so proud of you,” your voice is quiet, but all he can hear is you, “rin.”
—he's fallen for you, much deeper than he thought he would. he’d be damned if he let you slip away.
it takes itoshi sae 1 year and 3 months.
sae had no intention of falling in love with you. needless to say, his affection for you wasn’t some calculated move. the thought of liking you hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he’s not even sure if he’d ever considered you as a friend. you’ve just been around for long enough that he’s stopped questioning it, that he’s grown to tolerate your presence. at least, that’s what he tells himself. he lets you come over when you want, eat all the snacks in his pantry, use his netflix account— to everyone else, you’re basically a couple. before he knows it, you’ve settled into his life the way a familiar song gets stuck in his head without him noticing.
it’s hard to deny the noticeable shift in sae’s behavior whenever he’s around you.
the way the frown on sae’s face vanishes to a more passive state whenever he’s talking to you, and he's much less irritated at the aspect of having to answer your random (but stupid, in his opinion) questions. he’s not aware, but a part of him subconsciously looks forward to it. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” comes another one of your stupid questions, and he answers without thinking.
“yeah.” the expression on his face remains the same, he’s as indifferent as he always is. but his answer takes both of you by surprise. under his cool facade, his mind is scrambling to make sense of his answer, as if he hadn’t expected himself to say such a thing.
you’re flustered, and it’s evident in the way you stumble over your words. a part of you begins to wonder if that was simply a figment of your imagination, like some hallucination from sleep deprivation. “what— huh?”
so he plays it off, he acts as if he meant to say it. “you heard what i said.” he realizes his heart had decided on you longer than he’d ever been aware of.
it takes nagi seishiro 3 months.
nagi’s used to being alone— he’s used to neglecting himself and every aspect of his life because no one is there to tell him not to do so. he’s not used to having someone be a constant in his life, to have someone who isn’t thrown off by his apathetic and lazy attitude. sometimes he wonders if he acts this way to keep people out, and he wonders why you choose to stay despite. but slowly, you color your way into his bleak routine.
at first, it’s subtle. you linger around him, but your presence isn’t demanding for his attention. you’re there, but you let him be.
and then your presence becomes something a little more prominent. he starts to notice the little post-it notes you leave in his locker, and how you remember to sneak in his favorite snacks. or how his pillows start to smell like your shampoo, and the way he becomes used to having you there in his living room as he plays video games. or even the fact that he finds himself waiting by the gate when classes end, and how he doesn’t mind being pushed around by the crowd as he searches for you in the endless sea of students so he could walk with you. so he could be with you.
he starts to feel like he’s truly living, like there’s something to look forward to every day.
when you say, “see you tomorrow,” he deflates at your words. it’s a weird feeling— he feels weird at the thought that he doesn’t like being alone anymore. that he misses you in the way he misses his phone. he feels bored without you there, and a part of him feels so empty when he doesn’t have you beside him.
when he drops you off at home that day, he realizes it feels strange to be alone again— “can you stay with me?”— he needs to be with you.
it takes michael kaiser 7 months.
kaiser lets his ego get in the way of his relationships. he thinks he can have anyone he wants, and that's why he wholeheartedly believes that he's above the idea of yearning for someone. the idea of wanting someone so much that his thoughts would be consumed by them, and only them? it’s unimaginable. he’s used to being admired, worshipped even, by others. he doesn’t need anyone— he doesn’t need you.
so the prick of irritation he feels, when he sees you laughing at another man’s jokes, catches him off-guard.
it shatters his pride, and he tries to ignore the heat that bubbles under his skin. but he can’t ignore the feeling of possessiveness that washes over him at the sight. you’ve always been his— the heated touches, the way you wear his cologne on your skin, the way you linger around him like it’s natural. you're mine, he always thinks to himself, but he never says it out loud. he’s above yearning— but the idea of you being with someone else makes him feel sick. and he’s not about to let another man take you away.
“come with me.” his voice is sharp and demanding, his mere presence filling the space with an unspoken challenge. but before you can speak, kaiser’s gripping your wrist, pulling you into him without another word of explanation. you don’t fight him, you don’t fight the excitement that it brings you. there’s something in his gaze, something so possessive and raw, that makes you follow him wordlessly. you’re mine, the thought echoes in his mind and for the first time in months, he can’t deny the feeling that has been brewing under the surface.
he yearns for you, and he’ll never let anyone strip this feeling away from him.
it takes oliver aiku 4 years and 2 months.
oliver would never deny the fact that he enjoys having you around. but you’re simply his friend— nothing less, and definitely nothing more than that. you’ve been in his life for years now, lingering in his orbit in a way that keeps you both close, but so far. you’re a constant in his life because he doesn’t need to act around you. he never needs to impress you, never needs to win you over with sugary words. you’ve never given him the typical attention he’s used to, the type of attention that he naturally demands. and that bothers him in a way he won’t admit. yet, it’s this disinterest that pulls at him like gravity. it keeps him coming back, keeps him by your side.
but he doesn’t want anything more from you— he doesn’t need it. it’s these words that keeps him from tainting you.
he doesn't like the dangerous and greedy feeling of wanting to have more of you, wanting to see you in ways that no one else has, and that dangerous feeling that makes him want to devote himself to you wholly. and that’s what gets to him. he’s used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the terms.
it's a futile attempt, he realizes. it's always been you who's had the upper hand.
he can no longer deny that he wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. no one else has his heart racing ‘til he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, no one else has him hooked in the way you’ve been stringing him along. and suddenly, all those meaningless flings feel like distractions, like he’s been wasting time when what he really wants is right in front of him.
it’s not about lust, not about the chase—he just wants you. and this time, he’s not about to let fear or pride hold him back.
