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katerina-marie · 5 months

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Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 2

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 5.0k

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff later, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho), SFW (may change in later chapters idk), no use of y/n. More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes:

A bit of a transitive chapter before we get into more of the "meat and potatoes" of this fic.

Also, content warning just in case: a funeral, and a brief mention of Suguru's dead body, but not in anyway that's graphic or overly descriptive.

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Chapter 2: Give Up What Cannot Be Gotten Over (The Pain of Outliving)

You couldn’t be sure, but it was either ignorance or privilege that kept the idea of a little black dress as something sacred and beguiling in your head. While maybe it was remnants from the excitement of girlhood, when years of age started ending in ‘teen’ and appearances were suddenly much bigger of a deal than they had been before, but the prospect of wearing one was always gleefully anticipated. It was meant to be done in effervescent fun, as a young teenager when the “little” dress fell closer to your knees and never saw a curfew farther than 11:00, or once you were older and the fabric could travel further up the expanse of your thighs as youthful exuberance was swapped out for sensuality.

Whatever it was, however, faded in light of what purpose that little black dress would serve today. You had smoothed the fabric down over your torso, patting and pinching at where it snagged over the black tights you had shimmied on before it. The dress couldn’t be considered daring, so much as it was simply meant for a different occasion, but you had no other, and as you learned in the last few days, death did not wait for one to be prepared. So you twisted in front of your mirror, ensuring all angles were covered, and reached for the paired black shawl to drape over your shoulders. It was a touch unnecessary, with the weather mild and your skin not overly exposed, but it would serve its purpose in drying any stray tears since no one had told you growing up that the little black dress seldom came with pockets.

You had just finished slipping on your shoes when a knock at your door sounded through your room. There was enough time to call out to whoever was behind it before it opened and Suguru stepped through it. Dressed in black and unfairly handsome, he smiled at you, though it was faint and not nearly as wide as normal. He closed the door behind him and walked over to where you had been perched on the edge of the bed to buckle the strap of your shoe. When he reached you, he pulled you up to stand and wrapped you in his arms, exhaling hard enough to ruffle the hair at your temple and you squeezed him tighter in return.

“How’s Nanami?” Suguru asked, stroking a hand down your back and then tugging it back gently when one of his fingers got caught in the small gap of the lace pattern on your shawl. You laughed softly and felt the weight of him as he leaned further over your shoulder to inspect the disruption, only needing a moment to untangle his finger and come before you again.

“He’s as expected,” You told him, thinking back to your blonde-haired friend just a couple rooms down as he too was dressing himself in black. “I sat with him for a little while this morning, and he was just as quiet as usual. But surely sad and missing Haibara. He let me hug him.”

Your boyfriend’s features fell and you could sense the stinging in your nose that warned you of the impending tears that would tickle your eyes momentarily. You blinked them away, adamant that you wouldn’t leave your room already pink-eyed and tear stained, lest you prompt Shoko into crying as well and push Nanami farther into his discomfort.

“Pretty dress. It’s a shame this is how I see it first,” Suguru said, clearing his throat as his thumb brushed under your eye to whisk away a tear before dropping to pull at the hem of said dress. You half-heartedly batted his fingers away, minding their penchant for getting into places they didn’t always belong.

“It’s a funeral dress now, I suppose. Appropriate, given our line of work, don’t you think?” You peered up at him to await whatever was to come out of his mouth, and you were startled when you realized how tired Suguru looked. His hair was limp and only halfway tied up into its normal bun. The rest lay unkempt down his shoulders, and you assumed he couldn’t have been bothered to do much else with it. There were pale shadows under his eyes and you wondered if he had spent the night talking with Satoru, catching up with his best friend who came back as quickly as he left it seemed nowadays. You reached out your hand to sweep back the strands of hair that still fell over his temple and Suguru leaned his cheek into your palm.

“Appropriate?” He murmured, glancing back down at the dress before looking back at you with sadness in his eyes. “Sure, but unfortunate, really. Considering the likelihood that you’ll have to wear it again.”

As you stared down at the same black dress laid out on your bed years later, you found yourself echoing Suguru’s sentiment about it.

Unfortunate for sure, if it could be summed up into one word.

Maybe if you ignored the irony of it, it wouldn’t make you laugh. Though maybe that was preferable to crying—you couldn’t decide. You ran your finger along the side of the dress and willed yourself to slip the fabric over your head and down your arms. But that felt like a monumental task, since the last time it had brushed over your skin was after Haibara’s funeral when Suguru had helped you peel it off. It was done perfectly tame and demure, neither of you in any kind of mood that would allow for any other behavior, and he had thrown it into your pile of growing laundry before the two of you had slipped under the blankets on your bed and sought out the unconscious bliss of a grief induced nap.

The memory stole your breath when you struggled to recall if that had been the last time Suguru was in your bed. It drove you nearly to the point of throwing yourself back into the plush pile of blankets where you had spent the last week since his death. You yearned to find any trace of him left; a scant strand of black hair, the lingering smell of his body wash on the pillow case, or even the warmth he always left behind in the indentation on his side of the mattress. But there would be none, as you already confirmed in your days of wallowing, because his last time there had been years ago and any evidence of him was long since washed away by time.

A sharp patting to your cheeks brought you out of whatever thoughts of Suguru lingered in your mind before you could spiral deeper into them, and you gave yourself no more time to think of it before you maneuvered the dress over your head and finished dressing yourself. You pulled the same shawl off a hanger in your closet and threw it around your shoulders before stepping into a different pair of shoes—a small mercy, but you’d take it—when someone knocked at your door.

There had been many instances of that over the last few days. Nanami appeared every morning at a routine time to ensure that you ate breakfast and brushed your teeth. Shoko drifted in after lunch to recline back against your headboard with you and watch mindless TV. Even Okkotsu had wandered in on the third day, nervousness bleeding out from him in the way that he knocked hesitantly and how his hands trembled when he sheepishly held up a tray of dinner, though that slowly dissipated as the two of you sat chatting over a hot meal. Nothing was said about what happened, because how were you supposed to say that you were proud of the bravery and strength he had shown in protecting his friends, but sickened at the thought that he had injured Suguru to the extent he did. Perhaps you could say just that, but you doubted it would make either of you feel any better, so all you did was press a hand to his arm and ruffle his hair before he left with a tiny grin on his face.

And then yesterday evening, when darkness had just started to dim the edges of your room and you had snuggled yourself away in bed did you hear three rapid knocks done firmly against your door. You were quick to leap from your bed and twist the doorknob in the same moment you began to pull it open, but the space in front of you was empty. The halls were silent and footsteps didn’t quicken around a corner, but a small plastic bag sat lonely at the tips of your toes. When you opened it and recognized the same sweets Satoru would bring for the three of you to snack on under the big tree in the corner of the school’s training grounds, you helped yourself to one or two of them—even if you had already brushed your teeth.

So now, when another knock echoed through your room, you expected any of the four of them to be standing outside your door, though some seemed more likely than others. If you were relieved or disappointed when you opened the door to see Nanami standing there in a suit exactly the same as his others except for its shade of black, you hoped you didn’t let it show. Instead, you placed your hand into the crook of his elbow and let him lead you to wherever it was you all were to go.

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In a couple minutes walk from campus, up a slightly inclined hill and after a bend in the trail, a tall stone monument inscribed with Suguru’s name sat nestled against a cluster of trees. It wasn’t secluded enough that the coolness of the wind couldn’t flutter the grass growing near the bottom or that errant beams of sun would never flash over the letters in his name, but the area was quiet and slightly further than the beaten path. You supposed it was fitting. Suguru didn’t belong anywhere else. Certainly not in a field of endless headstones, but neither to be simply found when roaming the nature surrounding the school. Obscured, but not forgotten. Maybe later discovered by a stray ball thrown or a small pebble kicked.

The soil shifted slightly under your feet as you switched your weight from one hip to the other, and you watched as Principal Yaga walked to stand close to the stone bearing Suguru’s name. He cleared his throat and you let your eyes wander as he opened his mouth to give whatever brief speech he had prepared. You heard Shoko sniffle behind you, and from the corner of your eye you saw Nanami reach back to hand her a tissue he pulled from his pocket. Around them others gathered, some friends, some classmates, some you didn’t recognize. Whether they were all there to show their support to you and Satoru or actually intended to pay their respects to the dead who may or may not deserve it was debatable at best. You didn’t care to know.

“Time and time again we will all be reminded of the pain of outliving. I urge you to find what drives you forward, otherwise the ceaselessness of it all will surely make a mess of you.”

You expected nothing less than blunt and dismal from Principal Yaga, and as he left his spot by the stone pillar to return to the crowd, you suddenly found yourself unable to move forward. There was nothing for you to leave on Suguru’s grave except for the possibility of a few missed tears that might run down your nose and fall to the dirt. You had nothing to say to him, at least not like this, when he lay six feet under and would never respond. If he could hear you wail at him and reply back in any meaningful way then maybe your mind could be swayed, but he hadn’t given you that opportunity in life, so you were hard pressed to return the favor to him in death. With that, you figured your mind was made up enough that you could turn and start the walk back to your room, but a hand suddenly trailed down your arm and tangled with your fingers to tug you forward before you had the chance. You were ready to scold Nanami for forcing you into something you barely wanted to do, but a glimpse of white hair ripped the words from your mouth.

“You looked like you needed some encouragement,” Satoru said, his tone teasing but no evidence of such on his face. You gaped at him, taken aback by how he seemed to appear out of nowhere and touch you so easily. The racing of your heart told you that maybe five days apart wasn’t yet enough to ease the impact of his presence, but you did your best to swallow away the thickness in your throat and do something other than stumble along next to him.

“I would’ve moved eventually,” you grumbled, coming to a stop next to Suguru’s grave with Satoru to your left. You couldn't bear to look at it up close, so you turned your head to focus on Satoru’s appearance. You were left surprised when you realized that a thick black band wrapped the entirety of his head to hide his eyes and part of you was grateful. The blue of them was unnerving on the best of days, and you were afraid that right now, when you could just hardly keep your voice from shaking at the sight of him, they would overwhelm you completely.

“Besides,” you continued, blowing out a shuddered breath as you tilted your head to rest it against the bulk of his shoulder, “I’m not even sure what the point of standing here is.” Undecided by you, the hand that wasn’t being squeezed by Satoru’s drifted to the stone so you could trace the lines of Suguru’s name with the tip of your finger.

“We’re mourning, aren’t we?” He asked.

You shrugged, shifting your view downwards to peer at the grass and rock below your feet. “I guess, though I suspect most of my mourning will be done out in the world. Maybe on a random street or grocery store when the memory of him hits hard enough on some unassuming Tuesday. But not here, not when a dozen eyes are watching me and I don’t have a word to be shared with him.” You might have imagined it, but Satoru’s body seemed to coil tight with tension.

“No last words?”

You had never heard Satoru sound so strained. “Suguru couldn’t do me the honor, so I don’t see why I should waste my breath.”

He said nothing, and you bit down on your lip when the thought crossed your mind that maybe you had offended him in the slightest. “I’m not going to be bitter for the rest of my life, I swear.” You tightened your grasp on his hand briefly as you tried to reassure him. “Maybe for just a little while.”

Satoru’s answering laugh was devoid of all its usual charm and fullness, and for the first time ever, it made you uneasy. With nothing else for you to do or say, you turned away from Suguru’s grave and dragged Satoru along with you, allowing space for Nanami to escort Shoko to her chance to say goodbye. You pondered gathering back with the rest of the crowd but truly saw no purpose in it, and instead you made your way back to the trail leading to campus.

The speed at which Satoru flicked your hand from his once the two of you left the coverage of the trees stung your pride and allowed for a swell of anger to heat your cheeks. He may not like how you chose to cope with the loss of one-so-dear to the both of you, nor was he supposed to grieve in any way similar to you, but he should at least respect what you did to keep yourself standing at any given moment.

So as disappointing as it was to see how hastily he retreated from you, maybe more time was necessary for you and Satoru to find the pattern in which the two of you would operate without Suguru being in his place between you. You never really quite learned how to be alone with your boyfriend’s best friend (you figured it was time to remove that qualifier since Suguru was no longer alive to keep the role occupied), not that it was done intentionally or with any amount of concern, but more a simple byproduct of the established dynamic. Suguru and Satoru had been friends years before you had arrived at Jujutsu High, and when you finally immersed yourself fully into Suguru’s life as his partner, Satoru had been the most challenging part to accommodate. Where he was seemingly boundless in his energy and demonstrative with his emotions, you remained relatively even-keeled and reserved. Satoru was borderline obnoxious in his confidence, but you were overtly aware of your own faults, though stubbornly determined in all your endeavors. Suguru had his hands full the first few months in maintaining equitable peace between you two, and you were afraid that now that he was gone there would be considerable more growing pains between you and your friend as you learned how to accommodate for the other without someone there to offer mediation.

Perhaps absence or distance could make a heart less callous, so in an effort to reach that point, you didn’t urge your legs to move faster as Satoru’s longer ones created more and more space between the two of you in your descent back home.

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“Are you sure you’d like to come back to work already? I was prepared to give you more than just a week.”

Principal Yaga’s office wasn’t a place you were used to being. The chairs across his desk had been previously reserved for the frequent reprimanding of a particular twosome, but they had long since sat empty and you only deigned yourself there to beg your principal for an assignment.

“While appreciative of the offer, I can no longer be unproductive.” You hoped you came across firm and confident in your request, but you were afraid you simply looked well worn and desperate. Yaga observed you a minute longer before looking back down at the paperwork strewn across his desk and let out a long sigh. If he’d spare you the indignity of having to explain that you could no longer spend hours at a time crying in your room, you’d never again let out the smallest complaint when Satoru’s unfinished reports landed in your own ever-growing pile.

“Very well. I’ll get back to you soon.” Elation had you already up and out of your chair, a ‘thank you’ on your lips when he continued, “I don’t know what it is with you two. Satoru was here only an hour ago asking for the very same thing.”

Your back had been to your principal and his desk, so you couldn’t see the suspicion on his face, but you heard it in his voice nonetheless. “Restlessness, I suppose.”

Yaga hummed low in his throat. “Possibly.”

You chose not to dwell on Satoru’s peculiarities and had just nearly made it to the door of Yaga’s office when you remembered what else you came for. “Thank you, by the way,” You started, turning just slightly to offer your sincerity, “I appreciate what you did with Suguru’s grave.”

Principal Yaga’s expression was perplexed and somewhat concerned. “I cannot take credit for that. Satoru was the one who decided where to place the stone. He came to me with instructions for the funeral.”

You weren’t exactly stunned into silence, but you had to stop and think for a moment before it occurred to you that you hadn’t once considered that it was Satoru who had prepared the funerary process for Suguru. It didn’t bother you that he did and never once consulted you about what preparations were to be made—you had zero faith in your ability to muster the courage for such a task—but the idea he had done it alone was a decidedly unpleasant image to add to your repertoire of self-inflicted torment.

When had he scouted a location for his best friend to forever rest? Had he stumbled upon it accidentally or had he always known of the little patch of sun and seclusion in the midst of a forested trail? Were you on his mind when he thought of how the curve of the trees would offer the privacy you craved for when you eventually made the trek there? Had he wept over that same spot the two of you had looked down on? Was is done out of obligation to you or an attempt at repentance for a deed he deemed punishable. Did he—,

“Please,” You begged Yaga, too exhausted to be embarrassed by the weakness of your voice, “send me somewhere far away from here.”

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Satoru couldn’t be sure of when he last slept. A full night’s rest had probably occurred in the days leading up to Suguru’s death, but in the time following he couldn’t recall anything more than twenty or thirty minutes of restless dozing at a time. Wakefulness was as painful as he expected, but the landscape of his dreams provided no relief from the events of the last week. At this point, he was convinced the latter was worse than the former.

He was only marginally chagrined to admit that he was avoiding you. A dutiful upbringing told him that meeting you in your place of grief to offer his support and share of the weight was the proper way to do things. The way you terrorized him in his sleep had him believing otherwise. When Satoru did finally succumb to the beckoning of exhaustion and rested his eyes in the comfort of a luxe city apartment across town from Jujutsu High, you were there in his subconscious to appear as everything he feared.

Maybe this time you did throw yourself at him. Your face was wild in its anguish and fury. Your nails raked down his cheek and if they tore the skin to shreds it was because he let you. Suguru’s name left your mouth in relentless screams that rang his ears and Satoru couldn’t pull you close like he wanted to, because as quickly as you came upon him you removed yourself with the same swiftness, eyes cutting and full of distrust. You spat your disapproval and scorned the day of his birth, and when you told him that you would never hope to lay your eyes on him again he nodded in agreement. Your reproach would always best any barrier he could lay over himself, landing true to bury deep in his chest, and he’d let you do it over and over again if that’s all he’d ever be good for—a target for your outpoured suffering.

Or the inverse where—a horrible manifestation of his best friend’s dying words—you were his. In some similarity to his memory, you did offer whatever comfort you could manage while you were also falling apart in the garden with him. You reacted the same as you did and Satoru watched you walk away with the same sense of foreboding lingering in your absence. But later, in the privacy of his home, you found your way to him. He gathered you into his arms so he could rest his cheek on top of your head and you slithered your hands up and under the jacket of his uniform to steal the heat of his skin. In the steam of the shower you wiped away a droplet of dried blood from under his ear, rinsing it away under a stream of water before Satoru could get a glimpse of it. When he broke down into strangled sobs under the blankets of his bed, you were there to pull his head to your breast and rake your fingers through his hair. In the quiet stillness before sleep he could remember exactly the feel of the dead weight that wore his best friend’s face. It would never leave him, a deep scar that had no outward appearance, but the softness of your skin and the way it would give under the pressure of his fingers would tempt his mind into forgetting.

Each version of his dreams would awaken Satoru with a panicked need to escape, to prowl the edges of his apartment until the comfort of familiarity wore off and he would seek solace in the openness of the night sky and empty streets. Yet, to his utter embarrassment and shame, one of those dreams would drive him to lie back into the plushness of his bed and bury his head into his pillow to chase a warmth that was never there. Satoru never wanted to covet Suguru’s beloved partner, but in sleep deprived grief he was weak to desire any shred of alleviation and assurance, even if that came in a hypothetical version of yourself. However, he would still eventually anathematize his own self when he couldn’t pull his eyes from their sockets and wrench his soul from his body all because the torture of outliving was compounding on his shoulders and he couldn’t understand how he could so fiercely hate his best friend in fleeting moments of despair.

So Satoru wandered and abstained, using every drop of the senses he was born with to make sure he was always moving in a direction away from you (not that it was difficult since you seldom left your bedroom), but he still found himself preoccupied with the thought of you. On the first night after Suguru’s death as he walked mindlessly through the school grounds, he came across a hidden alcove of soft grass and towering trees and immediately knew that this was the place where Suguru had to be. It wasn’t for his own sake or in consideration of the sensibilities of anyone else at Jujutsu High, but for you and the way he knew you would be in need of privacy when you came to cry or scream or bargain with the dirt over Suguru’s grave. He hadn’t waited until morning to let Principal Yaga know of his plans. Later, when Satoru passed by a familiar shop the night before Suguru’s funeral and spotted the sweets the three of you often indulged in together, he was powerless to do anything other than return with them to the school and leave a bag full at your doorstep because he knew you would like the taste of them—and maybe the memories attached to them as well.

Satoru broke the physical boundary he placed around you at Suguru’s funeral. He watched you from the back of the crowd as you stared at a point over and miles beyond Principal Yaga’s shoulder. He intervened when minutes had passed since Yaga’s speech and you still hadn’t moved from your spot beside Nanami. His skin came alight when he interlaced your fingers with his and led you to stand right next to the stone monument of Suguru’s grave, and he told himself that the pressure he exerted in his hold was as much for your own sake as it was his.

The buzz of familiarity that came with your touch vanished from his body as he heard the bitterness in your voice when you declared to him that Suguru wasn’t entitled to any of your final words since he hadn’t offered any to you. An overwhelming sense of great dread formed in the pit of his stomach and Satoru could hear the ticking of the metaphorical clock hanging above his head that was counting down to some unknown time when the biggest lie of his life would most likely ruin it. If a bead of sweat dripped down his cheek, he hoped you’d confuse it for a tear. Satoru would have stayed rooted to his place in front of Suguru’s grave had you not forced him to walk back with you to the main trail down the hill, and it took those first couple steps to jolt him back into awareness. The warmth of your hand ultimately became too much for him to bear. It felt so much like the hand that soothed his flesh in the middle of his dreams. It reminded him too much of how you seemed to depend on his comfort with trust he hadn’t earned, and he couldn’t stand to have you in contact with himself a moment longer. He didn’t stick around to see if there was any reaction to his abrupt departure on your face. He didn’t hear you quicken your strides to catch up with him and Satoru made the assumption that maybe you were in need of space too.

He continued that way for another week, slinking around the school to avoid being seen or spotting you from afar, and it was then Satoru could take it no longer. He demanded from Principal Yaga for something to take his mind off the turmoil. Surely the underclassmen needed training, some curse was waiting to be exorcized, or even a random closet was needing to be organized. Anything would do and no task was below him.

So that’s how he found himself staring at you two days later from behind the corner of a building at the front of Jujutsu High, observing as you loaded luggage into the back of a black sedan and took an orange file of paperwork from Principal Yaga. The underclassmen were waiting at a small cafe a ten minutes drive away and Satoru was already twenty late, but he couldn’t help watching as you slid into the backseat, shut the door, and drove off through the gates without so much as a look back. He had thought that distance would ease the sting of…. whatever was hanging between you two, but under the initial feeling of relief was a simmering hurt that came from the fact you were leaving without a goodbye.

What’s one more when the wounds are still fresh?

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The following chapters will have more dialogue and interaction between Satoru and Reader. I needed this chapter to offer a bit more background/insight in order to build onto what's coming.

Things will feel a bit lighter and happier before they get angsty again, but I do promise everything will end well <3

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x you #gojo x reader #geto x you #geto x reader

46 notes · View notes

rreyie · 4 years

Text

𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧- 𝙖𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: niccolo calls you down to the kitchen to ask you to sample a new kind of meat. i think you know where this is going.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: smut! oral sex (both receiving), fem! reader, unedited work, kinda short lmao

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: smut/nsfw

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: niccolo, reader insert

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: there’s literally no stories with niccolo on here and that upsets me.... well i am now here to turn that around 😏 i was debating if instead of the reader i would put sasha but i think i’m better at character x reader than character x character

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you entered the spacious kitchen niccolo owned, as the scent of fresh bread wafted around the room. the scent was inhaled through your nose, mouth watering as you could practically taste it.

niccolo was leaning against the counter, wavy blonde hair parted in the middle as his apron was tied unusually tightly around him. flour was dusted along the red apron, creating small white patches on the fabric.

“what are you doing up at this hour?” you asked. “an even better question, why do you want me down here at 11:30 at night?” you referred to the note that he had left on your bed, asking you to report to the kitchen to taste something he had made.

“well if you’re here then you already know”, he responded. his hazel eyes nervously looked around the room as he desperately tried to think of something to say without being awkward. “i was wondering if you could help me taste a special kind of meat i cooked up.” he gulped.

your eyes lit up. “really? then why don’t you want anyone else down here tonight? why only me?”

niccolos cheeks turned a bit red. “because this meat is reserved for you.”

what the fuck does he mean, meat only reserved for me? you ask yourself.

well, your question was answered as soon as you noticed a bump form in the area between niccolos legs, covered by the fabric. his print showed, eager for attention.

your face turns red like a ripe tomato. you also notice that his arms and legs were bare, indicating that he wasn’t wearing anything underneath that apron.

“w-why aren’t you wearing anything underneath that?” you ask him.

“well, i asked you to taste some meat, didn’t i?” he asked. he walks over to you, and cups your cheek. his print presses against your stomach, feeling the bulge harden upon contact.

he presses his lips against yours, swirling his tongue around your mouth, admiring the pleasant taste that was on your lips. you kiss him back, feeling his lips that were softer than butter itself.

“ready to be my taste tester, y/n?”

“i’d love to.”

niccolo fiddled with the straps that tied arond his wast and neck, the apron promptly falling to his knees.

your eyes immediately fall upon what’s in between his legs. he’s already hard, the tip a flushed pink and his shaft a pale peach color. niccolo smirks as he watches you observe his dick.

“like what you see?” he asks as he pulls you closer to him again. you nod, and niccolo grabs your chin.

“good, now start tasting.”

he shoves you downwards, falling on your knees as he looks down on you expectantly.

your hand moves to his cock, and wraps around it as you feel the stiff and soft flesh that your hand is currently enveloping. you had no idea how niccolo’s dick was that soft.

another thing you began to question was how you were going to fit his fat cock in your mouth. he had to be at least 8 inches, with some pretty outstanding girth.

you move your hand up and down loosely as you feel niccolo twitch, and let out a groan.

you create a bit of saliva in your mouth and spit on his cock, and use both hands to rub it up and down his shaft so your hands could glide a bit easier.

after jerking him for a bit of time, a little bit of pre cum begins to form at his tip that has went from pink to red. you press your thumb over his tip and give it a gentle rub. a small gasp escapes from his throat as you rub his tip a few more times.

eventually, you guide his swollen cock into your mouth, giving it a few kitten licks on the way in. you begin to bob your head, feeling his shaft against the slick walls of your mouth.

“h-holy shit...” niccolo stammers. “just like that, please... oh my god...”

you give him a grin as you look up at him with doe eyes, trying to look as innocent as you possibly can.

as niccolo looked back into your eyes, he couldn’t help but buck his sturdy hips, shoving his cock further into the back of your throat. you gag, unprepared for that amount of impact.

“shit, sorry”, he says as you cough. “did that hurt?”

“no, i’m fine”, you say. “actually, it’s fine if you do that, it’s... kind of hot. face fuck me if you want to-“

niccolo doesn’t need another word. he thrusts his hips into your mouth, earning a muffled moan from you. he fills your poor mouth up to the brim, fat cock taking up every inch of space in your mouth. the tip of him repeatedly hits the back of your throat as your toes curl.

