#when she hugs him and buries her face you can see his face and it's just silent horror and rage

[ashwhowrites]

Could you possibly do a part 2 of the pick me, choose me, love me fic that you did for Eddie x reader

I had a few people wanting a part 2 so I hope this will be a great ending for everyone!

Pick me, choose me, love me part 2

Y/N yawned as she opened her eyes. She was confused at first but then remembered where she was and why. She felt her stomach sink as she thought about Eddie. It killed her to know her best friend betrayed her and she felt sick at the thought that he knew how she felt for months and never said a thing.

She blinked away her tears as she felt a body moving next to her. She looked over her shoulder, letting out a small laugh as Steve's face was buried in the pillows. She rolled over to face him, closing her eyes to try to get more sleep.

Steve started groaning so she opened her eyes. She smiled when his barely open eyes looked at her. He gave her a tired smile, his hair all over the place as he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer.

"Morning," he said, his voice low and deep from just waking up. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I did. Thanks for letting me crash here," she said, a sad smile on her face. "Guess I should start figuring out what the hell I'm going to do."

"I know what you need to do first," he said, slowly sitting up. The sheet moved and exposed his hairy chest as he smiled over at her.

"What's that?" She asked, trying to keep her eyes respectful.

"Breakfast" he whispered. He laughed as she pushed his shoulder.

"Just when I thought you were going to be helpful!" She teased. She got out of bed and groaned. "Fuck, I don't have clothes or anything."

"I'll drive you home and you can grab a few things. We'll go to breakfast and plan what you want to do next." Steve offered, and Y/N smiled down at him.

"Thank you, Steve. For all of this and helping."

Steve slipped out of bed and walked over to pull her into a hug.

~

Y/N sighed as they walked up to her door, Eddie's car was up front so she knew she was going to face him.

"You can do this. Just go straight to your room and grab what you need." Steve encouraged. She nodded and unlocked the door.

Steve followed behind her as they walked in. Y/N held her breath as she walked into the living room, Eddie and Kathy were cuddled on the couch watching TV. Upon seeing her, Eddie stood up shocked. Kathy grumbled as her body slumped against the couch.

"Y/N?"

"I'm just here to grab a few things and I'm gone." She snapped, rolling her eyes when she looked at Kathy. She walked to her room and Steve stayed behind. Y/N knew Eddie picked Kathy but it pained her to see that after the huge blowout, he was still right by her side.

"Eddie, Kathy" Steve greeted

"Playing the knight and shining armor, Harrington? I mean how long has she been running to you and she still has no feelings for you!" Eddie smirked

"Let's see," Steve pretended to think, "I think the first time was when you got completely drunk and told her that sometimes you have dreams about marrying her. Oh! Then a minute later, your tongue was down a girl's throat! That was maybe freshmen year? So um since then!" Steve said as he snapped his fingers. "I don't need her to have feelings for me to care about her. It doesn't give me a purpose to be a cocky son of a bitch like you."

Eddie's smirk dropped and he felt anger rush through him. "I've always cared about her. Her having a crush on me didn't change any way that I treated her!"

"That's true," Steve said as he stepped closer. "It's her that changed the way you treated Y/N." He whispered, his eyes looking over Eddie's shoulder to Kathy.

"You're pathetic, Harrington" Eddie growled, "she has never looked twice in your direction and you think that'll change because she's hurting? You'll just be a rebound. You'll never be me."

"You think I want to be you?" Steve laughed, "She runs away from you and comes straight to me. She comes to me for comfort, for love, for support. You fucked up, man. If she wants a rebound, I'll give her a rebound. I'll give her every damn reason to never speak to you again. You got Kathy, you're not the winner here."

"You'd take advantage of her and fuck her?" Eddie growled, shoving Steve's body.

"Be careful there Eddie, sounds like you might be jealous," Steve winked. He loved edging Eddie on. "I'd never take advantage of her, I'm nothing like you."

"Steve, I'm ready to go," Y/N said as she walked out with a bag.

"Yeah, me too," Steve said

"Y/N, can we please talk?" Eddie asked, ignoring the pain he felt when she stood next to Steve and held his arm for comfort. She used to hold his arm when she needed comfort.

Y/N wanted to say yes, but seeing Kathy on her old couch reminded her nothing was going to change and she'd keep getting hurt.

"Nothing we need to say. Once I figure out where I'm going to stay, I'll be here to pack everything up. Enjoy your life, Eddie." She said sadly, tugging on Steve's arm.

Eddie watched as they walked out, a different feeling swarming around his stomach.

~

"I think if I moved a few blocks down, it should still be in my price range," Y/N said, cutting up her eggs.

"Do you really want to deal with that? And you'll have to find a roommate." Steve explained, then shoved a mouthful of waffles in his mouth.

"What else can I do? Staying with Eddie is not an option. He'll probably have Kathy move in so I don't think he'll give me the place."

"Live with me," Steve shrugged

Y/N choked on her water, coughing as she set down her cup.

"You don't want me living with you. I'm going to be a mess with all my emotions and you deserve a break some days," she joked, but a sad reality to her words.

"I'll never need a break from you. You've been staying at my place for years when you need it. The only difference is that it's your place now too." Steve explained

"I don't know. What about when you want girls around? You don't need a sobbing girl across the hall." Y/N argued.

"I want you there," Steve said as he reached over and held her hand. "Give it a chance before you go out and spend all your money. It's a free trial!" Steve joked

He smiled when she let out a laugh. "Okay, fine. I'll be your trail roommate!"

~~~

It didn't take long for Y/N and Steve to spend every moment together. She always felt happiest around Steve and she forgot how good it felt. He always had her smiling and laughing, and it was refreshing.

After a week, Y/N forced herself back to work. She wasn't sure how it would go now that she and Eddie weren't talking. Or at least she wasn't, he still called every day. She was worried he would be sitting at the bar like he always did, she wasn't sure if she could handle seeing him.

"What do I even say? Can I ignore him? Or do I have to sit there and serve him drinks like he didn't break my heart!" Y/N ranted as she got herself ready for work. Steve sat on her newly claimed bed, admiring her as she brushed through her hair frantically.

"Would you feel more at ease if I came with you?" Steve asked, "If he gets out of line, I'll cut in."

Y/N smiled at him through the mirror, "You'd do that for me? I'm sure there's a better way to spend your Friday night."

"I'd do anything for you, doll." He smiled

~

"So, how long are you going to wait until you tell her the truth?" Robin asked, playing with the small umbrella in her drink.

Robin and Steve were sitting at the bar, keeping Y/N company throughout her shift. The bar was busy and packed so she was able to keep her mind off Eddie. And it helped that he still hadn't shown.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, Robin smirked as his eyes stayed on Y/N as she walked through the bar.

"Can you stop staring for a second and talk to me?" Robin joked, hitting Steve's arm.

Steve blinked and looked at Robin, "happy?"

"Yes, and you know exactly what I mean. You can't torture yourself by never telling her you are in love with her." Robin said she could see the emotions changing in Steve's eyes.

"I know and I will tell her. But she's still hurting right now and throwing that on her would be inappropriate. I want her to heal."

"No, you want her to be over Eddie." Robin corrected

"You're a pain in the ass," Steve groaned

"Drinks?" Y/N asked as she leaned over the bar to grab Steve's beer. He coughed as her cleavage poured out of the tiny tank top the bar made her wear.

Robin snickered and Steve was quick to kick her with his foot.

"For you," Y/N smiled as she placed the beer on Steve's napkin, he went to grab it and his fingers gently touched hers. Y/N couldn't help but let her fingers linger before she pulled away. Snapping back into reality as Robin coughed.

"Another one for you, Rob?" Y/N asked politely

"I'm good, gorgeous." Robin winked

Y/N winked back and went to help other customers.

"Do you have to flirt with her right in front of me?" Steve teased

"Let the show begin," Robin said with a smirk as she nodded her head towards the front. Steve looked to the door and there Eddie was walking in.

Steve glared flames into Eddie as he walked further into the bar and took a seat on the other side. Steve smiled when she walked right past Eddie and came to him.

"What do I do? I'm panicking" Y/N whispered, trying her best not to look over her shoulder.

"Want me to ask him to leave?" Steve asked, already standing up

"No!" Y/N said, "I don't need you guys fighting. It's my problem, I need to be an adult and just face him."

"I'll be right here if you need me. Just call me over," Steve said as he sat back down. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she said

Robin watched as she left. "He seems pissed. You really get under his skin, don't you?" she asked

"He doesn't like that she realized she doesn't need him," Steve shrugged as he sipped on his beer

~

"Is he your new bodyguard or does he just follow you around like a love-sick puppy?" Eddie scoffed

"What do you want to drink?" Y/N asked, ignoring his comment as she grabbed a glass

"You might not be talking to me right now, but I'm still your best friend and we can work this out," Eddie explained

"Are you going to break up with her?"

"Why does that have to be the only outcome?"

"Not understanding why tells me there's nothing worth working out. If you were my best friend you wouldn't have hurt me while you knew I have feelings for you. It took me too damn long to see that you don't care about me as much as you say you do. You picked Kathy, you get to live with that choice. And when you wake up and finally realize you picked a fake bitch over the girl who actually loves you, don't you even think about me." She spat, slamming down his glass of beer.

She felt proud as she turned around and walked over to Steve

Eddie gripped his glass as he fumed watching her laughing with Steve.

~~~

A few weeks passed and things were changing. The more time Y/N spent with the Steve, the less she thought of Eddie. She was moving on from him and slowly falling into Steve.

She realized it all on a random Sunday. Steve had his friends over for the football game, everyone was cheering and having a good time. Y/N didn't really watch football but she was dressed in one of Steve's jerseys, sitting next to him on the couch. Her legs were sprawled out on his lap, and his large left hand was softly tracing shapes on her bare skin. His eyes were focused on the TV, his mouth running as he talked with his friends. He was occupied by everything around him, but his touch never left her.

There was a knock on the door and Steve got up to answer it

"Hey Y/N," Robin greeted as she walked in with more beer

"Hey girl," Y/N smiled, she stood up so Robin could take her spot. The couch was full and Y/N prepared to head off to her room.

Steve sat down and cracked open a beer, within seconds he was lost in the game. But no matter how occupied he was, he would always know if she was missing.

"Whatcha doing over there? Come sit," Steve laughed as Y/N stood in the hallway

"Robin needs a spot and this is your friend time. I can hang in my room, don't worry about me!" Y/N shrugged

"I can grab a stool from the kitchen!" Robin offered, going to stand up but Steve pushed her back down.

"Nonsense, there is room for both my girls, come here," Steve said as he waved her over

Y/N slowly walked over, she leaned down to whisper in Steve's ear

"I don't want to be rude and make all your friends move," Y/N looked around the couch, all the boys zoned in on the TV and she didn't want to disturb that.

Steve didn't say anything, waiting until she stood up. Once she did, he turned her around and grabbed her hips, throwing her right down on his lap. She squealed in surprise.

Steve wrapped one arm around her and moved up to whisper in her ear,

"This okay?"

The feeling of his hard body against her back, the raspiness in his whisper, his breath tickling her ear, and the way his hand rested on the inside of her thigh made her think of Steve in ways she never had.

"Yeah, it's okay," she said, her voice cracking as she squirmed. Her eyes were on the TV but her mind was busy imagining Steve's hard body in different scenarios.

