The Curls Are Trying Their Best To Prove They Exist, But Shut Up, They Do.

im such a whore for nerdy smart polite boys, likes yess pls talk to me like were in a Shakespeare play and mansplain everything to me omg and pls pls pls call everything bu their correct name😍

no

window pains | jason todd

Summary: He's got a habit of coming in through the window. You want him to start staying... and using the door. 

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: injured Jason Todd (he's okay dw), angst, pining, mentions of Jason's death.

A/N: sooo.... i guess i'm a dc girlie now. just a reminder that every character i write will always be 18+!!! this is probably canon divergent but we make our own canon.

If you like this fic and want to see more, please let me know through reblogs ♡

the divider

"Can't you enter my apartment like a normal person?"

"You know who you're talking to, right?"

"You're getting blood on my carpet, Todd."

It doesn't really matter. He'll come back and scrub it out as soon as his ribs are whole. And fuck if he's not good at getting blood out of surfaces. Jason Todd ought to start a housekeeping column. 

You catch his limp as he climbs over the windowsill. It almost topples him, but he gets to the couch before it does. He doesn't make a sound. 

That had freaked you out the first few times he'd stumbled through your window. Once, he came with part of a windshield wiper impaled in his shoulder. He'd lain on your couch so still and so quiet, you'd thought Red Hood had croaked in your apartment. Which would not have been a good look for you. Or maybe it would. Depends on who you ask. 

Sometimes you want to tell him to make sounds. To hiss and grunt and complain. To grab your wrist so you'll slow down as you pull thread through flesh. 

But it's not your place to request such a thing. You don't know where you reside in Jason Todd's life, but it's not somewhere where you can request to hear him hurt. 

Outwardly, his injuries aren't bad-looking. He takes off his helmet and tosses it somewhere under the coffee table. You offer a hand to help him lie down on the couch—he doesn't take it. 

"Jesus Christ, Jay." You suck in a sharp breath and peel back his bloody suit. "What'd you do?"

"Took a midnight stroll in the Botanical Gardens. Why, what'd you do?"

You frown, eyebrows pinching in the center of your forehead. Jason's stomach is mottled with purple and red bruises. There's a sticky gash right above his hip. A knife. Or a sword, maybe. Apparently, swords are commonplace in Gotham. 

"How'd they get you?" you ask. 

It's a rule-break. Jason's number one policy: don't ask questions.

You always do. Even when it was new, this… thing between you two, you'd ask. Who were they? Why did they hurt you? Did you hurt them back?

The last one, you always know the answer to. 

"There were, like, ten of them," he says. "Cut me some slack, will ya?" 

He has a cut across his lips. A ringed finger that caught on his skin, you guess. You wonder if he'd wince if you kissed him. If he'd wince at the pain or the kiss itself. If you'd know the difference. 

Rage suddenly cuts through you. It makes your hands careless, cruel; you pull the bandage around his waist too tight. Jason coils up slightly. 

"Jesus—ever heard of bedside manner?" he asks, looking at you through his lashes. 

"Ever heard of not breaking into someone's apartment and making them patch you up?"

"I don't make you," Jason says easily. "You wouldn't do it if you didn't want to."

That only increases your rage. Because he's right. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be. You'd have kicked him out four first aid kits ago if you minded. 

You yank down his shirt and pack up the kit. Jason shifts on the couch. A sliver of skin above his waistband is still exposed. You have to turn your head to force your gaze away. 

"No bandaids?" he asks. "All my cuts'll be exposed to the elements."

"You can put them on yourself." 

His cheek could use one. And his eyebrow. You're not in the mood. 

Jason doesn't say anything in response to that. You get up to put the kit back under the sink. 

"Can I crash here?" 

"Do what you want," you say, suddenly exhausted. Like it's you who just went six rounds with Gotham's scumbags.

You peek over the kitchen counter when you hear rustling and the couch springs squeak. Jason leans heavily on the arm of the couch, reaching for the window. You walk over and stand in front of him. 

"What're you doing?" you ask. 

"You want me to go," he says flatly. "So I'm going."

"I didn't say that, I said—"

"I can read between the lines." 

"If you could read between the lines as well as you think you can, we wouldn't be in this situation," you say. 

"What situation?"

You turn your head. "Nothing."

Jason steps towards the window. You block him again. 

"What is the matter with you?" you ask. "You're injured. Lie down."

"I'm not your responsibility," he says, glaring. "I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. And since you're allergic to using the door, you don't have a choice."

Jason's eyebrow rises. "Are you saying you'd physically prevent me from leaving?"

You lift your chin. "If that's what it takes."

"Hm. Can't tell if your confidence is stupid or brave."

"Lie the fuck down, Todd."

His lip curls. "I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

Sometimes you forget how young he is. Not that you're not also young, but, well… you don't feel your youth as acutely as other people your age might. It's something you two have in common. 

Here, in the gritty glow of Gotham, you are reminded that Jason Todd died once. Before he finished school. Before he fell in love. 

Your stomach churns every time you see that Y-shaped scar on his torso, strapped over him like a chain. 

"I didn't say that you're not welcome," you say. 

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to."

He sags against the couch and it occurs to you that he's as exhausted as you feel. 

"Can you just—" You touch his bicep. He winces even though there's no injury there. "Can you just lie down?" 

You stare at each other for another minute. Slowly, Jason lays down. His eyes are alert instead of heavy with sleep. Instantly, you feel guilty for making him think he has to be cautious around you. His hand curls protectively over his stomach. 

"Do you want a blanket?" you ask. 

He squints. "It's August."

"I know, I… I thought maybe the blood loss made you cold." 

"'M fine. Perks of being risen from the dead." 

You watch him get settled for a minute. He shifts his weight to his uninjured side and meets your gaze. His eyes are gray in the weak light. 

"You're tired of me," he says. 

Your head snaps up. "No, I'm not."  

"You are."

"I'm not tired of you, Jay."

You see it. The fear. He thinks this is the last time you'll let him in. He doesn't know you can't lock him out. You won't. 

You get up and go to get the kit from the sink again. Jason follows your movement the whole time. His face scrunches in confusion when you sit in front of the couch and unzip the kit. 

You pull out the tiny red bandaids. You'd bought them as a joke, initially. It had made Jason laugh and that had been reason enough to keep buying them. And then he let you actually put them on.

You peel the adhesive off of one and gently stick it on his cheek. He blinks at you, thick, dark lashes kissing the corners of his eyes. 

"I'm not tired of you," you say softly. 

"I'd be tired of me." 

"You keep this city safe. How could I be tired of Gotham's defender?"

Jason scowls and turns his head into the cushion before you can put the second bandaid.  

"I'm not its defender. The others protect this city a hundred times better. Nightwing does it with a smile on his face."

"I like that you go out there even when it's hard, Jay," you say. 

He doesn't respond. You lean in, so close that you can count the freckles on his neck. 

"Can I finish putting the bandaids on?" you ask. 

"I don't need 'em."

"You do. You need another on your forehead."

"It'll heal fine without it."

Your shoulders bunch like a cat on defense. You grab his cheek (gently, always gently) and his head whips to yours in surprise. 

"Jason Todd, I am not tired of you. I'm tired of the fact that you only come by when you need fixing."

He scowls. "I never asked you to fix me. If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

"I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay!" you burst. 

Jason scoffs. "No, you don’t. I'll overstay my welcome real fast."

"Maybe I care about you on purpose!" you say, voice rising. "Maybe I didn't stumble through a window; maybe I walked through the door and bought the bandaids and learned how to stitch wounds because I wanted to."

He suddenly looks overcome by grief. The agony in his face startles you. 

"I don't know how to use the door anymore," he says quietly. "All I do is stumble through windows."

Your hand slips off of his cheek. Jason closes his eyes; they fly open when you stick the second bandaid above his eyebrow. 

"You can come in any way you want to," you say, face an inch away from his. "As long as you come back to me."

His gaze darts to your mouth. You don't kiss him hard. He breaks anyway.

You avoid the right side of his mouth entirely, not wanting to pull at his cut. Jason shudders into your mouth. You cup his pulse through his neck and it quickens.

His eyes are wet when you pull away. His chest heaves like he's been swinging through the city. 

"I wanna try to use the door," he says. 

You touch the bandaid on his cheek, humming. 

"Then I'll leave it unlocked." 

Katsuki’s recovery process with a cheering audience 🥹

[3:47 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi

Writing side smut stories is way easier - trying hard to break out of this writer's block for the two ongoing stories.

Warning: smut, Omi is a virgin; on an Omi rush

.

Kiyoomi was not only an extreme germophobe but also an extreme rule follower.

When he injured his right wrist from a terrible fall after a last-second spike, it resulted in a fracture that required his wrist to be put in a cast.