“you feel... so- good...” he stutters, as he continues to face fuck you mercilessly, at this point not caring if he’s making you gag or choke on him. “y-you’re gonna make me cum...”

you would respond, but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t. you wouldn’t dare pull away from him as he’s so close. you only hum in response, the hum sounding a bit more like a moan. this pushes him further to the edge as adrenaline rushes through his veins.

his thrusts turn sloppy as he come closer to the end, numerous grunts coming from his mouth.

“ah- oh my go- ngh! i’m gonna- ahh...” he groans raspily as he cries your name one last time before releasing his load into your mouth. your mouth is now filled with both niccolos cock and his thick cum.

he pulls out, dick now coated in a mixture of saliva and his own cum. no matter how hard you try, you just couldn’t swallow it all down. a bit of cum spills out of your mouth as you force it down your throat.

niccolos breath softens as he looks you in the eyes.

“you’re a natural, eh?” he asks you.

“if that’s what you want to call it”, you reply.

he chuckled. “guess i should return the favor now, i’m just not sure if i’m as good as you.”

(breaking news! he’s wrong. very, very wrong.)

“that... would be nice.”

he lifts you up onto the counter as the cold surface is felt on your ass. niccolo is quick to pull down your pants, afterwards, the white blouse that you’re wearing is quickly discarded onto the floor. at this point, you’re clad in only your bra and panties.

niccolo pushes your legs apart, and pushes your panties, soaked in your arousal, aside. his eyes widen as he stares at your womanhood.

“you’re wet...” he says. “did i really make you that turned on?”

you nod. he makes quick work of his tongue as he places it in between your slick folds, eventuallly sliding it in your hole.

“ni-niccolo!” you gasp. he looks up at you with his hazel orbs, blonde hair all in his face. he gives you a smug smile, and speeds up his pace.

his tongue approaches your clit and gives it a little flick or two, and circles his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. your legs buckle from the pleasure.

his tongue dives into your folds again and licks every fold you have, savoring the taste you provide him. eventually, his tongue once again plunged into your hole, sliding in and out repeatedly.

you tug his blonde locks as he goes in deeper and deeper, and the burn in your stomach turns into a fire. your legs twitch uncontrollably as you feel yourself nearing your end.

you whine as you feel the fire in your stomach take over your entire body, the sensation taking over you as you come on niccolos face. a sting of moans escapes from your mouth, crying out for niccolo to keep going and to help you through the orgasm. you feel your juices sliding down your pussy as niccolo laps them up like a kitten.

“you tasted wonderful”, he said. leaning against you on the cold granite counter, he kisses you again so you can taste yourself on his tongue. something pokes at your thigh, and as you look down, niccolo is already hard again.

“dammit”, he scoffs. “got a boner again. up for round two?”

giggling, you get on your knees once again and help him take care of his little problem.

#aot hcs #aot headcanons #aot smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #snk headcanons #snk smut #niccolo #niccolo aot #aot niccolo smut #snk niccolo #aot niccolo

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marsbutterfly · 4 years

Note

Hey there! I been really enjoying your written work. I was wondering if you could write a scenario about porco and his s/o 'getting it on ;) maybe a college AU? if not, just ignore it~

Covalent Bonding

WARNING: NSFW

Summary: Porco is struggling to finish his organic chemistry lab report and comes to you for help. The lesson quickly goes off-topic.

Note: First of all thank you SO much for requesting this, we really hope you enjoy it. I wrote the intro and the outro. All of the smut was written by my amazing wife @tsukidrama ALSO the word count on this is around 5.3k so this is a long boi.

tsuki’s note: ok the porno i watched for research purposes while trying to conceptualize this fic started with the lines “wow, i hope no one comes along to fuck me in the ass and jerk my dick off” and then the girl walks in holding a strap on and says “oh hey, i just came here to fuck you in the ass and jerk your dick off.” i did this for you, anon. i accidentally pulled out all the stops for this, and i regret nothing. i had so much fun writing this, and i am now madly in love with Porco also?? everyone always writes him as such an edgy bitch or a headass dom and i’m sitting over here like....... but he is... a soft baby.... who cries during sex, falls in love, and gives kisses...... just sayin

Colab with @tsukidrama 💕

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version!

“We’ll cover Chapter 23 on Monday.” The professor’s voice echoes through the silent classroom. “Please make sure to submit your lab reports by 11:59 PM on Saturday night. E-mail me if you have any questions.”

Before you finish putting all of your belongings in your backpack, you share a look with Porco, who sits by your right side. He looks just as ready to leave this chemical filled room as you are.

Once you stand up, you feel his hand on your shoulder. As you turn around, he smiles brightly at you.

“Have you done your lab report yet?” Porco asks for the fifth time that week. You let out a burst of laughter. Butterflies soar in your stomach as his cheeks blush lightly, rubbing his neck in embarrassment.

“I did the intro and the outline,” you answer, tilting your head as you place a hand on your hips. “You want help with yours, don’t you?”

He starts laughing and avoiding eye contact with you.

“Well I was going to suggest that we could do it together.” He smiles at you once again, and the butterflies in your stomach now travel through all your body. “But I would accept your help, too.” Even though he tries to look tough, Porco has always been shy, especially when it comes to asking for a favor.

You simply nod at him before grabbing his hand, “Let’s go get to work then!”

The setting sun spills into the large, windowed hallway, casting long shadows against the wall beside it. The two of you clatter down the stairs to the level below your classroom, where all the different labs are located.

After peering through the dark window of a lab door labeled: ORGANIC CHEMISTRY, you punch in the security code that unlocks all of the orgo classrooms and labs (courtesy of your professor). The door unlocks with a small beep and the flash of a green light. Porco takes a few steps ahead of you, turning on the lights and checking to make sure nobody else has claimed the lab as a study space.

You sit down at the lab table farthest from the door, and before you sit you take your laptop and notes out of your backpack. Porco thumps a textbook between the two of you as he sits in the chair beside you. He smiles gratefully at you, a gentle red blush still coloring his face. Once you’re settled down, you frown at him quietly.

His face drops. “What wrong?” he asks, eyes filled with worry. You touch his hand and pull your chair closer to him, close enough for you to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Much better!” you say, and Porco clutches his chest in relief.

“I thought you were mad at me!” he exclaims, “bitch.” he adds under his breath, but his voice is quiet and gentle, even more so than usual. He shoots you a playful look. The fluorescent lights of the lab makes his hair look blonder than it already is, and you reach up to tuck a strand back into place amongst its slicked-back brothers. You put your free hand on his neck and you notice goosebumps on his arms. A smile on your face, you speak again.

“Where would you like to start?” You look at him and notice he has his thinking expression on, consisting of his lips moving one side to the other and his eyes focused on the ceiling. A few seconds pass before he looks at you.

“Alkanes, alkenes, and alkynes” he says, squeezing your hand. “I still don’t know what the fucking difference is.” You look away, trying to hide your burning, red cheeks from him, but his words still bring a smile to your face.

“Yeah, you better figure that shit out, huh?” you quip jestfully, and exaggerate your squeal as his hands shoot forward to tickle your stomach for your comment.

An hour passes while you two focus on his report. You spent most of that time explaining to him the types of bonds that differentiate aliphatic compounds, and end up just writing the opening paragraph for him. When you flip the textbook to the page that displays a chart that shows differences between the different structures, you can see from the corner of your eye that he very much does not care about the positioning of hydrogens and carbons. He's been staring at you for the past three minutes.

You bite your lower lip gently, though you’re already losing focus as he’s undressing you with his eyes. You take a deep breath and stop typing.

“This isn’t my lab report, you know,” you say, as shifting your body to fully face him. “You could at least grab your note-” But before you could finish your sentence, you feel his lips on yours. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening but, once you do, you wrap your arms around his neck as he touches your thighs.

“I’m sorry. I really do appreciate you helping me with this, but you look so beautiful tonight.” He says, flustered. He looks at you with stars in his eyes. You tilt your head to the left as you try to hide the smile creeping across your lips. You try to look away but you feel his cold fingers touching your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re ridiculous, Galliard,” you say before closing the space between the two of you once again. You can feel him smiling against your lips. He quickly changes the focus from your lips to your jawline, leaving a trail of wet, gentle kisses as he makes his way down.

A quiet moan involuntarily leaves your throat when you feel his fingers against your skin, slipping underneath your shirt. Your left-hand travels from his neck to his head as you disrupt the perfectly swept-back coif of hair. The smell of his hair gel and cologne mixed with the scent of your own perfume excites you even more.

Suddenly, he removes his lips from your skin. You let out an annoyed whine, and open your eyes to glare at him.

“Is this ok?” he asks, touching your hand. Your annoyances melts into a gentle smile as you lift a hand to touch his face. He snuggles his cheek against your touch.

“Yes, Porco,” you reply, “Of course.”

He nods, the faintest glimpse of a smile visible across his lips before he moves in to kiss you once again. One arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer, his other hand quick to travel from your face to underneath your skirt. He plays with the waistband of your underwear, trying to slip his hands lower. You softly hold his hand in place.

“Wait,” you say, a mischievous smile creeping onto your face, “I have an idea.” Porco wordlessly tilts his head and looks at you, incredulous. He looks confused yet adorable.

“I have something. From last time,” you continue, pulling away to dig in your backpack. You toss aside a notebook and a pencil case before you find the drawstring bag you’re looking for. You pull it out by the strings.

“Ta-da!” you say, presenting him with the bag. His eyes go wide with realization.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

You nod, accidentally smiling a little too brightly.

Porco chuckles nervously, a dark blush spreading across his cheeks. “Here? In the lab?” he asks.

You nod. “Here. In the lab.”

He looks at you, then at the bag, and then at the door and the closed blinds covering the windows. His eyes come back to you, and again to the bag, then to finally lock with yours. His face is burning even redder now, but he nods.

“Okay, let’s do it,” he agrees, “I trust you.”

Excitement stirs deep in your gut. You pull open the bag and take out its contents to place them on the lab table. It thuds lightly against the table, bright pink textured silicone standing out against the dark wood. From its well-defined head to its base, the dildo sits about six inches long. A metal ring holds it in place against a black nylon harness, with another inch or so of silicon balls underneath. A small, half-empty bottle of lube clatters next to it along with a couple of brightly colored condoms you snagged from the free bowl in front of your RA’s door.

Porco looks away, nervously scratching his neck as you pick up the harness.

“Come on,” you tease, sticking your leg through the maze of straps and buckles, and then the other. You pull it all the way up, securing it at your hips underneath your skirt, which tents around the pink phallus betwixt your legs. “Now… do I need to tell you to bend over?”

He shakes his head and shoots you an eager look, quickly unbuckling his belt and undoing his zipper. His jeans hang loosely around his hips as he rests his forearms against the lab table, stretching out and arching his back, ass on display.

You admire that shit for a moment before you press yourself against him from behind. You kiss his cheek, and softly brush your lips against the outer shell of his ear, relishing the shiver you feel travel down his spine.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, grinding his ass into your hips. You giggle, bucking your hips into him playfully as you kiss his cheek once more.

Your hands rest gently on his hips as you slip your fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Once they’re hooked around your fingers, you gently pull them over his ass. He doesn’t even give you time to get it halfway down before he reaches down with one arm to pull down his boxers as well. The giggles come back to you as you help him free himself of clothing.

“Don’t laugh,” Porco whines, covering his eyes with his hand, “it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re just cute,” you assure him, “I’m not making fun.” The cap on the bottle of lube pops open with a snap, and you pour a generous amount of it on two of your fingers. You take a step closer to him, setting the lube down on the table as one of your arms snakes under his shirt to wrap around his chest. The other slides down his spine, over his tailbone to trace the curve of his ass. Porco’s breath hitches in his throat when your fingers reach their destination, softly prodding at the entrance.

“Ready?” you ask, speaking softly in his ear. He nods vigorously, breathing hard.

“Please,” he says. So you give him what he wants, and slowly push in your slicked fingers.

Porco just gasps in response, his head dropping below his shoulders. He isn’t nearly as tense as he was the first few times you did this, and your fingers easily sink to the second knuckle. You gently move them in and out. With your other hand, you gently trace your thumb against the soft skin above his solid pectoral muscles. Gently, you plant a kiss on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” you ask, rubbing his chest.

He turns his head towards you, his face flushed. “Totally fine,” he says breathlessly, and you feel him opening his legs wider to accommodate you.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, shifting your weight to a more comfortable position. Porco tilts his head to look at you. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with wide eyes. You move your fingers inside of him, trying to find the angles he likes. You press against something you find promising, and he confirms it with a sharp intake of breath.

You thrust deliberately and carefully, and once he starts to get more into it, you begin to scissor your fingers ever so slightly. Porco gasps, and gently rocks back against you. His eyes slip closed, his lip parted and his blush darkening in his cheeks and spreading down onto his neck.

“Y-you can put another one in,” he mutters, so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Hmm?”

Porco grunts in frustration. “You know exactly what I said, you asshole!”

You can’t help but smile as you oblige his request. You slow your pace as you ease in the third finger, but the combination of lube and his enthusiasm makes it a short-lived adjustment. He grinds into your hand, and you tilt your fingers to again find that sweet spot inside that elicited the little gasps and moans he was trying so hard to muffle. You soon begin to move more freely, thrusting nearly all the way inside. Your fingertips twitch inside of him, and to your absolute delight, he lets out the sweetest and most delicate moan, though he tries to muffle it with his fingers. His shoulder blades jut into the air as he pulls his own hair, hips squirming.

“Fuck,” he says into his hands, “fuck, you’ve got to give me more.”

“What do you want, Galliard?” you ask, though you’re fairly confident that you know the answer.

“Damn it, put it in!” he exclaims, still muffled. “Fuck me, Y/N...”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you say in a tantalizing manner, smiling cheerfully as you reposition yourself behind him. You squirt a generous amount of lube into your strap on, careful to coat the length entirely. Your hands lay gently against his hips, lining yourself up with him before you use one hand to guide the head of the pink silicone dildo into place.

“Okay,” you say, partly to ready yourself, and partly (mostly) to ready him. Porco whines in anticipation, and you don’t deny him. He spreads his legs just a little wider to lower himself, and you rise up on your toes to meet him.

You push your hips forward slowly, making sure to listen for signs of discomfort. Porco moans, this one poorly muffled and loud. One of his hands slaps against the table for support.

“Don’t stop,” he says, his breath hitching in his throat, “please, don’t stop.”

No discomfort, then. You continue on.

Your fingers tighten their grip against his hips, digging into them for leverage as you thrust your hips. Despite the fact that you aren’t quite as tall as he is, or you aren’t as practiced in your thrusts as he is when he fucks you, you like to think that you’re good at what you do - based on the low moans and intermittent gasps and whines, Porco certainly seems to be having a good time. After all, he let you fuck him again. And in the lab, at that.

Porco shifts positions, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared in between his legs. You notice pressure building between your own, but ignore it in favor of grabbing the bottle of lube. The cap clicks open, and you pull your hips back just long enough to squirt a little bit onto the silicone dick before you push it back in. Another haphazard squirt into your own hand, and you reach around his body, nudging aside his hand to replace it with your own.

“Some for you, and some for me,” you say, snorting at your own joke. Porco just moans in response to your touch, biting his knuckles.

Your hand wanders up from his hips, fingers wandering up to brace against the muscles on his back, through the shirt (but better than nothing). Still wandering, your fingers rake through his hair from the back, twisting the blonde locks hard enough to tug, but not painfully. Porco’s shoulders slump, his arms and head both flat against the table top.

You let go of his hair, raking your nails down his back until you dig your fingers back into his hips. You pull out slightly, readjusting your foot stance for a better angle and shifting so that you can better reach around to stroke his cock.

When you push back in with the new angle, Porco lets out another exclamation of pleasure, much louder this time than any of his previous vocalizations. Warmth pools between your thighs at the sound, but you can’t help but get a little bit nervous at the idea of actually being caught.

“Shh,” you hiss. Between his (admittedly, wonderful) noises, the slapping of your thighs and the creak of the wooden lab table, you’re pretty sure that anyone who walked within 10 feet of the door would know exactly what was going on behind it.

Porco mumbles something unintelligible, and he doesn’t make any attempt to clarify. You quicken your hips’ pace while your hand stays tight around his cock. You rub your thumb over the tip gently before stroking down the entire length. The lube is slippery, and it makes you work to keep your grasp - your grip tightens as it slides almost entirely out of your hand, and Proco loudly groans again at the increased pressure.

“Shh,” you reiterate, more forcefully this time.

Porco groans, lifting his head to look at you. “Oh… You shut the fuck up.”

“Ooh, sassy. Do you talk to your mother with that mouth?” you chide, lightly smacking his ass with your free hand.

“Do not talk about my mother right now,” he says, voice strained.

“Mm,” you agree. Your hand cups around his ass before you allow your fingers to drift up the curve of his back.

His cock twitches, and you again rub your thumb around it’s head before you go back to pumping along the shaft, twisting your hand the way that you know he likes.

“Oh,” Porco whimpers. His cock pulses in your hand, and you stroke him hard and fast as you feel the rest of his body going rigid. “Oh fuck.”

His back arches as he cries out, shuddering beneath you as his cock spills hot cum over your hand. You slow your hips’ pace and rub his back soothingly. You press your cheek against his back, the closest you can get to him.

“I got you,” you say over and over again as he twitches below you. “I got you.” Another rope of cum drips down your hand. Where his arm overlaps yours, he holds you to his body tightly. You notice that he’s still shaking, so you continue to rub his back.

After a few seconds of heavy breathing, you raise your hips and pull the dildo out slowly and carefully.

You touch Porco’s back softly and hug his shoulders from behind. “You okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, turning his head to face you. His face is flushed and sweaty, his normally impeccable hair skewed out of place in every direction. He looks at you with glazed-over eyes the size of the moon. You lean in to kiss him.

Porco pushes himself up from the table to cup your face with his hands, kissing you back deeply, with passion. You smile as he kisses you.

“What’s so funny?”

You nuzzle the tips of your noses together. “I’m not laughing, I just love you.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can feel him smiling too.

The two of you stay like that for a moment - kissing, and of course, Porco’s hands (predictably) end up wandering underneath your shirt. As he explores the expanse of skin beneath, you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressing his leg between yours. Your breath hitches as he nudges the strap on harness up in a way that a strap brushes right up against your clit. His hand finds your breast, and circles your nipple with his thumb.

“Again? Already?” you ask, bemused, but still very willing to be convinced.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he pouts, still thumbing over your nipple torturously, “You got to fuck me.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s scared of getting caught!” you exclaim, and gasp at the sensation.

He takes a moment to think, and his hand moves back down to your waist. “I would rather be caught fucking you than be caught with you fucking me.”

You laugh while you shrug your shoulders, then loosen the straps from around your hips. The harness falls, but you catch it on one of your ankles and toss it on the table near your bag. The pink silicone dick points upwards, the shaft glistening with lube.

“Okay,” you agree, slipping your underwear off and tossing it the same way next to the strap on. “You can fuck me.”

Porco’s lips curl into a smirk you know all too well. You prop your elbows up on the lab table, sticking your ass out in the same position you fucked him in.

“No, no. Turn around,” he tells you, “I want to see your face.”

Your fingers lightly cover your mouth in embarrassment. “Awww, Porco. You love me…” you tease.

He blushes and looks off to the side. “Shut up. Of course I love you.”

“I love you too,” you remind him soothingly, stepping into his grasp. His arms snake around your waist, and you rise up on your toes to kiss him. It doesn’t take long before his hands wander to slip underneath your already hiked-up skirt.

You flatten your hand against his chest, and as his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs, your fingers curl, and take a fistful of his shirt with them as you gasp. He kisses your cheek, and makes his way down the side of your neck. You squirm against him, slapping your hand against the table blindly until your fingers feel that familiar crinkle of a condom wrapper, and you pull away from him with a huff, and then yank his shirt.

The two of you stumble backwards into the counters at the back of the classroom, with you guiding him. You spin him around so that his ass is backed up against the counter.

“Get up,” you say, releasing your hold on him and gesturing.

Porco laughs as he looks behind himself, then uses his arms to boost himself up to sit on the countertop. He slides a box of microscope slides closer to the scope they were meant for.

“We would be so fucked if we broke those,” he says.

You look at him hungrily as you tear into the serrated plastic edge of the condom wrapper. “You’re gonna get so fucked anyway.”

He smiles before lunging to grab you beneath the arms, tugging you up on the counter with him. You laugh and kick your legs as you scramble to balance yourself on the smooth linoleum.

“Technically, you already did fuck me.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna fuck you again.”

Both of you burst into laughter as you straddle his lap. You throw the condom wrapper off to the side, and focus on rolling the condom itself down Porco’s cock. Once your hand reaches its base, you lift your hips to position yourself above it, but Porco’s hand touches your wrist to stop you before you have the chance to lower yourself down.

You look up at him expectantly, only to be pulled into another kiss. Immediately, you forget what you were doing as you feel yourself being wrapped up in his arms, his smell, his lips. His hands wander up your body, flattening against your stomach and cupping your breasts. You shudder as his thumb circles around your nipple again, and you instinctively grind your hips into his. When Porco finally breaks the kiss, he reaches between you to line himself up.

Some kind of noise rushes out of your throat when he finally guides your hips down, and you finally get the gut-punch you had been aching for as you let your knees slide apart further to take him in. Thighs trembling, you brace yourself against his shoulders for support until you can’t go any further. He guides your hips back up again, and then again until you find the strength to move on your own.

Once you’ve established a rhythm, Porco kisses you again, sloppily this time. You grind your hips down, and he groans into you.

“Mmphh,” he mumbles into your lips, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

As you bounce up and down, you swivel your hips in tight circles. Porco keeps one hand on your waist and lifts the other to grasp your breast, twisting the nipple just enough to make your eyes roll back into your head.

“Tell me more about it,” you tell him, voice cracking. You double down on your efforts, bouncing faster and now squeezing down around his cock.

Porco digs his fingers into your skin, and bucks his hips up to meet yours. “You feel so good. If I hadn’t — fuck,” he chokes as you bounce down particularly hard, “—if I hadn’t just come, you’d already have me in pieces.”

Another bounce and purposeful grind of your hips and his head drops forward with a whimper. You smirk, though you know he can tell you’re coming unraveled, too.

“I can get you there again.”

Now that he’s worked up again, that beautiful flush has come back to stain his cheeks. You feel yourself losing purchase as you move against each other, but you don’t care.

“You sure as shit will if you keep going like that.” Porco gasps, thrusting up into you hard, and you couldn’t control the noise that comes out of your throat if you tried.

The both of you are breathing heavily, moving against each other with an increasing desperation as you both get closer to finishing. Porco’s hands are back at your waist, gripping so hard that you fear it may bruise, but this only encourages you. Your arms snake around his neck, and you cling to him as you press your forehead to his. Your fingers rake up into his hair, pulling gently and further knocking it out of place as you wrap your fingers in the long strands on top.

You whimper as you feel the pressure inside of you building, every stroke inside you stirring up more and more inside of you. Your body moves on its own against him as you feel yourself reaching the edge. Everything from the sweat sticking against your skin, to the way he pulls your body into his like you’re all he needs, excites you. You love the way you’re completely wrapped up in him, with his touch against your skin and his smell in your nose and his cock bottomed out in you, pulls you over the edge.

He kisses you as you come, muffling the moan that rips itself from your throat. He wraps his arms around you tight, though he doesn’t slow his pace. You do your best to keep your legs open for him as your orgasm hits you. You crumple into him, toes curling as he thrusts up hard into your oversensitive core.

Within seconds, Porco buries his head into the crook of your neck, letting out a choked groan. His cock twitches inside of you as he comes for the second time that evening. You stroke his hair, gently kissing his temples as he finishes. His arms tighten around you, and you rest your head atop his.

You stay like this for a minute or two, enjoying each other’s presence as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. Once strength returns to your body, you reluctantly move your hands onto his chest for support as you push yourself up, shifting your right leg to the other side of the counter, you feel his dick leaving the warmth of your body as both of you let out one final moan.

As your feet hit the floor, you watch Porco quietly struggling to get the condom off and a gentle giggle escapes you.

He meets your eyes and you see his blush darken.

“The lube is making this harder than it should be.” He says quietly. You bite your lip, holding in a laugh. Hopping off of the counter, you walk towards your backpack and look around the inside for a few seconds before finding a small towel.

“Porco.” You call his name before throwing the cloth in his direction. A smile never leaves his lips as he grabs it midair.

“You really came prepared, didn’t you?” He says. You simply shrug your shoulders before flashing him a smile of your own.

“Of course, you never know when you’ll get to peg the boy you’re desperately in love with.” You say as you focus on fixing your own clothes.

He stays quiet for a few seconds before murmuring something underneath his breath. “Huh?” is all you say, trying to get Porco to repeat himself.

“You’ve never said you were desperately in love with me before,” he says as he wraps the (finally) removed condom in a piece of paper he took from his own notebook, “or that you were in love with me.”

You feel your cheeks burn as you look away, trying to avoid his gaze. “I thought it was obvious. We say ‘I love you’ all the time.”

Once his pants are back on, he quietly walks towards you before reaching for your hand. His cold fingers are soft and gentle as he pulls you in for a hug.

“I don’t know, it feels different for some reason,” he says softly.

You nuzzle your face against the side of his neck while wrapping your hands around his back. A sense of calm washes over you.

“But I’m in love with you too,” he whispers, and twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. You lift your head to press your lips to his. He kisses you like you’re the only two people in the world, and his smile against your lips makes your heart skip a beat.

After a few seconds, he pulls away and looks around the lab. On the counter, can see the perfect print of his ass cheeks in lube. He shakes his head and reaches for the towel yet again.

“We better clean this place up a bit,” he observes, and you nod in agreement.

While Porco focuses on making sure there is no lube (or cum) left on any surfaces, you put the dildo back in its bag, along with your study materials.

It takes a few minutes, but soon enough the room looks exactly like you found it. All you need to do is put Porco’s laptop away when suddenly you two are reminded of the reason you went into the lab in the first place.

“Shit, my report!” He says as he covers his mouth with his hand. You slap your face, and just one look at him tells you that your work isn’t over yet tonight.