Ever since then, a crush on Steve formed and kept getting out of control.

~~~

More weeks passed and Y/N was a mess for Steve. She tried to keep it under control, cussing herself out for crushing on all the guys she moved in with. She knew how bad it ended last time and did not want to lose Steve too.

But he made it so hard

It was his birthday and he wanted to go clubbing. So now Y/N was slipping on her tightest dress, with her best heels, and perfecting her hair and makeup.

"Hey, are you re-" Steve cut himself off as his jaw dropped. He stared at her as she finished her lipstick. She stood up and turned around to face him. She shivered at the way he looked her up and down, once again making controlling her crush harder to do.

"Yes, let's go!" she rushed out, speeding past him so she could feel herself breathe again.

They were at the club for a few hours, a few drinks, and a lot of dances. They weren't drunk, but their liquid courage seemed to make them more free with each other. Y/N would never be grinding on Steve's body if she was fully sober. And Steve wouldn't be sucking on her neck if he was fully sober. But the heat between them was too much to ignore, the sexual tension needed to be acted upon, or neither would be able to move on.

So lost in lust, neither remembered how they got home. But it didn't matter as they pushed through their front door with their lips locked. They made out as they walked to Steve's room, pushing open his door. Steve pulled away as they walked towards his bed, she stopped when her legs hit the mattress.

"Is this what you want?" He asked, his chest moving rapidly as he breathed hard. She admired his red lips, loving the way she could see just how hard they were kissing. Then she looked into his eyes, so dark and swimming with lust. She wished she was looking at herself through his eyes because she must have looked beautiful by the way he couldn't look away.

"Make me feel good, birthday boy," she whispered, a smirk on her lips as he moaned. She gasped when he pushed her body against the bed and climbed on top of her.

His mouth was on hers as his hands moved under her dress. She moaned as he teased her cunt over her thin underwear. His long fingers slid up and down, his mouth sucking away her breath as she panted underneath him.

Neither wanted to spend time with foreplay, both early tearing each other's clothes off. He was painfully hard and she had never felt so wet in her life. She was running her fingers through his hairy chest and her other hand scratching down his back. His head buried in her neck as he pushed himself inside of her.

He started slow, memorizing how she felt wrapped around him. He had been dreaming of this for years and he didn't want to rush anything. But the way she moaned, begging him for more, and whispering dirty words in his ear made him want to lose himself inside of her.

"Steve please, I can handle it," she begged. He felt amazing don't get her wrong, but she wanted him to fuck her like an animal.

"I've wanted this for so long, I want to feel everything," he said against her lips, his forehead softly pressed against hers. She smiled at his words, feeling her heart burst.

"I promise this won't be the only time. Show me how desperately you want this, let yourself go," she said, reaching up to hold his cheek

He turned his head to kiss her palm

"Tell me if you need me to stop," he said

The second she nodded, his mouth attacked her chest. She moaned out as he bit down on her nipple, tugging it was his teeth as he drilled his cock inside of her.

"Fuck yes," she moaned, smiling as she felt pleasure running all throughout her body. He was long and thick, feeling like heaven inside her as he fucked her fast.

"You feel amazing, baby," He moaned

His bed was smacking the wall

His balls were smacking against her skin

Her moans were turning into screams

"Make me cum, Steve. Make me cum," she whined, throwing her head back

"Gladly" he smirked, and he slid himself out of her. Giving her no time to whine in protest as he flipped her around. She clawed at his pillows as he pushed her hips up, her ass in the air.

She gasped in pleasure as he slipped himself back inside of her, keeping a rapid pace as he moved his right hand down to her clit. She felt her eyes roll in the back of her head as he swirled his fingers against her clit, adding to the pleasure that was building in her stomach.

"Yes, yes, yes" she chanted like a prayer as she felt herself getting close. Then he slipped out of her again and she wanted to cry. But then she felt his wet tongue pushed inside of her.

She cried into the pillows as he tongue fucked her and kept his fingers rubbing circles on her clit. She didn't have time to warn him, her thighs shook and she felt everything snap.

Steve moaned as he felt her cum soak his face. He happily ate her cum, humming at her sweet taste. He groaned as he felt his cock twitch, he pulled back and pushed himself back inside her wet cunt.

She yelped at the overstimulation, crying into the sheets as he chased his orgasm.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum so hard" he moaned

"Fucking," thrust "Gorgeous," thrust, "best" thrust, "sex of," thrust, "my life,"

"Oh my god" Y/N whined as she felt Steve cumming inside of her. She could feel his warm cum painting her walls, every drop inside of him, her cunt milking him until he was empty.

His sweaty body collapsed against her back. He panted as he slowly stood up with shaky legs. She rolled her body over, a blissful smile on her face. Her eyes were heavy as she looked at him through her lashes, his sweaty and toned body standing over her.

He looked down at her in awe

She wiggled her finger to call him closer, he listened and leaned down. She smiled as she leaned up and softly kissed his lips.

~

The next morning Steve was in the kitchen making breakfast, his chest bare and a pair of sweatpants low on his hips. When he moved a certain way he could feel the scratches on his back and he'd hiss at the sting.

He was lost in memory when he heard a knock on the door. He turned off the stove and walked over to the door. He opened it and was surprised to see Eddie.

"I need to talk to Y/N," he demanded

"Hello to you too Eddie, and I don't think that is a good idea," Steve explained, ready to shut the door but Eddie stopped the door with his hand

"I don't care what you think, I need to talk to her," Eddie argued

"Well, she's not here so bye," Steve again tried to close the door but Eddie wasn't having any of it.

"I feel like I can barely walk, Steve. Jesus chr-EDDIE!" Y/N froze as she walked out of the bedroom. Her eyes locked between Eddie and Steve, both men looking mad as ever, but for different reasons.

Eddie felt his heart race as she stumbled as she walked, her words, and the dark marks on her neck. Eddie didn't take long to connect the dots; all he saw was red.

"YOU FUCKER!" Eddie screamed, taking Steve down to the floor. Y/n screamed in panic as Eddie and Steve began to brawl on the ground in front of her.

"EDDIE GET OFF!" Y/N screamed, grabbing his arm and shoving him away from Steve. Eddie stood on his feet, glaring as she helped Steve stand up. She frowned at the little blood that fell from Steve's nose.

"What the hell is your problem!" Y/N spat, turning around as her glare landed on Eddie

"He's my fucking problem," Eddie hissed, pointing his finger at Steve as he seethed in anger. "I knew all along that fucker liked you. Sitting in the corner, being a shoulder for you to cry on so he can make moves on you!"

"Why do you care so much? It's not like Y/N is your girlfriend, Eddie. I'm not in the wrong for going after what I want. You've got your girlfriend to focus on so leave us alone" Steve spat

"Kathy and I broke up"

Y/N whipped her head to look at Eddie, pure shock on her face

"What?" Y/N asked

Eddie looked at Y/N, softly grabbing her hand. Steve held himself back from tearing Eddie's hand off.

"I miss you," he said, his eyes staring deep into Y/N's. "I realized everything too late, I know that. But you changed my life and I'm never going to get over losing you. I should have listened when you warned me and I regret nothing more than picking her over you. I'm jealous, I'll be honest. The idea of you and him," Eddie said as he nodded his head towards Steve with a pained look, "breaks my heart. I thought I was so angry about it because I wanted to protect you, but I know that's not why."

"Eddie, what are you saying?" Y/N gulped

"I'm saying that I'm jealous and angry about Steve because I have feelings for you. I think I always have, it just took so damn long to realize it. I love you and I'm sorry for all the pain I put you through. I want you to come home, and I want to work this out. I want you."

Steve could feel his heart-shattering in his chest with every word. It hurt to see the look in Y/N's eyes. It was everything she wanted to hear ever since she fell for him. Eddie confessed he was in love with her, and Steve had no idea where that left him.

"Eddie I-I" Y/N stuttered, she was honestly at a loss for words

"Just say you love me too," Eddie begged, pushing his forehead against hers, he held her face in place. His rough hands on her delicate cheeks

Steve had to look away, the water filling his eyes as he tried to hold back his tears

"I love you too," she whispered

Steve bit down on his lip as hard as he could, silencing his sobs as his body shook. He did everything for her, he treated her the way she deserved, and he still wasn't going to get the girl.

"But I'm not in love with you anymore"

Her words made both boys freeze

Y/N stepped back, taking Eddie's hands off of her.

"What?" Eddie whispered, a pained look in his eyes as she kept stepping back

"I spent years wanting to hear you say that, but I've never felt loved by you. But Steve," she said, walking over to him. She softly grabbed his hand, "he shows me how much he loves me every day"

"I understand," Eddie choked out

Steve and Y/N watched as Eddie left, the door closing behind him

"So, you've uh liked me that long?" Y/N asked, a small smile on her face as she turned to look at Steve

"Just a bit," he shrugged

Y/N stood in front of him, dropping his hand to reach up and wipe away his tears

"I like you too, you know just a bit," she joked, loving the way he smiled and laughed

"I was preparing to lose you" Steve sighed

Y/N nodded and cupped his cheek, she leaned in and kissed his lips. "You won't. I pick you"

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[hanzajesthanza]

like, i do love cahir when he's introduced, and we get to know him and his character, but also, if i was geralt, and i heard this from my little girl:

i would also beat this guy's ass into the ground and want to kill him so so badly. like this is ciri's nightmare but this is also a parent's worst nightmare

[gojoest]

CRAZY ABOUT YOU — gojo satoru

tw: MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, pregnancy (reader is expecting), established relationship (you’re married), pregnancy freak!satoru, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby, love, sweetheart), very very brief mention of somno & oral f receiving, reader wears a dress, he’s a freak, not proofread, wc: 2.4k

synopsis: your husband fucks you during one of your prenatal visits

your husband is a freak, you know that. but what you didn’t know was how big of a one he could be, for you. you found out — when you became pregnant with his child.

when satoru found out that you’re carrying his child — because he did before you, saw it with his six eyes — he fucked you differently. with a primal urge unheard of, like a man that’s impregnated his wife and is now claiming her again, confirming the fact that you belong to him by slamming it deep inside you. after the fifth (?) orgasm he dragged out of you that night, you asked him through a weary chuckle — “huh, where did this come from?” — and his answer began with a motion of his fingers hugging his balls — “it came from here…”, followed by his other hand caressing your belly “…and went there”, while slowly leaning in to meet your lips, “and i might just lose my mind because, baby — you’re pregnant”

a rather unconventional way to find out you’re pregnant.

if he had any semblance of decency in him before (which is rather questionable) and could keep his hands to himself (to some extent) during certain times and in certain places, it is completely off the table now.

when he wants you, you will know; others around will know it, too. he doesn’t shy away from making it obvious, or more so he doesn’t care if other people notice. what’s there to be embarrassed about? after all, you’re a couple, you do things. it’s only natural. and that pretty baby bump is the perfect proof of it. in all honesty, it gets him off when others know that he’s about to fuck his beautiful pregnant wife once he takes her home.

he's a freak like that, it can’t be helped. even more so now with the way your skin glows differently, with the way you smell, the way you carry yourself and the way your body is undergoing the natural changes as the pregnancy progresses that he finds so beautiful. it all messes with his head. brings out the real freak in him that can no longer keep his urges at bay, not when knowing that he himself brought this upon you. it makes you so undeniably his, for everyone to see and acknowledge. his chest swells with pride…

…but sometimes pride also gives way to greed, to a freakish desire for more of you.

during the rare times you go about to shower without him, he slips into the bathroom. sits on the toilet seat and starts jerking off to you, watching your swollen belly and breasts, moaning loud and clear for you to come to his aid. sometimes you wake up to him holding your hand wrapped around his cock, rubbing himself into your palm, audible pants seeping from his lips as he slowly lifts the hem of your shirt (his shirt that you wear to sleep) — preparing to splatter his load on your pregnant belly; or alternatively, you open your eyes to his face buried between your legs, devouring you like a starved animal… other times, as you make dinner in the kitchen, tenderizing the meat with the mallet on the counter, he comes from behind and presses his hard-on against your ass, shamelessly asking “would you mind beating my meat, too, baby?”

and when you go about to scold him, call him a jerk, a perv, a freak, insufferable while hitting his chest — playfully, because you secretly like it when he can’t contain himself around you — he blames you for it. tells you that you’ve severed him so abysmally that he’s having a hard time now keeping it soft around you (he’s not lying). that you broke him and should take responsibility for it. chuckles fill the room and mix in between your kisses that later turn into breathy moans and pants mixed in between countless of i love you’s and you’re mine and mine only’s.

but sometimes, such as today, he takes things a bit too far…

like,

—you can’t simply fuck your wife during one of the prenatal visits just because the doctor left the examination room for a bit and your dick is rock-hard from seeing your wife’s belly out in the open.

“you have to be kidding me”, you raise your brows in absolute surprise as you watch your husband unbuckle his pants, “now? HERE?”

“please?”, he looks at you, cheeks flushed and eyes of a pleading puppy.

you knew he was up to something from the glint in his eyes as he kept staring at your exposed belly earlier, completely transfixed, only his eyes following the ultrasound probe as the doctor pressed it over your tummy.

“the doctor’s going to come any moment, you know right?”, you try to confirm he is aware that this can go very wrong.

“yes, but so am i — you don’t want me walking around in cum drenched pants, right?”, he purses his lips into a pout, one that’s obviously fake (but it works on you, even if you refuse to admit it).

“it’s not like you’ve never done it before”, you mock.

“that was only one time”, he pouts (this one’s not a fake), “okay, maybe two or three times, but it happens even to the best” (it was more than two or three times)

“aha”

“oi. whose fault do you think it was? you make a man go crazy. i mean, look at me right now, just look — i am standing here with my dick almost out for you, in the doctor’s office”

“so you realize this is absolutely crazy but still you won’t pack your dick away?”

“no, i will not. i’ll die if i don’t get to fuck you this instant. and i mean it, it hurts so much. and the authorities will suspect you did it, you know. because it’s always the wives anyway…..and they won’t be wrong about it”

“you’re hopeless, satoru”, you sigh, giving him a roll of your eyes.

but still, leaning on your elbows you slowly rise yourself from the examination table and sit at the edge of it, removing the towel covering your thighs. spreading your legs for him, you think that you really made the right choice to wear a dress today — less in the way for your husband and another one of his “if i don’t get to fuck my wife, i’ll die” episodes.

“i am”, he saunters over to you, biting his lower lip at the sight of your thighs and the beautiful belly hanging in between, “but i can’t help it when you’re so pretty for me like this, i go crazy”

and fuck, if it doesn’t make you wet the way he looks at you right now as he stops to stand between your open thighs, invading your space with such ease because that’s where he belongs to be. all the signs hint at that, too — the ring on your finger, the baby in your belly and the wetness dripping from your cunt, ready to welcome him in.

“yea, you really do”, you pull the front of his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, earning a low hiss from him upon your hand making contact with it.

“all because of you”, he places his hands under your ass and slightly pulls you to himself. you’re immediately met with where he’s hard, it’s poking and rubbing against your belly.

a moan crawls up his throat and breaks out into a satisfied groan. part of him wants to cum just like this — by rubbing himself against your belly. but god, you smell so good down there that it shifts his desire. now that he’s so close to you — standing right in front of your doors — he can smell it so much better. your scent wafts up from your heat and goes straight to his nostrils, letting his brain register in the most primal of ways that your body is ready for him.

you know he’s noticed the dampness of your panties by the way his smile’s faded into a grin, you can smell yourself in the air around you, too.

“fuck, baby…can cum from this alone, you know? rubbing myself on that pretty belly that i made on you”, satoru whispers as he leans forward to take your mouth into his. his lips are loaded with such intensity that they suck the air from your lungs, leave you moaning into his mouth. the grip he’s got on your ass tightening, his fingers digging into your flesh. “but that won’t do now, so hold on tight”

you comply in silence, wrapping your hands around his neck as he lifts you up just enough to peel your panties down to your thighs, then sits you up again and drags them down your legs and onto the floor.

“just so you know—if someone comes before i do, i’ll just keep fucking you”, he grins at you as he positions himself back between your legs. his words might sound like a joke, an exaggeration of some sort to make it clear how much he wants you right now, but you know better than anyone that he’s pretty serious about it.

“then hurry up, you freak”

his fingers swipe over your cunt — to confirm that you are indeed as ready as your scent gives away — and collect your arousal before rubbing it all over the length of his throbbing cock, mixing your wetness with his vigorously leaking pre.

“open them a little bit more for me, baby”, he coaxes, hands back on your thighs, tapping softly on your skin as a signal to spread them just a little bit more and give him way. you lean back on your hands and push your legs open as much as you can. the motion causing your belly to bump against his cock, squishing it between the two of you, pressing it against his stomach.

“s-shit, baby”, he hisses at the sensation, his body jerks a little and his hips buck forward, against your belly, to deepen the friction, “i can really cum from just rubbing it on you….fuck, that’s crazy”, he laughs.

but satoru stops himself.

his hand moves away from you to get a hold of his cock and help it against your entrance, pushing the head towards your folds before slowly sinking in the entirety of it, bottoming out in you from the very start. there’s no time to waste and he’s got no patience left in him, once he’s in — he’s going all the way.

“nghh, s-satoru”, you whimper at his needy intrusion, but swallow him so easily that your wetness starts to spurt out as he’s starting to dart in and out, trickling down the crack of your ass and dripping onto the examination table.

“fuck, love…look at the way you take me”, he breathily chuckles, head thrown back as he picks up the rhythm of his thrusts, “and you call me crazy, huh…haha, fuck, f-fuc-k” — if his voice was a tad bit louder just now and could keep a steady note, he would’ve sounded maniacal.

“s-shut up….don’t compare me to yourself”, you protest, trying to deny the fact you want him just as bad but the way your walls clench around him proves the other way around. you become who you surround yourself with. he’s crazy to do this to you here of all places. and you’re just as much crazy to let him have his way with you.

you suck him in so deep that his body, caught off guard, jerks and bucks forward. it makes him forget where he starts and where he ends. he wants to let go but also to never stop, he’s fighting so hard but it’s a battle he’s slowly losing. as his pace is growing faster his thrusts are getting sloppier. “shit”, he curses under his breath. his balls are sizzling and he wants to bust so bad but not before he makes you cum.

the tension, the pulsing of his cock and the ridges of his throbbing veins — you can feel them like a heartbeat inside of you, and each time he slams against that sweet spot your clit responds with a beat of its own.

you try to hold your voice back but pants leave through your parted lips as you gasp for air.

“nghh, ’toru…’m gonna cum”, you whimper incoherently as you throw your head back, eyes shut close.

“yea? go on, baby—cum for me. come on, sweetheart—i’ll help you out”, he breathes.

his hands grabbing onto the plush of your thighs with a deadly grip, pulling you closer to help fuck himself into you better. the bottom of your belly is flat against his rock-hard abdomen now and he keeps it that way while ramming himself inside you, rubbing his cock around your sensitive walls, without pulling out. over and over until you squirm and come undone. face grimacing in pleasure and hips jerking from the electrifying sensation as you keep chanting “fuck, fuck, fuck” under your breath as quietly as possible so your voice doesn’t make it past the walls of the examination room for others — doctors, nurses and patients — to hear.

you glance your eyes to him, all disheveled and sweaty as his hips live through the last few thrusts left in them before he implodes inside of you. you hear him grumble how he’s about to fill you up while peering at you with a desperate face.

“f-fuck”, he growls throatily, charging one last time into you before spurting his load inside you. his body shudders from the release he’s been holding back. and he’s pouring too much, his heat spilling and filling your insides. you can feel it all — he’s making a frothy mess of your cunt.

it takes a few seconds after he’s done pouring his seed that his body reigns back control and he stops shuddering. he then looks at you.

“if i pull out now it’ll all spill out, you know? so maybe we should stay—?”

“no.”, you dryly interrupt. “don’t force our luck. put that thing away before someone comes and help me put my panties on”

“but it’ll spill out”, he insists.

“i’ll hold it in, don’t worry”

“oh? you know just the thought alone is doing inhumane things to me all over again, right?”

“satoru. don’t you dare.”

[rebelfell]

Can I interest anyone in a wee bit of frenemy(?)eddie and some soft confessions while under the influence?

18+, MDNI 2.2k

cw: drug use (edible)

“Oh, wow. She’s really out.”

Nancy wasn’t wrong, but Eddie didn’t need to be told. He had noted your rapid descent into sleep when it started halfway through the movie. Your eyelids fluttering like they had weights attached to them and your body curling into itself as you sank into the cushions of the Wheeler’s sofa.

You were crumpled in a ball at the end of it now, hugging the arm like you thought you were going to roll off the edge of a cliff if you let go. Your half-drunk beer still sat on the end table, abandoned once the edible you split with Argyle took effect.

Eddie had foolishly tried to warn you off it, saying you should start with half of your half and go from there. But of course that only set the two of you off like a pair of dueling firecrackers.

He didn’t know how he kept ending up in these spats with you. He never intended to insult you, it just seemed he had a real knack for it. You always accused him of babying you and he’d accuse you of being too stubborn for your own good.

Had anyone besides Eddie suggested you take it easy, you probably would have listened and might still be conscious right now.

Nancy jostled you gently, trying to rouse you while Eddie peered over her shoulder. He didn’t care for the lifeless way your limbs hung, for the way your head lolled forward on your shoulders like you couldn’t hold it up yourself.

It made his fingers drum nervously on the outside edge of his thigh and the wallet chain that hung there clinked with each and every irregular tap.

Of course he knew there was logically no way you could OD on a pot brownie—but that didn’t mean he delighted in seeing you so incapacitated.

Eyes shut tight, you started babbling softly in response to Nancy’s voice as she tried to draw you back to the world of the waking. With a soft oof, she got you to put one arm around her neck and attempted to lift you off the couch. But even with the deceptive strength of her slight frame, she wasn’t getting you anywhere by herself.

So, she glanced around the room at the rest of their friends in their various states of intoxication.

Steve and Robin were long gone, Robin being the winner of their coin toss for who got to drink that night while the other stayed sober. She’d skipped on the edible and mainlined strawberry daiquiris instead, leading to her calling out forlornly as Steve helped drag her out the door,

“What if I puke pink? Please, please, please, don’t let me puke pink—”

Argyle and Jonathan were passed out, entwined on the pallet of blankets and pillows on the floor, Jonathan likely not realizing the warm chest he was burying his face in wasn’t his girlfriend’s.

Finally, her determined gaze fell to Eddie, and she tilted her head at him in that Nancy way of her’s that gave out marching orders without her so much as speaking a word. With another glance at your sleeping form, Eddie released a resigned sigh and nodded his head.

As they helped you climb the stairs, one arm slung over each of their shoulders, you started to rouse again and slowly registered what was happening through the fog of your high.

“Aww, shit…m’fucked up, huh?” you chuckled, letting out a heavy sigh. Head lifted the couple of inches you could manage, “M’so sorry, Nance, I shouldn’t have…he was right…again…”

The bitter edge in your voice as the last word left your lips made Eddie’s brow jump with interest. You lifted your head the full two inches you could manage and peered at Nancy through half-lidded eyes. Your head then swiveled to the other side and Eddie braced himself for more vitriol.

But none came.

Your face didn’t even change and Eddie realized your current state made he and Nancy’s mops of messy brown curls somewhat indistinguishable. You just continued on like you were still talking to your best friend, not the guy you couldn’t stand.