“You need to refrain from all activities, even cleaning. You’ve put too much stress on your body and need to rest,” his primary provider instructed, aware of his extreme cleaning hobby.

He was ordered off the roster for the next six weeks before his next X-Ray appointment.

His day couldn’t get worse…

Until he got home and saw an unfamiliar face in his home.

“Who the fuck are you?”

She cocked her head and raised a brow, “I am your temporary cook and cleaner, Mr. Sakusa.” She reminded him that his cook and cleaner, Mrs. Kikuchi is on vacation for the next eight weeks and she is the temporary replacement.

“Oh,” he uttered, remembering that he was going to have a new person filling in. “Sorry, I had a rough day… can you get me something to eat?”

The frown on this person’s face shifted into a smile, “absolutely, what would you like?”

“An omelet, light on the salt and make the egg slightly runny.” He is suddenly reminded of how it took Mrs. Kikuchi weeks before finally getting his request right. Kiyoomi prepared himself for an overly-cooked omelet.

Five minutes later, his eyes widened at the pretty omelet before him. That was cooked perfectly, just like how he wanted it.

He eyed her suspiciously, not knowing why, before taking a bite.

He groaned.

Groaned.

Fuck, this is delicious! He thought, devouring more of his meal.

He struggled to eat with his non-dominant hand but was too hungry to care.

“Would you like for me to cut your omelet for you?”

Kiyoomi blinked, shocked at her question before answering, “y – yes, if you can?”

Y/n nodded and reached to cut his food for him.

His eyes dart between his food and this woman he’s only known for twenty minutes. He can’t remember the last time he had his food cut up for him and can’t figure out why he was feeling hard from the simple non-intimate gesture.

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“Can I get you anything for you to drink?” Y/n asked with a smile that had a hint of satisfaction behind it.

His heart rate increased at her smile, and he stuttered, “o – orange juice, please.”

.

This woman was maddening.

Not only did she turn him on and made him horny almost 24/7. She also made him frustrated because she wanted to go out after her shift.

“It’s raining.” He argued, gesturing to the window blurred by the heavy downpour. “It’s too dangerous to go out.”

She called his name, his fucken weakness, and prayed she doesn’t look south cause he felt his cock twitch to life.

“It’s just raining, I’m just going out for my friend’s birthday and I’ll be back.”

After two days, Y/n was staying in his home, with him, in the guest room.

Unlike Mrs. Kikuchi, who came to his house every morning for her shift, Y/n stayed with him since he was going to be home for six weeks for recovery. He calmly, yet desperately begged her to stay with him, giving her the excuse that he’d need her more since he would be home more frequently.

Kiyoomi went as far as making a mess and dirtying himself and his home for Y/n to take care of, just to have her in his presence.

“Yes, I’m aware it is raining, Y/n, and it’s not safe to go out.” He blocked her in with his left arm. “If – if something happens to you…” I wouldn’t know what to do, “I’ll – I’ll go hungry…”

Her mouth curved into a smirk, “Sakusa Kiyoomi, are you only using me for my cooking skills?”

I want to use you and let you use me in anyway way possible, he wanted to answer. Sexually.

“No…” he breathed, his breath heavy. “I just don’t want you to go,” he answered honestly.

Y/n’s fingers touch the bottom of his shirt before lightly trailing up his chest. “Your actions… some might think… you are implying something…”

“Like?” He whispered.

Her fingers suddenly gripped the collar of his shirt and tugged him forward until their lips were mere centimeters apart. “That you want me.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes glance between her eyes and lips and suddenly the anxiety of her leaving him disappeared and replaced with confidence. And horniness. “I do.” He breathed against her lips, “I want you, Y/n. Fucken badly.”

“I can tell, I can feel you.” His bulge was pressing against her belly.

Y/n pressed her lips lightly against his in a soft kiss, to gage out his reaction.

Like a starved and hungry man, he lunged at her, his left hand pressed behind the back of her head as his lips eagerly moved against hers.

Her hands rested at his waist and Kiyoomi groaned, he was ticklish and it felt weird to have someone hold his waist. But he loved it. Only Y/n’s touch. She pulled him against her until he sandwiched her against his kitchen wall.

“Fuck, your lips… taste so good,” he murmured, “I wonder how your other lips… will taste…”

She burst out laughing, her arms wrapping around his waist. “Kiyoomi… you never fail to amuse me.”

He wasn’t sure if her comment was sarcastic or not, but he didn’t care.

“Please,” he begged, just begging for anything.

She looked up at him, his dark eyes pleading also. “You want to taste my other lips?”

“I want to taste all of you.” He knocked his forehead against hers, “don’t go, stay with me. So I can please you.”

Y/n groaned, “how can I say no?”

“Say yes that you’ll stay with me, you won’t regret it.” He pulled her to his living room and forced her to take a seat on his expensive couch. He manhandled her until she was bare and naked in front of him, and he kneeled before her with her legs spread wide.

Y/n can sense the hesitation from him. “Second thoughts?” she half teased and was half serious. If he was regretting it, goodness, it would be an embarrassment for them both.

Kiyoomi shook his head, eyes set on the sight of her bare pussy before him. “I…” he choked, “I… actually haven’t done this before.”

Y/n’s eyes widen, “what?”

His tongue slips out to moisten his lips before biting down on his lower lip, looking slightly guilty. “I’ve never… actually… seen a naked woman before…”  Y/n’s surprised look made him blurt out suddenly, “I’m actually… a virgin still.”

“Oh…” her voice emphasized on the word. “I would… have never guessed that.” When he looked disappointed, she quickly added, “I don’t mean it in a bad way!” she corrected. Y/n sat up and cupped his face, “Kiyoomi, you are gorgeous. Don’t think I haven’t seen you prancing around shirtless with your sweatpants hanging off your fucken hips. I would never have thought you were still a virgin.” His eyes stare deeply into hers and she’s unsure he got her message. “Being a virgin is okay, there’s nothing to be ashamed about it.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “We don’t… have to do this… please don’t feel pressured to do this.”

He shook his head, pulling away from her gasp and looking into her eyes with determination. “Teach me how to please you, teach me how you want to be pleased… I’ll do it. I’ll learn…”

“Kiyoomi, how did you take care of yourself all this time? I’m sure… you had times when you needed some relief… right?”

His cheeks flushed, before he muttered, “don’t laugh, okay…” when she nodded he answered, “I get off with a sex doll.” He waited for her to laugh at him, to embarrass him.

But she never does.

He peers up at her, not realizing he looked away.  

She looked at him with sincerity and caution, “are you sure, positively sure you want to do this?”

He nods.

Y/n let out a shaky breath and leaned back, widening her legs. She used her hand and spread her pussy lips, “see how I’m wet here?” Kiyoomi nodded. “You want to arouse me, get me wet like this, which… you did.”

“I did? How?” He looked up at her like a schoolboy genuinely curious.

“By begging me to stay in tonight, it was fucken hot,” she smiled brightly and then tapped her finger against her clit, “this is the –“

“Clit,” Kiyoomi answered in a whisper.

“Correct,” She relaxed against the couch, “now, touch me, you can graze your fingers against my pussy until you’re comfortable.”

His fingers glide against her pussy, coating his fingers. He pressed this finger pad against her clit, circling it. “I’ve seen… porn where… they do this… do you… like it?”

Y/n hummed. “When you’re ready, you can put a finger inside me.”

Kiyoomi gently inserted a finger and glanced up at Y/n who grimaced, watching his finger slowly disappearing more into her hole. “Am I hurting you?”

She shook her head, “no… feels good.” When his finger was knuckle deep, Y/n instructed him, “you can move your finger in and out if you’re ready.”

He does as he is told, pumping his finger gently in and out of her.

“When you are comfortable… you can add another finger.”

And he does, his forefinger and middle finger are both pumping in and out of her.

“You feel so… soft… and warm…”

Y/n’s hand gripped her knees, keeping her legs spread wide for him. She felt her eyes rolling back at just the feeling of his two fingers and she wanted more. “You’re not so bad yourself…” she murmurs.

She was becoming wetter by the second as he fingered her.

“Can you… take three fingers?” he asked cautiously.

Y/n opened her eyes, “if you want?”

He nodded eagerly and Y/n smiled, giving him the green light.

Kiyoomi inserts three fingers, quickening his pace. “Can… I also use my mouth?”

Y//n tensed, “I haven’t showered yet.”

“So?” he questioned.

“You’re not grossed?”

“With you, no?”

“If you want to.”

“I do,” he smiles before giving kitten licks to her clit.

Her back arched against the couch at the contact of his hot tongue. Seeing her reaction, Kiyoomi shifted his mouth and suckled the little nub hard until Y/n was wreathing against him.

He’s seen how men do it in porn videos and mimic it.

“God, Kiyoomi!” Y/n shouted.

Her pussy began tightening around his three fingers and he lift his mouth, “are you… close?”