“Let’s go to the library so that we won’t get distracted again.” you tell him, “and we’re going in a communal area because if we get a study room we’re gonna end up fucking again.” You grab your backpack and walk towards the door, the blonde-haired boy following closely behind, carrying his laptop in one of his hands.

“Aww, would that be so bad?” Porco teases.

“It would be bad for your chem grade.”

Neither of you say anything as you descend the final flight of stairs, but as you are about to leave the building, you feel him lacing his fingers with yours. A blush creeps over your cheeks as you walk right next to him, making sure that, not even for a second, your hands will drift apart.

Porco has been here for you ever since you enrolled in college, rooting for you and taking care of you. In your head, you make a promise to yourself to never let him go. Not only because he’s the perfect man for you, but also because there’s nothing you love more than the expression on his face while you fuck him in the ass.

One more look at him, and you turn ahead to face the lights of the street ahead of you, getting lost in your thoughts as you walk towards the library.

You appreciate all the time you spend with him and deep down, you pray that this lab report will take even longer than you think it will, all so you can stay close to him for as long as you can.

#porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #shingeki no kyojin x reader #aot smut #aot x y/n #aot x you #snk x y/n #snk x you #porco x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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handmadecp · 3 years

Text

Crown Green Bowls bag build.

( Try saying that after a few drinks hahahahaha )

Hi Guys, real sorry for the long delay on this one, unfortunately real life hit us hard with the passing of our Mother which as I’m sure a lot of you can understand ..it takes it’s toll. However, we are getting back on track and I’m feeling the need to return to the leather. So, as promised, here is the bowls bag. Let’s get straight in.

Pic 1 : This project came about as a request from a family member to fix a Bowls carry bag, turned out it was beyond repair so as a surprise I re-made one completely using the old pieces as the pattern.

Pic 2 : These are the two end sections and one of the inner ‘dividers’ just cut from new veg tan leather 1.5mm thick.

Pic 3 : using dividers I marked a line around the edge and then marked for the new holes.

Pic 4 : finishing the marking out, the same proceedure applies for marking all the holes on all the new pieces.

Pic 5 : next step was to punch all holes on all pieces using a 1.5mm single punch.

Pic 6 : When all the new pieces were cut out marked and punched, it was time to dye them, I chose a walnut color and gave it 3 coats.

Pic 7 : I cut out a new main body section, transfered all the holes marking with an awl then followed up with the 1.5mm single punch untill i had all the holes made.

Pic 8 : Now all the pieces are ready for the build.

Pic 9 :The main body needs to be thickened up, so, as per the original, I cut a section of card in the shape of the main body and glued it to a nice blue vinyl sheet as shown here, this will eventually become the inner lining. Once dried I trimmed it round the edges glued it to the main body section and continued all holes through these new pieces.

Pic 10 : , I wet the whole thing with a water spray and slowly folded / rolled it and ‘convinced’ it to take the shape I needed, next the end sections were stitched in place using a saddle stitch then I fastened a strap around it to maintain the shape whilst it dried over night. ( I haven’t shown the stitching of these end sections as there are many projects on my blog at ‘Shamencraftprojects showing the procedure, feel free to drop by there and have a look.)

pic 11 : Next day the strap was removed and the case was now dry and holding its shape well.

Pic 12 : view of the inner blue vinyl liner.

Pic 13 : I placed the Bowls in the case and slotted the dividers in between just to give it some time to stretch, for this I lightly sprayed the outside leather with water. ( As the inner vinyl is water proof ). Again..once dried completely the bowls had done their job and they now fitted in easily.

Pic 14 :I positioned the upper straps, marked lightly, ‘scratched / roughed the area they would sit and then glued them in place, here you see me using an awl to carry the holes through

Pic 15 : Here I’m saddle stitching the upper straps to permanently fix them into place.

Pic 16 : The straps fixed in place.

Pic 17 : Folding to see if everything is still lining up,...all ok.

Pic 18 : Now for thelower buckle straps.

Pic19 : Buckles attached ready to close the case and mark their positions, I use the same tecnique to fit these straps as with the uppers.

Pic 20 : Once glued into place Icarry the holes through with an Awl and here I’m Saddle stitching it. I chose Gold colored buckles as I personally think it looks good with the dye color.

Pic 21 : view of the inside during stitching of the lower straps.

Pic 22 : All done, permanently fixed.

Pic 23 : The buckles and straps fit well together and are looking good. N ow for the handle.

Pic 24 : I decided to make a handle from scratch. I folded a piece of leather then..using my own stitch, which is a basic saddle stitch, but after each saddle stitch you take the stitch over the top passing both needles across each other then move to the next and repeat. It holds the leather very well and you end up with a nice looking and very solid stitch, I folded extra end material over on itself to attach the connectors.

Pic 25 : side view.

Pic 26 : You can see here, I have punched stitch holes all around the edges and along the top, these are to hold the vinyl into place but are decorative too. I’ve glued the handle into position with decorative leather pieces to hold the D-rings.

Pic 26a : During the stitching along the top.

Pic 27 : Another angle.

Pic 27a : Here you can see the stitching around the edges and the handle in place. now for the inside.

Pic 28 : You can see here the two ‘dividers’ stitched into the case and with decorative stitching around the edges. these can either lie flat as seen here or can be pulled up and placed between thebowls to protect them.

Pic 29 : this initials tag will be fitted later but this shows where it will go.

Pic 30 : All that remains to be done is to coat the whole thing in Effax leather balm and then buff to a shine,

Pic 31 : and Pic 32 : All done, one new useable and..even if I say so myself, a good looking leather bowls case.

Pic 32 : Well, I finally got to it, sorry about that, I hope you can understand, it’s been a very hard few years, we lost both my parents, two aunties and 2 cousins all close together, but leathercraft is a fantastic hobby for distracting the mind and I am so glad to be back, thanks for waiting. I have a new project starting in the next day or so..I am making a set of saddle bags hopefully to fit on my new motorbike, I will be making a video of the build as I go along and once done and edited I will put it up on youtube under Shamancraft projects so it would be great if you guys could check out my other vids..only a few at the moment but every like and subscribe etc helps me to build on it and each vid gets longer and better as I gain experience. thanks for your support. See you on the next one..watch this space and as always..Stay Crafty.

#leather #leathercraft #leather goods #leather lovers #bowling #hobbies

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

Text

Exposé - msbp!au

(A/N) So this is like, an exposition I guess. It’s necessary for the rest of the story. Ginormous trigger warning for allusions to child abuse, gaslighting + manipulation.

Sarah's vision blurred, as she faded in and out of consciousness. The pain is intense, and she feels like she might die. This isn't survivable. The worst of the pain hits her all at once, and she lets out a blood-curdling scream into her gag. After that pain, nothing.

"Oh Sarie, I have some bad news," His voice cut through the pain, like a scalpel in her lower back, "You're going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life..."

"Good morning Sarie," Sarah's dad sung, turning on the overhead lights as he walked into her room. He was holding a medium-sized pink bin, lined with a sterile sheet to create a sterile field, with a few syringes and medications, as well as sterile gloves, alcohol swabs, and a few other supplies. Sarah was scared awake, letting out a short groan. Her dad pulled a chair up, before pulling on a pair of gloves and disconnecting Sarah's PICC line from her overnight infusion.

He opened up a 10mL saline flush, screwed it onto the end of her line, and slowly pushed the plunger, drained the syringe into the line. Next, he pulled out another syringe, this time a 3mL syringe, half-full with clear liquid. He connected the syringe to the line, and administered the medication. She almost instantaneously felt calmer and sedated, as the Ativan coursed through her system. He proceeded to flush the line with more saline, then a syringe of Heparin. After that flush, he finished off the line by screwing on a swab cap. He tucked the line under the PICC cover, and pulled off and disposed of his gloves. Lastly, he helped Sarah sit up, and guided a small cup of pills into her shaky hand. He gave her a water cup with a straw, and helped her take her pills.

Sarah's dad moved her wheelchair closer to the bed and locked the wheels. He gently took the blankets off of her body, and threaded his left arm under her knees, and his right arm under her armpits around her body. He lifted her into her wheelchair, and buckled up her seatbelt. He hummed to her as he put her minimalist neck brace on to keep her head from flopping forward. The brace had a strap around the back of her neck, with two hard plastic pieces at the sides of her neck. The top of those plastic pieces split off onto a chin pad to hold her chin in place, and the bottoms of the plastic pieces split off into two rods that joined in a v-shape at her sternum.

Sarah’s dad turned off her overnight oxygen concentrator, and started peeling the cannula tape off of her prominent cheekbones. Sarah coughed a few times as the oxygen stopped.

“Today is tube change day,” Her dad announced, and Sarah was wheeled into the kitchen where she was sat at the table. Her dad started rummaging through the formula cabinet, "Do you want something to eat before we leave for the hospital?"

Sarah was quiet for a moment, trying to process those words through her Ativan-jumbled brain, "...Yes..." She finally decided, speaking slowly, "Can... I have... a..." She paused, thinking of what she wanted, "Cereal..."

"Yes," Sarah's dad confirmed, moving to fix her a bowl of cereal. A few quiet, zoned-out minutes later she was presented with a bowl of fruit loops. Her dad fitted the rings of her adaptive spoon onto her pointer finger and her thumb, and she started to spoon her cereal into her mouth. Her dad sat down to supervise as always, to make sure she didn't aspirate.

He multi-tasked, filling her feed bag with four cartons of formula and 8 ounces of Miralax mixed into water. He closed up the bag, and fitted the tubing into the Infinity pump. He flipped the bag upside down, and pushed the button to prime the tube. Once formula started dripping out of the end of the tube, he stopped.

Sarah's dad lifted her shirt, gently pulled the split gauze off from around her tube, and cleaned the area, "Today we have..." He grabbed the small fabric circle from the table, "Purple and pink stripes!" He fitted the tubie pad around her tube and clipped it together, and let her shirt fall.

Sarah finished her cereal, and watched as her dad tucked the bag of formula and the pump into one of Sarah’s various backpacks, and hung it on the back of her wheelchair. This particular backpack was a pale pink, with a panda on the front. On the lower right side of the backpack there was a plastic port where the tubing came out of. On the right side of Sarah’s wheelchair, between the back of the chair and the armrest was a velcro strap that held the tube out of the way of the wheel. He left her for a moment, grabbing an ice pack to tuck into the bag with the formula.

Sarah watched him, puzzled and confused, “Why aren’t you starting feeds?”

“Yes, we are going to the hospital today, you are due to have your tube replaced,” He started a sterile field, and started to draw up the day’s medications, five IV syringes and one G-tube syringe. He capped the syringes and tossed them into a plastic bag. He put her nighttime pills into a small pill container, and put it in the bag as well, “Just in case we aren’t home in time,” He put the bag into her backpack, “

Sarah started coughing a dry, rough cough. Her dad rubbed her back with one hand, and reaching over onto the table for her portable oxygen concentrator. He tucked the cannula into her nose and turned it on. She started to breathe easier, and her dad smiled.

Once she started to feel better, he spoke up, “I need to stop the machine so I can put this in your backpack and organize the tubing, okay?”

She nodded, and he turned the machine off and unplugged the tubing from the machine. Working quickly, he looped the excess tubing up and secured it with a tubie clip that he clipped to her shirt. He fed the tubing through the the velcro port in the back of her wheelchair, then through the port in her backpack. The oxygen concentrator went into the backpack, and he turned in back on once it was set up.

Once she was all set up, her dad looked at his watch, “I think it’s time to get this show on the road!”

Sarah nodded, and leaned against her headrest while her dad pushed her through the house, then out the door.

Sarah dozed all the way to the hospital, barely lucid enough to realize when she was being taken out of the car, and into the hospital.

“Let’s take a look at the ol’ g-tube then, ready?” Sarah was woken from her daze by the doctor, a brunette woman that Sarah had seen multiple times before, Dr. Manning.

Sarah nodded at the doctor, leaning back and lifting her shirt up to the underwire of her bra, exposing the tube.

“Mind if I give her her 11:00 meds?” Her dad inquired, looking at his watch. The doctor nodded and Sarah’s dad stole a pair of gloves from the wall and started fiddling with her PICC line. He pushed her morphine first, which immediately started to chill her out even more than the Ativan. The next medication was Benadryl, which was followed by saline and Heparin.

As the Benadryl kicked in, Sarah dozed off just in time for Dr. Manning to pull the tube out for the change.

An indiscernable amount of time later, Sarah woke up in a hospital bed, a different room from the procedure room she had been in before.

“Sarah?” Her dad whispered, looking up from his phone. Sarah made a noise in the back of her throat, feeling a thin tube down her throat, and rubbed her eyes, before looking at her dad.

“Dad?” She croaked, “Where... Why are we here? Why do I have a nose tube?”

“You have an infection,” He explained, scooting closer to her bed and grabbing her right hand, “In your tube. They want to keep you here because of your immunodeficiency, they want to be a little more aggressive this ti-”

There was a knock at the door, and a doctor and a nurse walked in. They both helped themselves to some hand sanitizer off of the wall, and greeted her dad. Sarah settled back down, staying quiet.

“Whenever ANYONE in the hospital comes to talk to us, you stay QUIET. Do you hear me? Sarah, look at me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? You are to remain absolutely silent. Do not tell them anything, you don’t understand what you’re talking about anyways. I’m the only one that can advocate for you. You’re only going to make things worse.”

“Do you have any idea how this infection might have started? Any other signs of illness, maybe another infection that spread? Have you travelled recently?”

“No, none of that.”

“And you’re always touching the tube with clean hands, cleaning it twice a day, using clean gauze, clean supplies, bathing often?”

“Yes, very clean. I’m very careful. She’s immunocompromised, and I would never do anything that could put her in danger.”

Sarah’s stomach churned. No, not clean.

“And you’re the only one who handles her tube? Is mom involved? Home healthcare nurses, babysitters?”

“Nope, it’s just me,” Sarah’s dad laughed, “Her mother took off, left me in the dust. No help I ever see! And I don’t let anyone else handle her tube.”

“Well, I think we’re going to go in for endoscopy to see what’s going on inside, see if the infection is in her stomach as well, maybe bacterial gastroenteritis, ulcers, buried bumper syndrome. We’ll see what we can find and take some more cultures.”

“Dirty tube...”

Sarah’s dad looked at her with a wrath hotter than a thousands suns, and then chuckled at the doctors, “Sorry, she just woke up. Sometimes she echoes what she hears from others, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“My tube is dirty,” She asserted groggily.

“Sweetheart, they just cleaned it an hour ago, it’s not dirty,” Sarah’s dad reassured, squeezing her hand. She sighed, and laid back.

The doctor left, and Sarah’s dad dropped her hand aggressively, “What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, “They will take you away from me and hurt you. Is that what you want?”

Sarah shook her head.

“You will die without me. Do you understand? I do everything for you. I care for you, I do everything with no help. God forbid I make mistakes. God forbid I forget things sometimes.”

She looked away.

He grabbed the tube and pulled her to face him, which yanked the tape off of her cheek. She coughed as the tubing shifted in her throat.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” He scowled at her, before putting on a worried face, “Nurse!” He flagged down a nurse walking by their door, “She pulled the tape off. Poor thing, she doesn’t understand.”

(A/N) anyways sorry ava wasn’t in this one, i just needed to set the scene lol. hope you enjoyed!

#msbp!au #child abuse tw #abuse tw #reesker #well it will be at some point #sarah reese #robert haywood #chicago med #chicago med au #reesker au #crockettstiddies

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erin-bo-berin · 5 years

Text

Cabin Fever

MASTERLIST

Here’s a surprise daddy Spencer fic. I couldn’t wait to post this one because I’m so in love with daddy Spencer (shocker I know). This was an anonymous requested fic about the reader and their baby surprising Spencer at work. Enjoy ALL the feels.

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rated: G (tons of daddy Spencer fluff)

Word Count: 3,713

Cries echoed from the bedroom and you jogged up the steps from your quick trip downstairs. Your brows furrowed and mouth turned down in a frown as the cries got louder.

“I’m coming, baby, don’t worry,” you soothed.

You entered the nursery, picking up your baby boy out of his crib. Apparently nap time was over.

“Hi there handsome,” you smiled, cradling him in your arms, “Did you sleep well?”

Motherhood was different than anything else you had experienced before. It was tough, challenging and sleep hardly existed, but you felt such an enormous love for your son that it was worth it all.

Named after his daddy, Spencer Alexander Reid—Alex for short—was the light of you and your boyfriend Spencer’s life.

It had only been roughly a month since you’d given birth. You’d only been out of the house once with Alex since and that’d been his first doctor’s appointment. You were going a little crazy cooped up in the house while Spencer was at work.

You laid him gently on his changing table, unbuttoning his onesie in preparation to change his diaper.

“How about we not pee on mommy this time, hmm?”

He cooed, waving his arms in the air. You pulled out a new diaper, grabbing an extra to place over his lower half to prevent anymore peeing incidents.

“Would you like to go visit daddy today at work? He’ll be so surprised to see you.”

You gently wiped him clean, picking up his legs with one hand to slide the diaper under his bottom.

“All your aunties and uncles at the BAU will be so happy to see you again too,” you smiled, pulling the tabs of the diaper closed.

“They won’t believe how big you’ve gotten since the last time they saw you.”

He made a few little grunts, kicking his legs.

Spencer’s work family had come to visit you and Alex in the hospital. You were so touched by all the love and excitement they had for the new little “BAU baby”.

You leaned over him, kissing his face repeatedly making him wriggle more. You chuckled, picking him up once again.

“How about a little swing time while mommy gets ready?”

You strapped him in his rocking swing and pulled the contraption close to you to keep an eye on him while you got ready.

It took over an hour just to pack his bag with everything you might need.

Between picking him up to comfort him and trying to figure out all what to bring, the hand on the clock went by faster than you’d realized.

It was after one in the afternoon when you’d finally got out the door.

•

“I knew I sensed baby cuteness from down the hall!”

Penelope Garcia, the BAU’s technical analyst was the first to find you sitting in the briefing room, Alex in his carrier on the table.

“We thought we’d surprise Spence at work. I didn’t see any of the team in the bullpen, so I just thought I’d wait in here.”

“Yeah, they’re on the way back from that local Virginia case we’ve been working on,” she said.

“You finally caught the guy?”

“Oh yeah, a real bad one, but aren’t they all? Enough of the bad stuff though because I have got to hold that little bundle of joy.”

You smiled, unfastening the buckles of his carrier, picking him up and handing him to Garcia.

“Hello, little guy. When did you get so big?”

She cuddled him close, baby talking to him.

“Y/N?”

You looked up and saw Spencer and the rest of the team walking in the room.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting! Are you still bleeding as badly as you were this morning? Did you see the postpartum pads I left for you?”

“Spencer,” you flushed, eyeing the rest of his team, embarrassed.

“Don’t even worry, Y/N. Been there, done that.”

The comment came from JJ as she breezed in, waving a hand in the air like it wasn’t a big deal before coming over and hugging you tight.

“Twice as a matter of fact,” she continued, “It does eventually go away, by the way.”

“Does it? Cause I feel like it never will,” you groaned.

“Y/N,” Spencer’s tone was stern, but concerned.

“Okay, okay. I was going stir crazy, so I thought we'd surprise daddy at work.”

He smiled, coming over to you and wrapping his arms around you, kissing your head.

“As long as you’re feeling okay, though,” he said.

“I am, don’t worry.”

Alex gurgled in Penelope’s arms while the team surrounded her, loving on him.

“Hate to break it to you Reid, but the kid looks nothing like you,” Rossi said.

“Thankfully.”

“Hey,” you hit Spencer’s stomach playfully, “He would’ve been just as cute if he looked like you.”

“He’s the spitting image of you Y/N, I swear,” Tara shook her head.

“How are you sleeping?” Matt asked.

Matt had five kids; he’d been through this quite a few times before.

“Well he’s at least letting us sleep a few hours a night,” you said.

Alex started fussing in Garcia’s arms.

“I think someone wants daddy,” she said, handing him over to Spencer.

“Hi little man, daddy’s missed you,” he kissed Alex’s head, cradling him in his arms.

As if magic, Alex immediately settled, his fussing quieted.

“So Y/N, when are you gonna let me babysit so you two can get started on number 2?” Garcia smirked, wiggling her eyebrows at the two of you.

“As soon as you and Luke have your first one,” you teased.

“Whoa, whoa, hey now,” Luke said putting his hands up, “Garcia and I are more than happy with just Roxy right now, aren’t we bella?”

“Yes,” Garcia nodded, “Doesn’t mean I can't make more room in my heart for another little baby Reid.”

“Penelope, she’s only five weeks postpartum,” Emily broke in, finally walking into the room welcoming you with a hug as well.

“I’m sure she’s not even been cleared to have sex again,” JJ added.

“Guys, we can stay out of my vagina’s business?” you chuckled.

“Technically, it’s your uter-”

“Spencer!” you cut him off.

“I love you guys, but this conversation got weird real fast,” you laughed.

You looked over to see Spencer walking the length of the room with Alex, talking quietly to him.

Most of the team had gone back to the bullpen to work and Emily gave Spencer a few files that he needed to look through later before leaving. Only JJ and Penelope remained in the room.

“Have you been good for mommy today?” Spencer asked rubbing his belly, “She’s having a bit of a hard time after having you. You were quite the big baby, little man. You weighed nine pounds. I’m still amazed that she managed to push you out.”

You chuckled, overhearing a bit of his one sided conversation.

“I can’t get over how great he is at being a dad,” JJ said, watching him, “I mean I knew he always would be, but just seeing it is kinda—”

“Mind blowing?” you filled in, nodding your head in agreement, “I know. Some days it still doesn’t seem real that we actually have a kid.”

“I’m pretty sure if you let him, he’d try babywearing while doing a geo map or something,” Penelope said.

“I don’t doubt it,” you chuckled, “He’s so attached to Alex. It’s almost a good thing he didn’t turn out to be a girl.”

“Why’s that?” JJ questioned.

“Cause she’d have Spencer wrapped around her finger.”

“That’s why I say, baby number 2,” Penelope grinned.

“Maybe when he’s a little older,” you smiled, turning back to watch your two boys.

Spencer was talking animatedly to Alex, making silly faces down at him. Alex was smiling up at him and cooing in response.

“How’s breastfeeding going?” JJ asked.

“Ugh,” you groaned, “So. Much. Pain.”

“Lanolin is a blessing,” she answered.

“Ain’t that the truth,” you nodded, “I pump a lot though because Spence likes to feed him as well. It gets Alex used to a bottle plus it lets Spence bond with him. Two birds, one stone.”

“I did that a lot with Henry and Michael. Will loved to feed them.”

“Luke always leaves feeding Roxy to me,” Garcia grumbled, “Heaven help me if we ever actually have kids.”

As if on cue, Alex started crying.

“Speaking of feeding,” you said, “Sounds like someone is hungry.”

“How the heck do you know that’s his hungry cry?” Spencer asked, bewildered.

You gave him a look.

“Spencer, a mother knows. Besides I’ve learned his cries.”

“Did you bring a bottle?” he asked.

“Does Garfield love lasagna?” you retorted, sarcastically, reaching into the diaper bag to get a bottle.

“Touché,” he laughed.

Alex cried harder, his fists shaking in the air.

“I know buddy, we’re getting a bottle,” Spencer said patting his bottom, swaying him a bit.

He took the uncapped bottle from you and put the nipple to Alex’s lips. His mouth closed around it and he started eating, his cries vanished.

“That’s good stuff isn’t it Alex?” Spencer cooed to him, watching him eat.

JJ and Garcia had slipped out moments before, needing to get back to work. They promised they’d come say bye before you left, though.

Alex kicked his feet while he ate, his eyes roaming the things that were in his sight: Spencer’s face and the ceiling lights.

You sat at the table watching the two of them, a smile on your face. It was moments like this that you wanted to hold on to forever.

“What?” he asked when he noticed you staring.

“Nothing, just enjoying watching my boys.”

Spencer smiled, holding Alex’s small foot in his palm. He tickled it gently causing Alex to yank it away.

“Sorry, bud. Eating is important work.”

You yawned, resting your head in your hand.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

Spencer was good at helping get up with Alex at night, but most of the time you let him sleep since you knew he had work early in the morning.

“I don’t know, three? Four hours?”

You stifled another yawn.

“He was up around 11 pm at first. I fed him and changed him. Then again at 1 am and didn’t go back to sleep again until almost 3. At 5, he needed a third diaper change of the night, got a second wind and then was out by 6:30. By then you were up.”

“Babe, you need to sleep or else your body will take longer to heal.”

“I know, but it’s hard to sleep when he sleeps. I’m too busy trying to get other things done that I don’t have time to accomplish when he’s awake.”

“What if you take a nap in here and I take him for the afternoon?” he suggested.

“Spence, you’re at work, you can’t.”

“Yes I can. Garcia doesn’t have a new case for us yet and it’s just a lot of paperwork that needs to be done.”

“I don’t know,” you hesitated, “He can be a handful when he’s fighting sleep.”

“Y/N, I got this, okay? You need sleep to function and he needs his mommy to get some sleep. Don’t you, Alex?”

He fussed in response, the nipple having slipped out of his mouth.

“My bad, my bad,” Spencer chuckled, putting it back into his mouth.

“Okay,” you relented, “A nap does sound great.”

“Then it’s settled.”

He bent down to grab Alex’s diaper bag.

“There’s extra diapers and wipes in there, two more bottles that you should probably put in the fridge, a couple of pacifiers, a blanket if he’s cold, his baby wrap, a change of clothes, a—“

“Y/N,” Spencer interrupted you, “Don’t worry, okay? If there’s any problem, I’ll get you. Besides JJ is always around to help with any baby qualms I might have.”

You nodded, moving to sit on the couch in the room.

“Sleep well,” he said, leaning down to kiss you.

You thanked him, your eyelids already beginning to flutter closed.

You were sound asleep before he even left the room.

•

“Did I miss it being bring your kid to work day?” JJ chuckled, walking up to Spencer’s desk.

Spencer sat at his desk, one arm holding his son, his chin balancing the bottle that Alex was still eating from as he filled out the paperwork that needed to be completed.

“I made Y/N take a nap in the briefing room and told her I’d take Alex for the afternoon. Besides, I secretly think Emily just wants him around so she can hog him later,” Spencer chuckled.