“Wheeler, you’re a fucking beast, you know that? You’re so strong…”

The loopy giggle you let out brought a smile to Eddie’s lips in spite of himself. He felt your hand start to curl around his shoulder and it made him tense, worrying you’d recognize the rough denim of his vest. But your fingers simply held it, rubbed the frayed hem of his cut-off sleeve between the pads, your sleepy smile re-forming.

“God, Nance, you smell so good…”

Your head suddenly drooped, landing partially on Eddie’s shoulder and making his breath catch.

You took a deep inhale of his scent, your chest expanding with it and making Eddie’s eyes bulge and then avert quickly when he caught himself ogling the deep scoop of your neckline. He had already committed most of the night to avoiding just that, his eyes just…slipped for a second.

Over your head, he caught Nancy’s gaze and the cloudy blue color might as well have been a bright red laser for how clearly she saw through him.

Thankfully, they got to the guest room before she could make any damning remarks. She pushed open the door and flicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating a bed piled obscenely high with pillows and a down comforter seemingly thicker than some mattresses Eddie had slept on.

“Can you hold her?” Nancy asked, looking from the bed back to him.

His throat bobbed with a harsh swallow and he nodded, only half-sure of his answer. Nancy lifted your other arm from her shoulder and turned you into his body. Your other arm wrapped around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder.

His hands wrapped hesitantly around your back, holding you against him almost like you were slow dancing. He had to resist the urge to sway.

Heart thundering so loud he feared it might wake you, Eddie watched while Nancy pushed all of the decorative pillows to the floor and turned down the comforter, motioning Eddie forward.

He walked you backwards a few steps and sat you down on the edge of the bed while Nancy knelt to take off your shoes. Thankfully, the dress code on movie night was always supremely casual and the track pants and tank top you’d worn would be fine to sleep in.

You babbled a bit more as they got you ready for bed, seemingly oblivious to Eddie’s presence—even mentioning him briefly as they helped you lay flat and Nancy lifted your legs onto the bed.

“He’s just so annoying, you know?” you muttered bitterly. “Like, whatever, you’re hot and you play guitar and you’ve banged like half the town. That doesn’t mean you know everything.”

Eddie tried not to let the words sting. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t said before to his face, but there was something about you still saying it, even when he “wasn’t there” to hear it.

“I’m gonna get water,” Nancy whispered, already out the door. “Just keep an eye on her, please?”

Eddie frowned and grumbled in response, but he didn’t move from his spot beside you. He did start to turn away, but stopped when you shifted in the bed. You reached out a limp hand and caught just the tips of Eddie’s fingers, tugging lightly on them like you wanted to tell him something.

He sank slowly to his knees, trying to hear you as your lips moved almost mutely.

“Should’ve listened,” you muttered. “Shouldn’t’ve been such a dick…”

You seemed perfectly content continuing your conversation even without “Nancy” responding, and Eddie wondered if he should just go? He was positive you’d be mortified if you ever found out he had overheard any of this. But even as he was screaming at his feet to move, for his knees to rise, they remained planted on the Wheeler’s plush carpeting at your next words.

“Nance…why doesn’t he like me?”

It took what felt like a year for Eddie to unfreeze. He looked towards the door for a sign of Nancy’s shadow in the hallway, the sound of her footsteps on the stairs. But there was none.

Your head lolled on the pillow, eyes still shut but the lids twitching subtly like you were trying to open them. If you did, you’d be staring straight into Eddie’s own rapt gaze. You still held your pitifully weak grasp on his fingers, and he easily could have pulled away. But he didn’t.

Eddie just watched, torn between his standards of decency and being desperate to find out what you were talking about. He didn’t even know you were into anyone—let alone that you liked them enough to groan about them to Nancy. What kind of idiot wouldn’t like you back?

Some sadistic part of him wanted to find out.

“I mean, I know I’m not—m’not like…Chrissy—but I’m alright, aren’t I? An’ I wore thisstupid booby shirt hoping he’d notice and he just…”

Your voice took on a wounded waver and you stopped, inhaling deeply as if to steady yourself. The beginnings of tears started to shimmer along your lash line and you shut your eyes tighter, but it only squeezed one of them out and made it trickle down your temple in a wet trail.

Okay…Eddie was really confused now.

He didn’t even know you knew his ex-girlfriend’s name until it came tumbling past your lips. And he sure as shit had so noticed your booby shirt—he’d barely been able to keep his eyes off you, had to actively force himself not to stare.

Had you actually…did you really wear it for him?

All of a sudden, you rolled onto your side and your eyes cracked open the widest he had seen them all night. You looked almost lucid and you were staring directly into Eddie’s face.

He flinched slightly, worried you might scream when you saw him. But you just sighed, scanning his features all glassy and moon-eyed as you stared at him plainly. Unabashedly.

Like he’s an oil painting that couldn’t look back.

“He’s just so…pretty.”

The words are whispered, like a secret. And it takes everything in him to remain totally still and not to let his eyes bug completely out of his skull. Wait, did you…Did you not think he was there?

“I like’im so much…what’m I gonna do?”

There it was again. That plaintive whine, that broken lilt of your voice that tugged mercilessly at something deep inside of him. Heartstrings he didn’t know were there until you plucked them.

You looked at him with those shiny eyes. Literal tears were filling them now, threatening to spill down your cheeks. You were crying. Over him? What kind of world was he living in?

And nearly too late, Eddie realized your eyes were fluttering closed again. Not from exhaustion, but to lean in and kiss him.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. You stretched your neck forward, hand coming up to cup his jaw—god, your palms were so soft, not rough and hard like his—and Eddie felt himself melt briefly into your touch, just for a moment before he realized what you were doing.

Eyes closing, chest heaving, lips parting as you leaned into what you thought was a dream.

No, no, no, he thought frantically. Not like this—

Eddie wrapped his hand around your wrist and gently pulled away from you. It made you push a little harder, trying to fight your way out of his grasp, but you were weak and looked more like a kitten trying to box. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t want you to get upset, he just—

“Hey,” he soothed, gently brushing the backs of his fingertips along your jaw. “Just go to sleep, okay? We can talk about this in the morning.”

You blinked, seemingly in realization, like you were surprised to hear him speak. And it made him wonder how many of your other dreams he’d starred in where he didn’t say a word.

But his voice seemed to soothe you somewhat, your fists unclenching and dropping to lay on the softness of the sheets. You nodded your head as your face sunk back into the pillow, your cheek rubbing the dainty floral bouquets on the case.

Eddie let out the breath he didn’t remember he was holding, his shoulders slumping with it as his mind raced. Carefully, with nimble fingers curled around the edge of the comforter, he tugged it up further over your shoulders, almost to your chin. You snuggled a little deeper into your sleep and Eddie tucked the blanket in a little tighter, his heart pounding with every second.

And before he could talk himself out of it, he dropped a feather-light kiss to your forehead.

Once in a while we have to do the pining, I guess 🙄

Very veeeeeeeeeery loosely inspired by that scene in New Girl where Jess is on painkillers. Ty for reading - love you, mean it!

[moonstruckme]

hi my love i’m obsessed with all your works and this is my first request!

poly! marauders and cuteness aggression. like maybe reader coming home a bit tipsy from girls night and just seeing her boys and losing it. grabbing remus’ face and just kissing all over his cheeks, gnawing on james’ biceps and playing with sirius’ hair or tracing his tattoos.

Hi lovely, thank you for requesting!

cw: alcohol

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 589 words

You leave a trail of things down the hallway that you swear you’ll pick up in the morning. Your bag, both shoes, your jacket. There’s no time to put any of it in its proper place, not when you know your boyfriends are all cozy and waiting for you in your bed. Everything else is secondary. 

The moment you get your eyes on them, it’s already too much. Remus is reading while Sirius chats to a nearly-asleep James, and you don’t know whether to scream or hug them or burst into tears. One feels more socially acceptable than the rest. 

A grin spreads over Sirius’ face as you crawl clumsily up the bed, so you go to him first. 

“Hi, baby.” You smear a kiss over his lips, burrowing your hands in his lovely, silken hair. It smells like his conditioner, smokey and heady and just slightly sweet. You wish you could snort it up into your nose like a drug. 

“Hi, baby,” Sirius says back at you, amused. “Did you have a good night?” 

“No,” you lament, though you think you might have enjoyed it at the time. 

Impulsively, you move to Remus, clambering across James to get on your quietest boyfriend’s lap. He’s already set down his book, so there are no barriers to your whims as you take his face between both hands, squishing his cheeks up and kissing them all over. You think you can hear the other boys laughing somewhere beyond your lovesick haze. Remus’ skin grows warmer with each ardent press of your lips. 

“None of you were there,” you go on. It’s impossible to articulate the full extent of this injustice. “You were here, being so lovely and perfect and lovely without me.” 

“That’s lovely twice.” Remus seems to recover somewhat from your surprise attack. His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back, a touch just for touch’s sake. “How much have you had, dove?” 

You make a petulant, whiny sound, burying your face in his neck. There will never be enough of them, your lovely boyfriends. Or maybe it’s that they’re enough, but you just can’t get enough. Regardless. You’re doomed to remain just on the brink of satisfaction. 

“Enough to know that I missed you a lot,” you say pitifully. 

“Awe, babydoll.” James’ laughter is at odds with his compassionate tone. “Come here, m’love.” 

This sounds like a grand idea to you. You wish they’d simply all squish together so you could lay your affections on them one by one, in rounds. 

James puckers his lips as you approach, readying for a kiss, and so is taken entirely aback when you forgo his face entirely. 

“Oh, well,” he says as you suck a hickey on his bicep. “I feel properly objectified.” 

You’re too pleased with yourself to be sorry. He flexes playfully, eliciting a string of giggles from you as you latch on tighter. 

“Do you think she’s been drugged?” you hear Remus ask. 

“Dunno.” James’ tone is fond. His big hand lands on the back of your head. 

“No, I sort of get it,” says Sirius. The mattress dips slightly, and then you feel him plant a wet kiss on your shoulder. “You just need to get it out of your system, yeah, sweetness?” 

You hum in affirmation. You wrap your arms around James’ middle, squeezing tight. 

“I love you so much,” you mumble into his skin. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

Your boyfriend’s frame rumbles with laughter. “Okay, lovie,” he says indulgently. “You go right ahead.”

[buckyalpine]

Bucky comfort. What I need like air right now is a sweet, chubby baker Bucky who notices his bunny is down. She doesn't say anything out of the ordinary when she comes to visit the bakery, kissing his soft scruffy cheek before taking a seat at the booth with a fresh Danish he made.

Cherry, because that's her favorite.

He can tell something is off when her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and she's curled up in his hoodie quietly nibbling on the pastry instead of clinging onto him like she usually does.

He doesn't like it. Not one bit.

He loves when his girl hugs his thick waist tightly from behind while his works at the dough and rolls out croissants. Her little hands usually knead at the fluff around his belly. Instead she seems to be in her own world, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and pushing herself further into her seat to hide from the rest of world. You tell him you have to run a few errands and he doesn't miss your steamy eyes and small voice as you scurry off out of the bakery and it just adds to his worry.

Bucky was having none of that.

He lets Sam and Steve take over a couple of his orders, cleaning off and deciding to go straight home to you instead, he knows you don't actually have errands to do, he always makes sure to take care of them anyway. When he arrives back home, he isn't surprised to see your smaller form curled in a ball on the couch, eyes wide, surprised to see him.

"Bucky?" the quiver in your voice gives away that you'd been crying moments earlier.

"C'mere baby bunny" Bucky cooed, scooping you up in his beefy arms, and cradling your body to his, holding you to his chest while you nuzzle into his neck. "Wanna tell me what's going on in that little head of yours" He whispered against your hair, stroking it while you pull back, giving him a shrug. He knows you don't always want to talk about it but he's going to do what he can to make you feel better

"I'm not sure" You say with a sigh, your mind still running around a thousand miles a minute. Nothing particularly bad happened but one thought led to another; questioning if you were happy with your job, if you were happy with where you were in life, if you were someone Bucky would actually even want to be with, someone so sweet and loving and handsome like him, all your friends seemed to have found their footing and you were still here so unsure-

"Shhh" he kissed your forehead as if he could hear your insecurities screaming at you from inside your head. "What do you need sweet girl" His lips brush against the top of your head, breathing in your soft scent of peach body wash and vanilla lotion. He has you perfectly tucked into his much larger form, as if he were trying to protect his baby bunny from the rest of the world.

"Cuddles?" You cling onto him, sighing contently when he shifts so he can wrap you up in his arms while you bury your face into his chest. Everything about him is so comforting, if you could find a way to burrow yourself into him, you would. Your wiggling and shifting to get even closer makes Bucky chuckle, cooing at the whine you let out when he pulls away.

"Not going anywhere bunny, just getting us more comfortable" You're not sure how he does it but with minimal effort and movement he's helped you strip off all your clothes along with his, tossing the fluffy throw to cover you both up. You love feeling his bare skin against yours, practically purring now that you can feel every bit of him.

The rumble of your stomach doesn't go unnoticed by Bucky and he makes sure to wrap you up in a blanket burrito before getting up and padding over to the kitchen.

"Where are you going now" You pout and he cups your face with the gentlest touch.

"You're hungry bub, I'm just getting a snacky" and with that he walks off, grinning at the giggle you let out watching his perfectly perky ass saunter off.

"Yummyy" You wiggle happily from under your blanket at both the sight of you very pretty, very naked boyfriend carrying in a plate of more Danishes and a bunch of other pastries and fruit he grabbed on the way out when he left the bakery.

Bucky adores seeing you like this, setting down the snacks so he can hold you again when you give him grabby arms. He doesn't let you lift a fingers, feeding you another Danish, kissing the crumbs that clung onto your lips. He runs you a bath next. His bunny doesn't feel like moving much so he's happy to carry you there while you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear.

By the end of the night he loves seeing the light return to your eyes, your soft giggles when he has you perched on the bathroom counter doing your skin care routine with him.

"Keep your little paws to yourself, doll" Bucky swats away your hands when you reach for the lotion, taking over the job for himself. He's more than happy to massage up and down your calves to your thighs. He massages all the knots out of your back and shoulders before carrying you off to bed again for more cuddles and kisses.

Anyway, this was sitting in the drafts for weeds and it's still what I need rn.

[pucksandpower]

Favoritest People

Charles Leclerc x Reader x platonic!Max Verstappen

Summary: drunk you tends to get quite a bit emotional and clingy … even with your boyfriend’s rival-turned-friend

The bass thumps through your body as you sway on the dance floor, cocktail in hand. Monaco’s most exclusive club is packed tonight with beautiful people laughing, drinking, and dancing. The flashing lights cast colorful shadows across gleaming skin and expensive clothes.

You grin dopily at Charles, reaching out to straighten his shirt collar. “You look so handsome tonight, babe.”

He chuckles, taking your hand and spinning you into his arms. “And you look gorgeous, as always.” His voice is low in your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

Giggling, you loop your arms around his neck as you sway together to the rhythm. “I’m having such a good time. This is so much fun!”

“Good, I’m glad.” Charles presses a kiss to your forehead, his thumb stroking along your jaw. “But maybe take it easy on the drinks, yeah? Don’t want you getting too sloppy.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “I’m finnnne. Don’t be such a worrywart!” Sticking out your tongue, you spin away from him and do a clumsy shimmy, nearly sloshing your drink all over the both of you.

Charles just shakes his head fondly, steadying you with a hand on your waist. You catch Max’s eye from across the dance floor and wave enthusiastically. He lifts his glass to you with a lopsided grin.

Abandoning Charles for the moment, you weave through the crowd toward Max, stumbling a bit in your high heels. By the time you reach him, you’re slightly out of breath but beaming. “Maxieeee!”

He raises an eyebrow at your drunken exuberance. “Having a good night, I see.”

“The best!” You throw your arms around him for a tight hug, getting some of your drink on his expensive shirt in the process. “I just love you so much, you know that?”

Max laughs, patting your back. “Yeah, yeah, I love you too.”

Pulling back, you grab his face between your palms so he has to look you in the eyes. “No, like, I really really love you. You’re the sweetest guy ever and those stupid fans who boo you are so messed up. If I ever hear anyone booing you again, I’m gonna fight them! With my bare hands! I’ll claw their eyes out!”

Your earnest defense of him only makes Max laugh harder, lines crinkling around his eyes. “Wow, my very own bodyguard. I feel so safe now.” He shoots an amused look over your shoulder at where Charles is hovering uncertainly.

“I’m serious!” You insist, giving his cheeks a shake. Tears are starting to prick at your eyes, a side effect of how emotionally open you become when intoxicated. “You’re just … you’re the best, Maxie. The absolute best. Those people don’t deserve you. You deserve the world.”

Max’s gaze softens as your alcohol-tinged words slur together. “Hey now, no need to get all weepy on me.” He uses his thumbs to wipe at the dampness on your cheeks. “I’m good, I promise. More than used to a few boos by now.”

You hiccup, arms tightening around his neck as you bury your face against his chest. “Still shouldn’t happen. You’re too precious for this world.”

A warm hand settles on your back. “Alright, alright, I think someone’s had enough fun for one night.” Charles gently tries to extricate you from Max’s embrace.

“Nooo!” You cling stubbornly to your friend. “I’m not done telling Maxie how much I love and appreciate him! Don’t take me away!”

Max snorts, wrapping one arm around your waist to keep you from toppling over. “It’s okay, Charles. She’s not bothering me at all. I think it’s sweet.”

“That may be, but we both know how much of a sloppy drunk she can be.” Charles glances pointedly at the damp spot on Max’s shirt. “I don’t want her embarrassing you or getting sick all over the place.”

You finally lift your head to pout at your boyfriend. “I would never! You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

As if to prove your point, you sway unsteadily on your feet, having to clutch at Max’s biceps to stay upright. Both men eye you skeptically.

“Sure, ma belle. Just let me get you home before you really make a scene, okay?” Charles reaches for you again, more insistently this time.

Evading his grasp, you stumble back a step, shaking your head adamantly. “No! I don’t wanna go home yet! The night is still so young!”

You spread your arms out, twirling in a wobbly circle that has both Charles and Max tensing like they expect you to topple over at any second. When you come to a halt, Max’s chest is suddenly right in front of you.

Stretching up on your tiptoes, you throw your arms around his neck and plant a smacking kiss on his cheek, leaving a ruby imprint of your lipstick behind. “I love you, Maxie!”

“Whoa, okay!” Max goes cross-eyed for a second at your proximity, hands fluttering uncertainly by his sides. “I, uh, I love you too, but — Charles? A little help here, mate?”

Charles is at your side in an instant, trying to unwrap your limbs from around Max with minimal grabbing or yanking. “Come on, mon cœur, let’s go. You’ve had more than enough fun tormenting poor Max for one night.”

“M’not tormenting!” You protest, slurring. You pat clumsily at Max’s face, smearing more lipstick in the process. “Just telling the truth! My favoritest person!”

“We both know that’s not true,” Charles says with a squeeze of his eyes, finally managing to dislodge you from Max. He sweeps you into his arms bridal style. “Say goodnight to Max, chérie.”

“Nooo! Put me down!” You kick your feet halfheartedly, craning your neck to mouth “love you” at Max one more time over Charles’ shoulder.

Max just waves, that amused grin still playing around his lips as Charles carts you away. You pout, collapsing back against your boyfriend’s chest with a grumpy huff of, “You’re the worst.”

“So you keep telling me.” Charles presses a kiss to your slack mouth, not seeming bothered in the slightest by your drunken ire. “But you’ll thank me for this tomorrow when you don’t have a raging hangover.”

Since Charles is clearly intent on removing you from the club no matter how much you protest, you decide to bask in the warmth and closeness of being carried. Nuzzling into the curve of his neck, you mumble, “I really do love Max so so so much though.”

“I know you do.” Charles’ thumb strokes over your cheek, touch unbearably tender. “In your own weird and oddly endearing way.”

You whine, squeezing your eyes shut against the harsh lights of the club’s entrance as Charles carries you outside. “M’not weird! Just honest when I’m drunk!”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, amused.

The sounds of thumping bass and crowd chatter fade as he deposits you carefully in the backseat of the waiting car. You immediately curl onto your side, blinking up at him owlishly from the leather seat.

Charles brushes the hair back from your face with a soft smile. “I really do adore you, you know? Even when you’re sloppy drunk and mauling Max with affection.”

Biting your lip, you grab his hand and turn your face to press a kiss against his palm. “I adore you too, Charlie. The mostest.”

His dimples appear and he leans down to catch your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. When he pulls away, he looks almost dazed for a moment before giving himself a shake. “Get some rest, mon ange. I’ll get us home safe and sound.”

You hum agreeably, already feeling sleep start to tug at your eyelids. Just before you drift off, you slur one last thing.

“Y’know you’re still my favoritest person though, right? Always an’ forever, baby.”

Charles ducks back into the car to place one more tender kiss on your forehead. “I know. Always and forever.”

[steddie-as-they-come]

Steve's pinning his polaroids up on his wall when his new roommate walks in.

Steve's immediate thought is oh, I'm gonna hate this guy.

Shaggy hair, leather jacket, rings glinting off his fingers, electric guitar slung over his back. Hot as hell, but compared to Steve's polos and perfectly coiffed hair, they could not be more different.

The guy looks like he had the same thought. His shoulders slump as he takes in Steve's appearance.

A man comes in behind his roommate, toting a suitcase full of clothes. "Oh, are you Eddie's roommate?" he says to Steve, who shakes himself out of his thoughts.

"Yes, I am." he says politely. "I'm Steve Harrington."

The man sets down the suitcase. "Wayne Munson." he offers, shaking Steve's hand. "I'm Eddie's uncle."

He nudges Eddie forward, who lets out an almost inaudible groan. "Eddie." he says snippily, shaking Steve's hand.

This'll be a fun year, Steve thinks.

They don't talk. Steve didn't think he was going to be best friends with whoever he got saddled with, but he thought they could at least be civil to each other. Their room is split down the middle. Eddie's half is absolutely covered in posters and music and cutouts of magazines. Steve's is...almost as blank as his room back home.

He misses the shitheads.

No one can ever tell them that. They'll get even more insufferable.

Once or twice, when Steve comes back from a class, he'll catch Eddie peering at Steve's pictures, but he’ll jump away before Steve can call him out on it. It's awful. Steve misses Robin.

It takes him a horribly long amount of time to stop flinching awake at every little sound. He'd stored his nailbat under his bed, out of sight of Eddie, but every time someone yells in the hallway or shouts in the room next door, Steve startles awake, already grabbing his bat. Luckily, Eddie sleeps like the dead, because Steve's not sure he'd be able to explain the weapon without breaking his NDA.

It's three A.M., early November, when there's a knock on their door. Steve isn't asleep yet, so he stands and answers it.

Eight people pile in, talking in hushed whispers. They slam into him, knocking him over.

In the middle of the hug, Steve counts his kids. It's Dustin, nestled against his side, then Lucas, El, and Will under his arm, Max draped over his back, Erica leaning into his shoulder, and Mike on the very outskirts of the group. He pulls them all in tighter, and they all yelp and squawk at him.

"Let us go, Steve!" Erica says, annoyed.

"Nope." Steve says. "You came to find me at three in the morning, you can tolerate a hug."

"Shoo, move." another voice says, and all the kids part like the sea. Robin pushes her way through the group and hugs him tightly. "I don't know how you do it." she says to Steve. "Driving all these nerds around, it's exhausting."

He buries his face in her hair. "Missed you, Robbie." he mumbles.

She leans her head against his. "Missed you too, dingus."

Steve pulls back. "You got your license!"

"I did!" Robin jingles her keys happily.