She nodded, her cheeks flushed. “Yes… make me cum with your mouth and fingers.”

His eyes remained connected with hers as he suckled her clit and continued to pump his fingers.

“Am I doing a good job?”

“Yes! Yes, Kiyoomi… so good… so good for me.” She gripped his hair, “faster, I’m so close…”

Aiming to please, Kiyoomi brings out her orgasm. She shudders against his fingers and mouth and aside from volleyball and cleaning, he has never felt such satisfaction before.

When Y/n comes down from her high, Kiyoomi gently slips his fingers out and notices her wince.

“It’s okay… just your fingers filled me fully and I feel empty now.” She assures with a smile. She sat up and saw the mess she’d made on his leather couch. She looked at his crotch, he was hard against his jeans. “Should we… take care of that?” She nods at his bulge.

Kiyoomi’s cheeks blushed. “We don’t have to…”

“I want to, but I want you to want it too.” Y/n said sternly.

He nods, “God, I feel so silly.”

Y/n grabs him by his chin and gazes directly into his eyes, “not silly at all. Now, do you want to do this?”

“Yes,” he answered in a heartbeat.

Y/n smiled, “good, I’m happy to hear that. It seems like you’ve watched porn, is there a position you want to try for the first time?”

“Here,” he answered quickly, “how you just came in front of me. I want to have sex with you right here.”

“Okay,” Y/n answered, leaning back. “Take off your clothes then.”

He stripped so fast and was naked in seconds. Y/n couldn’t take her eyes off his cock that was standing proud and ready.

Kiyoomi reached for his jeans, fishing out a condom. He swiftly and smoothly slid it on and looked at Y/n, as if waiting for her permission.

Y/n was nibbling nervously at her lower lip, “I haven’t had sex in a long time but I’m ready whenever you are.”

He touched her pussy, feeling her wetness from moments ago. His eyes drop to her breasts, which he has neglected. Kiyoomi reached with both palms and fondled her breast.

A soft moan escapes her lips and Kiyoomi dips to take a perky rosy nipple into his mouth. He suckles and nips before switching to show the other side the same attention.

“The other day when you wore a low-cut shirt… it took everything in me to not push you against the fridge and suck your tits.” Kiyoomi leans forward and kisses Y/n, “let’s take it slow and easy?”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded and tensed when she felt the intrusion of his cock. She felt him pause and she exhaled, relaxing her body, slowly feeling more of him until he was fully inside her.

For a moment they savor the feeling of just being one. Kiyoomi’s body loomed over hers as her body curved against his leather couch.

“God, this feels good, so good…” he murmurs. His head drops against her shoulder. “Can I move now?”

“Yes, yes Kiyoomi.”

Hooking his arms around her body, he began thrusting his hips. His hips began moving faster by the second when he got the rhythm down. He felt Y/n’s nail dig into his shoulder blades and that encouraged him.

“Yes! Yes!” Y/n’s legs wrapped around his waist, wrapping him closer.

His thrusts were becoming so deep that it was shifting his couch, scooting back with each thrust. He unwound his arms from around her and grip the back of his couch while continuing to thrust into her. His Y/n.

Now that he had a taste of a real pussy, there was no going back.

“So good… fuck… so good,” he cooed repeatedly, pounding into her heavenly pussy. “Best pussy ever…”

Y/n looked up into his eyes, a smirk on her lips, “but it’s the only real pussy you’ve had so far?”

Kiyoomi mirrored her smirk before his left hand snaked into her ruffled hair. He gripped the roots of her hair and growled, “the only one I want.”

The smirk on her lips disappeared and he smashed his lips against hers in a hungry kiss.

.

Y/n couldn’t believe the stamina that this man had. However, given that he played professional volleyball for a living, it made sense that his endurance was exceptional.

Even with sex.

He wanted more and more.

They fucked on many surfaces, the coffee table, against his glass window, on his kitchen island…

“E – enough…” Y/n pleaded, her arms trembling as her grip around his neck was slipping from their body sweat. He currently is carrying her, his strong arms supporting her from underneath her knees, making her spread wide and at his mercy, as he bounced her on his cock while standing.

They have used condoms littered all over his place. She didn’t know where he was pulling these condoms from, like had a magic bag full of them somewhere near.

Without withdrawing, Kiyoomi walked over to his kitchen counter and set Y/n at the edge. Slowly, he pulled out and his soft cock slipped out. The tip of the condom was full of milky white cum.

That was the last condom he had.

His breath finally calmed as he gently pushed Y/n’s head back to stare down at her. “Sorry… I got… carried away.”

Her lips curve upward into a tired smile, her eyes barely open. “Yes… you did.” She gently smacked his arm, “can’t believe you were carrying me with your injured arm.”

Kiyoomi shrugged his shoulder and looked at his cast, “it didn’t hurt.”

They laughed in sync before Kiyoomi pressed his forehead against hers. “Do… do you want to spend the night in my bed? With… me?” his voice was full of anxiety, waiting for her answer.

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.” . . .

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy

sub!tate langdon with mommy!kink, where he humps on her leg like a little needy boy to make it up to her after a fight, cockwarming kinda

Sorry Mommy - Tate Langdon

CW: dry humping, baby subby tate, dom reader, cockwarming, lots of whining

Taglist/ @v-love @evanpetersfav @demxnicprxncess @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @dahmevan @charsdunkie @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud @laynna-mcknight @slimshadyvol2 @simp4petermaximoff @happyto-die

Word count: 1241

You lay with your back against your mattress, staring up at the ceiling at the fan as it spun in slow circles. You tried to take deep breaths to help distract you from the fiery rage that was building inside you. Your boyfriend Tate had disappeared after your small argument, leaving you to plummet deep into your own thoughts. Your fight spiralled after it started with you telling Tate to stop leaving his dirty clothes all over the floor.

"Do you even care?"

"No, actually, I don't,"

"I swear, you never care about anything!"

"You're not being serious right now, it's literally just fucking clothes,"

"They're all over the floor Tate! Pick them up! I can't stand the sight of our bedroom right now!"

"I'm going, this is fucking ridiculous."

It's been almost half an hour, and your anger has fizzled down to a slight pang in your chest. You spent most of the time glancing over at the door, seeing if he'd appear, with the same puppy dog eyes he always gave you when he was sorry, and he wanted your forgiveness.

You try and stifle the smile that threatened to spread across your face when Tate finally appears in the doorframe, looking down at his shoes, kicking at the floorboards, his shoelaces untied.

He doesn't move until you let out a sigh, and pat the bed beside you, motioning for him to lay down next to you. His eyes lock with yours, and you can see how glassy they are. Your heart hurts seeing him so upset.

"C'mere baby," you coo, as he finally shuffles over to the bed, laying down on his side beside you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes in your comforting scent, as you lay your hand in his soft blonde curls, combing through them.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, as he kicks off his shoes, leaving his feet in mismatched socks.

“I feel bad,” he says quietly, not daring to look at you as he sniffles into your neck.

“You just have to be tidy Tate, that’s all.” you offer the solution, but Tate continues to sulk. He’s never been able to handle your arguments well.

“I don’t like when you’re mad at me,” he grumbles, his arm wrapping around your chest, his hand resting on your opposite shoulder.

“I’m not mad anymore,” you reassure him, tilting your head to kiss his hair.

“Yes you are, I can tell,” you feel the rough fabric of his jeans from around his crotch rub against your bare thigh, “I’m sorry, mommy.”

“It’s okay baby,” you breathe out, his leg resting atop yours to get a better angle of your thigh. With his face still set in the crook of your neck, you notice his breathing picking up pace, as he begins to rock harder into your thigh.

“Is something else wrong?” You ask him, lifting his head so you could see his face. His pupils had drowned out his dark irises, his face blotchy from crying, his lips red and swollen. He looked so defeated, but the bulge building friction against your leg said otherwise.

He just lets out a soft whimper, his hand on your shoulder coming around to creep under your oversized shirt, cupping and kneading at one of your bare breasts.

“Use your words Tate,” you say more firmly, his eyes glued to your parted lips, as he lets out a small cough.

“Yeah,” he answers finally, his lips attaching to your jaw, leaving wet opened mouth kisses. Your eyes close momentarily as you let Tate use you to stimulate himself, his erection only growing bigger with every brush against your thigh.

“Take these off baby,” you reach down to unbutton his jeans, unzipping them and helping him pull them down his legs. Now only in a soft sweater, his boxers and socks, Tate lets out more whiny moans, now only a millimetre of fabric separating his sensitive, leaking cock from your smooth bare skin.

“Momma?” He asks, his lips by your ear as he whispers into it.

“Hm?” You ask him, letting out a soft sigh as he sucks on your earlobe, his fingers pinching around your hard nipple.