“Well you’re taking multitasking to a new level, that’s for sure.”

“Oh just wait until I start babywearing. It’s a shame I can’t just bring him along with me on cases. I’d have no problem wearing him while doing a geo profile.”

“Funny, Penelope said something on the lines of that.”

“I just feel like I can’t get enough time with him,” he frowned, looking down at him, “I mean he’s already five weeks and I feel like he’s already changed so much.”

He was close to finishing his bottle and he’d have to burp him in a minute.

“They grow up fast, Spence. I wish I could tell you that it gets easier balancing this job and a family, but it isn’t always that simple. What I can tell you is that cherishing the little moments like this are important. You’ll have a million of them, but each and every one is special. No matter where you work, what job you do, you’ll always feel like you’re missing out on something whether you actually are or not. You just learn to enjoy every single moment you get with them,” JJ smiled.

JJ’s boys were no longer babies—now 11 and 4—but she cherished them and her family very much. FBI work did make time for family difficult, but Spencer had always seen her make it work. He knew that if it was possible for her, he could make it work. He loved his little boy so much already and missed him dearly while at work, that’s why a rare afternoon like this was so special to him.

“Thanks, JJ.”

He pulled the empty bottle away from Alex’s mouth, picking him up to burp him.

“If you need me, I’ll just be juggling diapers and paperwork over here,” he grinned.

She snickered, patting him on the shoulder as she walked off, heading to Emily’s office.

“So, what do you think about daddy’s work?”

He tapped his back gently, rubbing circles on Alex’s back. He kept talking as he burped him.

“Pretty impressive, huh? Do you like my desk with all of daddy’s books and pictures of you and mommy?”

Alex fussed, his stomach most likely bothering him. Spencer tapped his back a little harder.

“Come on big man, you’ll feel a lot better if you burp.”

He wriggled against Spencer’s shoulder, fussing more.

“I’m impressed it’s your first day on the job and you’re only five weeks. I didn’t get into the FBI until I was 22.”

It was then that Alex finally burped, big and loud, causing a few smiles and laughs from neighboring agents.

“There we go. You oughta feel better after that.”

Spencer felt a wet spot on his shoulder and groaned, realizing too late he forgot to grab a burp cloth. He sat Alex in his carrier while he tried to wipe the spit up off his shirt.

“You’re lucky you’re cute Alex because I don’t think your spit up compliments the color of this shirt.”

He kicked his legs, shrieking.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re proud.”

But his shrieking didn’t stop there, it soon became fussing which quickly turned into crying. His face scrunched up and his legs thrashed.

“I guess you don’t want to be in your carrier now,” Spencer mused, picking him up.

“Is it nap time for you?”

He glanced at his watch, noticing it was close to 2:30. Y/N usually put him down for an afternoon nap around this time.

“Now I see what mommy was talking about.”

Spencer kissed Alex’s cheek, laying Alex against his chest. One hand rested against his head, supporting his neck while the other laid gently on his back. He looked through the glass window of the briefing room and saw Y/N sound asleep on the couch. He smiled to himself, his heart warming at the sight.

He had so much love for her. From carrying Alex for nine months to working harder than she ever had at something, just to bring him into this world. Now, she sacrificed her own needs to take care of their son. He was glad he’d made her rest; she deserved it more than anything.

Plus, if he was honest, he was thoroughly enjoying his time with Alex.

He rocked back and forth in his desk chair, trying to soothe the stubborn whimpers that still came from Alex.

“Do you want daddy to tell you a story?”

Spencer looked down and saw Alex squirming a bit, trying to get comfortable. He reached for the pacifier on his desk, placing it gently into Alex’s mouth. He immediately started sucking on it, the pacifier moving just the slightest.

“Well once upon a time, daddy delivered a baby. Just like you! It wasn’t you though, unfortunately. Mommy preferred an actual doctor to me, but I did get to cut your umbilical cord. But, I had memorized the manual on childbirth back when your auntie JJ was pregnant with Henry, just in case she went into labor in the field. Anyway, I’m getting distracted.”

His fingers stroked Alex’s tiny clenched hands and smiled when his hand grasped his finger.

“There was this big, bad guy who had hurt a lot of people to prove that he could be a good father. Yeah, it was kind of messed up. But his wife was going to have a baby. In fact, she was in labor when I got there with my old partner Morgan. Her contractions were pretty intense and there was no way she was going to make it to the hospital in time. So while Morgan arrested the bad guy, I helped the lady deliver her baby. Just like you, it was a little boy. Up until then I never thought I’d seen a more beautiful human. But that was before I’d met your mommy and you.”

Alex sighed, his movements becoming more sporadic and his breathing more even. Spencer peeked down and saw his eyelids growing heavy.

“In the end, the mother named her little boy after me. He’s a Spencer like the both of us. Pretty cool, right?”

There was no further sounds from Alex for he was fast asleep, content against his daddy’s chest.

•

When you woke, the sky was already darkening outside.

“Holy crap, how long did I sleep?!”

You looked around for your phone. In the midst of your searching, you didn’t hear anyone walk in.

“It’s around 6 pm.”

You looked up to see Emily walking in, smiling.

“Have a nice nap?”

“Sounds more like I went into a coma,” you laughed, “I’m so sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry,” she waved a hand, “Spence has been parading Alex all over the bullpen all afternoon. He even gave him a tour of the BAU. I think Alex was a little less than impressed though.”

You giggled at the image. You didn’t put it past Spencer for doing that.

“I hope he wasn’t a distraction or any trouble,” you worried.

“Definitely not. I got some obligatory baby snuggles in though.”

“They are the best, aren’t they?” you agreed.

You looked through the window into the bullpen, seeing no sign of Spencer and Alex.

“Would you happen to know where they went?”

“I think they’re in Rossi’s office playing with Alex. Rossi’s teaching him how to play peekaboo.”

“Spencer or Alex?” you joked, causing her to laugh.

You grabbed your phone and purse, saying your goodbyes to her and walked down to Rossi’s office.

“I feel like a grandpa all over again,” you heard Rossi say as you approached, “But I’ve never had a grandchild this young.”

“Well you’re gonna be like his grandpa anyway, whether you like it or not,” Spencer chuckled.

You walked in to the two of them making funny faces at Alex, Alex deadpanning back at them.

“It’s like he’s wondering what the heck is wrong with the two of you,” you laughed.

“Hey, there’s mommy,” Rossi said, turning Alex’s carrier in your direction so he could see you.

Immediately Alex began kicking his legs.

“Hey babe, how’d you sleep? Do you feel better?”

Spencer pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Much better. Thank you for letting me crash on the couch.”

“No problem. Alex and I had quite the afternoon,” Spencer smiled, rocking the carrier gently.

“I never thought I’d see Spencer working a case while wearing a baby,” Rossi said.

“Oh no, you guys got a case? Why didn’t you wake me?”

You felt bad, afraid that you and Alex had gotten in the way.

“Emily wouldn’t let him,” Rossi supplied, “Besides Alex was a complete angel. He was sleeping like it was his job.”

“Thank you guys so much for helping out today.”

You gave Rossi a hug then grabbed the diaper bag, reaching to pick up Alex’s carrier.

“I got him.”

Spencer picked up the baby carrier, following you out of Rossi’s office and down the stairs into the bullpen.

“Well today didn’t turn out like I expected it would,” you noted.

“It was definitely interesting,” Spencer agreed.

“Well I guess I found the best way to cure cabin fever.”

“Yeah?” Spencer turned to you as you walked out of the unit, “What’s that?”

“Joining the BAU for the day.”

Spencer chuckled and looked down at Alex.

“Come on buddy, let’s go home. I think you’ve had quite the long day.”

You smiled as the elevator doors closed behind you. You were already looking forward to spending the evening with your two favorite boys in the world.

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rainy-day-gracie · 4 years

Text

America’s Sweetheart 6

hola bonjour hello:)

Read previous chapter here <-

(finally) finished! The stalker is taken into custody, but Reader can’t help but feel uneasy. Spencer and Reader spend the night together, and confessions spill over onto the surface. Reader invites Spencer to be her date at the Oscars.

This chapter is 💋spicy 💋 (for my writing at least lol)

MASTERLIST __

My instincts kicked in, and I dropped to my knees. The man slipped with the sudden movement, and I brought my elbow up to his teeth. I spun around to face him, looking into the eyes of a ski mask.

He was knocked backwards by my elbow, recovering by slamming my head into the side of the kitchen cabinet. I was dazed for a moment, and he wrapped his hands around my throat. Black spots danced across my vision, and I reached my arms to his shoulders, not to push him off, but to make sure I get the position exactly right.

My back hit the floor, the ski mask leaning over me menacingly. I snapped my arms towards each other, listening to the crunch of bone as his elbows bent towards each other. He let go of me, screaming out in pain while hitting his head on the cabinet.

I rushed to my feet, stumbling towards my phone and dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yes, s-someone broke into my house, um, I’m fine but he has two broken elbows,” I stammered, keeping my eye on the man writhing on the floor.

“What’s your name and address?”

“YFN YLN, 325 Willman Street.”

“Oh, YFN YLN! Help is on the way, miss,” the receiver said sweetly, recognizing my name immediately.

The ambulance arrived in a matter of minutes, and I kept my head low as the paramedics checked me out. The intruder was strapped to a gurney, shouting profanities and curses at me. Police and press alike showed up at the scene, reporters shouting questions at me from behind the police line.

“You need to get out of here,” an officer said to me, eyeing the pack of news channels.

“I need to call my boyfriend,” I breathed, not wanting Spencer to see this mess on the 11 o’clock news.

Spencer was at the hospital in a matter of hours, arguing with the officer posted outside of my hospital room.

“Just let him in, he won’t go away until he sees me,” I told the nurse tending to the injury on my head. She frowned, begrudgingly opening the door to the room. Spencer rushed in immediately, his gun still attached to his hip.

“Did you fly in straight from your case? Spencer, I’m fine-”

“No, baby, you’re not okay, come here,” he gently took my head in his hands, examining my injuries carefully. Despite the situation, my heart fluttered at his pet name.

He stayed with me as the nurse finished her exam, holding my hand the entire time.

“Miss YLN, you have a minor concussion, but we think you should maybe stay the night here... there’s at least 24 reporters waiting just outside the hospital,” the nurse said, looking between Spencer and I sympathetically.

Spencer and I curled up onto the small hospital bed, both of us completely and utterly exhausted.

When we were both half asleep and alone, I mumbled just loud enough for him to hear me.

“There have been other notes that I didn’t tell you about... the creeper threatened you,” I whispered, nuzzling my head gently into his shoulder.

“The police already got a confession out of the attacker, his name is Alan Bradley, and he confessed to all of the love letters and photos left for you,” he replied, kissing me sweetly on the forehead.

As I drifted off to sleep, I should’ve felt comfort knowing my stalker was going down, but I couldn’t make myself believe it. __

My agent called me two weeks after the attack while I was waiting at Spencer’s, dressed in less than modest clothes. Spencer was coming home from a case, and I decided to surprise him.

“Hey, Cathy, what’s up?”

“So, you do know that the Oscars are in a month, right?”

Spencer walked into his apartment, stunned when he saw me sitting on his couch in... very unholy attire. He cocked his head, a blush coming to his face.

“Wow, um... I didn’t realize they were so soon,” I said, trying not to laugh at Spencer’s slack jawed face. “I’m going to have to present right? Tradition for the previous Best Actress to present this year’s Best Actor?”

“Yes, but this year they’re limited on seats so you’re only permitted one partner of your choosing to attend with you,” Cathy explained very matter of factly.

Spencer stepped forward cautiously, as though if he moved too fast I might run away. He looked down, tracing his fingers over the fabric on my shoulder while a sly smile fell easily on his lips.

“Hey, Cathy, can I call you back? I’m, um... busy, right now,” I mumbled, trying not to giggle as Spencer began playing with little strands of my hair.

“Sure, just communicate with me about scheduling,” she replied, hanging up the phone promptly.

I tossed the phone to the side on the couch, Spencer’s hands wasting no time getting tangled in my hair. He crashed his lips onto mine, leaving me momentarily breathless.

“That was an important phone call,” I huffed as his lips moved onto my neck, lifting me up to move towards the bedroom.

“You’re the one that got all dressed up,” he smirked against my collarbone, and I wrapped my legs around his hips as he carried me down the hall.

He practically threw me on the bed, and I laid myself out before him, his eyes never leaving me as he fumbled with his belt buckle.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” Spencer whispered a few minutes later from between my legs.

“Ever since you landed,” I replied, barely able to get the words out.

He chuckled, making me gasp aloud, my fingers buried in his messy, curly, beautiful, perfect hair. __

Spencer’s eyes were half open, looking at me in the dark like I was the most beautiful creature in the world.

“Spencer,” I mumbled, a small smile gracing my slightly swollen lips.

“Yes?”

“Will you be my date to the Oscars?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Me? You want me to go with you to the Oscars?”

“Of course I do. You’re my man, and I love you,” I muttered without thinking.

I love you. The words were so easy, so comfortable on my lips.

I sat up, holding the bed sheet against my bare chest. “I’m sorry, that just slipped out-”

“I love you too.”

Spencer looked at me so intently, I knew he was nothing but genuine. He smiled sweetly, propping himself up on his hands. “I love you, YFN.”

I grinned, giddiness washing over me. My lips met his, not hungry or needy, but gently, both of us giggling and smiling while the kiss died.

We fell asleep together, smiles still on both of our faces.

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Chapter 11: Our Place

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which they learn something about trust.

Warning: SMUT.

Word count: 5.9k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link (Thea as Y/N)

I got food poisoning yesterday and it was like waking up from a comma because I thought today was Tuesday. I’ve got only two days to write the next TCTM chapter. Fuck. Me.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think :)

Laura was asleep when Y/N came. The nurse attending her said that she’d woken up for a few minutes before drifting off again, so Y/N would have to come back tomorrow if she wanted to speak to Laura. At least now she knew Laura was safe. It was getting late and she had already texted Laura’s assistant; her job here was done. She’d better go home and get some rest.

But the thing was, she didn’t really want to go home. The thought of facing Blake – who must have been waiting for her to come back so they could talk – instantly put her off. Thank God she’d never given him her number.

As soon as she exited the hospital, she fished out her phone to call the only person she wanted to see right now. Before she could even unlock the screen, however, she spotted him standing right by his car. Maybe telepathic communication was real.

His face lit up the second he saw her. He waved, and her tight muscles eased with relief as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and ambled toward him. He pushed away from his car, met her halfway and eagerly wrapped her in his arms. She melted instantly into his protective hug, blinking back her tears. Fuck. It’d been a really shitty day.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she mumbled as he pressed his lips to her forehead. She’d texted him an hour ago that she’d been writing and needed to be alone in order to focus. Though she’d hoped he wouldn’t come over to check on her, she was glad he’d shown up here.

“Laura’s assistant called me because she couldn’t reach you,” he said, his face taut with concern. “Have you spoken to her?”

Y/N nodded, watching his brows pulled together.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Laura,” he ventured. “How is she?”

“She was asleep when I left…”

“Did you know she was a heavy drinker?”

“No,” she murmured. “I just came over to ask her why she’d cancelled the meeting with the publisher, and I found her unconscious out on the floor.”

Half of the truth was all she could afford to tell him; he’d be so upset to find out about what Blake had done. Besides, tomorrow he’d have to hear the truth about his father and Gemma and Isaac, so she couldn’t unload her burden on him now.

Suddenly, she wondered if Gemma and Isaac had already left. What if Harry had run into them before Y/N had come out? Judging from how calm he seemed, Y/N guessed he hadn’t.

“Come on,” he spoke, rubbing her arms to warm her up. “I’ll take you home.”

“Wait.” She tugged at his sleeve, feeling a bit shy. “Can I...can I stay at your place tonight?”

He blinked at her, his lips slightly parted, then he smiled. “My place is yours, kid. You don’t have to ask.”

He kissed her on the cheek and opened the door on the passenger side for her. She got in. Her eyes stayed fixed on him when he got behind the wheel and buckled his seatbelt. As he started the car, she started to replay those four words inside her head.

My place is yours.

At his place, she took a shower while he prepared dinner for the two of them. She felt a sense of guilt and misplaced anger for the things she wasn’t allowed to tell him. He was happy tonight, well, not exactly happy, but he wasn’t in a bad mood, and completely unaware of all the terrible things Winton and Emilia had been doing to him since the beginning. They didn’t deserve him. But who was she to criticize? She hadn’t been honest, either. She’d doubted him today, and for a moment believed he had something to do with Laura when it’d turned out to be Blake.

Blake. God. She felt like such a wimp for not being able to face him after their fight. Why did she have to feel sorry when it was him who was in the wrong?

“Dinner is ready!” Harry’s announcement pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned off the water and poked her head out of the shower to see his silhouette idling outside the bathroom door.

“Why don’t you come in?” she asked, biting back a grin when she imagined him smirking.

“I wouldn’t be able to help myself and dinner would get cold,” he reasoned.

“I don’t mind cold dinner as long as we’ve got hot sex.”

Her answer made him laugh. She swore to God that sexy low laugh of his made her knees go weak every fucking time. “Just get dressed, please,” he said. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

“All right.” She rolled her eyes and wrapped a towel around her torso. His silhouette disappeared from the door.

After having blow-dried her hair, she put on a dark blue silk bathrobe with his initials on the back (she’d always joked about how vain of him to have his initials embroidered on his robes) and made her way downstairs. The house was dark, but she didn’t wonder why; Harry rarely turned on the lights when he was alone. Sometimes he was lazy, sometimes he did it on purpose to enjoy the comforting darkness. She’d found it weird at first but she was used to it now.

Padding down the hallway to the dining room, she came into the soft warm orange light coming through the door gaps. Curious and anticipative, she pawed the door open and was met with a candlelit room, dinner for two made by Harry, who was still dressed in the same clothes he’d worn earlier – a black t-shirt tucked into high-waisted black trousers. He looked handsome and put-together as always; meanwhile, she looked like she was here for the spa. She didn’t mind, and neither did he.

He set down the champagne bottle to put his arms around her and kiss her on the lips, cheek and forehead. “Hmm, you smell good,” he growled into her ear, which made her giggle as she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“What’s all this?” she asked, scanning her eyes around the room.

He gave a shrug. “Just wanna do something nice for my girlfriend.”

“You didn’t have to–”

“Just sit down, will you?” He pulled a chair and nodded his head toward it, so she rolled her eyes and sat down with her hands on her lap.

“I hope you like spaghetti,” he said, taking the seat across from her. She looked down at the plate of meatballs and spaghetti. It was the only thing he knew how to cook.

“Believe it or,” she said as he poured champagne into their glasses. “This is actually the first decent meal I’ve had this week. I’ve been living off on instant noodles and protein bars. No joke.”

He sat frozen in his seat, horror overtaking his face. “That’s not good, Bambi. You have to eat well. If we lived together, I would feed you three proper meals a day.”

She took a sip from her glass and rested her chin on her knuckles. “I love you, baby. But I don’t think I can eat spaghetti three times a day every day.”

“I might even take a cooking class for you. No joke,” he stated and clinked his glass with hers. Her heart fluttered as she knew he meant it.

“Stop being so goddamn perfect or I might drop down on my knee and propose to you right away.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand and stroked the ring she’d given him. “Or maybe I already did.”

“This ring doesn’t count,” he objected, acting upset. “I’m not that kind of guy, Bambi. You’re gonna have to buy me a real ring if you’re gonna propose.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind.” She raised both hands, shaking her head. “I don’t want to marry you anymore.”

A few jokes later, silence somehow found its way back in, but they weren’t bothered by it. The food was still untouched as they continued eyeing each other. Y/N’s heart bloated at the way he looked at her, with so much adoration and bliss, as if she meant everything to him. Well, that was because she did. She knew she did; he’d said it too many times before.

She decided to shake off all the bad things that had happened tonight as she stood and walked around the table toward him. He didn’t break eye contact with her as she settled onto his lap, straddling his waist, arms around his neck. He plucked at the neckline of her robe playfully to peer down the valley of her breasts. The way he arched an eyebrow made her giggle.

She picked up the champagne bottle, drank directly from it then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and pushed her lips against his. A groan rumbled across his chest as he fisted her hair to let her know he’d been waiting for this all night. He took the bottle from her hand, put it back on the table and cupped her face, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Before she knew it, her robe was on the floor and she was riding him. She was completely naked while he was still clothed, his trousers shoved past his bum, his massive hands guiding her hips to match the rhythm of his thrusts. They hadn’t fucked in only a day but it’d felt so long, and she was shamelessly horny. Maybe it was the romantic atmosphere. Maybe she was feeling vulnerable tonight. Maybe she just really loved him. Maybe it was all at once. For whatever reason, she needed this. They went as hard as they could until they came at the same time, shouting and shaking with the ecstasy of their release.

It took Y/N a whole minute to pull herself out of the euphoric daze when his dick grew soft and slipped out, leaving a visible dripping mess on his black trousers and the hem of his shirt. He chuckled breathlessly at the sight, his cheeks flushed, and she felt her core throb again.

“That probably won’t come out,” she cheekily commented. Before he could respond, she reached between them and dipped a finger into her pussy while he watched with his lips parted and his eyes dark. She withdrew the finger slowly, now coated with his and her juices, and slipped it into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked and moaned his name. Harry let out a desperate “ahh” as he tossed his head back and threw an arm over his eyes. Seeing his reaction, she had to break character and dissolve into laughter.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“I feel the same way,” she replied and kissed him again. “I think dinner would have to wait.”

They didn’t have enough energy for another round so Harry proposed a warm bath. Y/N joked about how this wouldn’t be possible if they were at her place, because she was too poor and stingy to take a bath after a shower.

“You’re spoiling me,” she told him while sitting between his legs in the bathtub, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder.

“I love spoiling you,” he whispered into her ear as she relaxed her body under the warm water and closed her eyes, allowing his hands to freely roam across her chest and fondle her breasts.

“I love you spoiling me,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. You’re my whole world.” He kissed her cheek. Even though he’d been touching her everywhere since they got into this position, it was those words that pulled the trigger. Lips parted, she sat up slightly to sneak her hand between them and grab his cock, causing him to gasp. He was so hard as she started stroking him slowly, but he took her wrist and pulled her hand away.

“Bambi, I can’t again.”

She could tell he didn’t mean it. “Why not?”

“We cannot keep delaying dinner. You need to eat my spaghetti.” He flashed a smile when she tilted her head, pouting at him. “We’re only gonna stay here for five more minutes, okay?”

“Fine.” She blew out her cheeks and turned her head straight. “Will you still spoil me even when I’m old?”

“Of course,” he replied, too familiar with her random questions to wonder why she’d asked.

“What about...when we have babies? You’re gonna spoil the babies.”

Though she wasn’t looking, she could sense the startlement from his short pause. He hugged her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. “You only mention the possibility of us getting married and having kids when you’re jealous of our future kids.”

She chuckled at the remark. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

He shook his head and kissed her cheek once more. “No, not even close.”

Y/N had no idea what had gotten into her. She suddenly felt a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach which quickly spread all over her body. She tried to blink back the tears, but this time it was no use.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

His question was what caused them to spill.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she sobbed into her palm, and now that she’d started crying she couldn’t stop.

Terrified, he peered over her shoulder to look at her face, his voice brittle. “W-What is it, baby? Why...why are you crying?”

She whimpered and lifted her hands from under the water to wipe her cheeks, only to get them wetter. Harry waited patiently, his chest heaving against her back. She knew he wouldn’t pressure her into giving him an answer; he just needed to know if she was okay, or if he’d done something wrong that had made her cry. Whenever she was sad, his first guess would always be whether he’d made a mistake. He’d made several mistakes in the past, so he always tried to be careful. She loved that about him.

Steadying her breathing, she pulled herself together and rotated to sit face to face with him. He looked into her eyes, his jaw set. She could sense his anxiety as he seemed to be piecing together all the events tonight that led up to this moment to figure out what had gone wrong. She had to tell him the truth.

And so she did. She told him about her finding out about Blake and Laura, about her confronting Blake, about Blake telling her he still loved her and her turning him down, about her rushing to Laura’s flat to find the poor woman half-alive on the floor, about taking Laura to the hospital – she stopped there and skipped to her meeting him outside, because she’d promised to leave the rest for Isaac and Gemma to tell him. Of course, she’d also confessed that she’d thought he’d had something to do with Laura, which was the main reason she’d cried. She hadn’t trusted him as much as she’d wanted to.

Once she finished, he released a long exhalation, which was his way of saying ‘wow, that was a lot’. He placed his elbow on the rim of the tub and propped his head on his hand, staring distantly right through her. Her bottom lip quivered as she squeezed his other hand and brought it to her chest, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m very sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you and I’m sorry I thought it was you. If you’re mad at me, I completely understand.”

“No, kid.” He rubbed his hand over his face and shoved it into his damp curls. “It’s just...a lot to take in.”

“So you forgive me?” she cautioned.

“I wasn’t mad at you in the first place,” he laughed, probably to calm her nerves. “I can’t blame you for thinking I had something to do with it, since I’d always go out of my way to make sure you’re happy. But I promised you I wouldn’t interfere with your career anymore.”

She nodded, her brows drawn together.

“Hey, kid, it’s all right,” he said, taking her arms. “Come here.”

She got on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. “I mean,” he began, “I’m angry, but not at you. I just want to kick that kid’s arse.” She laughed between sniffles. “But of course, it’s up to you.”

“I’ll deal with him,” she said.

He cocked his head to the side to study her face. “You’ll kick his arse?”

She snorted at how hopeful he seemed. “Depends on how I feel tomorrow.”

“What about Laura?”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow, too.”

“Okay,” was all he said before changing the subject back to spaghetti.

After dinner, Y/N stayed to clean up while Harry took their laundry to the laundry room. He’d left his phone on the counter and it kept buzzing with new texts every few seconds; those were probably from Jeff or the other people Harry worked with. He was a busy man, the kind of busy Y/N had never seen in anyone else. When they were together, he would put his phone on Do Not Disturb, but he never did when he was alone. He’d probably forgotten tonight.