Eddie sits up, and everyone in the room freezes. "Wha's happenin'?" he slurs sleepily. Then he registers all the people in the room. "Whoa, what the fuck?"

Steve stands up, brushing himself off. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't know they were coming." He shoots a glare at the group, who looks appropriately cowed. Minus Dustin. Steve can now see whose idea this was.

Eddie swings out of bed. "No, it's- wait, are these the kids from your polaroids?"

"Yeah," Steve says. "Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, Max, Erica, and this is my best friend Robin."

"Awww, you have polaroids of us?" Max teases over his shoulder. "That's sweet."

Steve reaches behind him and tussles her hair, shoving her gently. "Shut up, shithead."

"Your room is cool." Mike says. "Not Steve's side. But this part is cool!"

Steve glares at Mike, but Eddie grins big. "Thanks! I'm Eddie Munson." He shakes Mike's hand.

"Is that a DnD poster?" Will says. "That's amazing!"

"It certainly is!" Eddie says. "I used to DM back in high school. Played a bit too."

The nerdier section of the group reacts appropriately, oohing and ahhing, while Max and Erica just roll their eyes and nudge each other.

Steve hesitates. “I know these guys don’t really do anything on Saturday afternoons, and I think they’ve been wanting to start another campaign. Would you mind if they come up, maybe every weekend, and you can…” he doesn’t know enough about DnD “…run a game for them?”

Eddie looks amused. “You mean DM a campaign?”

“Yeah, that.” It’s an olive branch that Steve’s offering.

Eddie takes it. “Well, how can I turn that down? Sheepies of the Harrington flock, how would you like to join a new campaign?”

“I’ll keep the rest of you occupied,” Steve mutters as the guys (and El) start talking excitedly. “Max, Rob, you guys wanna find the closest arcade and set some new high scores?”

“Only one person will be setting high scores.” Max says, gesturing to herself, but she looks excited at the prospect.

Steve lets Eddie and the kids talk for a couple more minutes, then claps his hands. “Okay, it is three in the morning and I have a nine A.M. class tomorrow SO! I have enough blankets for all of you to sleep on the floor if Eddie doesn’t mind-“ Eddie shrugs. “Or Rob can drive you back home.”

Steve looks around and Robin is already in his bed, cuddled up like the blanket hog she is. “Okay, well, sleepover here it is then.”

He whisks out his ungodly amount of throw blankets (courtesy of Joyce’s knitting spree) and the kids get together in their usual movie-night-at-Steve’s cuddle position.

Will’s got his head on Mike’s shoulder, Lucas next to Mike, Max leaning on Lucas, El’s head in Max’s lap and her legs thrown over Dustin’s lap, and Erica with her back against Dustin’s shoulder. Sometimes Robin and Steve are wedged into the pile somewhere, but just as often they’re tangled up under six different blankets across the room, which is why Steve whispers “Scoot over, dumbass,” as he climbs into bed next to Robin.

Eddie watches them assume their positions with an expression of what could be awe on his face. “When I saw those pictures,” he whispered, “I thought they were like your siblings? Or maybe old pictures of your friends. I didn’t think you were a soccer mom.”

Steve glares at him, but unlike earlier in the year, there’s no heat behind it. “Hope you like coparenting then, because these guys need to be watched 24/7 or they’ll run off and start the apocalypse.”

Eddie laughs like it’s a joke. To him it is. He hops back into bed. “Goodnight, weird little family.”

The kids murmur a collective sleepy goodnight, and Steve shuts his eyes.

It’s the most relaxed he’s felt since he moved in.

part two!

[lavenderspence]

Missing the happy hormone | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: emotional reader, period mention, fluff

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Apparently Spencer Reid could make anything better - even the emotional disaster of being on your period

A/N: First, huge thank you to the cutie that sent in this request, you literally caught me while on my period so this was born. Also, here’s to my inability to write short fics, this is your only warning that i can make and will make anything long, lol. Also, my titles suck omg. And shoutout to my crazy bestie for making me a Mamma Mia girly, she rocks.

But also, happy one month to this blog! When I carved out this little space for myself a month ago I wasn’t really sure how I’d feel being back here and writing again, but so far it’s been a treat. A huge thank you for all of your support and love and thank you to my mutuals and everyone that interacted with my blog. 💕 Here’s to many more months to come!

Request: spencer x fem!reader on her period/ovulating and shes in tears all the time?? Im ovulating and have been crying for hours and keep calling my mom lmaoo he’d been so lovely and sweet I know it I can feel it in my bones

It was a slow day at the BAU. The most exciting thing in the 6 hours Spencer had spent at work was Rossi’s invitation to dinner the following weekend. 

Paperwork had piled high after their last 2 cases, so every team member was hunched over their desk, writing and revising reports. It was a never-ending cycle - finish a report, close the file, open a new one, and start all over again.

His eyes had started getting tired after four and a half hours, his hand had started cramping and he was down two pens so far, yet there was still a prominent pile on his desk.

He suspected Morgan and Emily might have pushed a file or two from theirs onto his load, seeing as he was getting done the fastest. Regardless, every few hours JJ was bringing even more to pile on top of everything that wasn’t finished, so buried in paperwork they stayed - no matter how fast he wrote or read, or how used to the load he was.

He was just thinking about getting up to prepare a fresh pot of coffee so he could function properly for a few more hours when his phone started ringing. He felt around the pockets of his suit jacket, where it sat draped on his chair, and then pulled it free. 

His display showed an incoming call, a picture of you as he hugged you, hands around your middle and face almost buried into your neck, a soft smile gracing both your faces. A scenery rich with reds, browns, and yellows stood behind you, the beauty of fall was nothing short of spectacular. 

The picture you’d taken last year when the team spent a weekend at Rossi’s cabin in the woods, surrounded by the beauty of landscapes and leaves, nature for miles. 

He accepted the call right away, a small smile on his face. 

“Hey sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, if a little raspy from misuse. He hadn’t talked much in the last few hours - just a distracted short answer here or a hum there. He was happy you were calling, though, welcoming the reprieve from the most recent report. 

It was silent for a few seconds, and he wondered absentmindedly if maybe you hadn’t called him on accident, and then there came a tiny little sniffle from your side. 

“Sweetheart?” He prompted, “Are you there? What’s going on?” Worry was starting to creep into the base of his spine, but he still remained calm and kept his voice gentle. 

“I’m here. Hi.” Another small sniffle, “All’s good. Just…I was just wondering how much longer you’d be gone.” Your voice was small,like you thought you might upset him by asking, and a little crackly, like you yourself were upset about something. 

His eyebrows furrowed, and he checked the time quickly - 3:57 pm. 

“Probably about two more hours, there’s a lot of paperwork we need to go through.” His eyes met Emily’s as she sent him a curious, questioning look. 

“Oh, okay.” The resignation was clear in your voice, “I’ll see you later then.” The call ended abruptly, and it took him a second to catch up.

He couldn’t help but feel like not everything was as good as you claimed it was. For one, you rarely called to ask when he’d be home - you knew his work could span into the late hours, or even stretch for days. You let him update you on any changes in his work schedule. 

In your interactions, your voice was usually upbeat and teasing - especially on the phone. Your kindness was always evident in your voice, as was your mood. You were a sunshine person, if he ever met one, that’s probably why you and Penelope formed such a close bond upon meeting. 

There was something that nagged him - a change in your mood he could pick up on just by your voice - too low, too small, and the cracks that he could now identify as he replayed your conversation in his head. You were keeping yourself from crying out, and yet there was nothing more apparent than the tears in your voice. And that made him worry. 

“Reid, are you okay?” Emily’s voice snapped him from the hard stare he’d been giving his phone in the last several minutes since the call ended. 

“I…I don’t know.” His eye twitched, and he cleared his throat before he tried and failed to articulate exactly what was happening - he himself had a hard time understanding. One thing he knew was that he needed to get home. “I..um, I need to go. Can you, please?” He asked, gusting at the remaining three files on his desk before he pulled his suit jacket on and grabbed his satchel. 

Morgan and Emily shared a mildly concerned look before they both nodded their heads, “Yeah, go. Text to let us know if everything is okay.” Morgan reminded him before he exited the bullpen with a fast step and tried to keep calm.

He was aware the situation wasn’t anything that he needed to be incredibly worried over - if something was really wrong, he knew you would have let him know. Yet, he couldn’t help the way his heart constricted by the sound of your voice, or the overwhelming desire to come home and gently hold you, see what could have caused this behavior. 

You were curled up on the couch, watching as Donna helped Sophie get ready for her wedding, the gentle melody of “Slipping through my fingers” filling the empty apartment. Your eyes were watering, to the point that everything was starting to get blurry. A shaky exhale left your lips.

Today has simply been a rollercoaster. Kissing Spencer goodbye this morning was the highlight of the day. What followed was nothing short of an emotional disaster. 

You’d teared up during breakfast, images of picking berries with Spencer flying through your mind. The desire to make it a reality was strong. 

Following that had come the overwhelming urge to bawl your eyes out, for no apparent reason whatsoever. Just cry and cry until you had it all emptied out and you could take a deep breath and continue with your day. So, cry you did, and then you’d finished with your chores for the day. 

Apparently letting it all out and emptying your tear supply hadn’t happened. Seeing as around 3:30 you’d started missing your boyfriend so much, the need to hear his voice had won out, so you’d called him. You felt the need to have him home to hold you because this month’s visit from mother flow was making you feel like a crybaby.

But then there was disappointment at the notion that you needed to wait close to 3 hours before that could happen. So you quickly ended the call before he could pick up on the tone of your voice, and then you shed a few tears. 

Now here you were, rewatching Mamma Mia because you really needed a pick me up, and once again, eyes shining as the tears started falling. At this point, it was a losing battle, so you let them fall, humming to the song with a broken voice. 

That’s exactly how Spencer found you, not a minute later. His keys were in his hand, the satchel on his shoulder, and he was just a little bit out of breath. 

The moment his eyes met you, they softened as he dropped everything and sat down next to you. His hand reached up and he cradled the side of your face, wiping your tears away. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper.

“Look at Donna painting Sophie’s nails, it’s...” You hiccuped, another wave of tears washing over you. “And you’re home, why are you home?” Your question was met with a furrow in his brow, as his thumbs continued wiping underneath your eyes. 

“You called.” He answered simply. 

“But you said-” He stopped you before you could finish your sentence.

“I did, yes. But you sounded off and sad, so. Want to tell me what’s going on?” He prompted you gently as he pushed your hair back and pulled you into his lap after, feeling like you needed the physical contact. 

You weren’t ashamed to admit it, per se, but you were ashamed that your hormones had caused him to leave work and race home to be with you. 

“It’s my period,” you mumbled, hands wrapping around his neck as you hid your face in his chest, too tired to prevent your eyes from watering again. “It’s been going on all day. Randomly, I’d just get so emotional, and the tears would start. I was missing you so much too, and then hearing the song, bam, tears again. I’m so done with this Spence.” You sounded barely coherent, with your face pushed as close to him as possible. 

It all made sense now, you’d been cranky a few days ago, and then you’d told him last night your cramps were unbearable, so he knew you were on your period, but right now he felt like an idiot for not figuring it out himself. 

“It’s okay, everything is fine. The drop in estrogen and progesterone, following your ovulation triggered this. This in turn reduced the production of serotonin, your happy hormone. So, we just need to boost it a bit.” He whispered into your ear as you played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

“How?” You sighed into his chest, almost being able to pick up on the sound of his heartbeat.

He got deep in thought for a few seconds as you breathed in his scent, and a sense of calmness slowly overtook you now that he was home and holding you. One of his hands was running soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand, fingers interlocked. 

“How about we take a trip to the store and get you some snacks? We’ll pick up dinner on the way home and then I'll hold you some more and you'll pick a movie for us to watch.” He suggested, kissing the crown of your head once, twice, and many more times until you gave him an answer. 

“Yeah, yeah, I think that would help, but just having you here has done wonders.” You finally laid your head against his chest, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiled, and so did you. Having him here really had helped immensely, and when had it not? He was your other half, your rock, and even when your emotions ran rampant or you were feeling down, just his presence, his touch, and his understanding were enough to make it all okay. 

Later in the evening, Penelope sent you a photo of Sergio sleep-hugging a little plushy you’d gotten him, and the waterworks started all over again. Luckily, Spencer was there, wiping your tears and kissing your head, saying a thousand things without actually speaking a word.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Requests are open for both Spencer and Hotch if you want to send any!

[rememberwren]

Complicated Pleasures

OR: Home Videos. You (fem!reader) and Ghost have been married for years when your prodigal friend Johnny finds out that you make and post porn together. Feelings happen. 13k

About this: m/m, f/m, oral f and m receiving, anal sex, PIV, kink, pornography, sir kink, slight objectification, objectionable writing, soft!simon, very soft fic altogether, cum sharing.

-

((A video begins.

 A bed in a tidy room. Identifying features have been hidden: pictures placed face down on the nightstands, blinds drawn tight until the room is cast in a cool glow. A woman sits amongst the nondescript bedspread and sheets, her legs tucked up against her chest and arms wrapped around her thighs, naked except for the mask that does little to truly obscure her face. 

Once she knows the video has begun, it is like she blooms, arms and legs falling away to reveal the soft petals of her nakedness: the  plains of her body, the angles and curves. She’s near perfect, Soap thinks, already fisting his hard cock. 

She looks almost exactly like you. 

Then a man walks around from the other side of the camera, and Soap’s heart leaves his body.))

-

“Johnny!” you say brightly, throwing open the front door. In streams the cold air and bright sunshine reflecting off the snow, and in steps Johnny with snowflakes in his hair and on the shoulders of his coat, gifts wrapped in bright shades of gold and silver tucked beneath one of his arms. 

He stomps his feet, boots shedding packed snow on the doormat, and leans in to deposit the gifts a safe distance away so that he can open his arms and gather you up in them. Your fingers tangle in his jacket, holding him close. He is warm even after coming in from the snow, his scent like Christmas itself: woodsy pine and crackling fires. You feel Simon’s presence appear in the living room doorway and begin to pull away, trying not to hog his friend, even if you desperately want to. 

“Lookit you, bonnie as ever,” Johnny says against your ear. He lets you go, bending down to unlace his boots and call a greeting to Simon: “I see you brooding over there, LT. Happy Christmas to yeh.” 

“No titles at Christmas, Johnny.” 

“Yessir.” 

“You didn’t need to bring gifts,” you scold him.

“Of course I did—it’s fucking Christmas,” says Johnny with a grin as he straightens. He passes you the gifts, a small package and a larger one, each wrapped by a practiced hand that you sense must not have been Johnny’s own. You wonder if there isn’t a girl in his life now—except you and Simon had extended the invitation to one, if so. Why he wouldn’t have brought her, you couldn’t understand. 

Maybe his mum wrapped the gifts. 

Simon and Johnny clasp hands which turns into a hug. Watching them together makes the dust settle in some riotous part of your heart. The two of them—their friendship—just makes perfect sense in its improbability. 

Simon mutters something under his breath and Johnny nods, burying his face deeper into Simon’s broad shoulder. You have the perfect vantage point of Johnny’s face: his eyes squeezed shut, long lashes resting on his cheeks.

A timer in the kitchen goes off—the roast you’ve been cooking since the early morning hours. Excusing yourself, you disappear into the kitchen, pausing just beyond the doorway to press your chilly hands to your flushed cheeks. 

Wine. You needed wine. 

-

“So,” you begin once the three of you have sat down for dinner. “Fill us in, Johnny. What have you been up to?”

The unsaid words linger between you all, What have you been up to during the three years you left? Johnny gives a wane smile, and you think that maybe the time spent apart didn’t serve him nearly as well as he’d hoped it would—however he’d hoped it would. Simon sits at the head of the table, his ankle tangled against your own beneath the oak. It’s a comforting reminder of his presence, considering he lets you and Johnny do most of the talking for now. 

“Whole lot o’ nothing,” Johnny says, sipping at the wine in his glass between sentences. “Traveled abroad fer a while. Spent some time in America, some time in South Korea.” 

“Sounds like a nice place to meet people,” you say, aiming for subtlety the way a sledgehammer might. “I notice you didn’t take us up on our invitation and bring a lass with you.” 

“No lass to bring, hen,” he says smoothly. 

Simon’s ankle stirs against your own, some silent attempt at communication. When you glance over toward him, his eyes are on his plate, face stoic, revealing nothing. 

“Any lads?” you guess. 

Simon’s fork squeaks against his plate. Johnny stops eating. For a moment they both stare at you in shocked silence. Then a grin spreads over Johnny’s handsome face, blooming straight into laughter. He shakes his head, like you have said something very silly. 

“No, no lads,” he says.

Simon’s ankle shifts again. 

You reach for your glass of wine, face hot—

-

—and you don’t stop drinking. 

Afternoon turns into evening, and by the time night falls, the three of you have drunk your way through three bottles of wine and successfully caught each other up on your lives to date. Simon and Johnny have slipped out onto the porch twice to smoke, bringing back in the scent of tobacco and snow, one you don’t mind at all. The fire in the fireplace burns low, crackling and spitting as the log splits. The room is strewn with torn gift wrapping. Simon has already unboxed the knife Johnny had made for him, testing its weight in his palm, testing the sharpness of the blade against the pad of his thumb. (Add that to the list of things which shouldn’t arouse you about Simon but do.)

It reminds you of the idyllic Christmases that you had reached for all your life and only ever skimmed with your fingers. You should have known that the missing piece was Johnny all along. 

Wine drunk, you have kicked your feet up on Johnny’s lap at one end of the couch and curled your upper half on Simon’s lap at the other end. It is easy to fall asleep to the warm lull of their voices, swapping stories from their time in the military together. 

But all at once, the subject matter changes, and it drags you from the threshold of sleep into some misty gray area in between a dream and wakefulness. Eyes still closed, you listen. 

“I found you both, you know.” Johnny’s voice is barely more than a whisper, difficult to hear over the crackling fire. 

“Don’t know what you mean, Johnny. We’re right here.” 

“I found your videos.” 

Your hands tighten into fists where you are clutching Simon’s shirt, eyes cracking open as you put the pieces together in your mind. But he’s smoother than you are, always able to keep a cool head. He sounds a little bored, a little confused as he asks: “What videos?” 

“Never known you to play dumb LT. You know the ones I mean. The porn.” 

A lengthy silence as Simon weighs his options and likely decides that there’s no use in lying. “You did, did you?” 

“Aye.” 

A pause.

“So that’s why you finally came back. Three fucking years she begs you to at least come for Christmas—who knew all it would take was a little pornography to put a fire under your arse.”

“That’s not—didn’t even find it until a few days ago, after I’d already said yes—“ Johnny says, voice rising in his defense. 

“Careful. We don’t want to wake her up, do we?” Simon’s hand pets against your hair, softer than a kiss from the wind. Though he must know you’re awake, you’re grateful that he lets you pretend, lets you hide away while he handles this. “If she knew that you’d seen those videos, she’d be embarrassed. That would make me upset. You understand?” 

“Aye,” he says, lowering his voice a little. He rests his hand against your ankle in his lap and then decides it’s not appropriate, shifts his hand back to his own thigh. You miss his touch. You’ve always missed Johnny’s touch more than you should miss the touch of your husband’s best friend. “But if you didn’t want people to see them, I don’t understand what you were thinkin’ posting them online.” 

“Three guesses. No, go on. Never known you to be shy. Guess.”

Johnny wets his lips. “You didn’t think you’d be recognized.” 

“There’s one.” 

“You…you like it.” 

“There’s two. Give us a third.” 

“She likes it.” 

You groan a little in embarrassment, turning your face away from where Johnny can see its profile, burying it in Simon’s lap. He’s hard, a fact you only realize when his jean-clad cock rubs against your cheek. You go still, eyes widening as this knowledge goes straight to the warmth that’s been stoked between your legs more often than the fireplace has tonight.

Simon’s hand finds the nape of your neck and rests there, keeping you still and quiet. It reminds you of your last video, when he had taken you from behind and put his hand on the nape of your neck to urge your face into the bed, his hips snapping against your ass. Where had the camera been, then? You couldn’t remember. That was Simon’s one rule, besides the masks and never saying each other’s names: don’t look into the camera. 

“So what do you plan to do with this knowledge, Johnny?” Simon asks. You hold your breath, still feigning sleep. “Who do you plan to tell? You know I don’t have anyone left who would give a fuck, but I’m sure you could find someone for her—someone who could shame her and make her feel bad for trying to feel good. Is that what you want?”

“Fuck no. I’d not tell a soul,” says Johnny fiercely. His hand comes to rest on your ankle again. This time he leaves it, thumb brushing the bone. “I swear it.”

“Then why bring it up at all?” 

“I…I don’t know,” Johnny admits, head ducking. “I just had to. Spending time with yeh both, knowing what I knew—it felt dishonest.” 

Simon hums. “You know what I’d like to know?” 

“What’s that?” 

“What our single friend was doing looking at couples porn.” 

-

The night ends quickly after that. Simon carries you to bed—the bed where you film so much of the porn that Johnny has apparently seen—and helps you begin undressing while Johnny gets his boots on in the other room. 

“I’m so embarrassed,” you breathe, quiet so that Johnny could not overhear if he happened to be standing right outside the door. Your head is spinning, and only partly from all the wine. Your face burns. Your heart is beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Johnny has seen the videos, the ones you and Simon cheekily dub ‘home movies’! God, how you will ever face him again is beyond you. 

“Give me the word and I’ll throw him out,” says Simon. “We’ll never see him again.” 

That makes a sick feeling rise up in the back of your throat. You look up at Simon and take in the somber, angry-adjacent expression on his face, and you know that he is serious. Simon never says a word that he doesn’t mean. But you can hear what he didn’t say, the words unspoken: it would kill him to do it. All their years spent watching each other’s backs, it would be hard to stab Johnny’s and leave him in the cold. Especially after the bliss of just getting him back.

You don’t want that. Not for Simon, not for Johnny. Not even for you. 

“I like Johnny,” you affirm. “I just don’t know how I’ll face him.” 

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. He’s the pervert looking in through our window.” 

“We’re the perverts fucking with the blinds wide open,” you remind him. 

“I’ll see him out. Finish getting undressed,” he says, disappearing through the doorway. You hear the warm timber of his voice matched by Johnny’s and the sound of the front door opening. Two sets of boots crunch through snow, and now the voices are so far away that you can’t even make out their tone, much less their words.

Stripping the last of your clothes off, you roll onto your belly and bury your face in your pillow. Tonight had been going so well. It was hard to believe how far off course things had become. What was Johnny doing looking for couples porn anyhow? 

You roll back over, staring into the darkness of the ceiling. The answer was simple: because it would get him off. It didn’t matter if it was tentacles to titjobs. He’d more than likely been looking up porn while he jerked off. 

Had he realized right away that it was you and Simon and turned the video off in disgust? Or had it taken a moment for it to sink in? Had he cared at all? 

Or had he jerked off instead? You realize you are rubbing your thighs together belatedly and force yourself into stillness. 

The front door opens, Simon stomping inside and taking off his boots. When he joins you in bed, his cheeks are still cold, mouth minty from hastily brushing his teeth of tobacco and wine. You lean in and kiss him, looking for comfort. He kisses back, sweeping his tongue through your mouth, sucking on your lower lip. 

“I’m not in the mood tonight,” you whisper when you both part, not necessarily out of truthfulness, but because you feel like you shouldn’t be in the mood. 

“Wasn’t expecting anything.” 