“Can I.. go inside? Just a little, I just wanna- I wanna feel you,” he says, blush rising onto his cheeks.

You smile at him, cupping his cheek with your hand and kissing his soft lips. He groans softly into the kiss, as your hand comes down between you to palm him through his boxers. He’s quick to prod at your mouth with his tongue. You open your mouth wider to allow his tongue to fight with yours, your kisses soppy and ringing in your ears.

You pull away, biting your lip as your thumb strokes his defined cheek bone. He looks into your eyes hopeful, and so fucking needy, trying not to furrow his eyebrows from the pleasure your hand is giving him below.

“Okay baby,” you reply, the smile on his face making your decision so much more worth it.

You pull down at his waistband, his erection finally springing free from the confines of his boxers, swollen and seeping pre-cum. The sight alone almost made your drool, before you pull down your own underwear, lifting your shirt so it’s balled around your ribcage.

You turn to your side, your bare ass now up and rubbing against Tate’s throbbing cock, begging to enter you.

“Now mommy?” He asks politely, holding his cock in his hand and stroking it softly. Your hand comes around between your bodies and takes over his, guiding it towards your entrance.

“Just a l-little- please,” Tate begs, as his tip enters between your pulsing folds, your other hand coming down to rub at your clit.

“Ohh fuck mommy,” Tate groans, as he pushes himself further inside you, stretching you out deliciously with his length.

“That’s it baby, you stay there okay?” You tell Tate, as he bottoms out inside you, his toned stomach pressed against your back.

“Feels so good, my god,” Tate whines, kissing your shoulder through your shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric.

Tate can’t help but move his hips, thrusting slowly and only a little bit in and out as small moans leave his lips. You grab his hands, bringing them around to your breasts again for him to knead.

“I’m in heaven,” Tate mumbles, “see I’m so sorry mommy, you make me feel so good, I promise I’ll be tidy.”

“Good baby,” you say, receiving a small kiss on the cheek by Tate, “Mommy’s gonna make herself cum on your cock okay?”

“Okay, please,” Tate replies, as you begin to bounce back against him slowly, feeling his fingers on your bare breast, and your own fingers circling your clit.

His needy whimpers in your ear as you contract around him and his cock twitching inside you drives you crazy, soft moans leaving your own lips as it’s your turn to use Tate for your own pleasure.

It doesn’t take you long to cum. When you did, Tate sucked on the skin of your neck, and suddenly his pace quickened inside you.

“Oh my god- Tate!” You moan, his whimpering turning to grunts as he too finishes, inside you, and refuses to leave once he’s done.

“Feels s’good mommy,” he nuzzles his head back in your neck, wrapping his arms around you, “I never wanna leave.”

A Pain Like Home - Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Back-to-back smutty fics? I've hit my stride!

Total transparency, this idea came to me while perusing a few smut prompt posts. One of the prompts literally possessed my body, and I had to get the words out as fast as possible. I conceived of the idea, wrote it, and edited it in a matter of a day and a half, which is way faster than these things usually go.

You and Tsukishima Kei broke up months ago as your life fell into a downward spiral. However, every time you go searching for home, you inexplicably end up right back in his arms.

Hope you enjoy!

Title: A Pain Like Home

Rating: Explicit

Warnings:

AFAB!Reader, Female Reader, Explicit PV Sex, fingering, m-handjob, couch sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex, chest/body shots, baby used once as pet name, ANGST, ex sex, college au, mention of parent death, mention of injury, Y/N has chronic pain, super brief mention of suicidal ideation, Tsuki is kind of a dick in this one, but then again so are you

Characters & ships: ex!Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Word count: 4.6k words

A/N: This Y/N really tiptoes a line between reader insert and OC. She has a lot more backstory than my usual reader fics have. If you'd prefer more of a blank slate (and don't need to know the backstory of how you and Tsuki have found yourself in this situation to enjoy the explicit angst), then feel free to skip the italicized part. If you're here for the angst, though, I'd highly recommend it.

18+ Minors DNI!

More explicit below the cut

“You always end up back here.”

You jump, startled, at the sound of Kei Tsukkishima’s voice echoing through the gymnasium. It was late - later than usual - and the lights had been dimmed, so you weren’t expecting anyone when you slipped your key into the door’s lock. Your college’s gym feels more like home than any other place, and sometimes, on nights like this one, you needed to feel like you were home. On nights like this one, you broke into the gym.

It was about 50/50 on if you ran into your ex, Tsukki.

On this evening, the net was still up following the men’s team practice, and Tsukki was on the far side of the gym away from you. You could stay split like this, share the court half and half, and everyone could be happy.

“I could say the same for you,” You toss the comment at him, unbothered and unprovoked, just as you toss your gym bag to the ground out of the way and pick up the first wayward volleyball you see. You press your fingers into it, bounce it off the floor a few times, and then lob it into the air and strike it down hard and fast on your own side of the court. It hits the ground with a loud smack and bounces into the bleachers, wildly pinballing around, but you’re too distracted in picking up your next ball to pay too much attention. “I could set for you, if you want,” Tsukki half-heartedly spikes his own volleyball, but his attention is on you as you whip every ounce of fury and burning hurt into your shoulder and through the ball as it ricochets from your hand and into the rafters.

“I don’t need a setter.”

“No, you don’t,” He observes another ball whiz through the air, “But it could make this practice meaningful instead of you just hitting balls because you feel like it.”

You glare at him, squeezing the volleyball you have between your hands, knowing the way that this goes every single time.

Still, you were the one who chose to come home.

“Fine.” You duck under the net to join him on his side and pass him the volleyball with too much force that he diffuses easily under his taped finger tips. He bounces it once before sending it up in the air, and you, too, jump through the air to strike it down with a hard smack. It hits the floor with speed and precision, and despite the surprise gently caressing Tsukki’s face in the bend of his eyebrows or the twitch of his mouth, you roll your neck, shake it off, and get in position to hit another one. A pain shoots up through your leg, but you swallow it down, ignore it, push through it.

“You’ve been practicing.”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re being short. And I don’t just mean your height-”

“Just set the next one, Kei.”

He puffs out an annoyed sigh, but still he nods and sends another into the air. You jump again, smack, and fall. The ball nearly causes the air to crack with it’s intensity. That one hurt just a little, and you’re left rubbing the sting out of your palm as Tsukki traverses the gym, collecting the rogue balls to keep setting to you.

“Is it the same old problems?”

“You don’t get to know that anymore.”

Tsukki tosses another in the air, and you smack it down. He tosses again, you smack again. Toss, smack. Toss, smack. Toss, smack. By the time he runs out of balls again, your heart feels nearly as numb as your hands. You try to walk through the pain wrecking havoc in your body, but each step is a stumble instead of a stride. He starts to collect the balls again but stops by the net and turns back to you as you lean your body forward, hands on your knees and gasping for air.

“Look, you can say it’s not my place, but it is. You come in here fuming all the time when you have the power to change the circumstances you’re in-”

“-if I wanted your advice I’d ask-”

“You spend all this time trying to make other people fucking happy, acting like you have no choice, but you’re not powerless. You’re not some fucking damsel in distress. Make a goddamned decision for once.”

“I did when I left you.”

He scoffs out a disbelieving laugh. “What, to hop over to bench warmer Fuckface McGee to chase something to fill the void in you? I don’t even know the guy’s name, but it’s not like it matters because you’ve slept through the entire volleyball team roster. You just happened to start with me.”

You stare at him, his face twisted in annoyed anger and your own features throbbing with sick-of-his-shit disbelief. “Go to hell, Kei.”

“That was the plan. I was getting ready to head back home when you walked in.” He drops the ball in his hand, grabs his bag from the sideline, and beelines to the exit. His hand is on the door when he turns back to you. “Are you coming?”

It takes less time than usual for you to grab your own bag and fall in step behind him.

————————

Your relationship with Kei was many things. Strange, a little toxic, the longest relationship you’d ever been in, full of a deep love you didn’t quite understand.

You were recruited by your college’s volleyball team when you, as captain, took your high school volleyball team all the way to win nationals for the first and still only time in your school’s history. In every news outlet reporting on the triumph, the success was attributed to you, and you had offers from all over the nation swarm in and drown you in a decision-making process that still gives you anxiety sweats just thinking about it. At the end of the day, your goal was to make the national team, and in order to do that, you had to go to the best school with the best team that was offering you a spot, even though that college was hours away from your family and the life you had spent 18 long years building for yourself.

You packed your bags, said goodbye to your family, and moved across the country to go to school. It’s a huge, urban university, swimming with hundreds or thousands of faces you’ll never see more than once when passing on the street.

Before you even checked into your dorm, you found your way to the gym, a beautiful, state-of-the-art fancy schmancy thing. You walked in the doors, following the sound of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls, and when you walked in to see the men’s team practicing on the court, it felt just like home. A beautiful, blond boy with a baby face and triple taped fingers was up to serve, and this was the first time you met Tsukkishima.