She was just about to it up to silence the notifications when his phone buzzed in her hand and another text popped up.

Gemma: We’re so sorry. Please call me back as soon as you’re ready to talk.

A chill rushed down her spine and she hurriedly put down the phone and stumbled back. What did it mean? Had Gemma and Isaac already spoken to him? So he knew all this time? What hadn’t he said anything?

“Bambi, would you like this shirt or this shirt?”

Her head snapped to the side when she heard his voice from the doorway. He was holding up two of his shirts which he knew she loved to wear. She parted her lips but no word got out, and it was just enough for him to realize something was off. He squinted his eyes, confused, then the buzzing of his phone seized his attention. He stole another glance at her before marching over to the counter and peering down at the text.

“You know the truth?” she asked.

He slowly turned, put the shirts on the counter and leaned back against it, crossing his arms. The previous cheerfulness was nowhere to be found on his face as his forehead creased and his lips formed a hard line. “I ran into Isaac and Gemma outside the hospital,” he conceded, staring at his feet. “I know about Winton and Emilia, too.”

She folded her arms across her chest and began to consider him. Realization sank in, and it occurred to her that his chill attitude tonight had only been an act.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she questioned in hushed tones as if she didn’t want him to hear it. But he did, and his eyes found hers again.

“You’d had a rough day. I didn’t want to drag you into this.” He raked his fingers through his hair and huffed. “They told me you already knew…”

Y/N had specifically told Isaac and Gemma not to tell Harry until tomorrow, but she supposed they hadn’t got a choice when they’d run into him. If they had acted like nothing had been wrong and told him tomorrow that something had been wrong, then it would only get worse.

“How are you feeling?” she inquired after a long pause.

He lifted his shoulders, looking surprisingly impassive. “I wasn’t as shocked as I thought I’d be. I guess...I always had a feeling that they had something to hide. All four of them.” He meant Isaac, Gemma, Winton, and Emilia. “I don’t really know how to feel about Isaac and Gemma. Maybe I’m mad at them because they hid it from me, but I understand why they did it. I just needed some time to...be okay with it...I guess? Winton and Emilia, however...”

It was the first time she’d heard him call his dad Winton. Her heart cracked. She couldn’t imagine what it must be for him. How had he reacted when he’d heard the news? Had he been in denial? Or had he believed it right away? Had he cried? God, she didn’t want to think about him crying. She couldn’t stand it.

Closing the distance between them, she circled her arms around his waist and he accepted her embrace as an instinct.

“I’m so sorry. People could be cruel,” she said into his shirt.

He kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on it, holding her tighter. “I don’t regret helping them. I just regret believing he’d loved me and Gem, even just a little bit.” Then he took her shoulders and pushed her away, his lips quirked into a reassuring smile. “Let’s not talk about this tonight,” he said. “I only want to focus on you.”

She gave a firm nod, grabbed his face and brought his lips down upon hers. If her kisses could make him forget about everything else, she would never stop kissing him.

Later that night, they made love again in his bed and fell asleep. It was early in the morning when she woke and found herself alone. She thought he’d gone to get some water, but as she lay and stared into the darkness, waiting and waiting, and he didn’t come back, she began to think something had gone wrong. And so she pushed herself out of bed, put on his t-shirt and padded down the hall to his library, where she assumed he might be.

There she found him, sitting in his armchair and gazing at the night sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The silence was strangely frightening.

“Harry?”

Her voice made him jump. His head turned and he stared at her with his eyes glossy and his face twisted. She moistened her dry lips, her stomach triple-knotted when he dropped his hand into the cradle of his arms. She sauntered across the room to take a seat on the arm of the chair so he could hug her waist and bury his face into her chest.

She held him while he cried.

The next morning, Y/N left the house when Harry was still asleep because she had an essay exam. She thought she did an okay job. It could have been better if she hadn’t got distracted by the thoughts about last night and early this morning. Still, she was never the kind of person who kept dwelling on an exam once she’d handed it in. On her way to another class, she got a text message from Harry wishing her good luck. He’d sent it before she’d entered the exam room, but she’d put her phone on airplane mode and only received it just now. She told him she’d just finished it and that she’d call him later at lunch.

As she walked across the courtyard, a group of girls sitting in the shade pointed at her and whispered something to each other. If she was in a good mood, she’d wave at them and smile (Kill them with kindness, Harry always said). If she was feeling neutral, she’d turn a blind eye and walk straight ahead. Today, she was in a bad mood, so she stopped and called out, “Take a picture. It lasts longer.”

The girls all turned away, embarrassed and acting like they hadn’t been snickering about her just a second ago. Whatever, she thought and continued walking.

The rest of the day passed rather briskly. She attended classes with trips to and from the library in between. Last year, she would go to her favourite spot on the courtyard to write and listen to music, but since the whole world had discovered about her relationship with Harry, she couldn’t stand the thoughts of how many eyes would be assessing her when she was alone and distracted. At least people wouldn’t talk so loudly in the library, which made it easier for her to pretend nobody gave a shit about her.

On the Uber ride to the hospital, she got a text from Alice asking if she was coming back to the bookshop because Eddie missed her even though he would never admit it. She’d taken two weeks off to work on her manuscript. It sounded like a stupid thing to do – giving up on present income for unearned profit, though she believed it’d been necessary. After all, she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life working in a bookshop. She texted Alice back that she’d be back on Monday next week. Alice responded with the dancing girl and confetti emoji.

Earlier today, Y/N had called Laura’s assistant to ask about Laura. Marie (Y/N kept forgetting her name) had said that Laura had got better and would be able to leave the hospital in two days. It was good news for Laura, and also Y/N. On one hand, she cared about Laura’s wellbeing as they were no longer just agent and client. On the other hand, Laura was still responsible for Y/N’s career, which she wouldn’t give up just because a stupid man had tried to intervene. Talented or privileged, she was getting that damn book deal.

“Y/N!” Marie’s eyes gleamed when Y/N entered the room. Laura was lying in bed wearing a hospital gown, a lazy smile stretched her chapped lips as she fixed her gaze on Y/N. Marie got up and quickly told Y/N, “Can you stay here with Miss Hilfgard? I’m going to fetch coffee for all of us.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Y/N said, turning to Laura. “Are you...allowed to drink caffeine?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really want coffee anyway,” she said and told her assistant, “You get yourself a coffee, Marie. I’ll chat with Y/N for a bit.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Marie brightened like a happy schoolgirl and disappeared into the hallway. The door was closed, and Y/N took a seat in the chair beside the bed.

“So…” she trailed off, “How are you?”

“I’m good. Last night wasn’t the first time I’d got sent to the hospital for binge-drinking,” she confessed.

Y/N’s eyes grew wide. “Really?”

“Yeah. I was a rebel back in Uni. When I said I was a Yale student, nobody would believe me.”

Right. Laura had gone to Yale. Blake also went to Yale. Y/N felt a sudden urge to ask if that was how they knew each other in the first place, but she stopped herself at once. She must not bring up Blake to Laura ever again.

“I don’t remember everything I said to you yesterday, but I assume it was...enough...” she trailed off, her eyelids drooped as she smiled. “I don’t want you to think it would change anything between us. You and me. I still want to work with you.”

Y/N licked her lips and clenched her jaw. “Did you contact me because he told you to?”

“No, God, Y/N!” Laura cackled and patted Y/N’s knee as if she’d just told the funniest joke. “I actually refused to read your manuscript because Blake seemed so fond of you,” Laura said, sounding amused. “But then I felt like it wouldn’t be fair to turn you down without having actually read it, so I gave it a chance. And I had to contact you right away.”

Y/N breathed out a laugh as her chest expanded with relief. However, sadness suddenly clouded Laura’s features. Her voice dropped. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I completely understand if you don’t want to work with me anymore.”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to continue working with you,” Y/N retorted. “I mean, you basically saved my life. Okay, it may sound a bit dramatic but...I was gonna give up on writing, but you gave me hope again. In a way, you saved my life.”

When Laura laughed, Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because she found what Y/N had said funny or she was genuinely happy to hear it. Either way, Y/N didn’t regret saying it out loud.

“Well, you literally saved my life so...we’re even?” Laura offered her hand, and Y/N reached out to shake it, but then she withdrew quickly.

“Actually, you still owe me a book deal.”

“Yes, I do.” Laura grinned, her hand still extended, waiting for Y/N’s. “I already rescheduled the meeting with the publishers. Yes, people would have to fight for your book, Y/N.”

There was something so businesslike in the way she said it. Smiling from ear to ear, Y/N took her hand and gave a firm shake. This already felt like a better beginning.

Harry was just about to hit the indoor gym when the doorbell rang, echoing through his mansion. He hurriedly picked up his phone from the bedside table to see a couple of new texts and missed calls from Gemma and Isaac. Could it be them? Fuck. He didn’t want this attention at all. Why couldn’t they just let him cool off in peace?

Winton and Emilia would probably blow up his phone, too, if he hadn’t already blocked their numbers. He didn’t want to speak to them ever again, although it made him feel like a coward. With Gemma and Isaac, he was only avoiding them because he’d lose his mind and say something hurtful. He loved them, but this was really weird, especially when Isaac had dated Harry’s girl and Gemma had been crying about Asher not so long ago. Harry didn’t even dare to think about the possibility of his sister cheating on Asher behind Asher’s back. Not because he cared about Asher’s feelings or whatsoever. But because after all the drama between him, Y/N, Isaac, and Ruby, he knew better than anyone a love-triangle wouldn’t make anyone happy.

The doorbell sounded again when he careened downstairs, not sure if he should answer the door. What would he do if it was one of those four? Would he ask them to leave? Or would he invite them in so they could talk it out like adults? He was never good at confrontation. Y/N had constantly criticized him for it even though she was only a bit better than him. If something is bound to happen, the more you avoid it, the worse it gets, she��d said. He should probably take her advice and let whatever was going to happen happen.

Heart thumping inside his chest, he hastened to check the front door security camera, and sagged in relief when he saw Y/N waiting outside. Guess he wasn’t ready to take her advice after all.

But wait, why did she bring her suitcase? Was she in trouble? Had Blake done something to her? His speculations made his blood boil, and he hurriedly came to the door. He swung it open and was met with a giggly Y/N, who threw her arms around his neck and kissed him twice on the cheek.

“Sorry I forgot my key,” she said and wiped her lip gloss off his face with her thumb

“Are you going somewhere?” He nodded his head toward her pink suitcase. When her smile dropped, he feared he’d said something wrong.

“Here, Harry.” She aggressively pointed a finger to her feet. “I’m going here.”

Bemused, he arched an eyebrow. She mimicked his reaction, and they ended up having a staring contest right at his front door. As always, she was the first to give in.

“I’m moving in with you.”

“What?” His jaw fell slack as he blinked rapidly. “Are you...sure? What...what made you change your mind?”

Half of him was over the moon for how serious she looked when she said it. The other half of him was afraid she’d only made this decision just so she could avoid Blake like he’d been doing with Gemma and Isaac. If they were his neighbour, he would probably just move to a different house. Y/N didn’t have a house in every city, so he guessed his place was one of her few options.

“If you think I’m doing this because of Blake, I’ll be very disappointed.”

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. He should have known she could sometimes read his mind. “N-No...that’s not–”

“And I’m not doing this for you, either,” she interrupted, her forehead creased and her eyes piercing at him. At this point, he was very confused and nervous; the suspense was killing him.

“I’m doing this because of me,” she said at last. “The reason I was hesitant to give you an answer was because I was uncertain about myself. I didn’t want to be dependent on you, and I was afraid that if we ever...broke up, I’d be disoriented and have nowhere to go. But I’ve learned a few things about trust, which made me realize that it was okay to need someone sometimes. You’re the only person I want to be with today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life so...I want to try this with you. I’m not gonna–I’m not gonna leave my flat but...I would like to have...a drawer at your place...And we could, you know, try to see where this–”

He didn’t let her finish. He couldn’t. He lurched forward, grabbed her face and pressed his lips against hers. She let out a startled gasp but immediately returned the action. They kissed as if their lives depended on it. If they were in public, people would be hollering and whistling like one of those scenes in rom-coms which made Y/N cringe every time. When they broke apart, they’d smeared her lip gloss, but from the beam on her face, Harry knew she was too happy to care.

“That was rude. You interrupted me,” she whispered, hands in his hair as their forehead glued together.

“Sorry.” He held her hips and pecked the corner of her mouth. “Did you write that speech before coming here?”

“I did,” she sounded serious because he seriously believed she had written it down. As mentioned before, Y/N wasn’t good at confrontation, either. It was easier for her to express her thoughts through written words.

“Are you gonna carry my luggage to your room or what?” she asked and suddenly covered her mouth as if she’d said something offensive. He squinted his eyes, looking at her funny. “I should start calling it our room, right?”

His shoulders rounded as he exhaled. Beaming, he ruffled her hair and picked up her suitcase. “Let’s go to our room before I fuck you on our doorsteps.”

“Hmm. That should be our new tradition. Welcome home fuck on the doorsteps.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and winked extravagantly at him before strutting inside. He felt his smile grow so big it took over his entire face.

#my girl series #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfics #harry styles imagines #older!harry #actor!harry

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akvtsuki-ari · 5 years

Text

A Study In Body Language: v. love is a virtue

Warnings: smut! unprotected sex, mild angst, but other than that mostly fluffy.

Length: 6.5k

Authors Note: holy shit yall. we did it. 25000 words, 5 chapters and a whole lot of emotional turmoil, we fuckin did it. i will be writing an epilogue for this story but for now, here it is - a study in body language. hope yall have enjoyed this wild ride

Plot Summary: Spencer realizes how deep he’s fallen, and reads something that changes his plans of confession. Love is beautiful, apparently.

Link to the song mentioned: 1000 Times by Sara Bareilles

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

He overhears you in the bullpen. You’re not sad when you talk about it, and maybe he was a little too hopeful to hear you clearly but you sounded relieved. He hopes you’re relieved but he doesn’t know how to deal with that feeling. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself but he could drown in the relief when you say you broke up with Jay. A weight off of his shoulders, off of his consciousness. For a moment he wasn’t so damn restless. You were single but he doesn’t know what that changed. Everything felt different, shit everything was different. The world that he’d come to know was shattered underneath the weight of this feeling.

“Why’d you two break up?,” JJ asks. She’s curious, but Spencers hanging on your voice for the answer. His whole body relaxes. You pause, maybe you’re shrugging.

“I don’t know - I think we both realized that this wasn’t gonna be long-term but we’ll always be cool. He’s a really good guy, but we have different wants, I think,” you say casually. You don’t sound sad.

“You don’t seem upset,” Prentiss comments. Spencers happy he’s not delusional.

“I’m not. The whole thing was really mutual and I loved him but not as anything more than friends really and he feels the same so I’m okay,” You say casually. He doesn’t hear much else, so he walks away before you can turn the corner and see him.

Rain beats on the windows when Spencer walks away. It’s been raining for days now, the darkness seemed to be encompassing but it was nice. Spencer liked rain, watching it when he needed to think and it seems like he was having to do that more often these days. Rain wasn’t somber to Spencer, as much as it was a sobering reminder. Rain made him think of you, but most things did so he isn’t sure if it’s any deeper than that. Everything made Spencer think of you.

Spencer couldn’t stop himself from thinking of you. It was a crushing realization that you were in love with someone and that you would do anything to make them happy. It was always apart of him, he couldn’t catch a break without being reminded of how much he adored you. Things continued as normal but he was working hard to make sure of that. He didn’t want to lose you, or hurt you so he tried so hard to make sure things were okay, even if it killed him slowly. He wanted to call you his, because in his heart of hearts, he wanted you to think of him as yours. Spencer was overwhelmed every time he saw you because it was you. You were you and he’d give you everything if you asked for it. He would rob the stars in the sky for you, he would steal the sun for you to keep, he would do anything to make you happy. That realization was crushing and Spencer was unsure if you had any clue.

The work day passes normally. Everyone was ready to go home, though some of the team wanted to hang at O’Keefes for a drink but you and Spencer passed. They all gave each other knowing looks, that Spencer became aware of when he realized he liked you. You still seemed clueless, and that was a scary enough thought. Spencer just flushed as he sees everyone walk out to the elevator, leaving you and him alone for the night.

“Any special plans, Spence?,” you ask Spencer, fiddling with the strap of your bag as you two waited for the next elevator to come. Spencer shakes his head, looking at your stance and smiling. The bag was too big for you, clearly too heavy on your shoulders but he knew you’d never get rid of it. It was a thing about you he’d picked up from before.

“Not really, no. Might go home and watch some TV, though I don’t know what,” Spencer replies thoughtfully. You nod in understanding, letting out a huff of frustration as you let go of your bag problem. Spencer just chuckles as he stands in front of you, fixing up the buckle before the strap. You look up at him with a grateful grin, and he feels his heart pound. Love, love, love on his mind when he looks at you. He feels a bit sick, but he figures it’s a symptom that seems to swallo him.

You wrap your arms around Spencer and lay your face in his chest.He wonders if you can hear how hard his heart is pounding but it doesn’t seem like you notice. You nuzzle into him, and it seems to be so subconscious for you. He wants to ask himself if this was friends did but he knew better - this was too complicated for such simple questions. He hugs you back, taking a breath and you pull away and look up at him. His eyes are a pretty green, spots of brown speckling them but they look hazel in the light. You’d see them sometimes when he woke up and they’d fall under the sunlight. You always liked them and maybe you look too long, so you pull away. Spencer wishes you didn’t but the moments gone before he can protest.

The elevator dings. The doors both open as the two of you travel down together. Spencer wants to offer you some company but he can’t tell himself too when he knows his own intentions.

____

Spencer was alone. It was the wordless night that seemed to eat at him, even though the clock had only barely scraped by to 11. Lately, Spencer doesn’t have trouble sleeping but it seems like that would change soon. Thoughts of you were cocoon his thoughts. He felt so stuck, because he wants to tell you how he feels - but the risk is too great. Too much of a burden to bear because he has no clue about how you feel. He assumes you don’t return those feelings but if you did - he wasn’t sure if anything would change. That reality is far more crushing than not knowing at all.

One thing Spencer did when he was thinking of you was read your letters to him. Those letters were more important for his sanity than he wanted to admit. You told him of everything, gave him daily reminders of why he needed to see the world again. Your return was more than waited on, but prayed for. A selfless act in self-preservation on your behalf, and a brave one on Spencers.

The first letter dates a few weeks after Spencer was in rehab. You’re so different in writing, maybe more honest because you aren’t thinking so much. Spencer doesn’t know how to explain it but he likes the way you write.

Dear Genius,

Congrats on a whole 3 weeks!! I’m so proud of you, and I’m happy to hear you like group therapy. I loved your clown painting, by the way and I want it framed for my apartment ASAP - seriously I had no clue you were so good at art. I also want pictures of when you guys have group therapy with those service dogs because that is so cute!!! Excited for the next letter just for that.

Updates on my life are pretty boring but you asked so I’ll deliver. My dad is doing okay right now. We’ve talked a lot and he’s sorta mulled over my chilhood and apologized about well… all of it. It was a bit much, to be honest but thats okay. I’ll get through it, especially when I have these letters to look forward too. I met someone sorta too, he’s from DC but he moved into my neighborhood. He’s nice, but who knows, you know?

Also, you told me to keep sending you new music to listen too, but honestly I just wanna send you radio hits. You should listen to The-Weeknd, maybe Starboy? I mostly just wanna see how you feel about stuff people listen to on the car radio haha. I don’t know, but either way, hope you like the song.

Anyways, I love you and I’m looking forward to our next correspondence. Good luck always, and keep yourself strong.

Best Wishes,

Y/N

Spencer smiles big. The kind of smile that reaches the lines in his eyes and makes his whole body relax. He replies with what you ask for, he remembers. He had a picture of him with an Australian Shepherd from therapy that you framed and put on your desk. He remembers how much you liked it, though he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t sent you the clown painting yet because it seemed to slip his mind but he reminds himself to give it to you. He looks through more letters, reading the different one-sided exchanges. He reads your weekly updates about the community mural that you painted with all the kids while you were back home. He reads about the different volunteers, and how your childhood friend who you lost touch with had moved back and had a baby. Her name was Ellie, and you loved her. He comes across the letter where your dad passed away, only a month into your trip.

Dear Spencer,

Hey kid. I’m happy to hear about your progress!! I know it’s been tough because you’ve hit that middle slump but I know you. I know you’ll get through, it just takes time and you’re doing great keeping your head above water. I love you and I’m so proud of you, you’re gonna go far.

I know I sound different here, it’s because my dad passed away last night. He passed quietly, stubborn bastard. I cried, more than I was expecting. He’s the last person of blood who would claim me as family and he just sorta disappeared. It’s just weird, how little i seem to feel. I was sad but it was weird, more emptying than anything but in a fucked up way I was relieved. I don’t know. I suppose it’s complicated

It made me think of you, in a weird way, I guess. You told me to send you music and I guess this is my indirect way of telling you stuff, but you should listen to 1000 times by Sarah Barielles. I don’t really know what to make of it but thanks for being a good friend and I’m grateful for what we have as friends always. You’re a good person, Spencer.

Anyways, let me know if anything changes and good luck next week. I miss you, but I know we’ll see eachother again soon and things will be good. Keep sending me pictures of Dianes cat also because she’s so cute and I love her. Thanks for everything.

Love always,

Y/N

Spencer looks at the song you sent. He normally listens to every single one but that week he had already used up all of his computer time to read the articles from your local newspaper and he never got a chance too after that. He figures now was a good time, always having a piece of you when he got that music. Even if the song wasn’t his style, it made him think of you and for him that was most than enough. It was a blessing in a lot of ways to have a part of you that only he knew of. It was music anyone could listen to but the meaning was his alone. Spencer opens up his laptop and types in the song title. He presses play, awaiting whatever pop ballad you had waiting for him

Then the lyrics start to play and Spencer feels sick,”

“Again again I let it go, let it go/ Cover my mouth don't let a single word slip/ Out wouldn't wanna tell you, no tell you, no/ Nothing could be worse than the risk of/ Losing what I don't have now,”

Shit.

Spencers heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. He feels like he’s going to die, and he doesn’t know how else to explain this feeling of detriment. You told Spencer you loved him a full month before he even realized how far deep he was and he just… didn’t acknowledge it. Spencer wanted to throw up, every visceral feeling of panic banging on the inside of his chest and threatens to crush his heart under the weight. Spencer could feel it in his throat, as he scrambles to find his phone your contact, dialing your number as he feels the drum of his heartbeat. His fingers shake as he hears you pick up on the other side.

“Hello?,”

Your voice makes Spencer ache. Spencer breathes out, unable to speak for a few seconds. You look confused on the other side of the phone.

“Spencer?,”

Your voice is all Spencer hears yet your words feel distant. His voice is abysmal and small when he speaks - the words trapped in the maze of thoughts, unable to be expressed correctly. Spencer coughs before he talks, trying to clear his airways even though nothing was really wrong.

“Are you home and are you busy?,” Spencer asks, tears threatening to run down his face before his voice can give out

“I’m home but I’m not busy, why? Is everything okay? ,” Panic is subtle in your voice, Spencer swallows thickly.

“Yeah, yeah - I’m okay. Can I come over?,” Spencer asks, voice quiet.

“Of course, Spencer. See you soon, and drive safe - the weather is still bad so you gotta be careful,” you say warmly.

“Yeah, of course. See you soon,” Spencer replies. The line clicks and Spencer stares into his phone. He picks his care keys up and puts on a jacket, knowing he’d still get caught up in the rain.

____

The rain is heavier than it was before. It was late, the clock reads 11:45 and Spencer can’t see much as water spills from the grey clouds that hung over his head. It was peaceful, almost. When you ignore the feeling of imminent panic and anxiety that washes over him, the rain is soothing to his ears as heavy as it. Spencer hands around the steering wheel are gripped tight enough to make the pads of his fingers white. His skin is hot, chest covered in a light sheen of sweat as he thinks of what's going to happen when he gets there - or moreso, if anything has happened. Spencer's thoughts are deafened by his own uncertainty - he owes it to you to tell you but if it’s too late for him he may never come back from that. He needed to tell you because you deserved to know but the thought of nothing happening hurts him. He’d rather you didn’t know but that’s not fair.

Spencer's thoughts of your ex-boyfriend pop up and he feels guilty. He’s tearing himself to pieces finding every reason in the world not to tell you, but he had to make the right choice because you were braver than he could ever be. He wants to show you he’s changed and that he won’t run from this. He refused to run from you.

His hands shake when he knocks. His hair is wet and the water seems to soak through parts of his old jacket. He looked like a mess he was sure but it didn’t matter. Spencer was so anxious, he doesn’t remember the last time he ever felt this anxious.

When you open the door with a smile - that’s when Spencer knows you were the love of his life. He just looked at you, looks at you with sunken eyes that flit over your face with a feeling you can’t explain. Spencer needed you, maybe more than you needed him.

“Hey, Spencer,” You say warmly. Spencer walks inside and you close the door behind him. He looks at you for a second, taking his jacket off as he just looks to you in silence. He wants to spit the words out, he wants to say them so the two of you can get caught up together. Spencer wants to be yours, and for you to be his and then some. Spencer loves you.

“What’s up?,” you ask quietly, seating yourself next to Spence whose found himself a spot on the couch. You grab his hands and play with his fingers for a few seconds, the touch is just so damn intimate. You loved Spencer, so much more than you could explain. You had that little anxious bubble in your chest about what could happen - that ‘maybe’ that brought you so many restless nights. You wondered if today was the day but before you go to dismiss the thought, you feel Spencers hands under your chin. He lifts your face up, eyes examining your face carefully. His scruff was nice, he looked different than before.

Before you can ask, Spencer kisses you. It’s out of character, and in many ways out of place for him. He’s not the type to kiss anyone out of the blue but he doesn’t know else to break the tension with any language other than physical. It's the way his lips melt to yours, the way you kiss him back immediately, the way his lips have a way of holding yours. The way his hands hold your face up. It was everything that made you remember that Spencer was fucking kiss you. Kissing you like he was the reason he was breathing. Curled around your very existence, with his lips giving you their every secret. This kiss was an exchange in secrets, but more than an assurance. Spencer kisses you, and you kiss him back and the whole universe is still.