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart. Your embarrassment is a little lessened now, abated by the calm that Simon exudes from his pores. It’s hard to believe that anything in the world could go wrong that Simon couldn’t handle with a twist of his hand or a few choice words. After a while, you glance up to find him still awake, staring into the darkness of the room. He meets your eyes and gives you one of his rare, wane smiles. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him. 

After a moment of silence, he says: “Our next video.” 

- 

((AMATEUR COUPLE: WAKING UP MY WIFE WITH MORNING SEX. Soap knows that he shouldn’t click on the link. The first time was an honest mistake, but anything afterwards is intentional—and unforgivable. If Ghost were to find out…Soap doesn’t even want to think about it. 

Except why would it be wrong for Soap to do it but right for a bunch of strangers? 

He doesn’t need to look down to know his cock is hard. Against his better judgement—or any judgement at all, really—he clicks the link. The video starts with Ghost in the frame, completely naked. He’s seen LT naked often enough (it’s unavoidable in such close quarters as they have shared) but he’s never looked, not like this. 

Time has barely changed him. He is still fitter than any man has the right to be, thick with muscles that are for functionality and not just for show—though the show is still impressive. 

While he’d always known that Ghost would be a sight to behold, seeing it in this context cements a fact in his brain, one that had sent him running years prior: he’s attracted to his closest friend. All the bad flirting disguised as taking the piss back when they were in the 141—it wasn’t just taking the piss. Not for Soap, at least.

In the video, Ghost exits the frame and crosses to the other side of the bed. He’s not wearing a mask this time but the upper half of his face remains solidly out of frame until it is offscreen again. You are positioned closest to the camera, laying on your side facing the audience. Your face isn’t visible, but your breasts are once Ghost draws the blankets down, down, and then down far enough to reveal your closed thighs. 

Fuck, Soap wants to see your cunt. He grips his cock tightly and squeezes, watching raptly as Ghost loops an arm over you and begins to softly tease your nipples. Soap slips a hand up his shirt and thumbs at a nipple of his own, wishing it was the other man’s touch. His cock leaks where it lies thickly against his belly as he watches his former lieutenant tease you, trace figures over your naked body, and at last slip a hand between your thighs, working one of your legs over back of his own. Now Soap can see just a trace of your slit, so soft. It makes his jaws ache, makes him want Ghost to hold your thighs apart so that he can lick and suck you into a frenzy.

He can tell the exact moment you wake. Your body stiffens, mouth falling open as Ghost sinks two of his fingers inside you. One of your hands reaches down to grip at your husband’s forearm as you scramble into wakefulness.

“Good morning,” Ghost says.))

-

The doorbell sounds, telling Simon that Johnny has arrived, but he lets his Sergeant wait out in the cold while the kettle finishes filling. A not-small part of him is still holding a grudge against Johnny for making you so embarrassed. It had taken time for you to come into your own. Courage. The videos had been your idea, whispered in the heat of the moment beneath the cover of darkness—but with time you’d been bold enough to talk about them over dinner. To read the comments with him and laugh. To watch the videos and end up in bed all over again. 

Now he could see the hesitation in your eyes whenever he pulled out his phone. 

Johnny’s expression is its typical one, open, friendly, when Simon opens the door. When he sees Simon, those blue eyes grow wide before he can curb the reaction. Johnny swallows, throat bobbing. 

“Hey LT. Lookit you. Laswell really has yeh behind a desk now doesn’t she?” Johnny’s hand reached out like he’s going to touch the tie that still dangles from around Simon’s neck, but he thinks better of it. 

Just another hunch of Simon’s proven right.

“What part of no field work confused you?” Simon asks, stepping aside to let Johnny in. 

“No confusion. Just didn’t expect yeh to look so…” He trails off, eyes flittering over Simon from his combed hair to his dress shirt stretched tight across his chest to the dress slacks that cling to his thighs. “…fancy.”

“I don’t wear the tie for Laswell’s benefit. But you already knew that.”

Johnny flushes, as good an admission as any. Wisely, he says nothing, following Simon into the kitchen and taking an offered seat at the kitchen island. His eyes flicker around the room, similar to how they had on Christmas. Then, Simon had mistaken it for Johnny taking in the way things had changed—the wallpaper is new, as is the backsplash behind the oven and stove, there are new pictures on the refrigerator—but now Simon suspects that Johnny is remembering. Piecing together backdrops he has seen in their videos. 

“The missus home?” Johnny asks, drumming his fingers on the granite. 

“No. Work.”

Simon pours tea for two, even though Johnny hates tea, and slides it across the countertop to him. To his benefit, Johnny accepts it without complaint, warming his hands around the mug.

“I told her.” 

Johnny doesn’t need to ask what or who—they’ve both been thinking about it since the moment he walked in. Simon watches as his face twists with naked regret. It tells Simon that Johnny really didn’t know that you were only feigning sleep on Christmas. 

“Is she angry with me?” 

“Embarrassed.” 

Johnny looks outraged on your behalf. “She has no reason t’ be!” 

Simon shrugs as if to say, This is what your curiosity bought her, Johnny. This is the price she’s paying. Johnny’s shoulders sag under the weight of his own guilt, elbows bracing themselves on the countertop so that he can put his face in his hands.

“Maybe,” says Simon, “it would make more of a difference if she heard it from you.” 

Johnny looks up, brow furrowed. “Heard what from me? That I’ve seen her—like that?” 

Simon’s eyes roll to the ceiling. “No. That she doesn’t have anything to be ashamed of.” 

Johnny turns the idea over in his head. He’s clever, but too blinded by his own desire to see the manipulation for what it is. What does it matter if it’s Simon’s idea or his own? Johnny is dying to talk to you. 

“You’d give me her number?”

Simon shrugs.

“Alright,” says Johnny at length, drawing the word out. “I can do that. If you think it will help.” 

Simon says nothing, sipping at his tea to hide any smugness behind his cup.

-

((The video begins in a kitchen, one Johnny has been in many times. You are there, back mostly to the camera, pressed against the granite island countertop. Simon is on the other side of you, consuming all your attention. Steaming Jesus, he’s huge compared to you, huge compared to everyone. He’s dressed in his work attire: dress clothes, dark tie in place. The effect is jarring in contrast with the mask. 

Simon reaches up and works his tie loose and off over his head. You tilt your head down a little and on it goes, easy as anything. When Simon turns you to face the camera, the tie dangles between your bare breasts. One hand on the nape of your neck, Simon bends you forward towards the granite and Soap can tell the exact moment his cock slips inside you based on the way your mouth falls open, your eyes squeezing shut behind your own mask. 

Soap isn’t sure who he’s jealous of more—you or Simon.))

-

Simon told me that he told you what I found. I just wanted to message you myself and say how sorry I am if I embarrassed you. 

You sigh reading over the text message. Flexing your fingers, you give a quick glance toward where Simon lays dozing with his head against the back of the couch, feet up on the coffee table (the knife he got for Christmas rests on his chest; he’d been toying with it absently for the last half hour) and answer: There’s no reason to apologize. It’s not your fault I’m embarrassed. 

It is though, isn’t it? You don’t care that other people see. You just care that I did. 

You pause and bite at your nails, thinking over his words and how to respond. He’s mostly right. There had been an aspect of embarrassment at first when you and Simon began posting the videos (and that embarrassment had gotten you off to a certain extent, though it didn’t usually). But eventually that heated shame had melted away into eagerness for the camera. You’d read the comments on the videos, countless human beings talking about the various ways they masturbate to your sex with Simon, talking about the things they wish they could do to you, with you, with Simon. 

So why was it so much more embarrassing knowing that Johnny had seen? Because he knew you. Because he’d seen the parts of you that you had purposefully covered up for the camera. No one was meant to see both sides—no one was meant to have all of you. Except for Simon. 

But if somebody was going to do it, a small part of you is glad it was Johnny. 

You’re Simon’s friend, you message back, curious. Didn’t it feel strange to see us like that? 

Honestly? He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Not as strange as I might have thought. 

-

((AMATEUR COUPLE: WIFE PRACTICES HER BLOWJOB SKILLS, the video is aptly titled. You are on your knees, hands tied neatly at the base of your spine. Simon sits at the edge of the bed, camera positioned perpendicular to you both, with a downward angle.

You lean forward and let his hard, flushed cock disappear past your lips deeper, deeper, until you reach the limits of what you can take without preparation or practice. His hand comes down to rest softly against the back of your head as you make yourself gag and choke around the thickest part of his cock. There’s no need to hold you down; Simon doesn’t even bother.

Soap’s jaw aches, desperate for a chance to be on his knees for Ghost like that. He could take more than you—he knows he could. Not that it had to be a competition, not when you both could share a cock that size and barely notice the other was there. He strips his own cock thinking about it, eyes falling shut as he lets the background noise of the video—Simon’s gentle praises, your whines and chokes, the wet gurgles of a throat being fucked—carry him over the edge.))

-

New Year’s Eve. 

The house is full of bodies and laughter. You feel near-delirious with your own joy, never made happier than by the happiness of the people around you. Alejandro and Rodolfo had flown in and were staying in the guest house through the New Year, arriving only yesterday with enough luggage for four between the two of them; Kyle and his girlfriend; John and his wife; Kate and her partner; even Farah and her brother had made a pit stop to spend the evening with you on their way back to Urzikstan from the Americas. 

The party had been BYOB, and everyone had taken to the sentiment and more. Farrah is mixing drinks in the kitchen, strong concoctions that even John struggles to keep down. Gaz and Alejandro keep insisting on shots (which you politely decline just as often as you agree. Simon drinks nothing, his tumultuous past putting him off of hard alcohol for good).

People are well and truly drunk by the time Johnny arrives. The whoops and hollers that fill the house have you thinking that midnight has come early. A swarm of bodies surround him, and he is forced to make the rounds hugging each person and being taken to task by them for being gone for so goddamn long. 

He arrives at you before Simon, and his face softens, smile going a little unsure around the edges as he opens his arms for you, the first time he’s seen you in person since Christmas. You could rebuff him, but you also can’t. It’s Johnny. Nearly tripping to toss yourself into his arms, he lifts you a few inches off the floor, nose buried in your hair. 

“Bonnie as always,” he whispers into your ear after putting you back down. His hand tugs teasingly on the short hem of your dress, like he is trying to lengthen it, knuckles brushing your thighs. You swat his hand away, face flushing with warmth. It wasn’t that short. 

“Johnny,” Simon calls. The two men embrace, hug lasting longer than any other. In the distance, you see Gaz elbow Price, jerking his head toward the two men. 

You put a hand on Simon’s shoulder, anxious suddenly. Simon draws back, clapping Johnny on the shoulder. He orders: “Get yourself a drink.” 

“Yessir.” 

“None of that.”

“Games? I was told there would be games,” Gaz says, situating himself between you and Simon. He’s dressed smartly in a dress-shirt with the collar undone. Someone has put a party hat on him, cone-shaped, to celebrate the New Year. You had managed to wrestle Simon into one for thirty seconds before the first of the company arrived; the memory makes you smile. 

“I have Cards Against Humanity,” you offer. 

“Oh, I love that game,” Kyle’s girlfriend says to your delight. 

“No—no—we aren’t in middle school here,” Johnny says. “And if we are, then I want to play truth or dare so my chances of getting kissed tonight rises exponentially.” 

“Come over here and they will,” Gaz offers. 

“Don’t make promises you’re not ready to keep, Garrick,” Johnny warns, grinning. 

“Sounds like something a coward would say, all due respect—”��

Then Johnny has a fistful of Kyle’s shirt, hauling him in for a bold though chaste kiss on the mouth. You are suddenly hyper aware of Simon beside you, standing tall and very still while everyone laughs and cheers at the men’s antics. You can’t deny it’s a pleasing sight, but a part of you feels irritated with the whole display. 

“Jesus Christ,” John sighs, tipping his hat back on his head. “Soap’s right—if you’ve got a normal deck of cards, love, I know  plenty of games for adults to play.” 

“Not sure I want to play those kinds of games with you, John,” Kate says somberly to the laughs of everyone around her. 

“We’ve got cards,” Simon mutters. 

Farah calls to you from the kitchen, asking you to try her latest conglomeration of alcohol. Eager to be anywhere but there, you escape to the kitchen. You lift yourself up onto one of the stools at the island, taking the red plastic cup from her hand and sniffing it. Just the smell burns the hairs of your nose. 

“Jesus, Farah, this could kill me,” you laugh. 

“Pathetic,” she says with a grin to lighten her words. “I think I saw some apple juice in the refrigerator, would you like that instead?” 

“Alright.” 

“A warm glass of milk, perhaps?”

“You’ve made your point,” you say, eyes narrowing in good humor. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves (and stomach), you take a generous swig of the cup. Fuck, it burns going down and it burns in your belly, like swallowing a lit flame. You cough a little, trying not to gag, and hold up your thumb to her. “It’s great—so good—“

Simon comes to sit beside you at the island. He takes the cup, smells it, and raises both brows. 

“Can I tempt you, Lieutenant?” Farah asks.

“No.” 

“Then I won’t try. Where’s John, he’s never afraid of a challenge.”

Unseen to her beneath the island, fingertips brush your stocking-covered thighs. Your knees clamp together on instinct as you fight not to look over at Simon. What is he doing? 

He strikes up a conversation with Farah about her time spent in the Americas. When his hand doesn’t move, your thighs relax a little. He was just being intimate; often he liked to have a hand on your back or his foot resting against your own beneath the table. It wasn’t his fault you were on edge. Your head spins a little, thanks to the shots and Farah’s drink. Planting one elbow on the countertop, you try to focus on her stories when Simon’s hand moves again, slipping further between your legs. The hem of your dress has ridden up so high in your seated position that it doesn’t take much for his fingertips to graze against the heated seam between your legs. 

You clamp your knees shut again. He pinches your thigh softly, just enough to get the message through to you. Staring at Farah, hearing nothing, you spread your shaking knees again and let him cup you between your legs. Fuck. You tilt your hips, making as if to adjust your position on the chair. It only serves to bring you in closer contact with Simon’s hand. A groan is born and dies in the back of your throat. 

He keeps you there, holding your cunt, having a fluent conversation with Farah while your brain melts out your ears. At length, he stands. Leaning down, he says in your ear: “Outside, two minutes. Go out the back.” 

Then he disappears amongst the sea of people 

-

Three minutes later you are shivering out in the snow. Your coat only helps so much with your legs bare save for your stockings. You hadn’t even had time to lace up your boots. Shifting from one foot to the other in the spotlight of the floodlights to keep warm, you cast glances left and right wondering from which direction Simon will come, wondering what he wants that couldn’t have taken place in doors. 

At last he appears, looking far warmer than you in his olive green jacket and jeans, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You smile at the sight of him. He doesn’t smile back. 

“Put your hands against the wall.” 

“Simon?” 

He sighs, running a hand over the curve of your waist, testing its fit in his palm. “Now I’ll have to edit that part out. Let’s try again. Put your hands on the wall.” 

You see then the phone placed just-so in the breast pocket of his coat. The glossy camera lens stares back at you, no flashing red light, nothing nearly so 1999. But you knew it was filming. What was it seeing now? The house in the background, the cool blue siding and brick. You, face surprised, lips chapped from the cold weather lately, your sexy little golden dress nearly obscured beneath your coat. 

“The time to back out is now,” Simon prods you. 

But there’s no way you’re backing out, not after the kitchen. Not after the hazy arousal you’ve been walking around in all night just at the thought of seeing Johnny again. Turning around, you reach out with shaking hands and place them against the freezing cold siding. You can see your breath like a smoky plume with each of your frantic exhales as Simon’s hands grip your ass, slipping beneath the hem of your dress and finding your stockings to tug them down around your knees. 

“Got to keep quiet for me,” he says. “Can you do that?” 

“Yessir,” you whisper, wishing you were close enough to the house to rest your heated cheek against it. 

Simon gives a heavy exhale at your words and you grin, unseen. 

Your panties join your stockings stuck around your knees. It doesn’t give you much space to spread your legs, but Simon is so lengthy that he doesn’t need the extra room. He doesn’t press against your back, ever-conscious of the camera and its angles, but you hear the sound of his belt being undone and like a Pavlovian response, it has you drooling between the legs. His cock is burning warm when it brushes against your ass, and you find yourself arching your back, seeking to put that heat inside you. 

He hums, hands spreading you wide as he can for the benefit of the camera, even if the lighting isn’t the best to see your entrance. 

“Pretty fucking girl,” he mutters. The position can’t be comfortable for him, but he’s never seemed to care about that. He reaches down to grip the base of his cock and guides the head inside you. It is a tight fit without any preparation, but he keeps the penetration shallow, rocking you back and forth on just the head, sometimes letting his cock slip free to brush against your aching clit. Your teeth clamp together, desperate to keep your sounds in—usually during home videos, Simon encouraged you to be noisy (“for the audience”). Now you found yourself struggling not to give in to the old habit. 

All of the sudden, his hand is in your hair, turning your head, guiding it to change directions until you are looking at your footsteps in the snow leading back the way you came—

Until you are looking squarely at Johnny, standing nearly frozen in the snow at the edge of the house. He’s wearing his coat and boots, hands jammed deep into his coat pockets. The darkness makes it hard to make out the subtlety of his features, but you can tell that his mouth is dropped open in an expression of near comical disbelief. 

You barely manage to keep from choking out Simon’s name, your entire body going stiff—your cunt rippling around his cock. He laughs, a low rumbling chuckle that has you squeezing your eyes shut. A whine slips free from your throat and the wind must carry it straight to Johnny, because you hear his quiet, Steamin’ Jesus. 

“He’s been waiting for this all night, I bet,” Simon mutters, his hips snapping against yours. Your hands scramble to find purchase against the siding, slip down a little to grip the bricks which offer you more resistance. “Watching you flit back and forth in this dress, knowing what you look like underneath it. He wishes it was him fucking you right now.” 

“No,” you gasp, scandalized. 

Simon just laughs again. The sound doesn’t embarrass you, just ratchets your own dizzying arousal higher. You can’t take your eyes off of Johnny, who has stumbled two or three steps closer in the snow and now has his hand against the house very similarly to you. His other hand is in a fist at his side. Closer like this, there’s no mistaking the heated expression in his eyes. Nor the bulge in his pants. 

“Oh God,” you groan, squeezing your eyes shut again and turning away. 

“Look at him—look at him. He wants to touch himself,” Simon says, borderline conversational as his dick makes the most heinous squelching noises inside your body. “But I don’t think he’s got the balls.”

One of your hands comes off the bricks and reaches down between your thighs—but Simon grabs it at the last moment and pins it back in its place, sending you nearly to tears. 

“Cum on my cock or don’t cum at all,” he says, feeling cruel.

The both of you know that that likely means you won’t cum at all, not like this, and the knowledge threatens to undo you. He’s going to get you three-fourths of the way there and then leave you like this, edge you in front of all of your closest friends and not satisfy you until the very last one has left. Tears well in your eyes, beading up at the corners. 

Behind you, his thrusts grow sloppy. You dare another glance towards Johnny and see his turned back, both his hands in his mohawk gripping at his hair like he is fighting with himself. Your eyes fall shut; you’re fighting a battle of your own, you can’t be concerned about his. Simon groans lowly, filling you with his seed. He pulls out in a wet rush of fluids, reaching down to stave off his dripping seed and save your leggings from destruction. 

Gently, he fucks his cum back into you with his fingers. He wipes it across your swollen folds and in the soaked crotch of your panties before pulling them back up to rest safely on your hips. Bending down, he wipes his hands clean in the snow and then on his jacket before helping you pull your stockings up into place. The tears in your eyes have overflowed by now, dripping down your cheeks and off your chin. When you glance over, Johnny is gone. 

“Okay?” Simon murmurs, fiddling with his phone. He stops the video. 

“Yeah,” you sigh shakily. “Yeah, I’m okay.” 

-

Moments to midnight and you are searching for Simon. His figure should be easy to spot, but his head isn’t visible above the sea of people, nor is his baritone voice audible amongst the cacophony of others. 

Someone else is notably missing as well. An itch in the back of your brain swells, one you have to follow to scratch. 

Countdowns begin. You peek out the window nearest to you but see no sign of either man outside in the snow smoking. Watching couples pair off, you pad on bare feet (having kicked off your heels ages ago) toward the master bedroom, slipping into the dim hallway that forks off to the bedroom, the guest bath, and the office. That hallway is where you find them, standing in the dark toe to toe. Simon has Johnny up against the wall, clutching fistfuls of Johnny’s shirt, nearly tearing it. In the dim lighting, you can barely make out their features. 

For a moment, you think they are about to come to blows. You are ready to step between them, to take either of them by the ear like an old school matriarch and remind them that they are friends and they love each other and this is no way to act amongst family—but then the others cry out for midnight and they kiss. 

Oh God, do they kiss. Johnny’s shirt strains in Simon’s hands as he lifts the other man the last few inches needed to slot their mouths together comfortably. There is no chaste peck, no soft exploration of tongues, it is a frenzied open-mouthed devouring of each other, jaws flexing as if to open up and swallow the other whole. 

Claps and cheers ring out in the living room, jolting Simon and Johnny apart. Before you can even string together a sentence, Johnny has brushed by you, one hand pressing at his mouth. He grabs his coat and leaves out the front door without so much as a goodbye to anyone. 

-

The party is over. The sun is rising. Alejandro and Rodolfo have retired out to the guest house leaving you and Simon behind to clean up the mess in more ways than one. Eyes tired but brain buzzing, you come into the living room with a half-filled trash bag in your arms to find Simon sitting on the sofa by the fireplace, his head in his hands. 

You drop the trash bag and go to him, climbing into his lap. He sighs and lets his head rest against your breasts, breaths slow and deep, not betraying any of the turmoil that might be going on in his mind.

“He’ll be back,” you promise, stroking your fingers through his cropped hair. “He’ll come back, baby.” 

You don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t.

“Have you two done that before?” you ask.

Simon shifts. He turns until his ear presses against your sternum, like he is listening to your heart for the answer. He says: “No. Once—almost, I think. But you know what he’s like. So fucking persistent. And bright. Like he’s got the bloody sun inside him.”

“You never told me.” 

“Wasn’t anything to tell.” He looks up at you with dark eyes, decidedly grim despite his words: “We doing this?”

“Seems so,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly with your nails just to watch how his eyes get heavy. Simon so often denies himself simple pleasures, but he deserves them. The simple ones and the complicated ones. 

“He belongs to me,” Simon says at length, slow, like he is working it out for himself. “Just like you do.”

“No baby,” you remind him, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. “He belongs to us.”

-

((It becomes a degenerate ritual. 

Soap gets home from work and showers. As soon as the steam hits the bathroom mirror, he’s hard, but he doesn’t touch himself; refuses to. He showers and cleans himself perfunctorily, cock aching. It is just as familiar with this ritual as he is, just as hungry for it. It knows what is coming. 

After he is clean and dry, he’ll go naked into his room and bring out his laptop. He always sits at his desk—hates having the laptop on his lap, wants it somewhere stable and safe so he can have both hands free to touch himself—and then he brings up your porn page with Simon. There are more than fifty videos he can choose from. Some he has only seen once, especially those early videos when you both were still getting a feel for the process and working out your nerves. There are others that are old favorites, ones that he knows every word to, one where he could mimic your every sigh and whine if he wanted to. 

And sometimes, like on nights such as this, there’s a new video. His heart jumps to his throat. 