He nearly hit you with his spike.

“Watch it!” He yelled, shooing you out of the way with a dismissive wave, and thus, it was hate at first sight between the two of you.

Your university was looking to switch things up that year, however, following a string of embarrassing losses the season before, and they decided to name freshman for their captains on both the men’s and women’s team. You found yourself with a new captain’s jacket, and unfortunately, on the men’s side, so did Tsukkishima.

The goal of the switch up was to keep the teams on their toes, get fresh ideas that hadn’t been brainwashed by years of already being on the team, and keep new talent consistently striving for better. What ended up happening was just that, but at the same time, you and Tsukki were completely isolated from the rest of the team, being rejected as the favorites who unfairly were given spots way above their league. In hindsight, you understand why your teammates hated you, but in the moment, it hurt more than you imagined it would. All you had wanted was to help them get better, and it felt like no one understood that image except for Tsukki.

It didn’t help that you saw him nearly all the time. He was always at practice, he went to every media event both of you had to be at as captains, he lived in the same dorm as you and found the same study spots you thought you had claimed in secret for yourself, he even had the same major as you. He was in your face near constantly, and the unending ribbing and competition and forced, disgruntled companionship turned hate to tolerance, tolerance to like, and like to love.

He asked you out to the spring carnival your freshman year. It shocked you how easy the word yes slipped from your lips.

And from there you two started your two year long relationship. It was easy being with Kei. Even as overbearing and sometimes rude as he was, you two existed on the same wavelength. You had the same goals, the same interests, the same emotional bursts and flairs, and the same understanding as the other snapped. You never had to explain yourself to him; after every twist and turn, he was waiting for you with open arms when you were ready, and you did the same for him.

He was the one who was there when your father unexpectedly passed towards the end of your sophomore year of college. He was the one who stayed with you for weeks, never going back to his own place so you didn’t have to ever be alone. He was the one who made the trip back home with you, silently waiting and watching as you helped with preparation because he knew what you needed the most was just his presence and not his big mouth or overbearing nature. He was the one who took over both practices when you simply couldn’t get yourself out of bed and across campus to the gym. He was the one there ready to receive you and bring you back to the world when you picked yourself up and kept going.

He was also the one who was there when you lost everything your junior year. It was during the quarter final game at a nation wide tournament in the fall of the volleyball season. You fell hard and at exactly the wrong angle, snapped your leg in three places, and tore tendons from your knee to your toes. You were taken out in a stretcher, and the minute Kei heard, he left his own team’s quarter final game to ride with you to the hospital. He didn’t even think twice.

Your team lost without you. His team won without him. It’s unclear which truth hurt more.

You were given the worst news an athlete could hear. Weeks later, he stood next to you in the gym as you wobbled in your boot and in your words and officially resigned as captain and stepped away from the team. As your dream of making the national team died, so did your will, and you found yourself in the same blurry nothingness you were in when your father passed, but this time it felt like nothing could bring you out. Even as Tsukki tried and tried and tried to reach you, it was dark and painful and drowning where you were.

You broke up with him a week before your two year anniversary.

Since then, you’ve flunked most of your classes, nearly dropped out of school, get out of bed only to go to physical therapy, watched your ex-team have an incredibly underwhelming fall season without you for your senior year, and bounced from dick to dick of every boy you have ever met. Unfortunately, that’s pretty much only the men’s volleyball team. All of this has isolated Tsukki even more from his teammates, and now he’s alone, quiet except for the angry outburst, and hated more than ever.

He was there the first night you broke into the gym in the midst of a panic attack. You had been ready to find a way to the roof of the building when you walked in, sobbing and crazed, to see Tsukki alone with a volleyball in hand.

He talked you down. You went home with him.

That’s just how it’s been ever since.

————————

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” You mutter, following him up the stairs of his apartment building as he unlocks the door and holds it open for you. You instinctively find the elevator, pressing the specific number code that calls the elevator to the first floor that you have memorized like it’s nothing.

“You don’t usually talk to the stray cats you bring home.”

“You’re such a dick.”

He just hums in response, staring away from you as the elevator door opens and you both step inside. The ride up to his apartment is quiet and cold. He leans against the wall furthest from you, scrolling though an app noncommittally with an awkward hand in his pocket. You watch him the whole way up, and he doesn’t look at you once.

You follow him out of the elevator and into his apartment. You sit on his sofa with a comfortable ease on the side that you naturally think of as your side. You watch him as he glides through the kitchen, filling up two glasses with ice and sparkling water - your favorite flavor that you forced him to start liking while you were together. You accept the glass as he hands you one and sits on the other side of the couch, a huge gap between you. You wait as he pulls his phone out again, another app on his screen.

You’re always the one to make the first move.

Setting the drink down on the table, you close the gap between you two, hesitantly pressing your side against his and leaning into him. After a reluctant moment, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, which you take as an invitation. You take the glass and the phone from his hands, place it on the coffee table, and in one fell swoop, swing your leg over his lap to straddle him.

With a soft gentle caress, you brush your fingers over his cheeks and press your forehead to his. His eyes were always your favorite, the light honey brown tint sparkled in the moonlight, and it made your stomach flutter with butterflies. He was the first one to lean up and in, tilting your head with his nose until his lips touched yours. You sit like this, softly kissing, pulling away for just small gasps and pants of air, for long enough that the automatic light in the kitchen shutters off.

Practiced and with ease, you run your hands back through his hair, pulling at the soft, fluffy strands as they thread through your fingers. He moans softly into your mouth, his own hands finding your waist and puling you closer to him. You can feel the hot rigid length in his lap, and as you slowly grind against him, he rewards you by pressing his fingertips into your lower back, his palms cupping your waist like they were made to sit there.

His eyelashes finally flutter closed, and you watch his face freeze with pleasure, his jaw locked open with your lips suctioned to his lower lip. Your own nails scratch against his scalp, and he shivers beneath your touch. It’s nearly painful the need that has built between you two when you finally slide off him and peel your pants off. He slides out of his own pants, and when he looks back at you to pull you back onto his lap, you can’t help the embarrassment at the intricate brace on your knee. You drop your hands to hide the appliance, but he bats your hand out of the way and pulls you back to straddle him again.

“You act like I’ve never seen you naked,” He whispers, his hand finding its way between your legs. His nimble, strong fingers find the absolute wet mess you’ve made, and both of your roll your eyes back in a moan as a single finger glides across your slick slit.

“I’m afraid-” You moan, cutting yourself off as he pushes the fabric of your underwear out of the way and circles your clit with his fingertip.

“Of?”

“Judgment.” You think for a second as a shiver runs down your back from the stimulation between your legs. “Rejection.”

He brings his other hand to your arm, gripping your flesh and brushing softly against your skin to bring goosebumps to the surface.

“Me? Judge?” He smiles up at you as he presses against your clit again. You moan lewdly, nearly falling forward at the shock of pleasure. “I’d never.”

You scoff out a laugh before reaching a hand to move his own underwear out of the way. His cock springs forward, bouncing softly against his stomach, as you bring your hand to between your legs to meet his. You interlock your fingers with his as they slide against you, back and forth, teasing your clit to your entrance, and you both moan loudly at the feeling. In the moonlight, you can see the glistening pre-cum on his tip, and it makes you nearly vibrate with need. Thankfully, Tsukki can read your body language like it’s his native tongue, and he guides your fingers to dip into you. Both of your hands push into you, and you groan as you settle onto your hands. Rocking your hips back and forth, you throw your head back with pleasure.

“Like a fucking angel,” He mutters, leaning forward to press his lips against your collarbones and bite. Wet pleasure drips from you onto your palm, and when it feels like enough, you pull your fingers from yourself and suddenly grip Tsukki’s needy length. Your wetness and his pre-cum mix to make it slick and easy for your hand to stroke up and down. His body freezes in response, all of his muscles twitching with every pass of your hand.

His fingers curl deep inside you, and with each of your strokes, your rock your hips against his fingers. He’s deep enough inside you that he presses into that sweet spot, and his fingers find it with familiar ease every time you shift your hips.

“Kiss me,” You whisper into the night, and he shakes himself free enough for his lips to find yours. Your tongues press against each other, your hot breath billowing down each other’s necks, and each other’s hands milking pleasure out of your body. He tastes like knowing each other’s bodies like the back of your own hands.

You could’ve finished like this, in each other’s hands, if it wasn’t for the sudden shooting pain that radiates from your knee where you are kneeling in his lap. You flinch, taking the weight off it, and Tsukki supports you by grabbing your other hip with his free hand.

“Are you okay?”