When Spencer pulls away, you’re more than speechless. You look at Spencer, looking in his eyes for regret and you find none. Solace, maybe but no regret. You just look down, too scared to look at him again but he stops you, lifting your face up again.

“Don’t hide from me please,” Spencer croaks “I need to look at you,”

“Why?,”

“To make sure you’re real,” Spencers confession makes your body heat up.

“What’s gotten into you?,” you laugh nervously. You think Spencer will follow in suit, going back to being silly with you like normal but he doesn’t falter. He holds both of your hands and looks down, your eyes still fixated on him. Spencer sighs.

“I read your letter, from when your dad died. I never had a chance to listen to that song, but I did. I normally did but that one somehow managed to miss me and..,” he trails off, like his thoughts are moving too fast for him to say what he wants to. You swallow thickly. So he knows, you figure.

“It’s okay if you don’t, you know, return those feelings,” your voice chokes out. Spencer laughs.

“You’d be a fool to think something like that,” Spencer says earnestly. You choke a little violently.

“Oh?,”

Spencer turns to look at you again. His eyes are full of something, and this time you know the feeling. You give it to him often, that look of adoration That “You’re so stupid, please marry me,” look you give to the person you want to love most in this life.

“My whole life, I couldn’t afford to believe in anything related to destiny. I didn’t believe in miracles, or destiny, or a lot of other things for a long time. Sometimes I still don’t, like when cases go so bad that the whole team is left with that hollow feeling,” Spencer starts “I try my best to remember joy and happiness, and sometimes I do believe in miracles but it’s not everyday. Sometimes the pain was just too heavy,”

“When I started taking dilaudid again, I was just trying to cope with the pain. My life can feel like a series of unfortunate events sometimes,” Spencer says softly. The grip he has on your hands tightens just a little bit.

“I’ve been wanting to give you this confession for weeks, but like always you’ve proved to be more brave than I could ever be. Of course you figured it out first, who could be surprised but,” Spencer pauses for a second.

“You’re the love of my life. Maybe it’s too much to say right now, maybe enough time hasn’t passed for me to decide that but if I said anything less I’d be lying to you, and I don’t want to lie to you ever again,” Spencers voice is barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, you’re the only woman I could ever love this much. Those two months, those words that you gave me are what kept me sane. It was thoughts of your voice and your touch that kept me alive. It was your kindness that gave me strength, your love that gave me courage. It was you that reminded me of what it feels like to have hope, and perhaps even believe in miracles and destiny,” Spencers crying and so are you, but you still managed to hold eachother.

“I’m wholly in love with you. I really don’t know how to say anything else. Please be mine because for now, loving you is all I really want to do,” Spencer says the last part with a small voice. The butterflies in your stomach make it hard for you to speak and you’re crying so much you have a headache. You want to kiss him, and say something back but for now you’re just crying a little bit. You’d clear all the grey clouds in the world to give Spencer some sunshine.

“It’s always been you, dickhead,” you say through giggles. Spencer loves the sound of your laugh, if he could he would bottle up and keep it for himself to wear around his neck. Spencer wants to wear your name around your neck so the whole world knew he was yours and you were his.

You can’t hold yourself back from moving into Spencer's lap, bare thighs over his legs as you lean into his neck. You adored Spencer and you knew that for so long, but you always figured he didn’t feel the same. That song was your confession, and when he didn’t listen you always figured he didn’t feel it. Miscommunication is a hell of a drug, you figure. You were here now, wrapped in Spencer and more than ready to give him all of you. You adored Spencer, the way his mind worked full of cogs and his heart was full of affection. It was everything Spencer did when he was getting better, giving you purpose. Spencer made you feel at ease, always. Even when bad things seemed to swallow you up, Spencer gave you ease.

You look up at Spencer, there are small tears in your eyes when you do. You straddle his lap, and kiss him again. Holding your waist, Spencer smiles. He’s so grateful to be touching you like this. Spencer wants all of you to himself and he’d be damned if he was selfish for it.

“Spencer,” your voice is small, but happy. Spencer hums, wrapped up in the way the two of you kiss for him to be upset. You look up at him, into him in the way only you can and speak again.

“Make love to me,” your question is quiet. Spencer immediately became a little unsteady but he understood your request. That term “make love,” used to gross you out but you got it now. Sex and love are different - but sometimes you used sex to make love. To feel someone so close to you like that, you wanted to make love with Spencer. You wanted to have marks all over your skin so that the sight of him could be there forever, and for him to fuck you like you were the only thing he needed. Spencer wanted to make you feel wanted, and you wanted him to want you all the same. So, Spencer smiles, places a hand on boths sides of your face and kisses you slowly. Spencer loves you, adores you and wants to make you feel beautiful.

“You wanna go to your room?,” Spencer asks. You nod, and Spencer lifts you up before carrying you. You’re wrapped around him, yelping at his surprising strength.

Spencer lays you down, eyes glassy as he looks at your figure. He’s admiring you - he wants to make you feel pretty. You’re the prettiest woman in the world to him, and all he wants to do is make you feel it. He leans into you, his body pressed to yours as your legs are tangled. Spencer always cradles your face when he kisses you, as if he’s trying to hold you as close to him as possible. Spencer treats you like glass, his touch an ink stain leaving your body with permanent color as he kisses you. His tongue pushes past your lips softly, before pulling back. His fingers are so nimble, tugging with the sides of your shirt, staving himself off as he feels your bare thighs.

His mouth moves to your neck, peppering kisses along the sides of the column of your throat. He grips your thighs, feeling your wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer. Spencer tugs at the ends of your shirt, detaching from you so you can get it off. He chokes at the sight of you without your top on and you can’t help but hide your face. Spencer's face leans in, taking your nipple in his while he uses his free hand to gently brush against the other one.

“You’re beautiful, you look so good like this,” Spencer comments. A soft whine escapes your lips at the combination of words and Spencers touch. He was sweet with every movement but damn he had way too many clothes on.

“Spence, take it off,” you whine. Spencer gives you a small laugh, taking off his shirt before hovering over you again. His body was surprisingly toned from being out in the field and you definitely weren’t upset about seeing it. Your hands find their way around his waist, touching his skin in appreciation. He gives you a shy smile, before his head ducks down again, moving to kiss down past your breasts to your stomach and above your naval. His kisses are gentle, mouth careful in leaving them in as many places as possible. He stops when he ghosts his mouth over your panties, placing a kiss on your vulva - a wet spot formed on the light color. Spencer moves to kiss your thighs, getting close to your center and taking his time with it. Small hickies take place all along your skin, Spencer wanted to mark the word “mine,” into your skin with his mouth. He wanted you to think of him always, but especially when you were doing this.

Your breaths are staggered and heavy, as Spencer rubs you down with his hands - palms massaging your legs as he touched you. For the first time in your life, when someone touched you could feel how much they meant it. Maybe it’s because Spencer manages to make things you’ve felt before feel different - he makes everything feel better.

Spencer slides your panties down your legs carefully. His eyes are low when he sees your clit, sensitive and aching for his attention. He places a kiss on it first before he sticks his tongue out flat for you. Your fingers grip his hair immediately, legs wrapped around his shoulders where you could see him shift his weight to unzip his jeans and get himself off which only worked you up farther. Spencer eats you out like he’s been starved of you his whole life, head rhythmic as he brings you to your orgasm and slows down. He’s making an attempt to savor you but enjoys the sound of irritation you make every time he stops, something he’d explore farther at a later date. You’d gotten head before but it always came off as a favor and not like your partner wanted to do it for you. Spencer made sure you knew he wanted just as much as you did.

You orgasm in Spencer mouth twice in borderline succession as Spencer refuses to pull away, smiling as he holds your hips down and makes your whole body shiver. You have to catch your breath when he finally spares you and gives you a toothy-boyish grin of satisfaction that you only ever saw when he beats you in a card game. You look down at him adoringly, wanting to cry at how lucky you felt. You pull him to kiss you and he looks at you for a second - a questioning one since he just had his tongue inside you. You roll your eyes in a “duh, that’s the point way,” and Spencer swallows thickly.

“Do you want me to return the favor? Because I’m more than happy too,” you say reaching for his dick, which twitched at your touch. Spencer shakes his head.

“Not right now, wanna focus on you tonight,” Spencer replies. You look at him with the most affectionate puppy dog eyes and Spencer bursts out into full giggles. God, he loved you.

“Can I?,” Spencers question is tentative, and all you do in response is open your legs up wider for him and give him a nod. You mouth a “please,” to him and Spencer just smiles, kissing you softly.

Spencer stretches you out so fucking good. He’s careful, whispering pretty nothings about how beautiful you are and how lucky he was. The words were only fuel to the fire as you tighten around Spencer and some choked sound leaves his throat. Out of curiosity, you do it again and Spencer moans aloud. You give him a raised eyebrow and his voice is suddenly low.

“Do that again and I’ll cum,” Spencer warns. You giggled for a second before looking up at Spencer's face.

“You can cum in me if you’d like to,” you say, voice innocent “I’m on the pill,” Spencer wants to cum right then and there but he pauses to take a deep breath.

“Think I’ll have to take you up on that,” Spencer groans. You use one hand to rub your clit as Spencer pulls his hips back and starts to fuck you. The motion is slow at first, not wanting to hurt you but your voice in his ear only urges you to go deeper.

“I’m so lucky to have you like this love, you’re so pretty for me,” Spencer's praises are so sweet to you. Sugar to aching ears when he speaks lovely words for you. You whine.

“Spencer please cum in me - god, please,” you egg Spencer on as you get yourself off one last time. Spencer presses his forehead to yours, pausing for a second to kiss you sweetly before pounding into you again.

“Shit,” Spencer's voice feels like it gets stolen from him as he finishes inside, feeling your orgasm aftermath convulse around him pushes him off the edge as you look at him warmly, a soft blush flooding your expression.

“I love you so much,” you giggle to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and allowing him to rest his body weight on you. Spencer wants to stay with you like this forever, wanting to wrap you up in his arms and hold you for eternity. He was hoping you’d let him.

“I wanna stay like this, but let’s go get cleaned up first,” you say thoughtfully “I can wash your hair for you and we can shower together,” you say softly. Tears well up in Spencers eyes - remember the last time you did just that for him. He nods softly, burying his face in your neck, kissing new bruises that were soon to become dark purples.

____

You come out of the shower first as you hear a knock on your door. It’s been a few minutes and the knocking has been incessant, you figure it’s a neighbor or maybe someone who needed help. You wrap your robe around yourself and towel around your hair before you open up the door.

To your fucking dismay, it’s JJ, Emily, and Penelope - all stood outside with a bottle of wine as a greeting. Your eyes pop open immediately as you try to brush away the panic and give them all a fake smile.

“Hey guys! What are you all doing here so late?,” you ask, internal panic threatening your life. They all give you a knowing look.

“Well, we wanted to talk to you about something and we figure -,” Garcia starts but is interrupted by the sound of Spencer's voice, calling out to you as he walks out of the shower and in view of the open door. He can’t see them, but they can see him and he’s covered in hickies. You shut your eyes in disbelief as they all go dead silent.

“Oh - oh my god is that Spencer?,” JJ asks shocked. You’re going to throw yourself in front of a bus.

“Shit,” Spencer bolts into the other room leaving you to deal with the mess. You were so gonna get him for that later. You give them all an apologetic look.

“We, uh - yeah,” you say a little distant. They all just giving you a knowing look, even Garcia even though that’s mixed with a bit of disgust.

“We’ll see you on Monday, Y/N,” Emily says, being an angel and cutting the conversation short. You just nod as she drags a blabbering Garcia and deadsilent JJ away, reminding yourself to send her a thank you note later on. You walk into the room with Spencer and he gives you a guilty look, eyes apologetic as you roll your eyes, walking up to him to kiss him.

“You’re so goddamn lucky I like you, dickhead,”

“You like me?,” Spencer asks, wrapping his arms around your waist before falling over to lay down with you.

“Oh shut up, you know I do,” your tone is mean but your face gives you away. Spencer kisses you long and slow before looking at you again. The room is barred with loving silence, it feels every part of the air. It’s domestic, soft and adoring. A person whose love made you feel child-like joy but whose being brought your soul such comfort. You and Spencer lay in your bedroom like that for a while.

“We should change right?” you ask laughing. Spencer nods.

“I have clothes for you in my dresser,” you remind. Spencer nods as he stands up, slipping on some boxers and a shirt. You change into some old college pj’s and shorts and get laid up next to Spencer.

There’s this silence that fills the room. It’s difficult to describe, the feeling of it is so new and hard to pinpoint exactly. You can feel it just barely on your skin, the way Spencer's arms hold your waist as the two of you lay next to each other, closing the gaps of space that fall between you - just itching for that familiar feeling of closeness. Spencer Reid was the closest thing to heaven you ever got - scruffy face and curious eyes. It’s hard to find truth in another person, yet stil Spencer shows up for you and kisses away all your nightmares. Loving him was so certain, but the fact that he loved you too felt unreal, still. Maybe it always would. It was a lot for you to take in but the feeling of him at your side, face on your chest sleepily messing with your hands. The way he looks up at you with such a pretty expression, mouthing the words I love you. It was the silence in the room and the cadence it managed - the soft and lulling adoration buzzing the nerves on your skin and kissing you awake. This was more than love, but faith. A regained faith in the notion that good things really can happen to good people. Spencer's love to you was a promise from the universe that good things are always around you even if you don’t see it at first.

Spencer is so relaxed against you now, you read his body language and can feel his exhaustion. You were so attuned to him, fingers aching to run through his hair and tell him how proud you were. Spencer made your heart light - his beaming smile turning you flush. Beautiful - him, this, the universe. Loving Spencer made the world feel so beautiful, even though both of you encountered such darkness in it. You were going to marry him someday, you were so sure of it. Someday you and Spencer would grow old and live with some livestock in a cottage somewhere far from here like he wanted. Or maybe a house in the suburbs with two babies you call your own - and a cat, and a dog too. Anything would work for you, but Spencer is probably a bit more picky.

For you and Dr. Spencer Reid, love has always been a case study in body language. People lie, or hide the truth when they talk - so the two of you have never fallen in love with the words you may exchange. Instead you’ve fallen in love with the gentle touches, the longing glances and lingering hugs - or the feeling of their skin on yours when the night is too cold to be alone. It was the dilating pupils, and the feelings that universe seemed to fall away when the two of you shared looks to each other. You fell for Spencers subconscious before you ever fell for his mind or his body - the little things he did like raising his shoulders when he was happy, or fiddling with your hands when he was deep in thought, you fell in love with the things Spencer would never see for himself and he did the same for you. Spencer fell for the way you moved without thinking. For the person you were when all the curtains were closed.

Love is anything but conscious. Love is deep-rooted in the sheer notion of that being alive is worth something, which is to say love is the basis of life. Not romantic love - but all love. Love is the basis of life. Spencer Reid loved you, sharing a piece of his life. In returns you gave him yours. An eye for an eye can give us sight we could never have before, if the exchange is born of adoration.

There are still so many unresolved knots to tie, but for now it didn’t matter. Just like those first two months, Spencer is laying at your side and he smells like you. For now, he was here with you - as the two of you fell so deeply for each other as the seconds passed. There are so many questions to answer, but that’s okay for now.

You two had all the time in the world to figure the rest out, and for him - thats more than enough.

This silence was more than enough.

____

taglist: @cynbx @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt @reid-187 @louistwinslover @pastanest @nomajdetective @iamburdened @secretlyablueunicorn

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #a case study in body language #i cant believe it's over #i hope yall like it.

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7-wonders · 5 years

Text

Bad Apple

Summary: Just when it seems as if Michael’s getting everything he’s ever wanted, it becomes too good to be true.

Word Count: 3558

A/N: You see what I did with the title? Eh? Eh? Welcome to the newest chapter of Mad Love! Buckle up friends, this is going to be a wild one. Seriously though, I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter or if I crammed too much in, so actual constructive feedback would be appreciated. If you enjoyed, I would love if you left a like, comment, or reblog. There is a content warning for sexual situations under possible dubcon conditions, but I promise it will be okay. Happy reading!

Michael senses you before he sees you. He’s thankful for this certain gift of his, not able to take his attention away from the dull conversation between two contentious world leaders. You were gone just long enough to start making him worry that something bad had happened to you; with the witches still determined to destroy him, anything that Michael holds dear is now in danger. You slide into the chair next to Michael, gripping his hand as he finishes discussing the logistics of various nuclear arsenals located around the world. The tight hold that you have on him makes Michael wonder if something scared you when you were getting some air, and he makes a mental note to ask Ms. Mead to check the security feeds to ensure that nobody or nothing gave you a hard time when you were alone.

“Finally,” you mutter into Michael’s ear when the impromptu meeting is concluded, “I thought they’d never leave.”

He stiffens when you kiss his jawline, making your way down his face until you reach his lips. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Is it so bad for me to kiss you every once in a while?”

“Well no, but you’ve made--”

“I could stop, if you don’t like it,” you tease, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I’m just surprised you’ve changed your mind.” You shrug in response, laying one more kiss on him before settling back in your chair and lifting your glass up to your smirking lips.

The remainder of the event passes by dreadfully slow, with the only entertainment the chaste touches Michael shares with you. He hasn’t kept too watchful of an eye on you, which means you probably had one too many drinks that have made you a giggling, affectionate mess. You haven’t left his side since you returned, something that pleases Michael immensely. This is how it should be, and this is how he hopes it remains.

“Seriously, how much have you had to drink tonight?” Michael asks in the car, smiling as you cuddle into his arms that are wrapped around you.

“I already told you, I only had one!”

“You don’t have to be scared to tell me, (Y/N).”

You smile up at him from where your head is leaning against his chest. “Michael, I promise that I’m telling you the truth. Now just be quiet and hold me.”

“I’m happy to oblige.” Michael closes his eyes, placing his chin on the top of your head. If he could, he would want nothing more than to bottle this moment up so that he can return to it whenever he wishes.

The manor is silent when Michael enters with you, the closing of the door echoing through the foyer that you had descended into mere hours prior. It almost feels like you’re in an extended dream state, every sense seeming warm and fuzzy ever since...since...well, you can’t remember what since, but you know that this feeling is associated with Michael, and that makes you want to bask in this feeling forever. Michael’s smile shines brightly, reminding you--as if you could ever forget--of just how much you love him. It feels as if your heart is beating solely for Michael, every blue-eyed glance he sends your way sets your heart thumping wildly.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Mi-chael. Mi-chael. Mi-chael.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Michael says, stirring you out of your reverie.

He leads you up the winding staircase and down the hall to your bedroom, the door opening to reveal the twinkling fairy lights that you strung up when you first moved in. Standing back from Michael, you slowly close the door behind both of you. He turns around to check on you, but you meet him with a kiss before allowing him the opportunity to question you.

“What are you doing?” Michael mutters against your lips, weaving an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“Kissing you.” Michael bites your bottom lip, making you gasp.

“And doing it very well, I might add.” You lean your forehead against his, shoulders heaving as you catch your breath.

“Michael, I want you.” You walk with Michael back towards the bed, falling onto the soft mattress.

“Oh,” he breathes, almost not believing what he’s heard. “Are you sure?”

“I can’t keep up the charade of not wanting you anymore.” Michael’s large hand goes to the strap of your dress, sliding it down your arm so that he can caress your bare shoulder.

“Promise me that you’re sober,” he pleads earnestly. “I will not take advantage of you if you’re not.”

“I’ve already told you that I barely had anything to drink tonight.” You push stray strands of golden hair out of Michael’s face, gazing up at him. “Please.”

Michael kisses you hungrily, hands roving up and down the planes of your body. Your head falls back against the pillows as you let out a quiet hum at the feeling of his full lips against your skin. It’s wonderful, like everything you’ve ever dreamt it would be. Michael sits up with you, unzipping your dress and letting it pool around your waist. Michael skillfully unclasps your strapless bra, hands cupping your breasts roughly as you quickly fumble through unbuttoning his shirt. He nearly throws you back against the pillows once more, and you cry out in anticipation.

“I love you!” you gasp, eyes screwed shut as he tweaks one of your nipples between his fingers.

Michael stills, sitting back on the heels of his feet in shock. “W-what?”

“I love you, Michael,” you say earnestly. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn and rejecting you. I was just scared. I love you, and I need you more than I’ve ever needed anyone or anything.

“If I was dying of thirst in a desert and had to pick between a deep pool of water or a mirage of you, I’d pick my hallucination. You’ve loved me endlessly and faithfully since the day we were married. I’ve failed as your wife in the past, but I won’t anymore because I love you, and I’m not afraid to admit it now.”

Michael stares at you in disbelief, his hand almost shaking as he presses it against your cheek. You lean into his touch, kissing the palm of his hand and looking at him with the same sleepy eyes as before.

He pauses when he looks at your eyes, staring into them with suspicion. This entire night has seemed too good to be true, and he’s starting to worry that he’s right.

“(Y/N),” Michael says cautiously, “tell me what you did when you left to go and get some fresh air.”

You groan. “Seriously?”

“Please, my love.”

“Fine,” you agree begrudgingly. “I...went to go and sit on a bench, because it was too cold to actually go outside. I was checking my phone when a waitress came up to me, and then--”

Michael stares at you as you furrow your eyebrows in concentration. “And then what?”

“I--I can’t remember. She gave me something, maybe a drink?” You rub your forehead, fighting off a sudden headache. “I think it was a cocktail. And then, the next thing I remember is sitting back down next to you.”

“And that was the only drink you had today?”

You nod. “It was pretty good, actually. It tasted like apples and cinnamon.”

Michael’s never been on a roller coaster before, but the oft-repeated simile of your heart and stomach dropping dramatically right before the roller coaster drops as well is one he thinks could apply to how he feels right now. His face pales, the smile he had previously been sporting falling to a frown. Apples. How could he have been so stupid as to let you be on your own mere weeks after Satan had attempted to “clear” your mind?

Now, he’s faced with a decision that he hoped he wouldn’t have to encounter again. The drink, his father’s work, has done what was promised. You love him unconditionally, and isn’t that all that he’s wanted since he first laid eyes on you? But he knows this isn’t you talking, not really. It may be your voice, but this is not you.

He stands from the bed, buttoning his shirt back up. You look up at him in confusion, crawling towards him as he looks away from you.

“Put your clothes back on, (Y/N),” Michael mutters.

“What? Michael, what’s wrong?”

“My father is what’s wrong.”

Mild disgust crosses your face. “I mean, while I’m certainly thankful that your father created us for each other, I don’t see why you’re thinking about him when we’re about to have sex for the first time.”

“That’s the problem!” Michael exclaims, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “(Y/N) wouldn’t say nice things about Satan.”

“I’m confused, am I suddenly not myself?” You don’t bother to put your bra back on, but you do slide the straps of your dress over your shoulders once more.

“Say something mean about me,” Michael demands. “If you’re not under the influence of Satan, give me a snide remark about how I always look like I’m going to a Renaissance Faire or something similar.”

You stare at him for a long moment. “I--I can’t, I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would! And you do! Yesterday you said that I act like someone is holding me hostage whenever we go out in public and then proceeded to tell me to blink once if I was being threatened.”

You grab Michael’s hand, trying to get him to look at you. “And I shouldn’t have said that to you, it was rude and uncalled for.”

“See,” Michael finally turns around, “that’s how I know you’re under Satan’s influence. You show your affection by sarcastic comments, and you would have appreciated your so-called ‘genius’ with that particular jab.”

“It was the only way I knew how to deal with my feelings! But I’m over that now, because I--”

“Don’t say it,” Michael commands sharply. He sits next to you with a heavy sigh, defeatedly allowing you to move his arm around your body. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so, so sorry.”

You smile sadly. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“It’s all my fault,” he mutters to himself. “I...I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to fix this.”

“How to fix what?”

“How to undo this magic.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you can’t bare to see him so distraught. “Well, you’re always talking about the witches. Maybe they could help?”

“No.” Michael shakes his head. “No matter how much trouble we’re in, I could never ask the witches. They would kill me.”

“Surely there’s other people who use magic?” Michael nods slowly, lost in thought as he tries to think of a solution.

“Give me one second.” He reaches for his phone, unlocking it and searching for a number. You watch as he holds the phone to his ear and waits for the person on the other end to pick up, admiring the way his hair is perfectly, effortlessly curled.

“Dinah, thank you for picking up. I know I promised that I was only going to need a single favor from you, but I need your help again.” He pauses, listening intently. “I understand, and we can negotiate compensation for you upon completing what I ask of you.”

“Who are you talking to?” you whisper, but he ignores you.

“I’ll send you the address, can you be here within twenty minutes? Yes, okay.” Michael pulls the phone away from his face and hangs up.

“Is everything okay?”

Michael smiles, running a hand through your hair. “It will be. An acquaintance of mine will be coming over in a few minutes; why don’t you go and put on some non-formal clothes before she arrives?”

“Will you help me get undressed?” You bat your eyelashes at him in an obvious attempt to pick up where he left off.

“No, (Y/N). You’re perfectly capable of changing your own clothes.” You stand up, shrugging.

“Oh well, it was worth a try.” Michael allows you to kiss him, his head only falling into his hands after you leave.

Exactly twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings. The emerald green dress has been replaced by a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt from high school. Michael’s version of “dressed down” is wearing a soft long-sleeved black shirt and forgoing the Gucci belt he was wearing, but that’s expected.

Michael opens the door, revealing a shorter woman with a colorful head scarf tied around her styled afro. She smiles thinly at him, setting a large bag down on the floor.

“Michael,” she greets, holding a hand out for him to shake.

“Dinah.” It’s when Michael says her name that it finally clicks for you.

“Holy shit, you’re Dinah Stevens!” She smiles bashfully, but you can tell that she loves the notoriety.

“In the flesh.”

“Michael, your colleague is a talk show host?” you ask in confusion, Dinah clicking her tongue in disdain.

“I’m also the voodoo queen of New Orleans, thank you very much.”

“Did you have a chance to read the information I sent you?” Michael questions, done with pleasantries.

“Yes, baby Satan.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “What information?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.” Dinah looks at you.