AMATEUR COUPLE: ARGUMENT TURNS INTO SEX (NO AUDIO). Fuck, just the title has mind whirling. It was just for show, surely—he couldn’t imagine you both filming one of your actual arguments for the sake of good pornography—but he was intrigued nonetheless. Some of his favorite videos featured Ghost getting a little rougher with you, and you giving back as good as you got. 

He clicks the link. The video begins in the bedroom, recognizable to him now as your own. The camera is in the corner facing the bed at an angle giving a wide vantage point, like a voyeur standing at attention. Like Soap himself has snuck in and is watching. Just the thought has him gripping the base of his cock, a soft groan passing his lips. 

You’re sitting on the bed, mask in place. Your arms are crossed, mouth downturned into a frown as Simon enters the screen. The first minute or so truly looks like an argument, the occasional jerky hand gesture from you coupled with Simon’s clipped responses. Soap tries to read your lips, but he’s never been very good at it; he can’t make out a single word of what the two of you might be saying. Then the aura changes, the tense energy from the argument turning into something slicker, something sexual as Simon comes around the bed and puts his hand on the center of your naked chest, pressing you back, back until you are laying down. 

You fight against him, batting his hand out of the way. He pins you down easily, so much larger and stronger than you. Soap grips his cock at the thought of being in your place, being pinned to the bed with Ghost’s massive figure over him. Ghost wouldn’t need to be gentle with him either, not the way he was with you. Soap wouldn’t mind. Soap would like it, the same way he liked it in the hallway at your house when Simon gripped him by the shirt and nearly jerked him right out of his boots. 

Your head comes off the bed, mouth chasing Ghost’s—but he draws away. Soap can almost hear the laugh he clearly gives, the rumbling chuckle that would be tangible in his chest. You grit your teeth together, jaw tight. Now when Simon bends down to kiss you, you turn your head away, a childish game of cat and mouse. He grips your chin and turns it back toward him, heavy on the eye contact. When you two finally kiss, it is rough, two hungry people searching for dirty secrets behind each other's teeth. 

Ghost kisses his way down your body, sucking bruises wherever he can. By the time he’s in between your legs, you are writhing, hands gripping his hair and trying to guide his mouth to the place that needs it most. He tugs your thighs over his shoulders, pins you to the bed with one massive forearm, and eats you out like a starving man. The angle for the camera isn’t the best here, but Soap can’t take his eyes off of you anyway: your body tight as a bowstring, breasts pressed together from the position of your arms, tendons of your neck straining as your head tilts backwards. 

Soap begins to work his cock over faster, watching your pleasure. When Ghost stops, he leaves you on the edge if your tortured expression is anything to go by, but you let him maneuver you into the position he wants—hands and knees, an old favorite for LT it seems—but this time is special, because this time you are forced to face the camera dead on. 

It’s like you’re looking Soap in the eye. The brief flash of guilt this gives him only serves to ratchet his desire higher, his cock dripping precum over his knuckles as he fists it. Ghost slips his cock inside you and sets a brutal pace that you are eager to meet, your hands twisting in the bedspread as you press yourself further back against his cock. 

Ghost leans down and mutters something in your ear. More than ever, Soap misses the audio. Whatever he says has your eyes flashing to meet the camera lens, and you do so with near girlish shyness, like you are seeing it for the first time, like you have only just noticed it’s been there all these months. Your eyes can’t catch on it at first, flittering away every chance you get. Ghost’s thrusts slow to deep grinds. He wraps a hand around your throat and says more, lips moving against the nape of your neck. Fuck, what Johnny wouldn’t give to be able to read lips. 

This time you look back at the camera and keep your eyes there. Ghost resumes his thrusts, each one making your breasts bounce softly, but your eyes never leave the lens, always quick to return even when they briefly fall shut. 

Your pleasure waxes when you slip a hand between your thighs, and you begin murmuring something repeatedly, just a discrete little movement of your lips. But at Ghost’s prodding, you begin to cry it out louder and louder until Soap is damn near sure that you are screaming, your lips forming the same syllables over and over again if only Soap were able to make them out. Your eyes roll back as you cum, arms growing weak until you dip and rest your upper body against the bed giving the camera an excellent view of Simon fucking into you from behind, the arch of your body, the curve of your waist to the width of your hips. 

Soap cums when Ghost does, Ghost’s head lolling to the side as his thrusts grow sloppy and forceful, making a mess of you no doubt. 

It isn’t until later when he’s in bed that he recognizes the word you were chanting for what it is. 

How it took him so long to recognize his own name he’ll never know.))

-

He comes back. 

Simon has just returned from taking Alejandro and Rodolfo to the airport. Ever since New Year’s Eve, there has been a quietness about him which breaks prior records. Neither of you say it, but if Johnny leaves this time, it will take more out of him than it had before. It will take something out of you, too. You spend the days trying to keep busy, checking your phone too often for texts that don’t come. 

You’ve just taken the kettle off the stove when the doorbell rings, and both of you know. Your eyes meet across the kitchen. Simon nods his head toward the door, and you rush to answer it, feeling your heart in your throat. Johnny stands there on the step looking sheepish and cold, his boots and the bottom quarter of his jeans wet, like he has walked here from a great distance. 

“May I come in?” he asks. 

Simon appears behind you. Johnny gives him a wavering smile. Without a word, you hold the door open, stepping aside to let him in. 

“Didn’t think you’d be back,” Simon says coolly.

“Didn’t think I’d be back either,” Johnny admits. He wets his lips. “I…I need to come clean. It’s eatin’ me up inside. Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t fucking think without it being about the two of you. I don’t know what to do with myself except put myself at your feet and ask fer your forgiveness.” 

“Johnny, that’s not—”

“No,” says Simon, stilling the words on your tongue. “I think that’s a good place to start. Get on your knees, Johnny.” 

Johnny blinks once, face the picture of innocent ignorance—but then he is dropping to his knees hard enough for you to hear them crack against the hardwood underneath. He obeys without thinking, because that is something that has always been easy for him to do: obey Simon. Think later. 

Simon’s hand reaches out, slow enough to give Johnny a chance to flinch away, but he doesn’t. Instead Simon threads his fingers through Johnny’s mohawk, the sides which are growing out just a little too long. Johnny’s eyes fall shut at the touch, and the whole thing goes straight to your belly, arousal making your head light. 

“You liked watching so much,” Simon says, voice low and quiet. “I think it’s time we put you to good use.”

-

“We have rules. Don’t look at the camera, don’t say each other’s names, and do as I say. Can you handle that?” Simon asks. 

“Rules of engagement. Yessir.” 

Simon snorts softly at Johnny’s eagerness. “Glad to see you still know to follow directions. But let’s see how well. Strip. Everything off. You won’t need it.” 

Johnny’s hands find the neckline of his shirt and tug it off over his head, revealing a body that is all smooth muscle and tan skin. The dark hair on his chest thickens just below his navel, trailing down into his jeans which he unbuttons without ceremony, feet working to step out of his shoes at the same time. He keeps his balance well, already slipping into a focused, strangely familiar headspace. You make yourself as small as possible on the bed, arms looped around your legs, eyes watching him hungrily. It’s been so long that you’ve wanted to see Johnny like this; now that it’s on the verge of becoming true, you feel shy and unsure. 

Johnny keeps his eyes on yours while he pushes his pants down his thighs and steps out of them. He smiles at you, soft and understanding, and only then do you let your eyes flicker down to take in his cock: he is hard, uncut, thick as Simon even if he can’t have him beaten in length. His dexterous fingers wrap around the shaft, stroking himself, the flushed head disappearing and reappearing in his fist. 

“What do you think?” Simon asks you, voice a low rumble at your side. His eyes are watching you, concerned with you first and foremost. “Is he pretty enough?”

Johnny makes an offended sound. 

“I’d say so,” you answer, aiming for unaffected and landing somewhere amongst breathless. Already you can feel the tension between your legs, a deep seated ache as your pussy drools onto the sheets below you. 

“You want to suck his cock,” says Simon. It’s not a question, but your head bobs anyway. “Go on, then. Crawl to him.” 

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawl to him, focusing on the mechanics of it instead of trying to feign sexiness. At the edge of the bed, you slip off and down to the floor amongst the pile of his clothes, laying your hands on his thighs and looking up at him from beneath his cock. 

He lets out a shaky breath. “You’re gonna suck my dick?”

You nod. 

Johnny looks to Simon with a helpless expression as if to ask, What do I do? When you glance back over your shoulder, you see that Simon is giving him nothing to work with, face a blank slate except for his raised brows. Phone in hand, aimed at the two of you. The sight of it seems to steel Johnny’s nerves. He’s never been one to be shy.

“Go at yer own pace, lass,” he says.

Leaning in, you trace your lips against the side of his shaft, feeling the velvety softness against your mouth. He smells like he showered before he came over, though you wouldn’t have minded if he hadn’t. Johnny always smells good—even on those days before he went away when he and Simon would go running together, pushing each other to their limits, returning sweaty and exhausted. Now after all this time you get to see if he tastes as good as he smells. You part your lips and leave open mouthed kisses along his length, looking up at him through your lashes when you feel his fingers sink into your hair. His mouth is parted as he watches you raptly, pupils blown wide. 

Confidence mounting, you take the head past your lips and suckle, treating him just as soft and sweetly as you know Simon won’t. Above you, he groans, hips jerking until you take another inch or two past your lips. You let him, rising up on your knees to adjust the angle, sinking your way down until his head brushes the softness at the back of your throat. Taking a calming inhale, you swallow and press forward, letting him sink into your throat until your gag reflex can take no more and forces him out. 

Johnny moans like he’s dying, his hands shaking as he fights not to thrust into your throat. Words stream from his mouth, filthy Scottish-tinted praises that have you wriggling in your place, desperate for a hand between your thighs. 

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Simon asks. 

“Never seen no one like her,” Johnny gasps, one hand letting go of your hair so that he can wipe the drool from the side of your mouth. He gives a weak laugh. “And I—fuuck, fuck—I’ve looked.”

“She’ll suck you off until you tell her to stop. Doesn’t matter how long you leave her at it,” Simon says. Fabric rustles behind you, and you ache to be able to turn and see what he is doing. But you are more determined to prove your goodness to Johnny. “Sometimes when I work from home she keeps my cock warm at my desk.”

“Dunno how you get a goddamn thing done with her mouth around yeh.”

“Discipline.” 

“I left mine in my other pants—fuck, I’m gonna cum. Are you one of those dirty girls that swallows?” he asks. 

You nod. Simon is there suddenly, a warm presence at your shoulder as he passes Johnny the camera. Nearly wrecked, Johnny’s hands shake as he aims it down at you, looking at you through the lens. His balls draw up, cock lengthening that last little bit as he spills into your mouth. 

“Don’t swallow,” Simon says at the last moment. You whine but obey. Simon pulls you up and nearly makes you dizzy with the way he kisses you, licks into your open mouth lapping Johnny’s seed from your tongue. 

“Jesus, Mary, ‘n Joseph,” Johnny breathes, belatedly remembering to turn the camera onto you both. This will likely be the messiest video you’ve ever made transition wise, but you have a feeling that it will be your favorite. 

When the kiss ends, you swallow and pull off to open your mouth, showing Johnny—and the audience—what they want: that you’ve swallowed your portion like a good girl. 

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have cum,” Johnny laughs weakly. “We’ve barely started. I don’t want this to be over.”

“You’ll cum again,” Simon says. “But it’s time to give someone else a turn. Sitrep?”

Johnny is all grins. “All good here, sir.” 

It makes you shiver to hear Johnny call him that. You’ve heard it countless times before, but never like this. The context turns the word into something foreign, something sexy. Not to mention, you know exactly what it does to Simon. Not for the first time, you wonder if his wires didn’t get a little crossed during his time enlisted, if he didn’t learn that particular kink from hearing Johnny chirp it at him every day. 

“Good boy,” says Simon softly, reaching out to ruffle Johnny’s mohawk. Johnny bats his hand away, but it’s impossible to miss the way he flushes from the cheeks down his chest at those words. Simon sets the phone on the tripod in the corner, making minor adjustments, and then turns his eyes to you. “C’mere.”

He sets you up against the headboard, your back against his chest. He parts your thighs, reaching down to use his thumbs to spread your sex open for Johnny’s hungry gaze, for the camera’s lens. You hide your masked-face behind your hands, hips rising toward his touch, desperate for the stimulation. 

“Pent up?” Simon asks, voice rough.

A sound slips past your lips, low and needy.. 

“This what you want?” His calloused fingers ghost over your swollen clit. 

“Yes,” you mumble, voice muffled by your hands. 

“Be a good girl and you’ll get it. You know how to be a good girl?” 

“How?”

“Stay relaxed. Keep your thighs open. And don’t lie to me. Can you do that?”

You nod. Yes. Easy things. You fight to relax your body, loosening your muscles. Your hands fall to rest against Simon’s thighs, eyes cracking open to watch Johnny who has seated himself at the end of the bed out of the way of the camera’s view. When he sees you looking, he smiles, reassuring and warm. His cock, which had been soft moments ago, already looks noticeably more interested in the events taking place. 

Simon drags his fingers over your clit. You tense all over, sucking in a breath before you remember his first rule and relax, going loose and soft again. He waits, patient. The next time he strokes you, you stay malleable, and he hums deep in his chest, pleased with the progress. His hand cups your whole sex, palm huge compared to you. 

“When was the first time you ever wanted to fuck our boy over here?” Simon asks. 

You know that he can’t use Johnny’s name, not on film, but neither you nor Johnny had expected the flashbang of this term of endearment. Johnny seems to melt, his eyes going heavy-lidded at the thought of being ‘your boy’. You can’t help but feel the incredible rightness of his words. They resonate deep in your chest like the ringing of a bell, tangible down to your fingertips and toes. Johnny is yours, and he is Simon’s. 

“How long?” Simon asks again, more firmly. 

“Since—since you brought him home.”

Simon slips two fingers past your entrance as a reward for your honesty. Their thickness has you gasping, fingers scrambling for purchase against his thighs. He hums something in your ear—probably a reminder about trying to relax—and you do try, but it is hard when you ache as badly as you do. You find yourself digging your heels into the bedspread, lifting your hips to try and work his fingers deeper inside of you. He feeds them to your cunt all the way to the last knuckle. 

“How’s she feel, sir?” Johnny asks. 

“Like the only heaven the likes of us will ever know.” 

“I believe it,” Johnny sighs. “Give us a taste.” 

Simon extends his fingers and Johnny takes them onto his tongue, licking and sucking the digits clean. You’re close enough to Simon to feel his inhale, to feel the way his cock jumps where it’s pressed against your lower back. He plays at being unaffected, but Simon isn’t immune to the powers of finger-sucking. He isn’t immune to Johnny. 

Then he says: “Put that mouth to work, Johnny.” 

Johnny drops to his belly between your thighs, breath fanning across your folds. Simon has to pin your legs apart, humming when your nails dig into the skin of his forearms. They are teaming up on you, against you, and you feel so small pinned between them. 

“Dreamed of this,” Johnny sighs into your pussy. He nuzzles against you, nose brushing your slit before licking a thick stripe up your folds. He laps at the honey leaking from your entrance, broad strokes of his tongue as Simon’s fingers keep you spread open for his hungry mouth. 

Sometimes Johnny’s tongue laps over Simon’s fingers, and when it does, you feel his cock twitch against your back. It only serves to remind you how empty you feel. Your hands grip Johnny’s hair, guiding his soft mouth to your clit where he sucks and laps contentedly, and you beg for his fingers. 

He moans against you, voice vibrating through your pussy. His hips have started a slow grind against the bedspread, desperate for friction as his blue eyes find Simon’s dark ones, silently asking for permission. 

Simon nods. Johnny slips his middle-most two fingers into you, hooking them softly, searching for that spongy, textured place just inside you. It’s everything you needed, the pleasure in your belly rising to a near painful crest. Your hand scrambles to find one of Simon’s, lacing your fingers together as you burst against Johnny’s tongue, squeezing his fingers, barely remembering to keep from calling his name. 

Johnny lays his head against your inner thigh, panting. His eyes are foggy, pussy-drunk as he struggles to focus on you both, his fingers still tucked softly inside you. 

“Break,” Simon whispers, kissing your neck. He shifts out from behind you, the only one of you still fully dressed. Going to the tripod in the corner, he pauses the camera and then leaves the room.

“Great abrupt bastard, isn’t he?” Johnny asks, slipping his fingers out from inside you. He goes to lick them clean, but you stop him, bringing his hand to your own mouth and cleaning your slick from his fingers, tongue searching for your taste all the way to the webbing between his knuckles. His laugh is breathy. “You like that? Like the taste of pussy?” 

You nod, slipping your mask off briefly. 

“Need a pretty girl to play with then, not the likes of me.” 

Your hand latches around his wrist as he goes to pull away, lips turning down into a frown. “That’s not what we want. We don’t play with people. People aren’t toys to us. And we’ve never had sex with anyone else like this. You should know that from the videos.” 

“Aye,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to offend yeh, lass. I was only teasing.”

“Johnny…” 

“Yes?”

“Why’d you go away?” you ask. You know it might ruin the moment, but the curiosity is too much, an old wound with the scab picked clean off until it aches all over again. “Things seemed so good when Simon and I first got together. You were coming around all the time. Then you just…left.” 

Johnny can’t meet your eyes as he thinks back, as he remembers those days in the year after Simon first met you. When he speaks, his voice is steady. “I told yeh earlier. Couldn’t stop thinking about the two of you. Didn’t feel right to feel that way ‘bout my best mate and his best girl. And when he told me that he was gonna propose to yeh—I had two choices. Stay and watch, or run away. Maybe Simon’s right. Maybe I am a coward.”

“He told me that the two of you almost kissed once. Back during your SAS days.” 

A ghost of a smile appears on Johnny’s mouth. “Outside the Barranquilla, Columbia safehouse. I remember. I thought he would break my teeth if I tried, but Jesus, how I wanted to.”

“I think your odds were 50/50,” you say, scooting back until you are seated in Simon’s old spot, reclining against the headboard. “It started back then for you, didn’t it?” 

“Aye. I was a goner.” 

“You love him.” 

Johnny gives you a secretive smile. He presses his finger to his lips. Shh.

Simon enters the room with three water bottles and pauses, eyes flickering between you both. “The fuck were you two talking about?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “Is that water? I’m so thirsty, thank you baby.” 

“Her subtlety could use some work, LT,” Johnny says, watching as Simon goes and turns the camera back on. You hastily put your mask back in place. 

“Not her forte,” Simon admits dryly. He cracks open one of the bottles of water after tossing the last one to Johnny and drinks half of it in just a few gulps, despite having done very little so far in the scheme of things. You figured that was about to change, watching him shrug out of his shirt. 

Simon didn’t undress the way Johnny did. There wasn’t any fanfare or confidence; it was simple and efficient. You knew that Simon’s relationship with his body was a complex one. It had served him well, and he did his best to keep it healthy, but contemplating the aesthetics of it was too offensive to his palate. The scars were intense: thick punctures along his sides, the depressed, pale pucker of bullet wounds, the hard clean lines of a knife here and there. You had never minded, and judging by the way Johnny’s throat clicks when he swallows, Johnny didn’t mind either. 

“I want to fuck you,” he says. 

“Yes,” you agree. Fingers had been excellent, but nothing could compare to Simon’s cock. 

He shakes his head. “Not you. Him.” 

You turn your gaze on Johnny whose eyes are avidly watching Simon unfasten his jeans. He pushes them down over his thick thighs and reveals he’s not wearing any underwear beneath, his cock half-hard and rosy. He wraps his fist around it, jerking himself to full stiffness with a perfunctory touch, not at all interested in the show he is putting on for you both. 

“Can you take him, Johnny?” you tease. 

“I’ll die trying, thanks very much.” 

“I hope not,” is all Simon says, going to the bench at the end of the bed and retrieving the lube. He asks: “Condom?”

“Not necessary,” Johnny says, breaths coming faster now. You put your hand on his ankle, remembering the way he had touched you there on Christmas, stroking the bone softly. He glances to you and grins, and you see that what you mistook for nerves is actually excitement. He puts his hand over your own, squeezing. “Are you going to feel left out, lass?” 

“Terribly.” 

“If you last the whole time,” says Simon, holding the lube up to the light to see how empty it is. “I’ll let you fuck her when I’m finished with you.” 

“Jesus,” Johnny laughs weakly. “Can’t argue with that. Throw me that and I’ll get myself ready.” 

“I can do it,” says Simon, seating himself on the edge of the bed. Johnny shifts into a better position, feet flat on the bed, knees toward the ceiling. For a long time, Simon just looks at him: his silly hair, the odd scar here and there, his half hard cock. Deftly, he opens the cap on the lube and slicks two fingers while you come to kneel on the other side of Johnny, eager for a show. 

“Camera, love,” Simon reminds you, fingers searching between Johnny’s legs. Judging by the way Johnny’s jaw goes tight, he’s found what he’s looking for. You shift, glancing over your shoulder to make sure you are out of the camera’s point of view. Reaching down, you trail your fingertips gently over Johnny’s cock. Simon says: “Been a while?” 

“You could say that,” Johnny says, mouth falling open in a silent moan as Simon works him open. You’ve been on the receiving end of Simon’s ministrations; you know his patience can be near painful. Johnny learns it the hard way when Simon pauses twice to lube his fingers, until even the soft thrusts he gives into Johnny’s ass fill the room with the sound of sex. 

You play with his cock absently, enjoying being the tormentor instead of the tormented for once. Johnny’s silent breaths turn to heavy pants and then needy groans, foreskin pulling back to reveal the sensitive head as he grows in your palm thanks to Simon’s fingers playing inside him. His heels slip against the bedspread as he searches for the angles that suit him best, and he chokes when he finds them.

“Please, I’m ready,” Johnny says, fingers wrapping around Simon’s wrist. Simon lets him pull his fingers free and reaches for the lube again, this time to slick his cock. 

“Any preference for how I take you?” he asks mildly, like one might ask, How do you take your tea? One sugar please and thank you. 

“None, so long as your cock’s inside me,” Johnny grits out. 

“This’ll do,” says Simon, bullying his way between Johnny’s spread thighs. It takes a few pillows beneath his hips before he’s at the right height for Simon’s cock to notch against his entrance, and then you watch with rapt attention as Johnny’s body seems to blossom to welcome in Simon’s cock, a surplus of lubricant easing the way. 

Johnny flinches. 

“Easy,” says Simon, stilling. “Relax.” 

You curl up at Johnny’s side, slipping beneath one of his arms and cuddling against him. Your nervous fingers find one of his nipples and toy with it softly, kissing at his shoulder while you murmur words of encouragement to him. 

Johnny laughs weakly. “Don’t need all that, lass, but thank yeh.” 

“Wish I had someone cheering me on the first time I took Simon’s cock,” you admit. 

Simon frowns. “I was cheering you on.” 

“Less talking please, more fucking,” Johnny says, lips upturned. His body relaxes and Simon sinks the rest of the way inside him, all the way to the fucking hilt, deeper than you can ever take him in your cunt. It thrills you and makes you envious all at once. You pinch Johnny’s nipple, forcing a quiet gasp out of his throat. 

Simon looks good—strong. Unaffected. But you know him better. His brow is lower than ever, eyes closed as he centers himself. His breaths come so evenly that you know he must be counting them—four seconds in, four seconds out. His fingertips have sunk into the meat of Johnny’s thighs, gripping him tightly, as if to keep him from squirming away, or to keep him from squirming at all. 

“You solid?” Simon asks him. 

“Affirm,” Johnny breathes. “Go slow.” 

Famous last words—Simon withdraws with painstaking care, until just his head lingers inside Johnny’s body. He sinks back in at the most leisurely pace you’ve ever seen, thrusts smooth and deep as his thighs brush against Johnny’s ass. It takes no time at all for Johnny to regret those words, one of his hands laced with yours and the other twisting in the bedsheets as he begs Simon to move faster. 

And Simon can only take so much teasing himself, really. He’s human too. 

His hips snap into the open cradle of Johnny’s thighs. Johnny cries out, cock jerking where it lays hard and leaking against his belly. You lean up onto one elbow so that you can watch his pretty face contort: brow furrowing, mouth falling open. 

“Not going to cum, right?” you ask him slyly. 

He shakes his head. 