“My leg,” You grunt out, moving your hands to grip the back of the couch as the pain fires even worse through your whole leg. He rubs at your hip, staring up at you to gauge your pain on your face, and when he sees you bite your lip and furrow your brow, he picks you up off his lap and deposits you on your back on the couch. Having your weight off your knee lightens the pain, and soon he has your brace off your leg and is massaging your joint with his hands.

He learned how to when you first hurt your leg, and he’s so comfortable that it feels second nature for him. It feels absolutely humiliating for you.

“Please stop,” You whisper, letting your leg fall, your foot hitting the floor, and you take his collar and pull his shirt over his head. Your nails gently drag against his chest, and he leans forward, catching himself by landing his hands on either side of your head.

“Does it hurt?”

You groan at the question, shimmying enough out of your shirt and bra that your chest was on display for Tsukki, but he maintains concerned eye contact with you.

“I just want you to fuck me like you did before,” You whisper, shifting your hips closer to his still protruding length.

He studies your face for a long time, but the desire in his chest must have won out, because he’s finally shirking off his boxers and settling himself between your thighs. He kisses you a few more times, soft and measured, before his tip presses against your entrance, and he sinks deep into you, bottoming out in your wet, hot, squishy insides.

You arch your back at the feeling of being so full of him, and his head drops to your neck, teeth grazing and sucking at the skin, and your arms wrap around his back to grip him as the feeling overwhelms you. Your stomach flops, and your brain swims. You drown in the smell of him, his cologne, his shampoo, his sweat and musk, and it smells, it feels, it overwhelms like home.

His thrusts into you feel deeper with each rock of his hips, and it sends shocks of nearly painful pleasure from your head to your toes. He’s groaning in your ear, and it’s a sweet song you miss like a lullaby you desperately want to remember when you’re lying alone in your own room at your own apartment. When his fingers find and tease your clit again, he moves in just the way you like that makes your toes curl, and that feels like the last straw.

Tears well in your eyes and drip down the sides of your face. With a sniffle, Tsukki finally brings his eyes back to your face, and when he sees your tears, he sighs softly with care. He shifts to his knees, pulling you just barely onto his lap, and he wraps his arms all the way around your body, his fingers gripping behind and around your shoulders so that your bodies are fully pressed against each other.

He shushes you softly in your ear. “I got you,” He whispers, squeezing his fingers into your skin, “I got you.”

His kindness makes the pain in your chest worst. “Please don’t stop,” You nearly sob, dropping your head into the crook of his neck. “Please keep going.”

Tsukki hesitates, but your begs and the needy rocking of your hips convinces him to slowly continue fucking into you. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Then fuck it out of me, Kei,” You writhe against him, and after the internal struggle behind his eyes, he lays you on your back, grabs the back of your good leg, grips the arm of the couch behind you, and pounds his cock deep into you. It’s so sudden that it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. You choke on your tongue, nails digging into any flesh on Tsukki’s body that you can find. “Oh God, yes, fuck,” You groan into his ear.

“You feel so good,” He grunts back, placing his hand on your cheek and your thumb on your lips. With tears still falling down the side of your face, you suck his thumb into our mouth and tongue against the skin.

“S-so deep,” You hiccup out as he lays into you, his cock pumping in and out. Your hand snakes down between the two of you, and you rub against your clit. You clench against his cock, and both of you moan out sweetly at the feeling.

“I got you," He mumbles again, bringing his forehead to yours to keep eye contact. "Can you cum for me, baby?” He asks, and you shiver at his words, moving your fingers faster and harder to get to where you want. You nod, your hair sticking to your face in the tears. He groans, his hips starting to stutter. “Then cum, baby, cum.”

You pant and groan and whimper and suddenly you’re cumming around his cock, your body short-circuiting with the feeling of your orgasm. For these few moments, nothing in your body hurts. The physical pain, the emotional pain, it’s silenced in the pleasurable waves rolling through your body. You arch your back and press your body against Tsukki, his warm pants and moans stinging your skin with electricity.

Even though you wrap your good leg around Tsukki’s waist, like you would when you were together, he pulls out and finishes across your stomach and chest. He strokes himself through it, the sweat glistening on his forehead in the moonlight as his cum paints your skin. You close your eyes, letting the sticky wet feeling cover you.

It takes a few moments of panting before he falls back to a seated position on the couch. You can feel the aching pain return to your knee, and before you grab anything to wipe yourself clean, you reach down for your brace.

“Let me help you,” He sounds vaguely annoyed with the whole thing, but his fingers are still gentle as they pull the brace on and into position.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small, the tears finally slowing. You rub your hands down your face, and then you search for something to clean yourself off with. Tsukki throws you his shirt, not even glancing your way.

“I hate it when you cry on me like that.”

“I thought you liked my misery.”

“Only when I’m causing it.” His smirk is half-hearted. He folds his leg underneath him, his other leg bending for him to place his chin on as he stared out the window.

You reach for your drink on the coffee table as you wipe away the leftover Tsukki on your body. You find your sweatshirt on the ground and throw it over your head, and now you two are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, just like before with just a few less clothes.

“Why do you do this for me if you don’t even like me?” You ask in a small voice, taking a sip of the drink in your hand, and he finally turns to look at you. His face shocked in disbelief.

“If I don’t even like you? Are you dense? I’m in love with you. I’m so madly in love with you that it hurts me every single day. You’re the one who broke up with me, so I should be asking you that question. Why do you come to me?”

Because you know he’ll understand you. You know you’ll be seen. You know he cares about you. You’d never actually answer that, though, because it’ll make you seem the callous bitch that he’s supposed to be.

“I don’t do it on purpose. You’re always in the gym.” The answer feels incomplete. “I like you, Kei.”

He watches your face as you refuse to meet his eyes. It takes a while before he stands, the hot anger radiating off of him, and he cleans up the space piece by piece. When he takes your empty glass to the sink he finally speaks.

“If we liked each other, we wouldn’t keep doing this.”

You watch him move from the kitchen to his bedroom door, but he hesitates before leaving you to the silence and darkness of his living room. He sighs, annoyed. “Are you staying the night.”

“I shouldn’t,” You spit back quickly, but you don’t get up to leave, and he doesn’t disappear to his bedroom. You two stare at each other for a long time, much too long. Finally he opens the door.

“Your pajamas are in the second drawer of my dresser,” then he squints his eyes at you, “but you should shower first. My sheets are clean.”

He disappears, leaving the door open behind him.

It takes you less time than usual to follow him in.

forced my bf to watch cm w me, forgot i was watching it w my bf and started screaming and shaking him when mgg came out… LMAOOO

oh shes petty and i dont like her LMAO

birds of a feather : ninth circle of shame

OCTOBER 18, 9:41 PM

location— bokuto’s “housewarming” party

atsumu leads you out of bokuto’s bedroom and down the stairs. once you’re back in the atmosphere of the party, you feel a wave of nausea hit you like a pang when the smell of the sweat of the crowd, the myriad of perfumes, the drinks and the food stuff makes a rather weird combination.

atsumu notices as your face scrunches up in disgust and you reflexively put a hand against your mouth and your nose, gagging.

he surmises, rubbing your back, “this is making you uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

“then let’s get out of here.” he suggests as he begins to lead you to the door, offering, “i’ll drive you to your dorms.”

you want to decline his offer and leave by yourself, but something inside of you holds you back. you aren’t sure why you don’t retort, but a little while longer with atsumu is all you want. since you’ve already indulged him for the night, letting him drive you back doesn’t sound so bad at this point.

you nod, accepting his proposal, “alright, that sounds good.”

“we should also get you something to eat on the way, you must be starving.” he proffers, teasing you as he pats your tummy.

you turn around to glare at him, shoving his hand away. he entertains your temper tantrum for a moment before he smirks, bragging, “though i think i fed you more than enough.”

“that should’ve satisfied your hunger.” atsumu’s hand finds your back once again, and he starts walking towards the door, while you match his steps.

as you’re about to exit the venue, bokuto spots you by the door. he sprints towards the two of you in order to stop you from departing.

he practically shouts in your ears, greeting you enthusiastically, “hey hey hey!”

you wave at him, a small smile lining your lips, “oh, hey bokuto.”

“hey, bokuto san.” atsumu says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. now that he’s been spotted with you, he’ll have to face unnecessary questions from his senior’s end.

bokuto eyes at the pair of you, stitching his brows together and crossing his arms as he analyses the sight in front of him. he doesn’t miss out on your smudged lipstick and your messy hair. if that isn’t apparent enough, your dress looks unruly too since you put it on in a hurry. atsumu’s ruffled hair and the fact he put on his shirt the other way around don’t go amiss either. the two of you haven’t showered either. over all, anyone with a pair of eyes can quite simply figure out you’ve fucked.

he taunts atsumu, hitting his arm playfully, “didn’t you say you were done with her?”