“You don’t get to decide that for her,” Michael says through gritted teeth. “(Y/N), it seems that my father may be influencing your mind. Dinah’s here to help us.” You nod, but you feel like you’re not as concerned as you should be. After all, you’re with Michael, and nothing can harm you when you’re with Michael.

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Dinah steers the conversation back to the reason why she’s here in the first place.

You shrug. “Yeah, fire away.”

“Let’s continue this conversation in my office,” Michael gestures upstairs, leading your small trio to the spacious office on the second floor. Dinah takes a seat in front of the desk, with you sitting in a chair next to her as Michael sits behind the desk.

“(Y/N), do you remember what the waitress said to you when she handed you the drink?” Dinah begins her questioning once everybody’s seated.

“Uh, she had told me that it was the house special and that it was the last one she had. I figured one drink wouldn’t be too bad, especially since I was nervous, so I took it.”

“Mhm, and do you remember Michael’s followers kidnapping you and forcing you to marry him?” Michael winces at the reminder: although Dinah had warned him that she was going to be blunt in an attempt to see just how much Satan’s spell covered, it still stings.

“Well yes, but it was really the only way. I mean, can you imagine me doing that willingly? It had to happen the way that it did.”

“Okay. What happened after you drank the cocktail?”

The same pained expression as before appears on your face as you try to think. “I don’t know. Everytime I try to remember, my head just hurts really bad.”

Dinah chews her bottom lip, thinking. “Gimme your hands.”

You look at Michael in concern, but he nods that it’s okay to do so. When Dinah does grab your hands, her eyes go wide. The dark brown of her iris is replaced by an electric blue, and though it looks like she’s staring at you, you can tell that she’s staring right through you. After a couple of minutes, she lets go of your hands with a gasp, panting at the exertion.

“So?” Michael asks eagerly, barely letting Dinah regain her bearings. “Can the spell be reversed?”

“Ah ah ah!” Dinah chides, wagging a finger at Michael. “I believe you mentioned something about a payment?”

Michael huffs. “Fucking voodoo queens, you’re all the same.” She raises her eyebrows in response; challenging him. “Name your price.”

“I want Marie Laveau’s old territory, in the heart of the French Quarter,” Dinah demands with hardly a moment’s hesitation.

“You know Papa Legba does not take too kindly to me broaching his domains.”

“Nobody said that you had to step foot in New Orleans.”

The two powerful beings stare each other down, both daring the other to relent. Finally, Michael sighs. “Consider it done.”

Dinah’s chin raises victoriously. “What do you have in terms of potion ingredients?”

“Say the word, and it will be at your disposal.”

The voodoo queen waits for Michael to produce a cauldron-like bucket, pulling a weathered book out of her bag once he’s set the large bowl on the ground. “Let’s get to work.”

Michael and Dinah work in tandem, the voodoo queen (she had reprimanded you for referring to her as a witch) calling out different ingredients and the Antichrist conjuring them for her. Some, like anise and lavender, are commonly found in nature and thus familiar to you. Others, such as wormwood and twice-blessed water, you had believed to be purely used in fiction. You’re fine with watching the two figure this out on their own, knowing that you’re nowhere near useful in this particular situation.

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to drink something that contains human blood?” Your nose crinkles in disgust as Michael slices his hand open, the blood dripping into the boiling mixture.

“Safer than you drinking a cocktail made specially by Satan,” Dinah quips, gesturing for Michael to stand back as she starts to chant.

You don’t know what language she’s speaking in, but you do catch the name “Papa Legba,” the man (demon? You’re not sure) that Michael had referenced earlier, repeatedly. Dinah comes to a stop just as quickly as she started, stirring the mixture once more before nodding.

“It’s done,” Dinah says. “The reversal of the darkest kind of magic will be painful, more painful than what I believe the original effect of that magic was on (Y/N). I’ve mixed a sleeping draught in; hopefully, this means that she’ll feel minimal pain.”

Dinah pours the potion into a glass and hands it to Michael, who looks at the dark purple liquid apprehensively. “And you’re sure this will work?”

“You’re really going to question my skills now?” Dinah raises an eyebrow, and Michael shakes his head meekly. “That’s what I thought. Call me if something bad happens, or if nothing happens. I’ll expect payment by Monday.”

“Thank you, Dinah. Truly, you have no idea how much I appreciate this.” She chooses not to respond, instead gathering her belongings and moving past Michael and out the door.

“A woman of few words,” you remark, drifting towards Michael. “You’re gonna make me drink that, aren’t you? Even though I don’t want to? Even though we both have everything we’ve ever wanted now?”

Michael closes his eyes tightly, gathering his nerve before taking your hand and walking with you to your bedroom. He’s never really felt much empathy for the first humans to walk the Earth. Adam and Eve were weak, and easily susceptible to sin. They knew the consequences, yet accepted the apple anyways. Michael thrives off of sinners, and had previously seen their decision to give in as easy. Now, however, tempted with his heart’s desires standing right in front of him, he understands why they were torn in two when deciding whether to give in or resist.

“I’m doing this because I love you, (Y/N). On your own time, and in your own way, maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to be loved by you in the same way. But not like this. I’m sorry that this had to happen to you, and that I dragged you into my fucked up, mess of a life. You deserve better than what I can give you.”

“You give me what you’re capable of, and that’s enough for me.” Your head is killing you, screaming to fight back and refuse to take the potion that the voodoo queen concocted, but you push through for Michael. Which version of you is pushing through, the you that’s under the influence of Satan or the you that Michael loves, you’re not quite sure.

Michael helps you into your bed, making sure that you’re completely comfortable before perching on the edge of the mattress. “I’ll be right here the entire time, I promise. You won’t go through this alone.”

“I love you, Michael,” you say earnestly, taking the glass that he hands you as he smiles forlornly.

“I know you do. It may be a different form, but I know. Now, drink up.” He watches as you lift the glass to your mouth, your muscles tensing as you fight Satan’s influence to do as Michael says (something that Michael takes a small amount of pride in).

At first, nothing happens. You feel the exact same as you have, albeit a little wary as you wait for something to happen. Michael’s confused as well, but he still has a reassuring smile on his face to keep you from freaking out. You both wait until a sharp pain in your chest makes you gasp loudly, the last thing you feel before going under.

Tag list: @trelaney (plus all the love to you for your continued support!)

@ccodyfern @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @xavierplympton @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @coloursunlimited @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @cuddletothecake @nsainmoonchild @born-on-stgeorges-day @tcc-gizmachine @90sroger @gold-dragon-slayer @atombombastic @lvngdvns @blakewaterxx @yoheyyosup @forever1313 @ladyrindt @kaetastic @hecohansen31 @loilko @riotsouls666 @lustminaj @accio-rogers @lenas-wild-imagination @holylangdon @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @diaryofalandlockedmermaid

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story imagines #AHS #ahs imagine #ahs imagines #ahs apocalypse

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heartbeatan · 5 years

Text

Hot Zone (Chapter 11)

Return to Chapter 10.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Apocalypse Series.

Return to Namjoon Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 11

“Put your hands up!” the voice bellowed from behind you. You closed your eyes. This can’t be happening. You were so close.

“Hey, listen,” the doctor raised his hands in the air. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Ye, we do,” you swung around quickly, pulling from underneath your shirt the weapon Namjoon had give you. You pointed the gun at the soldier, and he passed his weapon to point it back at you.

The air became tense as the two of you stared each other down and as the doctor watched the exchange.

“Now, you listen to me,” you spoke firmly. “We are getting off this boat, and you’re not going to stop us.

“Ma’am, I can’t let you do that.”

“You have no choice. And I have no choice.”

“I will shoot.”

“Hey, hey,” the doctor tried to calm the situation. “Nobody needs to be shot.”

“Then step away from that door and put down your gun,” the soldier said firmly. But you remained firm in your defiance.

“How could you do this, soldier?” you criticized him. “They’re your people.”

The soldier remained quiet, but you could tell your words penetrated his armour, so you continued.

“They would come for you, and yet you just abandon them? It isn’t right.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, and then he asked “are you going back? You’re going back to the base?”

“Yes,” you replied. “To save them.”

The soldier went quiet again, then he lowered is gun to the floor, and you followed suit.

“My brother is on that base,” he spoke slowly. “Are you sure you can save him?”

“If we can find him,” said the doctor. “I only have enough right now to save six. But if we can find him, I’ll save him.”

The soldier nodded. “Then I’m coming with you.” He swung his rifle over his shoulder and trotted towards you. Flinging the door open, he climbed inside a took a seat at the helm.

Stunned, you and the doctor looked at each other for a moment, before shrugging. You climbed in first, the doctor behind you shut the door to the pod. You pulled yourself into a seat and strapped yourself in with the buckles.

“Ready?” the soldier asked.

“Ready,” you replied. The soldier pumped the release handle over and over and over until you felt the pod release from it’s confines, then slip off the deck and free fall into the sea.

Hours later, you pulled yourself from the pod as it pulled itself onto the shore.

“I can’t believe we fucking made it,” you breathed a sigh of relief. It was daylight again. Morning. And the sun was hot and bright on your face. Your eyes adjusted slowly but when they did, you noticed the truck was still parked where you had left it however many days ago.

“The trucks still here, you called back to the doctor and the soldier.” Jumping from the pod, you splashed through the water and made your way up the beach towards it. You climbed inside and reached under the dash to try to find where you had hidden the keys. With a gleeful clink, you found them and stuck them in the ignition and turned. The truck choked twice, but then roared to life. You let out a triumphant yelp and waved for the two men to follow you.

You knew base was close. You were on the main road into it now. Your heart began to drum in your ears. You had been so focused on getting back to base that you hadn’t had the time to prepare yourself for what you might possibly return to. Would the base still be contained or would the infected have burned it to the ground? Would Namjoon still be locked in the control room? Would he still be alive?

The rest of the truck was feeling the same anxieties as you were. You could tell from their silence and the way they peered through the windshield around every corner.

Fortunately, you found base exactly as you had left it – you think. It was quiet. Too quiet… just like the day you had pulled up with Namjoon. But the gate, the walls, everything still seemed to be intact.

You parked the truck in front of the gate and cautiously climbed out. The doctor jumped out beside you and you two looked to the walls and then to each other. He nodded, and you took it as a sign to approach the control room.

The sound of gravel crunched beneath your feet as you took each careful step. The booth seemed quiet, empty, dark. But you hoped that wasn’t the case. Hopefully, Namjoon was just hibernating inside – the way all the infected did during daylight.

You stepped over to the booth and peered inside. You couldn’t see anything. You pressed your forehead to the glass and cupped your eyes with your hands to get a better look.

“There he is!” you called to the doctor.

“Where?”

“Under the desk. Can you see his feet?”

The doctor pressed his face to the glass as well. “Yes! I see him!”

“So, what do we do now?” the soldier stepped up behind you and peered in as well.

“How long does it take for the antidote to work?” you asked.

“Almost immediately.”

“Will he wake up when we go in?” asked the soldier.

“Not sure,” said the doctor. “In the trials it sometimes they did, sometimes they didn’t.”

“You’ve been vaccinated already, yes?” you asked the soldier.

The soldier nodded.

“Good. Well… The I say we go in, give him the shot and hope he doesn’t kill us before it kicks in,” you shrugged.

“I can cuff him first,” the soldier offered.

“Good idea,” replied the doctor.

You clicked the lock for the control room door and quietly slid it open. You could see Namjoon clearly now. It was a terrifying site. His eyes open and his breathing rhythmic, he didn’t quite look as if he was sleeping. You crept over to him, the handcuffs in your hand. You reached him, and looked over his face, searching for any changes, any sign that he might wake up – but as sign you could not find.

You reach down and grabbed a hold of his arm, lifting it lightly into the air, you pulled the cool metal around his wrist and snapped it into place.

“Ngggg,” a noise came from Namjoon as you did. The room froze and your eyes widened as you looked him over, praying that he wouldn’t wake up.

After a minute, he seemed fine, so you raised his arm and strapped the other cuff to the leg of the bolted down table.

Namjoon grumbled again. You froze again. But once again he didn’t wake up. You crawled away from his reach. Now it was the doctor’s turn.

He pulled a vial from his bag, and then a syringe. He poked the bottle with the needle and filled it with the fluid. He crept towards Namjoon and began to search his cuffed arm for a vein.

You watched as the needle punctured his skin, as the doctor pressed the plastic and the fluid disappeared into Namjoon’s body.

“Rrraaaaa,” came a scream from Namjoon. The doctor let out a yelp as Namjoon grabbed a hold of him with his free hand. He started to snap his jaw at the man, as if he was a wild predator going for the jugular. The soldier jumped to action, grabbing the doctor and knocking Namjoon in the face with his boot. But Namjoon wasn’t deterred. He went for the doctor again with another blood-curdling growl. The doctor managed to pull himself to his feet, even though Namjoon still had a hold of him. The soldier kicked at the hold he had on him, and after a third boot to the wrist, Namjoon’s grip was dislodged and the doctor went flying backwards and crashed into the wall.

Namjoon then turned to the soldier and began snapping at him. But this time, it was less aggressive. Less agile. You could see the colour in his skin and in his eyes slowly returning to normal. His growls became heavy breaths, and his jaw stopped snapping.

“Namjoon?” you said to him, and he looked up to you.

He abandoned the soldier completely, and kept his eyes fixated on you and you alone. He was panting now, sweating now, and he looked almost normal.

“Joon?” you asked again. “Is that you?”

He took in a few more gasps of breath.

“Y/N,” Namjoon said.

#bts smut #rm smut #rm x reader #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut

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mssjynx · 5 years

Note

Kri77y, NSFW and 11 "You caught me staring at your ass. Oops?" PLZ

alpha / beta / omega au

krii7y drabble

11. You caught me staring at your ass. Oops?

warning: nsfw

a/n: this is way longer than i thought and it is a full sm.ut, unlike the others. have fun though this was a fun one to writePS my only editing was skimming for incorrect spelling. sorry for mistakes! enjoy all the same

John was loving having a prac teacher. It meant all he had to do was supervise his lesson, throw things at the kids who didn't behave and make sure the twenty-one year old was teaching the right content. Other than that, he could sit and mark all of his tests, create new worksheets and prepare future lesson plans.

Unfortunately, having a prac teacher like Jaren wasn't to most professional or easy task. The young man was eccentric, catching the class's attention and keeping them engaged as he explored the topics he was truly interested in with a depth that kept the students in tow. It was in his natural aura as an omega to be a subject of interest and he didn't shy away from abusing such power in keeping the class involved. John would find himself distracted from his private work as he watched Jaren stroll around the class, explaining difficult concepts and helping students to understand.

Except John would often go from listening to the omega talk to watching how he walked, admiring his attractive form, his painted fingernails, his skin-tight jeans that clung to his thighs and butt in a way that John swore was a deliberate method of torture. Zoned out mid-class, red pen twirling between his fingers, the beta didn't notice Jaren until the man was standing on the other side of his desk, hands on the wood where he leaned down to meet John's level.

"You really ain't subtle, you know that?" His tone was quiet as the class behind him bustled, working through their tasks as they discussed with one another. John placed down his pen, head tilting in confusion. With a sly grin, Jaren elborated, dropping further to rest an elbow on the table, head on his knuckles. "You've been staring at my ass all class, John. A bit unprofessional, don't you think?"

John blinked, fiddling with his ring. He didn't shy away from the omega's stare, his confidence oozing in the air around him, but he didn't miss the way students were casting the pair intrigued looks. "And if you stand like that you're gonna have the whole class staring at your ass in a minute," he returned, letting his head fall to his hand as he grinned at the omega, who stood bolt upright and cast a wary glare to the kids still working.

Some grinned and waved, someone looked away with pink cheeks. John just snickered, successfully drawing Jaren's attention back to him. The omega rolled his eyes before decidedly sitting on John's desk instead. He kept his eyes on John, analysing for a reaction, before flashing that charming grin and flaunting his pretty scent of chocolate. "Any explanation to why you can't keep your eyes to yourself?" he purred, voice leaving implications in the air between them. Though the claim was accusatory, there was no discomfort or irritation in those deep brown eyes. Jaren didn't seem to have too big of a problem with being under the beta's gaze.

John leaned back in his chair, grin wide and shameless. "Do I gotta explain myself? I'm just admiring."

Jaren's smile widened, leaning over the desk catching John's fingers in his. "Wanna get a closer look, hm?" he whispered, voice barely audible if not for the beta's sharp hear. Out of the view of the students, Jaren drew John's hand to his thigh, flattening his fingers over the curve of his leg and squeezing his own hand atop John's. "You can help me with some human biology practical work," he teased, words insinuating enough for John to catch on. He felt his chest warm, stomach twisting at the thought of having Jaren to himself. The omega drew his hand up further, John able to feel the heat beneath the prac teacher's pants.

Not one to refuse a challenge, John leaned forward, curling his hand further around the inside of Jaren's thigh, tilting his head as he smirked up at the omega. "Let's not get unprofessional, Jaren. I think we need to talk about this behaviour; come see me at the end of the day." He kept his voice low, suggestive and sly as he squeezed Jaren's thigh and held the man's eyes. Satisfaction rolled through his stomach as pink tinged the omega's cheeks and ears. "Sound good, baby?" he purred, tilting his head as his smile widened.

Jaren managed a shy nod, hips subtly squirming before John withdrew his hand.

"Oh God, Mr Smith, is that you!?" Both teachers turned their attention to a girl in the front row, standing with her hand covering her face and a look of disgust in her eyes. "Jeez, you smell terrible!"

Jaren's cheeks were red then as the students sniffed the air, but their inexperienced noses weren't able to decipher what the omega scent was. The prac teacher hopped off the desk, prancing out in front of the class to explain how scents smelt different depending on compatibility and attraction. John sat back in his chair, grin broad. The scent of arousal and fluster that reeked from Jaren was sexier than any smell he'd caught before on any other person.

He went back to marking, smiling to himself as he wondered how his afternoon would turn out.

By four o'clock, most of the teachers had left. The science department was empty other than a few late stayers and John had happily filed away all of his marked tests. He was free to go but the faint smell of chocolate that tickled his nose was one that distracted him.

He dawdled at his desk, saying goodbye to the last few teachers, dreary eyes and grumbling tones. Jaren hadn't been seen in the office for over an hour but John knew he was still there. The tricky omega wasn't one to be subtle and John had locked the pretty scent away since the class Jaren had confronted him during.

The remaining classes of the day had consisted of Jaren shooting him sly looks, walking around in front of his desk and making John's job of supervising far more enjoyable.

He was asking for it and John wasn't going to refuse.

"Ren?" he called, strolling through the building as he locked up the classes. He'd offered to do the job for Craig so the physics teacher could go home earlier. He was the last out of the office and John felt like a cat after a mouse as he prowled through the building. "Jaren?"

He passed through the doors, locking them behind him as he came to the science lab. Chocolate wafted in the ear, hot like it had been melted over the tables, standing the air conditioner. John breathed in deeply and smiled to himself as he tapped his fingers on the desk. He could pick up the trail, his beta senses known to the omega who liked to play his games.

The light in the storeroom could be seen beneath the door and when focused, John caught the sound of the young man's heartbeat from within. He drew himself quietly to the door, pushing on the handle and letting himself into the storeroom.

"Oh, shit," he murmured to himself as he was showered in the scent of sweetness and excitement. A soft laugh from within the room pulled John closer and the beta felt himself shudder as he tasted the air around him. Jaren had filled the room, every corner, with his scent and John wasn't oblivious to the hint of heat that tainted his every inhale. "Jaren, don't hide from me," he murmured, dragging himself around the other side of the shelf to find the omega pushing boxes into their place.

A box cutter in hand and a roll of tape, those big brown eyes landed on John and the beta couldn't not notice how dilated his pupils were. With another deep breath, he could tell that his prac teacher had something far different from taping boxes in mind.

"You know you make my job so much harder," John said, dropping his keys on the shelf to his right and prowling closer with a small grin. Jaren's smile was small but there, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he kept his eyes locked solely on John. "I can't focus when you're fillin' my class with that scent," he murmured, head tilting to the side as he devoured the omega with his eyes. "And when you're wearing those jeans."

Jaren's smile was sly but weak, the scent of eagerness melting into arousal. "Dunno what you mean," he purred, voice heavy from his tongue. John shuddered, drawing closer and tapping his fingers along the shelf.

"You know what you do to me," he said, keeping Jaren's eyes on him and grinning wolfishly. "I see the way you look at me, like you're waiting for me to give in and give you what you want." When close enough, John hooked his fingers into the omega's belt, pulling him close.

He didn't miss the way Jaren flicked his tongue out to moisten his lips, lashes fluttering to kiss his cheekbones. "Well?" he murmured, placing a hand thoughtlessly against the beta's chest. His head tilted in that painfully cute way. "Are you here to tell me off?"

John hummed gently in thought as he fiddled with Jaren's belt, swiftly pulling the leather strap out of the buckle. With his pants loosened, the omega could only lean into John's space as the beta slid a hand down over Jaren's tailbone to where his fingers could curl around the curve of his ass. John dropped his head, nudging Jaren's jaw with his nose before skipping kisses up the bone to where his scent gland was releasing waves on waves of pheromones. "I'm here to teach you a lesson," he growled, fingertips feeling the heat and slick that the omega produced between his legs. Jaren let out a weak whimper, head stretched up to present his neck to the teacher. "I'm gonna fuck you senseless. Tomorrow, no one will be able to be in the same room without noticing my scent all over you."

A needy whine was all the omega could get out before the beta was capturing his chin with his deft fingers and leaning in to claim his mouth with his own. Jaren's lips were soft, warm and smooth as they eagerly pushed back against John's. They parted almost instantly as nimble fingers jumped to tangle with the hair at the back of John's head, encouraging the kiss deeper.

The simple brush of John's tongue along his bottom lip had Jaren whimpering as he stumbled back, John following him to where he could pin the omega to the back wall. He pressed his tongue into Jaren's compliant mouth, swallowing the little gasps and hitched moans as he squeezed the omega's ass.

"John." The name was gasped as soon as John's lips fell away from Jarens, dropping kisses down his throat. His head thumped against the concrete wall, sounding somewhat painful, but the omega didn't react other than a sweet moan as John sucked a bruise into the base of his neck. Fingers tugged at the teacher's hair, eager and needy as the omega pushed his hips forward into John's. "John, I'm- I'll be too loud," he moaned, shuddering as the beta ground his hips forward again.

John laughed, breath rolling over the fresh new bruise. "Everyone's gone," he murmured, bruising the words along Jaren's collarbone as nipped at the protruding bone. "Jus' you and me," he whispered. "I wanna remember every single sound you make."

The omega whimpered in response, legs spreading easily as John pushed his thigh between Jaren's. He let out a long, low moan, allowing John to pull back for half a second to pull his shirt up over his head. Hands on John's shoulders, he pulled him close and tucked his head beneath the beta's jaw instead. "You smell so good," he groaned, grinding himself down on John's leg. "Do you- Do you know how hot I get when I know you're watching me?" he breathed the words against John's ear, catching his lobe between his teeth and tugging. Fingernails dug into the flesh of the back of his hips.

The beta growled beneath his breath as that greedy tongue teased his ear, dropping down to his scent gland where the omega eagerly tasted him. He breathed a weak whine. "You're gonna smell incredible when you're drenched in my scent and wearing my marks," John murmured, nipping at Jaren's jaw before pressing their lips together and biting his bottom lip between his teeth.

The kiss was a mess of heat as John mapped out the taste and texture of the omega's mouth. Jaren kissed with vigor, whole body pressing up against the teacher as he licked into his mouth. As he kissed, his hands were desperate and shaky as they yanked and tugged at John's shirt and belt. He wasn't able to undo the leather strap, John's fingers dropping to stop his hand to intertwine their fingers together.

He drew back from the kiss, taking a moment to really appreciate the omega's face. Wide eyes, huge pupils. Lips plump and slick. Cheeks flushed.

"We're gonna talk about this later, okay?" he told the omega, dragging his thumb across that pretty bottom lip. The omega hummed in agreement, eyeing John's mouth with hunger as he pulled the teacher's thumb past his lips to suck on.

John shivered, the tongue swirling around his thumb sending heat straight to his guts. "I want you to fuck me," Jaren whispered, leaning in to kiss John but was stopped by a hand on his chest. He whined stubbornly.

With a stern look, John let go of the omega to pull off his shirt. "Patience," John scalded, leaning in to nip at the omega's jaw. He threw his belt aside, dropping his pants as Jaren hurried to drop his own down, boxers and all. As soon as he was able to, the omega was grabbing at John's shoulders and kissing him like the beta was his only source of oxygen.

John pressed against him, the new feeling of skin on skin; bare chest to chest, bare hips to hips. He replaced his thigh between the omega's leg, purring pleasantly as Jaren ground his erection against John's hip.John's hands returned to the behind of the man, grasping the meat of his ass as he purred against his tongue. Jaren's fingers skated up and down his chest, over his shoulders and up to brush along his cheekbones.

He sucked desperately on John's tongue, massaging its underside with his own as he rocked his hips. Every brush of his arousal against John's hip was a brush of John's against his and the beta couldn't help sliding his finger between Jaren's cheeks. The pad of his fingertip pressed to the omega's entrance, John noticing it flutter beneath the pressure. He could feel the hot slick engulfing his finger and broke their kiss to hear every little gasp and moan Jaren released as he sunk one finger into him, not stopping until he'd reached the knuckle.

Then he stilled, eyes narrowed on Jaren's face as the omega panted. Within seconds, he was shuddering, rocking his hips back and forward in attempts to create friction within himself. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he murmured, head falling to John's bare shoulder as his hips rocked back and forth. "C'mon John, gimme more." The words were uttered against the bare skin, baring his teeth as John pulled his finger out and drove it back up into him.

Feeling the man's hips jolt at the depth of his touch was a whole new level of beautiful. John couldn't help the low groan he allowed at the sound, rubbing his arousal against Jaren's as he picked up a pace with his finger.

Despite the surplus of slick, Jaren was still tight around him, his inner walls seeming to pulse against John's intrusion. The omega was extremely reactive to every little touch and as John peppered kisses down the side of his neck. "I can take more," Jaren hissed, biting gently at John's shoulder to get his attention.