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© rindreamery, 2024
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lovelivision · 5 months ago
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꒰꒰mdni // masterlist꒱꒱
Riding Choso’s abs, slick pussy gliding against the ridges and contours of his muscles. Struggling to keep the noises you’re making at bay and having to give up all together, letting the pathetic moans and whimpers you’re making for him fall freely.
Choso’s so painfully hard watching you rub your cunt all over him, at the sounds of your moans. Dick straining against his pants, neglected and needy, tip sticky and leaking. His hands rest on your thighs, on your hips, anywhere he can get to. Wanting to touch you, needing his hands on you at any given moment.
His abs flex under you and it has you crying out a moan. Falling forward slightly your nails dig into his chest. A self-satisfied smile on Choso’s face tells you it wasn’t an accident, clearly pleased at the reaction he got out of you.
“Don’t be – hah – mean, Cho,” there’s a slight shake in your voice when you say it.
“I’m sorry,” he pouts back at you, “Couldn’t help it, you look so good right now, wanted to hear you more.”
The amount of slick you’re leaving behind is embarrassing, face feeling hot at just how wet his abs have gotten from you grinding down into him. “Can we just have sex now?”
“No, no, I wanna…” he pulls at your hips, wanting you to keep moving, encouraging you, “…I wanna see you cum like this.”
You’re not confident you can, feeling shy, but with how his eyes are glued to you in complete awe, you feel desperate to please him. Doubling your efforts to drag your sopping cunt back and forth on him, biting your lip to control your moans. Only to have Choso reach up and tug your lip free, not wanting you to deprive him of any of your reactions.
His heart pulls at the way your brows knit together, at how your mouth drops open in a gasp. His cock twitches pitifully when he catches the sight of his drenched skin, he needs you to cum on him. A new kind of frantic determination settling under his skin as he grabs onto your hips.
His hands guide you, rocking you faster, with more force. The sudden change shocks you, choking on moans at how much better it feels to have him helping you. Thighs shaking either side of him, chest stuttering as you struggle to keep up with him.
“I want it,” he doesn’t spare you a glance as he rushes his words out, instead keeping focused on how you’re twitching and drooling on him.
You want to tell him to breathe, that you’re close, but you’re barely able to talk without your voice breaking off, “I– oh!”
“I know,” he assures, he knows you’re so fucking close, he can read you like a book.
You can tell he’s flexing his abs for you, relishing in how your pussy jumps and you gasp every time he does. Then he’s grinding you down harshly as he presses himself up into you, the friction drives you wild.
Lip wobbling as you’re cumming very suddenly on him, coating his abs in a slick sheen of your mess. Your arms shake where you’re holding yourself up, he doesn’t stop your movements straight away, very nearly overstimulating you before finally stopping.
Choso’s eyes sparkle at the obscene mess left behind, abs drenched and shiny, over the moon at how he managed to get you to finish like this.
He’s smiling at you sweetly when he asks, “Up for riding my face?”
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pencil-n-pen · 22 days ago
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ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY
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post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader
masterlist | ko-fi | next
summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?
cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius
tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat
a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff
also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks
slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack
title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.
From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.
And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.
He was also really, really, really hot.
It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.
But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?
He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.
You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”
And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.
It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.
With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.
So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.
All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.
And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.
It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.
Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.
The case is going terribly.
What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.
And now she won’t stop calling.
Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.
“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“
“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“
“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”
A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“
“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”
You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.
Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.
The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.
Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.
You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.
So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.
Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.
“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”
“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”
He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.
“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“
“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”
“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.
“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”
You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”
Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.
“You don’t want to see her.”
He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.
It is a fact.
“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”
You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”
He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”
“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”
“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”
“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”
He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”
You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.
“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”
You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”
His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.
And then it’s gone.
“Of course.”
For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.
You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.
Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.
All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.
It’s a win because you saved the evidence.
It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.
Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.
Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.
The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.
“Hotch, I’m sorry—“
He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.
“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”
“I just thought—“
“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”
You frown. “I do follow your orders.”
He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”
That… doesn’t make any sense.
Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”
“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”
Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”
You blink. “Oh.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”
You shake your head, your world turned on its head.
He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”
You drop your head into your hands.
“And agent?”
You look up.
“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”
He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.
So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.
So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?
You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.
“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”
It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.
“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”
He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.
Oh shit.
“Sorry, what?”
His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”
You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.
You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”
He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”
You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”
He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”
The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”
“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”
“To help people.”