“but she’s in your arms tonight, once again.” he remarks, laughing, rendering atsumu and you in a rather awkward position.

atsumu notices the change in your expression and pulls you closer to himself, whispering to you, “it’s okay, i got this.”

neither of you wishes to explain the circumstances. you’d rather keep the story to yourself. it’s your personal life and no one has to know. not even a close friend. your relationship is complicated to begin with. since there is no concrete label as of now, there needs to be no description either.

you give atsumu a dismissive look, gesturing not to delve into the details. in response, he extends his hand from your the small of your back to squeeze your arm, signaling that he understands what you’re tying to say.

“it’s not what you think.” atsumu begins explaining, “we both just ran into each other.”

you nod, agreeing with whatever he has to say, in an attempt to add to the credibility of his lies, “yea, totally.” the nervousness in your tone is hard to miss.

“we just ran into each other and decided to have a drink together.” you claim, putting on your best smile, but deep down, you’re sure he knows you’re lying through your teeth. with the crack in your voice coupled with the nervousness in your tone, anyone can tell.

bokuto sneers, raising a brow at you, inquisitive, “is that why the two of you were upstairs all this while?”

“the last i checked, the bar is downstairs.” he states, pointing towards the bar in the kitchen.

“upstairs?” you blurt out, surprised that he was aware regarding your whereabouts. now you’re just hoping he doesn’t know you were in his room. if he does, you‘ll pass out of shame.

“i don’t mind that you lovebirds used my room.” he begins. he laughs mockingly as he whispers to the two of you, “i just hope you haven’t made too much mess in my room.”

“if yes, i’ll make you guys clean up until sunrise.” he quips at you and atsumu, ruffling your hair while he pats atsumu’s back.

neither you nor atsumu are sure how to react. you’re just glad that atsumu is right next to you, pacifying you as he squeezes your arm in reassurance. because if you were in this situation by yourself, you would’ve probably disintegrated into the ninth circle of shame.

atsumu covers up, reciprocating bokuto’s energy as he laughs back at the joke, “we were careful not to make a lot of mess.”

“don’t worry, bokuto san, you’ll just need to do a little bit of cleaning around.” he reports. the two of them chuckle in unison.

you aren’t sure what’s so funny about the situation you’re stuck in. if anything, you’re too embarrassed to even look bokuto in the eye. not only did he catch you red handed with miya after the two of you declared that you were done with one another, but also confronted you regarding the inappropriate use of his master bedroom.

you don’t know how atsumu has it in him to pretend he isn’t embarrassed by all of this, but you’re nervously looking to the ground, cheeks flushed red as a result of immense shame.

but that doesn’t hold you back. you’re curious as to how bokuto found out, so you put forth a question, “bokuto san, don’t mind me, but how did you know we were in your room?”

“you should ask tobio.” bokuto advices, informing you, “he practically stormed out of the party.”

he shrugs, saying, “i tried to stop him and ask him why he’s leaving so soon, which is when he told me something he probably shouldn’t have.”

“you’ve really upset him, yn.” bokuto mentions, pursing his lips, shaking his head, expressing disappointment.

you’re at a loss of words when you realise the blunder you’ve committed. you ditched tobio to spend the night with atsumu despite promising him that you wouldn’t. the one thing about tobio and you is that you never break the promises you make to one other, and you just indulged in the one thing that was forbidden in your friendship.

you don’t know what you’re supposed to do next. you find your head in an absolute mess and your heart haunted by guilt that overflows through your veins.

you excuse yourself, running off, “i need to leave.”

“i should follow her.” atsumu decides, leaving bokuto by the door as he opens it to run after you.

it takes him a while to find you and catch up to you in the maze of cars outside bokuto’s house. but he’s easily able to do so, because you find yourself at a dead end with no ride to go over to tobio’s place to clear things out with him.

“hey, calm down, yn.” atsumu approaches you, wrapping his arms around you from the hindside.

he kisses your head, consoling you, “it’s going to be okay, don’t worry.”

you shout at him, unwrapping his arms, annoyed because you know he probably doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation, “you don’t get it.”

“we never break promises.” your voice cracks as tears begin streaming down your face.

you instinctively hug atsumu, looking for comfort in his embrace, asking in desperation, “what do i do?”

at first, atsumu responds with silence, he only hugs you tighter before he pulls out a kerchief from his pocket. he pulls you out from the hug and makes you rest against the bonnet of a random car to wipe the tears off your face. your eyes are already puffy red and cheeks crimson. he hands you the kerchief to help yourself whenever needed, and kisses your forehead and pulls you into a hug once again.

“you should talk it out with him.” he advises, rubbing your back to pacify you, “that’s the only way.”

he reassures you, kissing your head as he coddles you, “since you’re best friends, you’ll probably be fine.”

he gently separates you from himself, taking your hand in order to guide you to his car, “come on, let’s go.”

“we should sit in my car, okay.” he states, trailing to where his car is parked with you under his wing.

he unlocks the car using the remote key, opening the back door for you to hop in. once you’re settled inside, he follows you and takes a seat right beside you, closing the door behind him.

he offers you his bottle of water, picking it up from the cup holder. you take it from him and begin chugging it down, hoping to assuage your anxiety and dissipate your nerves.

“slow down.” he warns you, taking the bottle from your grip.

you point at the bottle, conveying, “i need more.”

“later. you’ve had enough for now.” atsumu declines, throwing the bottle away and it lands in the leg space of the passenger seat, denying you the possibility of retrieving it.

you’re still baffled at yourself. the right term would be to say that you’re disappointed in yourself because you completely forgot about tobio somewhere along the way.

although it wasn’t until atsumu began pleasuring you and your brain became hazy. that’s most likely how you forgot. but that doesn’t make it right. it’s also the fact that you had given a thought to the idea of returning to tobio instead of entertaining atsumu, but you still chose not to.

you feel terrible because you know he would’ve never done this to you. it would’ve been fine if you would’ve informed him. it would’ve still upset him, but you know he would’ve understood. but to ditch him randomly because you were too desperate to entertain your crush’s shenanigans, there should be no forgiveness for you.

you conclude after you think things through for a good while, and gauge your options, “i should text him.”

atsumu encourages your idea, “yea, sounds good.”

you rest your head again his shoulder and he puts his arm around you, holding you close. he kisses your forehead, squeezing your arm in reassurance, “it’s going to be alright, kitten.”

you pull out your cellphone in order to text tobio. atsumu instantly looks away so as to not invade your privacy, but his support for you remains constant as he continues to rub your arm, letting you know that he’s right next to you.

彡 atsumu was planning on dropping yn as soon as they re entered the party, but decided to stick to her because he couldn’t let go.

彡 tobio was never going to confront yn and let it go but he decided to take a stand for himself.

彡 tobio isn’t upset only because yn ditched him. he saw that one coming. he’s majorly upset because of his jealousy.

彡 even while he was upset with her, tobio was worried about yn’s safety and was willing to drive back to the party just to drop her off.

previous : no love, only the lack there of

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🐰 i have a thing for writing morally black characters or some shit like that.

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here I lay me down - s.r.

a/n: ex!spencer gets shot, and you show up at the hospital to see if he's okay. spencer is still desperately in love with you. based on this post wc: 2.3k (she is LONG)

Spencer wakes to a cacophony of sounds, others breathing and various beeps and hums from a variety of medical machines. He hates the noise of the hospital, as he knows what always follows. It’s pain, and ever since he kicked dilaudid, he doesn’t get the relief that people are always pushing on him here. 

The last thing Spencer remembers, he was in front of Morgan, who was about to get shot- it was a piercing memory, one that even the anesthetic wearing off slowly couldn’t numb. He’d jumped in front of it, and the pieces of Morgan pacing around his room and the whole being in a hospital thing click into place. 

When he blinks his eyes open, he sees Hotch speaking to the doctor with his endearingly concerned eyebrow scrunch and it’s then that he notices a familiar scent in the air. 

It’s perfume- he knows because he’d bought it- a mixture of jasmine and lilies, and the memory of the night he gave it to her bursts into technicolor when he closes his eyes. It had been her birthday, and he’d gone with Penelope and Emily to pick out a gift for her. 

He remembers how she’d lit up, her warm doe eyes brightening with fondness that he’d earned, and the way his heart had flipped in his chest- the memory is in crisp detail. He remembers the way she’d kissed him, equal measure in thanks and in adoration, and it’s comforting to remember right now. He tries to think of her often, especially when waves of pain crash over him like an unruly ocean that threatens to drown him. There was someone who loved him at one point, he tries to remember. 

He wants to compliment the nurse wearing it, but even as limited as his social skills are in this state, he knows that telling the nurse you like her perfume because your ex wore it is probably inappropriate. 

A roar of desire presents itself in his chest- he has no desire to want her here, but Spencer can’t help but fantasize about her presence. Her nimble fingers running through his hair, her soft voice cooing at his injuries. It was always nice to come home to her after a rough day- her disposition warm and kind and good. It’s his fault he doesn’t have it- his fault that she doesn’t love him anymore. 