You glance down at his cock doubtfully. Simon, overhearing your words, takes that as a personal challenge, drilling into Johnny with a single-mindedness that is admirable to see and terrible to be on the receiving end of all in one. 

Suddenly tears overflow from Johnny’s eyes, dripping down toward his temples. You sit up in alarm as he lifts his hands but he just palms at his eyes, laughing. Simon slows, stops. He reaches down to pry Johnny’s hands away and then kisses him, something soft and sweet. Johnny’s hands shake as he reaches up to thread his fingers through Simon’s hair, tugging him closer.

Your heart feels liable to burst. You remember Johnny’s finger pressed to his lips, that universal sign. Shh. 

“He’s alright,” Simon says, not unkindly. “Aren’t you?”

Johnny croaks an affirmative.

After that, it is less fucking and more making love; there’s nothing else to call in. Simon pins Johnny’s wrists to the bed just to feel like he’s still in control, but his thrusts are syrupy slow, not fully withdrawing, seeking to remain as close to Johnny as he can for as long as possible. You stroke one of Johnny’s palms and Simon lets it free so that you can hold it, your fingers lacing together in a way that is foreign yes, but comfortable. 

“You’ve been a good boy for me, Johnny,” Simon says. 

“Don’t say that,” Johnny groans, turning his head away, flushed pink. 

“It’s true. Know how to be an even better boy?” 

Johnny is intrigued. Being a good boy is suddenly beneath him; now he wants to be the best boy. Looking at Simon through his lashes, he asks: “How’s that?” 

“Cum on my cock.” 

“Don’t do it Johnny,” you whine. “It’s a trap.” 

Simon laughs. He kneels back onto his haunches, dragging Johnny’s body along with him, and reaches for the other man’s cock, working it over in his fist. Johnny nearly howls, kept on the edge so long that to see the bottom of the cliffside is to know the promise of pain. He doesn’t know whether to grind his hips deeper against Simon’s cock or to chase the heat of his hand. 

“Close,” he groans. 

“Go on. Pretty abs like this—make a mess on ‘em.” 

Johnny does, pearlescent seed dripping from between Simon’s fingers as he milks Johnny for every last drop. Only then does he begin thrusting again, fast and hard, searching for his own end. Not a handful of thrusts later and he goes sloppy, breath punched from his lungs as he spills inside Johnny. 

“You promised me a cock to ride,” you say. 

“Couldn’t be helped, lass,” Johnny says with a dopey, lovesick smile. You hum. 

“We’ll just have to get you hard again, won’t we?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around his softening cock. 

-

That night, the bed is full. Johnny and you are entwined, legs and arms wrapped around each other creating an endless feedback of heat that Simon was careful not to be swept away in, too focused on his mission to allow for any mistakes. He makes no sound as he slips out of bed. He stops by the tripod in the corner and takes his phone out into the living room, turning the sound down so low that he has to hold the speaker close to his ear to hear it, lest he wake Johnny. 

He listens to you and Johnny talk while he was gone, when you believed the camera to be off. He plays it again, watching just the video. By the time he’s returned in the video, Simon’s chest feels full of pressure, like something is inside him trying to crawl its way out. Love. What does Simon Riley know about love? 

Well, he knows one thing. 

Except maybe now he knows two.

He deletes the video and goes back to bed. 

[yandere-writer-momo]

Why write the usual when I can make everybody sad? This is a different take on the Yandere trope with the reality of being involved with someone who is obsessed with you (worse case scenario).

Yandere Short Stories: The Consequences

Yandere Ex Husband x Deceased Fem Reader

“(Your name)?” Alec stepped back in disbelief, his hands rubbed his eyes to make sure that the figure in front of him was really real. “(Your name)! Oh my god!”

Alec ran towards the young woman and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. His whole body trembled as his hazel eyes began to spill salty tears. He couldn’t believe it… he couldn’t believe this was real.

Her hair still smelled like (scent)… this couldn’t be a dream! This had to be reality! Yes… she came back to see him again.

They were together so many years ago and then she vanished into thin air. To see her again was like a dream come true! To know she was still on this earth and she had returned to his side was all the relief he needed.

Alec pressed a kiss to her head before he pulled away so his hands could hold her face. His thumbs traced over her pink lips as a sad smile crawled on his lips.

“You… you don’t look a day over twenty six…” Alec’s brow furrowed. How did she still look so young when it’s been over a decade since they last saw each other? How was that even possible?

(Your name) softly smiled at him, her hands rose up to gently hold the backs of his palms. Her hands were like ice… no. Her hands were as cold as death.

“This isn’t real, none of this is.” (Your name)’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I died, silly. Don’t you remember?”

“No… you’re not dead.” Alec’s lip quivered and his eyes became crazed. “You can’t be dead, we just had an argument was all.”

“Yes… and you killed me. Don’t you remember?” (Your name)’s form slowly began to melt away into that of a rotted corpse. “You stabbed me to death and buried me in the garden.”

“No! No, I didn’t…” Alec began to sob and shake his head. There was no way… he didn’t. He wouldn’t have… he loved her!

“It’s too late, Alec. What’s done is done.” (Your name) the crumbled onto the floor in a pile of bones.

Alec fell to the floor in a panic. Her tried to piece back together her bones back together but it was futile. “No! Please stay with me!”

Hot tears flowed down his cheeks, another sob racked through his chest. He pulled her skull toward his chest to cradle it. “I’m sorry… I just didn’t want you to leave me! We were so happy and… I wanted you to be happy forever.”

Alec continued to sob on the floor that slowly melted away into that of a white padded cell. Reality slowly began to slip in.

(Your name) would be happy forever in death while he would rot forever in this padded cell. This was the reality of his kind of love. This was the consequence of his actions.

[reiding-writing]

since you are a person of angst, i was thinking about spencer x reader where in the heat of an argument, spencer says he will only forgive her when she dies.

so in one of the cases the reader is shot by spencer and sighs "now you can finally forgive me"

happy or sad ending, whatever you want

muah 💘

forgiven — s.reid

Summary:

You lied to him with good intentions, but when he finds out the truth he says something detrimental in the heat of the moment. After weeks of radio silence any chance of reconciliation is almost lost after you get critically injured in the field.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR IAN DOYLE ARC, harsh arguments, death wishes, gun mentions, major character injury, details of gun related injury, happy ending

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 3.7k || masterlist!!

a/n: left the ending up to majority vote and majority vote said happy ending, you guys are so boring /j

happy ending or not this is still nice and jam packed with angst for all my angst enjoyers <3

Emily Prentiss had been buried for seven months.

So how on earth was she stood five feet away from Spencer with a half guilty expression on her face like she’d put salt in his coffee rather than the fact that she’d been in Paris, fully alive and well whilst he mourned her ‘death’ for months.

But he couldn’t be mad at her. Of course he couldn’t.

Instead his gaze turned towards the way Hotch, JJ, and you were stood at the head of the table, completely unfazed whilst the rest of the team stood in shock at the fact that the friend that they’d buried was still alive.

He couldn’t help that small feeling of loathing mixing with the shock when Emily pulled him into a hug, his arms loosely rested around her back as his eyes narrowed slightly in your direction.

He’d let you see him at his absolute worst, an emotional, crying, pathetic mess of a person who was desperately mourning over the loss of one of his closest friends.

And you’d let him. Whilst knowing that Emily was still alive.

His emotional state had gotten so bad over the last few months that you’d even temporarily moved him in with you to make sure he wasn’t endangering himself.

He’d spiralled into a state where he couldn’t be trusted to live on his own. And you’d let him.

He didn’t speak to you during your drive home that night, and you knew why.

You knew he was going to be angry at you, and you couldn’t blame him for it.

What you didn’t expect, was for him to immediately start unrooting himself from your apartment; Clearing out drawers and stuffing his clothes in the suitcase hidden in one of the cupboards.

“Spencer what are you doing-” You barely manage to step out of the way before Spencer walked right into you with an armful of books in his hands as he pulled them from the bookshelf in your living room.

He stacks them neatly in the corner of the open case laid on top of his bed as you stand in the doorway of your guest room turned Spencer’s bedroom, clear concern written all over your face.

“I’m going home.” Spencer’s reply is blunt, flat, with the tiniest amount of hurt lacing his tone if you were to listen closely enough.

“Spence-” You block his exit from the room with your body as he attempts to make a second trip to clear your shelves of his books. “Can we just take a second to talk about this?”

“About what? The fact that you lied to me for seven months?” He takes a step back from you as you block the doorway, looking you directly in the eyes to make sure that you could read every semblance of hurt, loathing, and betrayal that swam in his irises.

“The fact that I trusted you to the point where I let you see me at my lowest and you knew everything I was grieving over was a lie?” Spencer had given up trying to leave the room, clearing out anything left in the bedroom instead and zipping the suitcase shut.

“The fact that you let me spiral to the point where I was considering relapsing and couldn’t be trusted to live on my own?”

“Spencer-”

“I confided in you. I told you everything. All those nights I spent sobbing in your arms talking about how I just wanted the pain to stop and you left me in the dark.” He was borderline shouting at you by now, his eyes glassed over with tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks and a lump in his throat that rended his composure shattered.

“I wish I could’ve told you Spencer but I couldn’t-”

“You couldn’t?” Spencer cuts you off before you have the time to try and explain yourself. “Or you wouldn’t?”

“I couldn’t- Spence I wanted to tell you I really did but Emily’s life was in danger-” You try to explain yourself whilst he’s giving you the time to do so, words falling out of your mouth as fast as your brain will let them form. “I couldn’t say anything without risking breaking her cover and sending her right back into Doyle’s grasp..”

“What about my life?” Spencer’s voice cracked slightly as he looked at you, a light flush covering his face from his frustration. “I spent ten weeks under 24/7 supervision because my mental state was so bad-”

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t have said anything. And you let me ruin my own mental state anyway.” The end of his negation of your explanation is marked by the suitcases wheels hitting the wooden flooring.

“Look i’m sorry okay? I didn’t-”

“What? didn’t mean to let it go so far? Didn’t mean to let me consider relapsing and washing any progress i’d made over the last four years down the drain?” He pushes past you with considerable force to make his way towards the front door of your apartment with his suitcase in hand. “Well it’s too late for that isn’t it?”

“Spencer wait-” You grasp at his wrist in a moment of desperation, silently begging for him not to leave. “I’m sorry,”

“I’m so, so sorry and you have every right to be angry at me and I know that keeping it from you was wrong-” Your desperation shows through your voice, through the stray tear that rolls down your left cheek and pools under your chin. “Just- let’s talk about this, please,”

“We just did.” Spencer’s voice is much harsher than you’re used to, although he removes your hand from his wrist with a whisper of his usual gentle nature that you wish would take over the rest of his personality as he pulls your door open to leave.

“I was just trying to protect her-” Your voice hitches at the end of your sentence, stray tears turning into a steady flow that dapples your white shirt in damp circles. “..please forgive me…”

Your voice is hardly a whisper by the time you’re finished, although Spencer’s expression does not match the softness in your tone.

Nor does his response.

“I’ll forgive you when you’re six feet under like she was.”

“Spencer-”

You barely have time to be shocked by his words before the front door of your apartment is closed harshly in your face, Spencer’s presence replaced by the ghost of his cologne and a sharp coldness that runs its way up your spine.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been three weeks.

And aside from asking Morgan to keep an eye on him you hadn’t so much as mentioned Spencer once.

It was a little difficult considering his desk was directly opposite yours, but a mix of wanting to respect his personal space and still being hurt by his comment allows you to keep to yourself no matter how close he was.

You’re thankful that the team hasn’t said anything, but you’re sure they’ll only respect your privacy until it interferes with the case you’re working on.

Emily had tried to talk Spencer down from his underlying anger to no avail during the plane ride, and despite the countless times that Hotch had taken full responsibility for keeping Emily’s living status a secret, it didn’t stop Spencer from sending you half-glares across the station or refuting any suggestion you gave with an overcomplicated explanation of why you were wrong.

By the fourth day you were on the verge of snapping at him, the Texas heat melding with his snark and making you want to tear all of your skin from your face.

You definitely weren’t in the right mental state to enter an active shooter situation, but as you followed Morgan into the building with your 9mm planted firmly between your hands, all you could think about is the conversation you were going to force Spencer into having with you once all of this was over.

You were so tired of being in this stalemate with him, you just wanted your Spencer back.

The one who would trap you on your couch so he could explain the Doctor Who lore in explicit detail with that bright starry look in his eyes the longer you let him ramble.

It was just radio silence. And you couldn’t bare it anymore.

Your mind was clouded by your own thoughts as you swept the building, and you suppose you only have yourself to blame for not hearing the unfamiliar footsteps behind you until it’s too late.

You turn on your heels towards the noise, expecting it to be Morgan or even Spencer, finished with sweeping the floor and ready to move on.

Instead you’re met by a sharp bang that rings through your ears and a pain in your throat that makes your breath catch and your legs fail underneath you.

Your left hand comes straight to your throat, immediately coated in the dark red liquid escaping from the new hole created in your body, and you manage to fire a shot in the direction of your assailant as he runs, although whether you actually hit him or not you’re not sure.

It takes less than ten seconds for your team members to arrive at your side, and you desperately point in the direction that the UnSub had ran off in as you try and refrain from coughing up blood and in turn flooding your lungs.

Morgan and Emily share a look before running off in your pointed direction. Spencer however, ignores your arm completely and rushes to kneel at your side, dropping his gun on the floor in the process and frantically holding the radio button on his watch to yell out his need for medical services.

“You’re going to be fine- Everything’s going to be fine-” You can practically feel the panic emanating from his body, his hands trembling as he tugged his bullet proof vest from his chest to tear at the hem of his shirt and use it to block the bullet hole in your throat as your hand compression weakened with your blood loss.

You can tell he was trying to reassure you, but it didn’t sound all that convincing, even to himself.

His right hand added a copious amount of pressure to the front of your throat as he aided you into the recovery position, checking the nape of your neck for an exit wound. Nothing.

A soft “two minutes” echoes back through the radio speaker in his watch and though he tries to mutter it under his breath to not freak you out any further, you can hear his uncertain “that’s too long,” even through the tinnitus plaguing your ears.

You cough up the clotted chunks of oxidised blood stuck in your oesophagus onto the floor beneath you, and Spencer makes an effort to protect your head from the floor by elevating it on his thigh.

“You’re going to be fine-” Spencer sounds more panicked than you as his eyes blink with tears, unable to be wiped as they fall down his cheeks from the red staining against his fingers and the ever present pressure he’s adding to your injury.

“Does this mean you’re going to forgive me now?” You choke out the words alongside what could barely be considered a laugh as it leaves you hacking up more blood through your mouth, your attempt at lightening the mood falling on deaf ears as it sends Spencer into a fit of tears.

“I’m so sorry-” Spencer’s tears run hot against his cheeks, pooling at his chin and falling onto the ripped fabric of his shirt he was using to try and stop your throat from bleeding. “I’m so sorry for yelling at you and barging out and just being awful to you I’m sorry-”

The distinct sounds of sirens sound over Spencer’s profuse apology and you can see the relief flood his face as he hears them. “You hear that? You’re gonna be okay, they’re gonna get you to a hospital and you’re gonna be fine,”

He nodded determinedly at you, more like he’s trying to convince himself than convince you.

He neglected to tell you about the fact that gunshot wounds to the neck held a 78% mortality rate, or how when they obstruct major airways that number jumps to 92%.

It was fine. You would be fine.

He can hear the pounding footsteps of the medical team as they breach the building, yelling out in their direction with as much composure as he can muster.

He helped the medical team carefully position you on a stretcher so they could rush you into the ambulance, and he runs alongside you, giving the EMTs as much information as he can.

“They were shot by a 7.5mm two minutes and forty seconds ago, it breached their trachea but there’s no exit wound so it’s likely lodged in the back of their oesophagus-” Spencer speaks through heaved breaths as his body fights to take in oxygen over his will to help the EMTs treat you as quickly as possible, following them into the back of the ambulance.

“They’ve been conscious the whole time this far but I think they’re going through pulmonary edema and-”

“Spence-” Your voice is barely audible through your struggle to breathe, joined by the pressure on your throat as well as under your diaphragm as one of the EMTs checks for signs of your lungs being flooded. “Don’t backseat doctor-”

The fact that you’re still conscious enough to lightly chastise him makes Spencer feel a little less panicked, although removing a pebble from a mountain doesn’t affect its height.

By the time you reach the hospital, you’re unconscious but not yet critical, and he almost follows you right into the OR until he’s blocked from the door by one of the nurses and escorted into the waiting area.

“Well let you know the second anything changes Dr Reid,”

He nods hastily as he sits down, fiddling with his fingers and tapping his feet against the linoleum floors.

You weren’t critical yet, but that didn’t mean that you’d pull through. You had flooded lungs and a bullet lodged somewhere in the back of your throat that they were going to surgically remove.

If something went wrong, that was it.

Spencer spends the first thirty minutes mentally beating himself up.

Why did he lash out at you? You were only doing what you thought was best to protect Emily.

Why did he say he’d only forgive you if you died? You didn’t mean to cause him any harm.

Why was he constantly managing to ruin anything positive that was happening between the two of you?

Maybe he was cursed.

Cursed to live a life of eternal suffering as the perpetual cost for the gift of his intelligence.

He would give up every IQ point he had if it meant that you would recover with no complications.

He would sacrifice his eidetic memory in an instant if it meant he got to make new ones with you.

He’d give up everything that he was prided on as long as you were okay. You needed to be okay.

The next forty-five minutes was spent in an anxious silence. The team had rushed to the hospital as soon as they’d secured the UnSub’s incarceration, only amplifying the tension in the waiting area.

As the nurse calls out your name to the room, the team immediately stands to rush over, everyone silently praying that you’re okay.

“We’re glad to say that the surgery was a success,”

Those words are enough for the anxiety to dwindle in the group, a wave of relief overtaking it.

“They’ve had to have a temporary tracheotomy, and due to the placement of the bullet lodged between their vertebrae, a spinal excision, but both procedures progressed with no issues, meaning they should recover perfectly fine,”

Morgan and Emily share a audible sigh of relief, overshadowed by Spencer’s voice, less anxious but still filled with adrenaline. “Can I see them?”

“They’re currently under supervised care to make sure they don’t destabilise, but if you leave your mobile number we will contact you when they wake,” The nurse passes Spencer a small post it note and a biro pen from her clip board and he doesn’t hesitate to scribble his name and number down before handing them back.

“They’re strong, most patients don’t remain conscious for more than a minute or two after an injury like that,” The nurse takes the pen and post it from Spencer with a small smile. “I have full faith that they’ll recover perfectly fine,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer extends his stay in Texas indefinitely.

The rest of the team had left for Quantico two days ago to file out all of the necessary paperwork for the case, with Spencer opting to remain in Texas until you were fit to fly home with him.

Home. He wonders if you’ll let him come home with you. To stay with you in your apartment again and live side by side with him once more.

Maybe he can convince you through your recovery; That patients recovering with spinal injuries need 24/7 attention just in case something happens.

Yeah. That sounded like a good idea.

Spencer’s plans for taking you home were interrupted by the shrill ring of his cellphone, the screen lighting up with an unknown number.

His heart rate increases as he picks the phone up from his hotel room’s coffee table, his hands trembling by the time he holds it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“McAllen County Hospital, am I speaking to Doctor Spencer Reid?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer is in his rental car almost before he hangs up the phone, driving the speed limit as he tries to get to the hospital as soon as possible.

He runs what he’s going to say when he sees you over and over again in his head on the way there, but by the time he reaches your hospital room his mind goes completely blank, and he just stands in the door staring at you.

“Hello to you too,” Your voice is very clearly strained and raspy, still recovering from the emergency tracheotomy you’d been given during surgery.

The sound of your voice, as dry and strained as it is, immediately sends Spencer into a fit of tears, and he rushes to take a seat on the plastic chair beside your bed with the most upset, regretful expression you think you’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry,”

“Spence…” You reach out your hand out from the hospital bed, laying it against his lower thigh and squeezing it lightly.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out at you I know you were doing what’s right and I didn’t mean what I said I don’t want you to die I promise-” He takes in a sharp breath through his nose once he’s finished his ramble, and you wait a few seconds to make sure he’s actually finished before speaking yourself.

“You’re fine Spence…” Your hand trails up to grasp at his own, intertwining your fingers with his and giving them a small squeeze. “You had every right to be angry,”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly at you. “No, i’m sorry. What I said was wrong and you didn’t deserve that,”

Spencer exhales softly through his nose, his voice wavering and his hands trembling against your own. “Can you forgive me..?”

You question whether to make a joke about whether he’s close to dying or not, but opt out of it considering his fragile emotional state.

“How about we both forgive each other and call it even?” You let out a small chuckle at the end of your question, turning into more of a cough as it dries out your throat, and Spencer grabs the glass of water left on your bedside table with his free hand.

He holds it up to let you drink from it rather than unlinking your hands to let you hold the cup yourself, placing the styrofoam back down once you’re finished.

You give him a mildly embarrassed smile that he returns with one of his own, leaning forward to gently rest his forehead against yours.

If you weren’t recovering from a spinal surgery he would’ve had you in a bone crushing hug by now, but holding your hand and leaning his forehead to yours would suffice for now.

“Forgiven?” You allow your eyes to flutter closed at the soft contact, exhaling slowly through your nose.

“Forgiven…”

[chaussetteblanche]

UGH UR LUKE ONES ARE TO GOOD😣😣imma new reader of yours but there to good do u think you can do a a child of hades with luke and maybe its a grumpy x sunshine type of thing😓☺️

thank you so much baby !! and thanks for requesting, i hope you like it !!

sweatshirt

pairing : luke castellan x child of hades!reader summary : a few moments of your relationship with luke word count : 1.4k warnings : none, fluff

"Baby, have you seen my sweatshirt?" Luke's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You closed the book you were reading and placed it in your lap, looking up at him as he approached. "Which one?" "The grey one, you know, my favourite. I've been looking for it all morning." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it slightly. "Nope, haven't seen it, sorry," you shrugged apathetically and returned to your book. Luke pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips. "I could've sworn I left it in your cabin the other night, d'you think your brother maybe took it?" he asked hesitantly. "Nah, that's not like him." You brushed him off easily, trying to concentrate on your book.

Luke trudged forward and leaned down on the armrests of your seat, bringing his face close to yours. The pleasant smell of his body wash reached you as he moved closer. "Good morning, sunshine." He tilted his head to the side, smiling softly at you.