“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”
“Do I even have to answer that?”
He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”
Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”
He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”
The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”
He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.
A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.
It should concern you, unnerve you.
It doesn’t.
“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”
You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.
“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”
“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”
“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”
“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”
“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”
You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.
But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.
“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”
“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”
You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”
He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”
That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.
You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.
You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.
“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”
You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”
Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”
You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.
You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.
You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.
“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”
“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”
“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”
To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.
“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”
“But I’m still coughing.”
“Have you given it any time to work?”
“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”
He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”
You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”
“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”
“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”
“You never joke.” JJ says.
“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.
You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”
“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“
Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”
JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”
Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”
“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”
“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“
“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”
“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”
“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”
JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”
You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”
“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”
“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”
“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”
“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”
Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.
Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.
“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”
You frown. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“
“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“
“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”
You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”
He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”
You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”
He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”
The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.
The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.
The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.
“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“
“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”
“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”
He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”
You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”
“Drink it anyway.”
You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.
You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.
With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.
“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”
Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.
“Ah, there she is.”
“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”
“Cold medicine must be working.”
There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—
You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”
“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”
Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—
“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”
You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.
You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”
“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”
“We’re both profilers.”
“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”
“I do not!”
You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.
A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”
If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.
“Who said anything about dragging?”
“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“
“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”
“They keep staring at me.”
“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”
You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”
You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”
Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.
Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?
Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.
You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.
Just for a few minutes.
“She out?”
“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”
A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”
A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”
A beat passes.
“You got her?”
“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”
When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.
Oh god you fell asleep on the table.
You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—
Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.
Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.
You slept the entire day away.
Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“
The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.
You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.
“Hotch?”
“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”
You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”
He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”
“He bet against me?”
“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”
“How long did you bet for?”
He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”
You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”
“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”
You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.
“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.
You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.
You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)
“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”
He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”
“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“
He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”
“No. Keep it.”
“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.
“I’d be fine with that.”
What. The. Fuck.
You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”
You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.
Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—
No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.
Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.
This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.
You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.
You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.
You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.
The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.
You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.
Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”
“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.
“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.
You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.
You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”
He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”
“This isn’t your seat.”
“We don’t have assigned seats.”
“No, but you always sit over there.”
“And now I’m sitting here.”
You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.
You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”
“Is that even a thing?”
You shrug, eyes falling shut again.
After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.
He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.
The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.
“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”
“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”
“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”
“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”
“Ah, the joys of youth.”
A beat passes. Then another.
“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”
“Emily don’t start—“
“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”
“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”
“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”
“…No.”
Silence.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”
Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.
When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
He nods. “In my office.”
You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.
He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.
“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”
He blinks. “For?”
“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”
Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.
He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.
“Do you know why I chose you?”
“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”
“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”
He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.
Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.
“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”
You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”
He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”
He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”
You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”
“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”
Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.
A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.
“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”
You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”
“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”
“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”
“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”
It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.
“You should go home.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”
“Maybe I am.”
“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”
You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”
“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”
You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.
Stupid genius co-workers.
The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.
Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.
Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”
He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.
“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”
“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.
You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.
Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.
The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.
You leave the mug there.
You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.
You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.
You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.
You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”
Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”
Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.
“But… the paperwork.”
“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”
You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.
He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.
“It’s cold.”
“That does tend to happen in winter.”
When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.
“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”
“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”
“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”
“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”
“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.
“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”
“How about Spencer?”
His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.
“…What rhymes with Spencer?”
“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“
“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”
“You know dis comes from—“
“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”
He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”
“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”
He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”
You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.
Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”
You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.
Smooth.
The next case is… really rough.
Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.
Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.
No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:
“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”
The son was killed before anyone could intervene.
Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.
A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.
Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.
You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“
“Are you okay?”
You blink. “What?”
“Are you alright?” He asks again.
“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”
Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.
“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”
You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.
You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.
You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.
If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.
You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.
You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.
Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.
Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.
You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.
The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.
You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—
“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”
“I’m fi—“
“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”
Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”
“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”
He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.
You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.
Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.
A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.
“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“
“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”
You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.
“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“
“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”
He says the last part a little desperate.
You sniff. “Okay.”
You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.
“Let’s go home.”
He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.
He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.
He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.
It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.
He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”
You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”
“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”
You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“
“Please let me do this for you.”
The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.
He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.
“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”
“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”
The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.
You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.
You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.
When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.
You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”
“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”
He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!
You really do tear up then.
He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“
You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”
His face softens. “Oh, honey.”
He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.
Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.
After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.
He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”
You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”
“That’s why we invented washing machines.”
He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.
Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.
When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.
“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”
He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.
He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”
You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.
The muscles in his jaw work.
“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“
You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.
He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.
You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”
He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”
“Crying and sad?”
“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”
You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“
“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”
“Just?”
“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”
He presses a kiss to your forehead.
“And this,”
He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.
“But mostly this.”
He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.
“Really?”
“Really.”
It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.
“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”
“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”
“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”
You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:
“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”
He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.
You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:
“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”
જ⁀➴
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EDIT TWO: THE SEQUEL IS UP !! It is linked at the top of this post under “next” :)
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