It’s as if he conjured her, when she walks in the door. 

He literally cannot believe that she is here, in his hospital room- he drinks in the sight of her like a man starved. She’s beautiful- he’d never forget this but it’s been so long since he’s seen her. The curve of her cheek, her cupid’s bow, the slope of her neck- the details he spent the best year of his life memorizing under careful touch. 

Her body language is protective, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other at her mouth, her delicate fingers holding a tissue. Had she been crying?

Before he can think of what to say to her, she speaks to him. 

“How are you feeling?”

He’d forgotten just how her voice sounded. Or rather, how it sounded when she was concerned for him. It’s addicting, hedonistic in the ways of wine and drugs and everything else you should have in moderation but had to give up. It’s just so comforting, her lovely doe eyes looking at him with warmth and concern. 

“Hey,” he replies, not answering her question. He might be imagining her. They might have given him drugs. There’s no way she came and see him of her own volition. 

She pauses for a moment, biting her lip in an incredibly endearing way (and god, he’d missed looking at her) before she makes the decision to walk over to the side of his bed. He tries to crane his neck to look at her and she scolds him, and this doesn’t make any sense. 

“You got shot,” she says, voice warm and concerned, and if he squinted he could hear love in her voice. 

“I’m okay,” he tries to reply. 

“You got shot,” she says, eyes flaring with emotion. She always hated that he minimized his pain. 

“You came,” he says, after a beat of silence. Her fingers are running through his hair and he tries to commit this to memory. It doesn’t mean she loves him. She’s the kind of person who stops on the street to give someone the last dollar in her wallet, of course she would visit her ex-boyfriend in the hospital after he got shot.

It doesn’t mean anything. 

“Of course I came, Spence,” she says, intentionality in her tone, “You got hurt.”

It’s selfish to lean into her touch, but she smells like home and he doesn’t know if he will ever be held like this again by her. And he doesn’t care to be held by anyone else. 

Hotch comes in, and if he’s surprised to see the two of them together, it doesn’t show on his face. He tells Spencer that the. Bullet had been clean through, and that he’d been lucky. He’d avoided internal bleeding and would need to stay at home for a week. 

When Hotch leaves to ‘give him some space to process’, the silence lingers.

“Thank you for coming.”

It’s kind of worse, actually. The reality where she’s still his girlfriend is superimposed on top of this one, and he can feel the ghost of the kisses she’d pepper his cheeks with. If she still loved him, then she’d hug him and tell him that she loves him, tell him how angry she is for jumping in front of a stray bullet. 

It’s my fault, he thinks to himself, eyes raking over her. She’d definitely been crying, he realizes. Her makeup had run and he think she might have slept here. How had he ever gotten someone like her to fall in love with him? 

It’s his fault she doesn’t love him anymore.

When the doctor tells him that he needs someone to stay with him for the next few days, and she volunteers, he agrees.

It’s a nice kind of pain, he thinks. Any piece of her is more than he wants of anything else.

_______________________________________

It turns out that she is a wonderful caregiver. 

Penelope had been incredibly supportive of this idea, somehow convinced that the proximity would bring them back together. This is a hope that Spencer does not engage in, but still- it’s nice to have her around. 

She knows her way around his apartment- knows how he organizes her things. Half her things used to be there too. 

Memory is a funny thing. The worst part by far of eidetic memory is the lack of forgetting, and up until now, this was best seen in the horrors of his work. Now, it’s all her.

Taking care of him when he got shot is not the same thing as loving him. 

When she makes them dinner (which is so kind of her- he offered to buy takeout and she’d insisted on recreating his mother’s soup recipe. She’d kept a copy of it in her phone. Spencer had almost died of flattery), she sits next to him on his couch

It’s funny how the best memories of his life are so colored now- their trip to Europe, their first kiss, the first time he’d cooked her dinner and she’d watched Doctor Who with him. Ghosts of memory linger through the place, and it hurts to see her sit next to him on the couch with a foot between them. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a beat of silence. She looks beautiful, and he always thinks this. She’s wearing his t-shirt which is just an awfully tempting view. 

It’s his fault he can’t have what he wants. 

“I told you I still wanted us to be friends,” she says, looking down at her bowl, “You’re my friend. I’m happy to do this.”

He can tell she means it as an olive branch but it cuts like a knife. Because he never wanted to be her friend. She was the first thing he even wanted enough to ask for it. He still remembers when he’d asked her out the first time, the stuttering and the way she’d looked, how impossible her liking him back had felt. 

And then he’d managed to make her fall in love with him. It didn’t even take much- he just had to be himself, the way she says it, and he’d give anything to have that back. 

“You’re a good friend,” he replies, instead of everything he’s thinking. 

“Hotch thinks so,” she muses, not looking at him, “He was surprised I’d come here after you broke up with me.”

It’s a slight lash out, and it’s fair. It’s not fair that she’s here, wearing his fucking t-shirt, her collarbones exposed under the fabric. He know what her skin feels like under his lips, and now she make veiled comment on his couch. 

“Why did you?”

He can’t figure it out. They’d broken up two months ago. He’d done it to protect her- after the anthrax case he’d been fucking fixated on her getting hurt. Because this is the stuff he can’t protect her from. Can’t help if biomedical hazards end up on his clothes,  and if he comes home shot. 

He got shot. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t get forever with the woman he loves, because he can’t keep her safe. Even if he quit just then- enough people have made an enemy of him. She’d never be safe.

So he made a choice to cut his ties and let her go, and yes, every fucking night since he’s had at least one nightmare about what she looks like crying and asking him to stay. He never, ever wanted to see her like that, but he also never ever wanted her to be a widow. 

She’d find someone else. She’s so easy to love- he doesn’t like to think about someone else loving her, but he’s sure she won’t be alone. 

His voice catches in his throat.

“It is nice of you,” Spencer chokes out, “I never wanted you to have to do that.”

“Let’s not talk about this now,” she says, getting up to get him another serving, and he grabs her wrist.

“Ba- Hey, please. Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?” she says at him, but she doesn’t pull her wrist back. 

“I just-“ he stammers, but it’s heavy and something he can’t give up, the combination of her gaze under his and her soft skin in his grasp, “I can’t have you here and hate me. I just can’t take you hating me. I know- I know what I did. I know it’s not fair to ask and I know that we’re not together and I know it’s my fault but god, you can’t hate me. I can’t take it.”

“You think I hate you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“You think I came to the hospital in the middle of the night, slept in a waiting room, cooked you soup and slept on your couch because I hate you?”

He doesn’t know what to say. How could she still love him? 

“It’s you,” he replies. “You’d always do that for me.”

She’s closer now, moving into his space more and more and he can smell his own body soap on her because she showered here, and he’s overcome with a desire to hold her. 

“Why do you think that is?”

She’s almost in his lap now, and there’s a greed to this now, the way he pulls her a little bit closer. She tips her head back in a bitter, tinny laugh that he doesn’t like the sound of. 

“I mean, Spencer- I love you so much that I don’t even care if you love me back.”

“You still love me?”

“I’m working on it,” she says, a bitter smile on her face, “You’re hard to get over.”

“Don’t get over me.”

It’s not the smoothest thing he could’ve sid, and he kind of regrets the implication on her face, sees her gorgeous features crumple. 

“That’s mean, Spence.” 

“No! No. Don’t. Don’t-don’t do that. Don’t move on with your life and find someone else because this is the lightest I’ve felt in fucking weeks.”

Her eyes widen into saucers, and her grip tightens on his hands, and Spencer feels like he could fly. 

“I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have made you go and I should’ve let you be the person who picks me up at the hospital and I know, I know how lucky I am that you’re still here, that you cared enough. Please, please don’t get over me. I know it’s not far to ask.”

She blinks a few times at him before opening her arms for a hug, of which he flies into at breakneck speed. His ribs hurt but he’d forgotten what it was like to hold her. And yes, maybe wanting this makes himself selfish, but he wants this. Maybe this can the one thing he lets himself have. 

“I do love you. ” he speaks into her collarbone, and she shushes him. 

“No, no,” he says, looking up at her, her gorgeous doe eyes shaky with uncertainty he knows is his fault, “If you’ll still have me, I’d like to-I’d like to try again. And I know that you probably can’t trust me and I have so much to make up for and-“

“Spencer,” she says warmly, twining their fingers, “I’d like to kiss you now. Okay?”

He nods a bit fervently, shaking as he does, but when she kisses him-

It’s just as he remembers. She leans into him, her delicate fingers cupping his jaw and he wraps his spindles arms around the curve of her waist, pinning her to him like she might float away if untethered. 

When Spencer gets back to the office, he it’s not just his wounds that have healed.