"Morning." You looked up at him, unimpressed but holding back a smile. He'd come up with the nickname when you'd first started dating. It was entirely ironic and you hated it. Well, you didn't actually hate it but you acted like you did, which made Luke love it even more. He pouted and pressed a chaste kiss to your mouth. "Will you tell me if you see my hoodie?" "Sure thing. I'll see you later." "Later, baby." He pressed another short kiss to your mouth and walked off. When he was a good fifteen meters away from you, he turned around. "YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL TODAY, SUNSHINE!" he hollered. Everyone in the vicinity turned around to look at you and Luke, chuckling. Your cheeks burned and you hid your face behind your book, grumbling to yourself. "Good luck finding your sweatshirt after that, Castellan."

You crossed him on your way to training. He beamed when he saw you and jogged over, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, sunshine. Gimme a hug, yeah?" "Clingy, much?" you asked as you opened your arms for him. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. "You okay?" you questioned into his hair, one hand coming up to run through his soft curls. He nodded and lifted his head to look at you. "Just tired, is all. You?" "Yeah, I'm okay. I'll see you at capture the flag?" "You sure will, babe." He pressed a kiss to your cheek and jogged off.

Later in the afternoon came capture the flag. You always ended up on the same team because people knew it was useless to put you in opposite sides. You simply wouldn't even try to fight or stop each other.

"Y/N, what are you doing? Go after him! He's got the flag!" Your team captain growled at you, gesticulating wildly. "No." Your arms were crossed as you leaned against a tree, watching him run off after you'd basically handed him the flag you were supposed to guard. You bit back a smirk, feeling proud of him. "I can't believe this," your team captain mourned, throwing his helmet onto the ground with a clatter.

"Luke, she's getting away!" Clarisse cried out as she reached the tall child of Hermes, out of breath after having chased you through the forest. You'd slipped right under all their noses and grabbed the flag from her. Luke watched as you turned around, a rare smile playing at your lips as you raised the flag in victory, laughing loudly. "Goddammit," Luke groaned, running a hand over his face, "that smile." He shook his head, a lovesick look in his eyes. Clarisse cursed loudly. "YOU GET 'EM, BABY!" Luke yelled before you were out of earshot. You flashed him a brilliant smile and he swore that he could have died right there and then and been happy. Clarisse stomped her foot, positively fuming as she cursed Luke out.

You had both been stationed strategically by Annabeth. You were near the river, supposed to stop anyone on the other team from crossing. Luke rested his head on your shoulder, stifling a yawn. "I'm tired," he all but whined, rubbing his eyes. "I'm tired," you repeated in a mocking voice. He pulled away from your shoulder, faking an offended look. "Are you making of fun of me? How dare you? Your chivalrous boyfriend, exhausted from the trials and tribulations of his hard life as a half-blood and you-" "Oh, shut up." You pulled him closer by the leather straps of his armour, pressing your lips against his. He effectively stopped talking, pulling you closer to him by the hips as he kissed you deeply. You tilted your head to the side and parted your lips, tangling a hand in his hair. He let out a small groan and went to deepen the kiss when you were interrupted.

"YO! LOVEBIRDS!" a voice called loudly, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. You pulled away from Luke with a groan, turning around to find a member of the opposite team holding your flag bolting towards you at full speed, followed closely by a boy on your team. You stuck your leg out, effectively tripping the boy on the other team. He fell harshly onto the ground with a groan and you pulled out sword, pointing it at his neck. He cursed and dropped the flag onto the ground. You looked at the boy from your team, who was doubled-over, catching his breath. "Yes?" you deadpanned. You heard Luke laughing behind you and cracked a small smile.

That night, after dinner, you accompanied Luke to his cabin. He swung your intertwined hands back and forth as you walked. "How come you were so tired today?" you asked softly, turning away from the sunset to look up at Luke. He shrugged, not giving you an explanation. "How're you sleeping?" "Not much," he confessed quietly. "I go to bed and I just lie awake. And when I do finally fall asleep, I get them, y'know, nightmares." Your heart ached for him and you squeezed his hand. Every half-blood dealt with nightmares and sleeping problems, but some more than others. Luke had it the worst. He didn't like talking about it either and you were often forced to overlook and keep your mouth shut about the dark circles under his eyes for the sake of preventing an argument. When you reached his cabin, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Sleep well." "Thank you, baby. You too. And thanks for walking me back." He kissed you once more before letting go of your hand. You watched him enter his cabin, your stomach churning at the thought of him spending another sleepless night.

That night, you who couldn't sleep. Thoughts of Luke, his insomnia, his nightmares and more clouded your mind. You twisted and turned for hours before finally getting fed up. You got up, rubbing your eyes and steadying yourself on the wall as you put your shoes on. You quietly exited your cabin and made your way to the Hermes one. The door was open halfway, as it often was. So many people sleeping in the same room left quite a disgusting smell if the air didn't circulate. You slipped inside without a sound and headed for Luke's bed. It was a trip you'd made many times before and you knew exactly that he was the on the left bottom bunk four beds away from the front door. It was dark and you couldn't see if he was sleeping or not. You started taking off your shoes, not making a sound.

"Sunshine?" he asked, his voice gravelly, as he sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his hips. "I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking 'bout you not being able to sleep, so I thought I'd come over and we'd help each other out." Your voice was quiet as you spoke and you pulled the sleeves of the sweatshirt you wore over your hands. You shuffled on your feet next to his bed. "That's actually really sweet, sunshine," he cooed before lifting the covers and scooting to the side. He knew he always slept better with you by his side but had never asked you before. He didn't want to be a burden. "C'mon, pretty girl, get in."

You didn't have to be told twice before you slipped under the covers and slotted yourself comfortably against him. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your cheek. His warmth and the weight of his arms comforted you immediately and you could feel sleep already weighing on your eyelids. "Good night, sunshine." "Good night, Luke."

You were just drifting off to sleep when a few minutes later he spoke again. "Is that my sweatshirt?" You froze, suddenly wide awake. You didn't say anything for a few seconds before answering. "No...?"

[scoobysnakz]

loser miguel who starts to normalize his perverse thoughts because, if he’s thinking nice sweet things, surely they balance out?

he can imagine your plump ass bouncing on his cock as much as he wants, as long as he pictures himself cooking you a romantic meal right after, it’s fine.

loser miguel who can finally start accepting your hugs again. and thank god for that, he thought he was going to combust without your warm embrace. he had gotten so used to not getting them again, that his cock immediately stiffened the first time around, leaving him a blushing mess when you made another joke about his keys.

loser miguel who starts outwardly asking for any form of physical affection. he’s gone so long without any touch that living without your hugs leaves a burning deep inside him.

he shamelessly stands there after saying goodbye, arms outstretched, waiting for you to run over to him and press your smaller frame against him as you bury your head against his chest, forcing you to get dizzy from his cologne.

loser miguel who puts on a show of being embarrassed whenever someone says your his work wife, or simply more than the best friends everyone at the workplace has come to know you as.

they all know you’re a very touchy feely person, but you’re extra clingy with miguel, and he doesn’t mind a bit.

loser miguel who is over the moon when you want to repay him for walking you to your train the other night.

he has a few ideas in mind, you sprawled out on the sofa with his thick fingers burried in your leaky cunt while stares up at your perfect face with those soft, brown eyes of his. his cock sliding against your slick folds as you beg and whine for more doesn’t sound too bad either, if you aren’t down for him ravaging your clit.

loser miguel who has to make do with you buying him lunch one day because you insisted on something other than the ‘quality time’ he proposed. he was too busy forcing himself not to ogle at your face when he suggested it, to even notice the way your gaze softens at his kind offer, or the flicker of hope in your eyes when he smiles awkwardly at you.

loser miguel who’s too self conscious for his own good. he’s been told countless times how easy it would be for him to walk into any bar and have anyone come home with him.

there’s always plenty of girls who throw themselves at him, the waitresses who tell him when their shift ends, the delivery drivers who offer to settle for a different payment, the women he works with offering to stay behind with him to work on different projects. and maybe if he wasn’t so oblivious he would have said yes at some point, too fed up of his palm and whatever fucked up porn he can find to resist the rush of arousal that hits him whenever he sees a pair of tits.

but that was before he’d met you, it’s different. sophia vergara herself could get down on her knees for him and he would deny her. she doesn’t have your smile, your charisma, you cheery laugh, your perky ass, your soft, homely scent that lingers on everything you touch , no one does.

loser miguel who has to excuse himself from the project meeting because he can’t hide his erection, no matter how many times he changes position.

much to his dismay, the toilets are full and your hand placed lazily on his thigh as you idly fidget with his fingers has left him with an achingly hard cock. so he has to hobble down the, thankfully, barren hallways, cock so hard it hurts to walk.

he pulls himself into the lab, door locked firmly behind him as he pushes himself into the corner. hastily, his hands reach for his belt buckle, fingers fumbling with the urgency that shoots through his veins.

a low, shaky groan escapes him as he finally wraps him clammy palm around his cock, precum already spilling everywhere. he starts of with soft, gentle strokes, hoping that it’ll be enough to get him off but all he can think about is the way you leaned into him as the two of you walked into the conference room this morning.

his deep brown eyes scan the lab lazily until they land on your lab coat. in a moment of desperation, he grabs it and brings it up to his nose, cock instantly growing harder as your scent takes over his senses.

his hand moves faster now, more deliberate and hungry strokes that cause his hips to stutter and countless prayers of your name to fall from his lips.

“migs?” for a second he thinks he’s gone insane. he’s started hearing your voice, feeling your warmth, the sweetness of the air around you, when he knows damn well your in that meeting.

“migs, you okay?” you call out again, concern clear in your shaky tone, “the lab was locked but i couldn’t find you anywhere else.”

fuck

you’re in here. but he’s so close and if you keep standing in that exact position he can see your ass without you even knowing he’s there.

“there you are! i was so worried when you rushed out of that meeting,” you ramble, finally turning the corner, only to be met with the sight of miguel’s head rolled back and leaky cock on show with… is that your lab coat?

“fuck! i’m so sorry,” you yell, hands flying up to cover your reddened face.

“ay coño,” he husks, still pumping at his cock, too close to stop now.

you try to back away but those gentle, mahogany eyes you love so much are glowing a fierce red, drawing you in closer to miguel and his burning desire for you.

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[tender-rosiey]

Since your requests are open I'll help myself 😋 Gojo's wife starts to have morning sicknesses, so she suspects that she's pregnant. She takes a test and finds out that she actually is pregnant. Would u please write gojo's reaction when his wife tells his that he's gonna be a daddy? 🥺💕 thanks you, please feed us with your delicious writing!!!

Also if you're not feeling well then please ignore this. Take care! Mwah^•^♡

weight — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I hope you like this, luv 🥺💕 thank you so much for your kind words and take care of yourself as well! many kisses and hugs 🫶

“shoko, I need a place to hide!” you say, bursting into the infirmary. you take the small moment of shock that shoko is in to take a much needed breath.

“what did you do this time?”

you wordlessly raise the pregnancy test with slightly shaky hands and upon seeing it, shoko drops the poor sandwich she was eating. you close the door behind you before sitting down next her.

she smiles, “nice, I am going to be an aunt,” then she looks at you confused, “why are you hiding though?”

“I need time to figure out how I will tell him or more like—“ you look at the ceiling, “face him. he will probably figure everything out with his six eyes, but I don’t know how he will react,” you wrap your arms around yourself and shoko sighs.

“you guys didn’t talk about it yet?” she stands up and goes to get you a warm drink.

you gently rock yourself, “satoru already…has so much on his shoulders,” you bury your face in your arms, “I don’t want to add to that.”

she places the mug in front of you, “you do know that he got into this relationship willingly, right? you didn’t hold him at gunpoint or anything…or did you?”

you lightly punch her shoulders, but you take the mug, muttering a small thanks, “if anyone was held at gunpoint then it would be me.”

shoko chuckles and pats your head, “you need to be able to face him, y/n. he will find out anyway, and personally, I think you should have faith in his reaction more than that,” you lock eyes, “you know him more than anyone else, after all.”

your gaze falls to your drink. its surface is so still until you softly blow and it ripples, calm the chaos.

what if you don’t know satoru as much as you thought? what if having a kid will scare him away?  as the strongest, your husband has so much on his mind 24/7. will he be able to handle a baby as well?

while a part of you tells you that your husband is no coward nor is he so fragile, the other can’t help but think that perhaps this love story of 12 years will reach its end, a very tragic end even.

with the creation of a new life, ends a lifetime of feelings and events.

you snap out of your thoughts when you notice shoko shooing you into the closet room.

you hear the door open and you have a guess who it is. he makes himself known anyway, “shoko,  have you seen y/n?”

shoko quirks an eyebrow and gojo huffs, “okay, fine, I know she is here, but is she mad at me? did I do something?”

you have a feeling that he is looking directly at your eyes even through the closet’s door as he speaks, “y/n, I will take you out anywhere. I don’t know what I did, but let me make it up to you. I hate when you’re upset with me, sweets.”

he is frowning lightly as he stares at the closet with hope. shoko sighs before walking out of the room, but not without patting his shoulder.

the door closes and satoru speaks up again, “can you please come out so we can at least talk about it?”

he hears your sigh and beams when you finally get out of the room, “there is my pretty girl.”

he has a flower bouquet in hand and he is looking at you so intently, but you don’t think he noticed the life growing inside of you now. he is far too focused on making you forgive him for whatever he did. you take a deep breath and look him in the eyes.

your hand moves and finally rests on your stomach.

his brows furrow lightly before his eyes widen. satoru’s breath hitches just like it did during your wedding. he places the bouquet aside before looking quickly between your eyes and stomach, “you are…”

you grip your own hands, nodding. tears start forming in your eyes till they finally fall and cries are what he sees now. your knees give out on you and you fall to the ground, now sobbing.

you are looking at the ground as you cry and hug yourself tighter, bracing yourself for whatever is coming.

satoru, almost instantly, finds himself on his knees in front of you.

his arms, like it’s second nature, pull you close into a warm and secure hug, “hey, hey,” he pats your back, a little clumsily, “if you don’t want it then it’s fine. you know I care about you the most,” his voice shakes a bit, “don’t cry please, you’re breaking my heart—“

“I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry,” you repeat a mantra of the same phrase as you pull him even closer. satoru cups your face and the moment you’re met with the pair of blue eyes you love so much, you break down more, “I know you—probably don’t want it but—“

he tilts his head, utterly confused and maybe even offended, “what are you talking about? of course, I want it!”

the room is silent for a moment as you process what he says. it’s like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. you let out a shaky breath as you look down at your hands.

satoru rests his forehead on your own. his voice is soft and barely above a whisper as he speaks, “it’s our baby.”

the content smile on his face is almost unreal, “why in the world would you think that I wouldn’t want it anyway?” and somehow the pout on his face assures you even more.

your arms wrap themselves around his torso and you rest your head on his shoulder, “it’s just—I thought it would be burdening you with yet another responsibility. you have the world on top of your shoulders. how am I better than anyone if I weigh down even if it’s a different type of weight.”

“is it a weight for you?” he asks, voice hushed.

“of course not! I want—“ you answer immediately.

“there is your answer,” he chuckles and you look at his face once again.

you notice that he is tearing up. your satoru is tearing up, and the blindfold isn’t there to hide it nor are the glasses.

his eyes never leave yours as he says, with no waver on his voice, “I would pick you over everything else, every single time and in every single universe, silly girl.”

“you should know that already,” he flicks your forehead but the smile never leaves his face.

a soft laugh tumbles out of his lips as he pulls you in for a big bear hug, his form completely engulfing your own.

he fills tears stain his shirt, but he can only focus on your smile he feels on his skin and the fact that he voice out loud, “I will be a dad,” he sighs with contentment.

“and it’s all because of you,” he raises your face and nuzzles your noses together making you giggle, “we're going to be parents, you sweet pretty thing.”

satoru’s lips find themselves on your own in one very sweet and loving kiss. it’s soft, light, and gentle. yet it conveys all the words that he can’t get out at the moment.

when you pull away slightly, he quickly pulls you back for another, “I love you so much.”

he places a hand on your stomach, “and you too.”

“but don’t think I will share mama with you,” he sticks his tongue out at it, “she is mine!”

the baby is not even out of the womb, and yet he is already bickering with it.

you laugh and your chest feel so light. you kiss his cheek and his pout turns into a grin almost immediately. you hum, “infinity and beyond?”

his hand holds your own and he caresses your ring, “infinity and beyond.”

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[obsesssedblerd]

"Who's your new teacher?" (Part 3)

Synopsis: Toji takes Megumi to his doctor's appointment, and you, his teacher, hunt for a gift to give him.

Pairing: single dad! toji x f! reader

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, protective toji, protective tsumiki, megumi being scared of doctors, mentions of shiu kong, everyone is happy bc i said so

part one here, part two here

a/n: here's part three! barely proofread. sorry for mistakes.

update: pt. 4 here

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

Though Megumi said that he would be brave, Toji Fushiguro knew his baby all too well. In the waiting room of the doctor’s office, Megumi sat stiffly beside him, clinging his dog plushie way too tight—an obvious sign that he was scared. Toji’s heart aches within his chest, and once he finishes filling out the paperwork for him, he sets the clipboard aside and pulls the small boy onto his lap. “Megs, it’s okay, I promise. We won’t be here long, alright? No scary shots.”

His eyes fill with tears, and he buries his face into Toji’s shirt with a distressed whine. Tsumiki—who was sitting next to Shiu and playing a game on his phone to pass the time—immediately lifts her head once her ears register the sound of her little brother crying, and she hands Shiu his phone back before coming to stand in front of the two of them. Toji moves an arm so she can inch her way closer to Megumi.

“Don’t worry, Gumi, we’re here,” she coos softly as she wraps an arm around Megumi’s free side, so he was being comforted by her and Toji at the same time. “Me and Papa won’t leave you alone, okay? We’re right here. You can hold my hand the entire time.” 

A middle-aged man sitting across from them sighs loudly in annoyance, and Toji looks up in time to see him rolling his eyes at Megumi’s little sniffles. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, boys don’t cry.”

The concern that Toji feels for his son is immediately replaced with sheer rage, his blood boiling as he squeezes his hand into a tight fist. He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but his seven year-old daughter beats him to it. Tsumiki whirls around angrily, meeting the asshole’s stare head on. “Nobody asked you, stupid head!!” She yells.

The man’s eyes go wide, the receptionist at the front desk gasps, and a few of the other patients in the waiting room either stifle a laugh or turn the other direction. The man looks at Toji, as if expecting him to intervene on his behalf and correct his daughter. Instead, he pats Tsumiki’s shoulder and stares at him with a small smirk. “You heard her,” he tells him, his voice dark with warning. “Stupid head.” 

He must’ve seen the utter violence in Toji’s eyes, because he chooses not to say anything else. Toji looks over to see Shiu giving Tsumiki a high-five. Then, Toji gives her shoulder a small, loving squeeze. “That’s my girl.” 

To his relief, Megumi—who had watched the exchange silently—had finished crying and was a little bit calmer. Though he’s done crying, Toji’s little blessing decides to remain in his lap, smiling up at his sister when she turns back around to hug him some more. He notices Megumi taking slower breaths, and holding up his little fingers to count the seconds as they go by. 

As he silently counts to himself, a memory from three weeks ago floods Toji’s mind. You, sitting on the ground next to Megumi, explaining a good tactic to calm himself down after crying and experiencing stress for too long. “Breathe in for four seconds,” you explained in a soft voice, holding up your fingers in front of him to count. “Then you’re going to hold for seven seconds, and finally, breathe out slowly to last eight seconds.” 

Now that he’s thinking of you, Toji smiles, wondering if it would be awkward or not to send you a message after Megumi’s appointment. Just what did you like to do after work?

—

“...What?!” You shout into the phone, your heart pounding as you pace back and forth in your living room. 

“Uh, sorry,” the store clerk on the other line says, gulping nervously around their words. “We’re unable to put this item on hold for you.” 

Your head is spinning. You think you’re about to throw up. Your eyes drift back to your laptop which displays the email announcing the special, limited edition of the dog plushie Megumi has—a bright white one, matching the dark-colored one that he kept with him all of the time. 

You subscribed to the brand’s website around a month ago, and had been keeping an eye out for it to drop so you could get one for him. Since it dropped this afternoon shortly after all of your students had gone home, you immediately knew that it would be the perfect gift after his doctor’s appointment. For the last three hours, you had been calling store after store, only to be met with disappointment when customer service revealed that they were completely sold out. It was a popular plushie, after all. You finally found a store that had the plushie in stock, but—

“How come you can’t put it on hold?!” You exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of something like this before!” 

“Um, well, since the plushie is a special edition item, they can’t be ordered from the store or put on hold, just so everyone has a chance to get one. It has to be fair.” 

You’re shoving your shoes on, using your shoulder to hold the phone to your ear as you grab your keys and purse. “Okay, how many are left?” 

“I believe just one. They sold out super fast today.” 

You didn’t care what had to happen. You were getting that damn plushie for Megumi. 

—

You thank every deity that you didn’t get pulled over, and that you didn’t get into an accident. You pull into the store’s parking lot, run out of your car, skip the cart, and go straight towards the toy section. The store is busy this evening, and that worries you. You hope that you’re not too late. When you reach the aisle where the plushie is supposed to be located, you skillfully maneuver your way through the crowd of parents and kids. You are a teacher, after all. 

You see the stand where the special edition plushie is supposed to be, and your heart sinks when you see that it’s completely empty. You groan as you walk down the next aisle of toys away from the crowd, reaching into your purse to grab your phone. Maybe there’s another store nearby, or even about thirty minutes away with at least three of them in stock. Maybe—

A brightly-colored package barely sticking out from underneath the rest of the stuffed animals in a large bin gets your attention. You shove your phone back into your purse, then dig into the bin, pulling out stuffed animal after stuffed animal until you reach it. You gasp, then pull out the last special edition dog plushie. Luckily for you, it’s not damaged. You squeal in victory, already excitedly imagining what little Megumi’s reaction is going to be like once you deliver it to him tomorrow. You check the price of it, and wince. Definitely a special item. You’re definitely going to have to dip into your savings account. 

It doesn’t matter. The smile on Gumi's face will be worth it. You know that much. 

As you’re transferring money from your savings account to your checking account, you hear footsteps approach the aisle you’re standing in. “Shiu, I’m telling ya, it’s supposed to be here, but it isn’t. You sure you called the right store? I swear, this shit-” You look up to see Toji, who comes to a complete stop once he sees you, his eyes widening in shock. 

Oh. 

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

tags: @abadbitchblogs @koriisworld @queendessi24 @chosoyukisgf @blubearxy @starmapz @atomictrashcreator @levixbby @jjknanamin @roxytheimmortal @eternallyvenus @jup1tersuccubus

sorry if I missed anyone! I went based on the replies in the previous part. if you would like to be tagged for part 4, kindly let me know in the replies! this includes those who have been tagged previously! <3