Stopping his movements, he hummed in thought. The exasperated whine was worth the teasing, chuckling as he crooked his finger against the man's walls. The breathy whimper went straight to the boiling heat in John's stomach. "Can you?" he purred, rubbing at the inside of his walls.

Jaren whimpered and jerked his hips impatiently. "Yes, John, you- ohh." Mid-sentence, John drove his two fingers up into him and the uncontrolled moan was a pleasant reward. He slipped his hand down to the inside of the man's thighs, caressing the quivering muscles and gathering the dripping slick along the palm of his hand.

The omega's weight was sunk heavy against John's chest as the beta worked him open. Drool was beginning to pool on John's shoulder as the omega hummed and moaned pleasantly with every teasing push. John didn't mind, the heat and wait of his prac teacher's body one that was welcome as those pretty hips worked back and forth.

When John pulled his fingers out completely, the omega was pushing against him more, clamping thighs either side of John's leg to make sure the beta couldn't pull away. "More, more, more," the dazed man murmured, hands on his shoulders holding John close as Jaren kissed from his shoulder up to his jaw. He nosed against John's scent gland. "Your fingers are so good- feel so good. Want you to fuck me, want you to fuck me 'til I can't walk-"

"Shh," John murmured, catching his mouth in a kiss and silencing the desperate rambling. He eased the omega back against the wall and pinning him there. He hummed gently as Jaren licked needily into his mouth, the hand on his thigh sliding down before grabbing the muscle and pulling his leg up. to spread him open.

Slick dropped to the floor, the scent filling John's nose torturously. He had to urge to spin the man around, drop to his knees and taste him with his tongue but he knew he could find another time to do exactly that.

In the storeroom, he wanted to see Jaren's face while he tore him apart.

With his leg raised, Jaren rocked forward as soon as John's hand was close enough, grinding his arousal down and panting with lust. John held him still, lifting his leg further and admiring the flexibility of the prac teacher. As soon as he could access the slick-producing entrance, John was pushing three thick fingers up into Jaren and watching as the omega threw his head back with a cry.

"John!" he cried, grasping John's hair and bucking his hips down. "Fu-uck- We- I'm gonna come-" And John could feel it. Jaren's body quivered, his arousal leaking with precum. His hips almost convulsed as he shuddered, hips jerking with no control.

Yet as beautiful Jaren was, pinned to the wall, grinding on John's fingers, moaning his name; he didn't want the omega to come so soon.

So despite the pained whimper, he eased his fingers out and instead collected slick over his hand and fingers. "I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready," Jaren murmured, eyes locked on John and lips swollen. He bit them anyway, worrying his bottom lip under John's heated gaze. "C'mon." He tugged on John's hair. "I need you, already."

"Don't misbehave," John scolded, slipping his hand between them to slide over his own arousal. Jaren's slick made it far more comfortable to lubricate himself, the feeling setting fire along his nerves. His back curled, leaning in close enough to pull Jaren's lip between his own, sucking gently. "Don't rush," he murmured, kissing his cheekbone in a loving manner.

Lifting Jaren's leg further, he slotted himself closer and lined himself up with Jaren's entrance. Then slowly, he eased himself forward.

Jaren took him in with ease. The omega was still tight but his slick was hot and his entrance twitched and fluttered all the way down John's shaft. He managed to hook his leg up over the beta's hip, head tilted back, eyes shut and mouth open as the beta filled him completely. John kissed down his throat, sucking another mark into the man's collarbone as he finally reached his hilt.

"God, Jaren," he muttered, pressing his forehead to the omega's shoulder. "You feel amazing. I- You're so perfect..."

All Jaren could manage was a weak whimper in response, hips shifting forward and back. The angle was a hard one to hold and John could feel how his thigh was flexed in the palm of his hand. His other leg was shaking, the strain on his muscles too much to hold himself for too much longer.

"M'kay, up," John murmured, slipping his other hand down to Jaren's ass. "Ready? Up." As he said it, the omega complied, lifting himself up and wrapping his legs around the teacher's waist. John pinned him to the wall to keep him there and the omega gasped as John ground himself in that slight bit further.

"John, John, John- Mov- Move, please," he hissed, smacking his head against the wall again. With his hands beneath the omega's thighs, John held the prac teacher in place, finding no difficulty in keeping him there. He pulled his hips back until only his head remained inside Jaren, before he drove himself forward and jerked his arousal into Jaren as deep as it could go.

The responding moan the man made was perfect and John didn't hesitate to draw himself out and thrust in. A rhythm started between them, Jaren's claws sinking into the back of his shoulders as he brace himself. John's mouth found Jaren's throat and he began licking, sucking and biting as his hips set a bruising pace.

Curses and shouts poured from Jaren's tongue, the prac teacher unable to hold back his moans and whines. They were music to John's ears as his body moved in autopilot. The pleasure and heat within him drove his movements as he fucked Jaren against the wall. The room was full of their scents; arousal, lust and slick. Jaren's own arousal was trapped between them, rubbing against his stomach where precum collected.

Through the mess of it, Jaren found his mouth, yanking his head up and crushing their lips together. He pressed every tender, desperate moan into John's mouth, trusting him with every needy sound. John's tongue pressed in and claimed his mouth, licking at his bruised lips and flicking the tip of Jaren's.

The submissive moan that the omega allowed drew a responding growl of possession for the beta, his thrusts growing faster and sharper. The wall thumped with every thrust, Jaren mewling and moaning as he tore his mouth from John's.

"Close, close, close!" he whined, jerking his hips to meet John's with what little room he had to move. John's tongue tortured his scent gland, tasting the chocolate as it stained his senses. "John-"

Jaren keened, whole body spasming as his spine went rigid.

The feeling of his inner muscles clenching around John as he drove in and out was incredible. The friction drove him wild, mind soaring out of the present moment and pleasure crashed over him. He didn't register how he sunk his teeth into the omega's shoulder. All he could focus on were the sounds leaving Jaren's mouth as he rocked his hips and the pleasure coursing through him as he rode the both of them through their orgasms.

When John drifted back into his consciousness, he lazily lapped at the bleeding wound on Jaren's shoulder. The omega was like dead weight against him, pushed far enough that he needed a number of minutes to recover.

John didn't mind, holding him there, still seated, and peppering kisses over his bare skin. He pecked at Jaren's mouth, kissing his bottom lip gently as those deep brown eyes fluttered. It seemed he was only able to hold them half open, smiling goofily at John as the beta kissed his cheeks, eyelids and nose.

"You okay?" he murmured, pressing another chaste kiss to the prac teacher's lips.

"Amazing," the omega sighed. "But itching for a good ass sleep- Would you- Do you wanna-" It took him a second to gather his thoughts, cheeks tinting a soft pink as he looked away from John's gaze. "Would you wanna come back to mine and- and nest with me for the night?" he asked, brushing his fingers through the beta's hair.

But he had no reason to be worried as John pressed in close again and fit their lips together. "I'd love to," he mumbled, letting the omega back down onto his feet. He was clearly weakened from the sex and his knees wobbled dangerously. John held him up as they slowly dressed themselves, before he lead the omega out of the building and locked everything up.

They got to the beta's car, Jaren gave him directions and within five minutes, the omega was passed out in the passenger seat. John didn't mind carrying Jaren up to his apartment, letting them in and curling up with the peaceful omega in the guy's bed. He made a half-assed attempt at nesting the bed before passing out as well with his head tucked beneath Jaren's chin and his arms tight around the gorgeous omega.

#anon #krii7y #fic #fanfic #sm.ut #ns.fw #banana bus squad #bbs #alpha beta omega #alpha/beta/omega #a/b/o #abo

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thorsstorms · 5 years

Text

Abroad Pt.11

(Chris Hemsworth x Reader)

Summary: Being the Hemsworth Kids’ Nanny, you were vowed to keep it strictly professional for their sake, but do the stolen glances go unnoticed between you both?

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Smut +18!! Bad Times at the El Royale spoilers.

A/N: if you want to be tagged, PLEASE SEND AS AN ASK.

Masterlist

The morning came and went accompanied with security while trailing through S.T.A.T.I.O.N. while Chris pretended like he knew about it before yesterday. While you followed him through the entrance they had the manager and a few workers to show him around and answer any questions he had. A few people in the store turned into way too many before they started blocking off the entrance, letting only those who had booked for the tour through. He whisked through the gift shop section messing around with toys, nick nacks, and posing with his ‘life size’ cut out that was still not tall enough. You laughed way too hard at a few gifts, rolling your eyes when he acted concerned when his hammer didn’t come rushing towards him, while a few fans around him laughed, just pumping up his ego for him.

We finally gathered around the tour entrance with the few lucky people that actually booked this tour in advance not knowing he was going to be there. You went through the motions knowing what was in store because you had been through it before. Your camera roll was filled with pictures of him playing simulation games, posing inappropriately on Cap’s motorcycle, and trying to lift the hammer from its throne.

When you exited the tour back into the gift shop, he quickly took a group picture with the store staff and you both were ushered out quickly by security, straight to the valet bay of the hotel. Your eyes widened, tightening your grip on his hands as you followed behind him walking past maybe a hundred people who were roped out of the store, all who had came in the thirty minutes it took to go through it all.

“That was one of the coolest things ever!” He turned to you as he shut the car door behind you both.

“I know! I think I have a hundred pictures of you in there.” He scrolled through the pictures, sending himself a few, waiting to post them until the morning.

The day was wasted away by shopping, day drinking, and probably annoying the shit out of the two guys you had following you both all day. You both trailed all the way down the strip, spending a lot of time in New York New York, gambling a little, and enjoying dinner at the end of the strip - Mandalay Bay at House of Blues.

He dragged your hungover lifeless self out of bed the next morning, throwing you some clothes for the day and handing over bags to the concierge at the door before you could protest for your face wash, only leaving you with a toothbrush to stuff in your purse later. How he was always more of an early bird than yourself was astonishing, but he was. You both grabbed breakfast from a bakery in the hotel before leaving and admiring the Grand Canyon. At least you were dressed appropriately, appreciating the shorts and top and sandals he grabbed from the suitcase before hauling it away so quick. Your hair was left to a messy braid at the mercy of no hair brush.

He was back on road trip mode, trying to stick to his schedule which entailed driving for almost 10 hours today. You made him allow you the first few hours to drive so you could actually be awake during that time before the driving makes you sleepy.

You stared out the window at the boring open dark fields only lit by scarce street lamps, bored out of your mind. The brilliant idea of admiring his profile came to light. You had thought from the get go that him driving was too attractive to be normal. His thighs resting spread on the seat, forearms flexing as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the music playing through the cab. It was no secret at this point that his hands were enough to turn you on.

The wiggling in your seat went completely unnoticed by him as he plowed through a bag of gummy bears.

“Those gummy bears taste good?” You questioned him with a sly look. He replied with a duh, glancing your way, double taking when he caught the mischievous look on your face.

“What, is up with you?” He tried to eye you from the side, focusing more on the road once you clicked the seatbelt free.

“Hey don’t do that.” He dropped a few more gummy bears from his hand in his mouth and reached for the buckle pulling it back down, while you shifted your feet off the dash. You stared shamelessly at his hand pulling across your midsection at the strap.

“O’ come on. You are not gonna kill me are you?” You grabbed his hand from the strap and pushed his hand back to the wheel. “Two hands,” you told him sternly sliding your fingers across the center console to his thighs, and propping up on your knees in the seat.

“Babe what the..” Your hands squeezed his inner thigh, “Fuck, what are you...” You spent no extra minute going for his button and zipper, squeezing him through his jeans. Pressing small suctioned kisses to his neck.

“You..” He pulled his head away and looked at you bewildered. “You are dirty!” You just smiled in retaliation, biting your lip, wanting him to comply.

“Are you telling me no?” - “You are a dirty dirty girl! You act so shy and sweet and shit but you are dirty!”

You went again flexing your hand under his pants and feeling how hard he got confirming your interests. Momentarily, he lost focus, eyes switching to your hold on him, and jerking the car back into his lane, though it was late in the middle of seemingly nowhere with no one around you.

“Two hands on the wheel Chris,” you said again, reiterating what you meant earlier. You left your station by his face, sinking down under his arms and pulling him out from his jeans. You jerked him in your hands feeling him harden completely under your grasp, his pelvis jumping at your contact. You took the liberty of licking a fat strip along the side, skimming past the tip, wrapping your lips around the side. A frustrated grunt left this lips but he didn’t speak.

You wrapped your lips around the tip and sucking hard till you heard him hiss from above you. The car jerk slightly again giving you a rush of power and adrenaline while you worked him over.

You decided to play nice and you sucked him down taking as much as you could flat against your tongue, fingers tightening around what you couldn’t get at the angle. The wet warm feel of your throat closing over him had him fighting to keep his eyes peeled open. When you pumped him and pulled him in deeper you felt one of his hands wrap through your hair, not to guide you but almost to ground himself. You worked him over quickly when you could sense he was trying hard to not kill you both.

His hips stuttered pressing into your tight throat and getting more vocal had you working harder till you felt his grasp tighten on the back of your neck, brushing your hair opposite so he could see you. He came fast after, shooting down your throat while you sucked him clean till he tried to shift away from you in the seat from over stimulation.

Did he still think you were dirty? Yes.

Was he going to act like he didn’t enjoy it? No.

Many stupid car games and a short hotel stay later, you were finally coming into town, your turn to drive of course. Chris sent your mom a text from your phone with the ETA and she let you know they were all out at the ballfield, game just started.

Second inning just started by the look of the scoreboard as you pulled into the parking lot. Nerves started to float through Chris as he unbuckled his seatbelt trying to keep up with you who was itching to get inside already.

You paid at the gate and grabbed his hands so he would stop walking like a snail. He was just terrified of finally meeting your brother in person, he seemed to be the most important person to you.

“Look! He’s on deck!” You pointed down to where he was stepping out of the dugout with a bat in hand, Chris watched as he swung in line with the pitch even though he wasn’t on the plate.

“You know I don’t know much about baseball right?” You smile politely back at him, figuring as much.

“I’ll teach you.” You walked down the far side of the stands so he wouldn’t see you, not like he pays attention to the onlookers on a normal day anyway. You pointed out your parents in their seats and while he walked that way, you walked straight to the fence watching your brother step up to the plate.

Just as the pitcher was hiking, you let it slip, “Hey Tyler, homer for me, all right?”

Strike one.

He instantly flew around, distracted by the sudden sound of your voice yelling out to him from behind. Eyes finding you immediately. You waved and gave him a thumbs up, quickly pointing over to where your parents where and Chris slowly walking over there.

Meanwhile Chris was about to shit himself, meeting your parents with you not next to him. The resemblance of your mother was hard to look away from, both of you almost identical.

Your mom was the one to take initiative calming his nerves while your father merely looked his way with wave, focusing back on the game and his seeds, calling out as Ty hit a triple off the right field fence.

You met Ty at the fence as he came home, smiling and pointing up at Chris with your parents. To say it surprised him was an understatement.

Your days home were spent well, bringing lunch with your mom at the hospital while she was working, cooking dinner one night when they both got off work. You showed him around your city filled with pride and sadness from missing it. You both shopped, went to another game, and had drinks with Ty, Chaz, and a few other mutual friends after the game.

A lake day took place on Saturday, pulling out both your parents Seadoos and Chief Cox’s boat, courtesy of Chaz. Getting sunburned and swimming in the dirty water was the best past time.

Church on Sunday, required by your father, but you think it was mostly to see how Chris would behave. He seemed to slide right in as you greeted some long lost acquaintances that you hadn’t seen in a long time but grew up with. Chris and your dad had gotten along well so far, to your knowledge.

A Sunday family dinner and a stormy/tornado-y Monday came a went slowly. He 100% lost his chill while listening to the NEWS broadcaster. Meanwhile, your father was perched out on the front patio AKA the driveway, with lawn chairs, craft beer, and a few neighbor buddies.

Tuesday night your last night home. You sat next to him on the couch eating dinner while your brother prompted to telling stories of yourself to embarrass you, you not hesitating to start back.

“Do you like him, mom?” You asked her shyly. The three disappeared into the garage. You leaned against the kitchen counter as she put away leftovers and started the dishwasher.

“I do,” you waited for her to continue speaking. “He’s funny, very intuitive, and I can see he loves you, a lot.” You looked away from her blushing. A small smile to yourself was present.

“Well, I’m glad you think so.”

You walked to the garage door and threw it open to see what they were doing. All three eyes immediately snapped to the door, none of them moving a muscle. They stayed silent waiting to see what you were doing.

“Uh ok,” sensing the weird vibe, “I’ll just go back inside.”

“No sweetheart your fine,” your dad dismissing it, “come here.” He motioned you over, throwing down a towel.

“Chris here, doesn’t know what these are. Do you?” You rolled your eyes at him, figuring they were probably testing his knowledge out here.

“They are spacers, Ty- did you seriously get new tires again?”

Chris sat silently, leaning against the workbench. Your presence halted their reactions. He wasn’t able to get their answers yet.

His hands were sweating, knowing this was the only time he was going to be able to talk to them about this. He had put it off to the last, last second, seeing as you were both leaving in the morning.

His silence caught their attention while they were goofing around taking tires off, trying to relay their knowledge on to him.

“I had a great time here,” he told them to start off. “I loved it honestly, thank you for hosting us.” Was that too formal?

Your dad didn’t know how to respond, starting to eye him sceptically. “Well, you’re welcome son. Don’t be too shy about bringing her back around, you hear?”

Chris nodded in understanding, your brother finally standing up straight to observe the interaction.

Your dad was not one to speak very much. He was pretty simple in your eyes. He kept his family happy, protected his family, and watched out for those he loved. He was not a man of many words. Never had been.

“No of course, she was so happy to be here, I’m glad she’s willing to share it with me.” Your dad stood up straight, throwing a towel over his shoulder and crossing his arms, daring him to continue.

“Listen,” Chris stopped, searching for words. “I know it’s been what, 8 months since I have met her. But I love her, I do.” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck while your dad burned holes into his head. “I think she would think I was absolutely insane if I asked her now, to allow me to spend my life with her, but I would drop everything tomorrow to keep her.”

His eyes almost start to water under the pressure of asking this, feeling slightly overwhelmed and outnumbered. “I’m not saying this is going to be anytime soon, I just- I know, myself, I won’t be able to see you both often and I want to ask before I lose my chance to.”

Your brother stilled, watching him like a statue. “Im- I am asking permission to marry your d-” the garage door flew open, revealing a curious woman of the hour. Chris’s heart jumping out of his skin at the intrusion of the silence.

“Uh ok, I’ll just go back inside.”

You rolled your eyes at Ty, what he had was never good enough, of course he felt the need to upgrade again. He takes after his father.

“Are you okay?” You took a few steps in his direction after noticing his silence. Chris nodded and forced a smirk at you.

“You guys be nice to him!” You yelled back at your father and brother, pointing their way. “Blink three times if I need to save you from them.” You loudly whispered jokingly, but also 1000% serious.

“I’m nice!”-”I’m always nice!” Their responses went ignored while you shook his arm, trying to get him to stop acting like a robot.

“I’m good Princess,” he was sly with a kiss on your forehead, nudging you to go back inside.

There is that stupid word again, ‘I’m good’. Whatever. Whenever someone says that, they are always, in fact, not good.

You double checked him again with your eyes before making your way back inside. Going out there was an awkward mistake. The door pressed shut behind you while he forced himself to hold up his head. A beat of tension passed before he figured he’d try to not make himself seem like such a pussy.

“Ty, I-”

“I know Chris, I got it.” Ty held his hand out, stopping him from speaking. He had heard enough, and he already knew his answer.

Ty was positioned just behind his father who made a thoughtful moment, picking up the towel again and busying himself to avoid talking. Chris’s locked-in focus switched between them both, catching on Ty while he gave a slight nod of his head in approval, turning back to finish what he had started for the evening.

“Son, I just have one question,” your father spoke with a soft voice. “I know my daughter, I know what she wants.”

Chris felt another wave of nervousness flood over him, Ty ignoring him after he had given his response had left out his safety blanket.

“What she wants, you have already had.” Your father stopped again. It was never in his intention to sound rude, and he will try his damn best to never be. He gathered his words while Chris stood at attention, subconsciously crossing his arms, a movement most often misread as a defense mechanism, but was really a form of self comfort in distressing situations.

He looked up, finally ignoring the towel once again. “You had a family Chris, I know that much. You had three children and a wife.”

A sinking feeling settled in Chris’s stomach. He didn’t figure your father would pull an old fashioned moral on him, he’d been married and divorced. Of course he has reservations.

“My question is, are you able and willing to give my daughter a family?”

“And before you answer that, I know you know what I’m talking about. The girl had been maternal since the moment she could carry the weight of a baby doll in her hands. You have seen her with children. That’s the reason you are standing in front of me for pete’s sake... But I can only imagine the life you live.” The ever returning silence of the three had only a moment before he reiterated the one question he wanted answered. “Are you willing to give my daughter a family?”

“I-,” he stopped to gather himself. He took the question way to deeply. When he meant that he would drop everything tomorrow for you, he lied. He would do it the moment you asked. He cleared his throat, shaking away the stupid emotions that he dare say hurt his masculinity a bit. “I would give her anything.”

“You’re not going to make me listen to this every time you drive are you?” You may or may not have added Jonas Brothers to your own road trip playlist. But it was only a few songs, and the rest consisted of Chris Stapleton, way too much 80s rock, and old Justin Timberlake. Just wait until he gets a whiff of the Juke Box Hero concert you were going to put on, although it was nothing compared to Back in Black.

“You have headphones, my dear. Don’t complain.” You have about two more hours till you passed into Tennessee, loaded with Miley’s address in google maps.

He rolled his eyes and laid back the seat, throwing an arm over his eyes, refusing to admit he didn’t mind a little bit of red dirt.

His turn to drive took place before driving through the city. You turned over in the laid back seat so he couldn’t see your phone screen even if he wanted to, sneaking in some headphones. You were not very discreet, stealing glances to make sure he wasn’t going to pay attention to you while you opened the Hulu app. You still had roughly three hours and it seemed like the perfect time to watch a movie, one that you hadn’t seen but wouldn’t admit to never seeing.

You stayed still pressing play on Bad Times, stealing one last glance in his direction before turning up the volume on the head phones and zoning in.

So remember that thing about not being able to be sneaky? Yea, you were already an hour and a half into the movie and you still hadn’t seen him. You stayed confused watching things happen with no explanation silently wishing for answers because it was so mysterious.

The scene cut to a young girl sitting in the sand before you heard his voice float through the headphones, and a more than arousing american accent with a southern ring to it. You pushed back a gasp, covering your mouth with the fingers sticking above the blanket to attempt to conceal the expression on your face as Billy walked into the water, naked.

Another 20 or so minutes of confusing hotel drama, and a girl calling her father on the phone while her sister wants to kill her, or maybe save her? You didn’t even know at this point.

There he was again. Walking in the rain through the parking lot. That is when you put the damn phone call together. She wasn’t calling her father. She was calling Billy. She called him Daddy. A snort left you mouth once your realized she was calling him on the phone, not her father.

As soon as the sound left you, you froze not looking up at him though he didn’t shoot you a glance. Maybe he didn’t hear it.

You are almost 100% certain your mouth didn’t close for the rest of the movie. Finding them all tied up and sitting scared shitless while he paraded around with some pie and a gun. You sucked in a breathe once you realized the sick game Billy was playing. The poor concierge shaking in his seat pleading with the Priest.

The movie consumed your reality, slipping a ‘what the fuck’ from your lips once the older sister was shot point blank.

“What are you watching over there?” His voice broke you from your trance, making you jump in the spot. Looking at you from over his shoulder. Fast reflexes left your system as you squealed a ‘nothing’ and placed a death grip around the phone, shrinking away and backing into the door.

You tried your best to ignore him and control yourself, sinking back into the movie. You found yourself mouthing an ‘oh shit’ silently while they got loose and started attacking Billy, beating the shit out of each other.

The commotion made it impossible to peel your eyes away from the screen, secretly rooting for Billy. And then it happened and the gasp was loud, shaking you to the core, and there was no way of dismissing it that time. You were not ready for that. You heard him ask again what you were watching over the noise in the head phones, but you ignored him. In turn watching him fall dead on the screen with a bullet shot clear between the brows. The blanket fell off your shake-y hands while you cringed, trying to look away from the screen but not able to.

“(Y/n) seriously what is it?” You look away from the screen and lock your phone, pulling the ear buds out. Is it wrong to say that almost made you sick to your stomach to watch? You didn’t even feel like finishing the movie, though you could probably guess what happens.

“Nothing, nothing. Just a stupid facebook video.” Ok, that was a lie and he knew it. He let it go. You sat up straight in the chair, pulling yourself back together to the land of the living. He made a little small talk about where you were at the moment. You just nodded, acting like you were listening but you knew the image of him getting shot straight in the head was going to haunt you for the next hour before you somehow forget about it. You stared at him as he spoke. Yep, still definitely alive.

He gave you a funny look before you turned back forward from burning your eyes into him. You tried to dissmiss that stupid nagging in your brain, slowly turning to glance his way again. Still breathing.

“What?” The patience losing in his tone, makes sense. “Do I have shit on my face or something?”

Your eyes slightly widened as you forced yourself to look ahead again, shuffling your phone and hands under the blanket, pulling it up to your shoulders. You drew up a knee and rested your chin on it, trying to act interested out the window.

You always had so many questions when you finished a movie, waiting till the end to reminisce, but this was a whole other ball game. Why was cult leader Billy such a turn on, but creep you out at the same time? The movie had you hating him but rooting for him.

Before you knew it, you were back staring his way almost bewildered at the ability to transform into such a character. It was almost freaky but it was his job. Reason number one why you could never do what he does, you are not good at keeping reserved.

“Would you stop staring at me if you are not going to speak, you are freaking me out.”

“Sorry.. sorry.”

“Are you like, like, worked up aga-” Really?

“No. Jesus!”

“Hey! I’m just asking!”

“It’s not like that,” maybe you were worked up but it wasn’t like he was thinking.

“Well, what is it like because I am really confused right now!” He sighed, gripping his hands around the wheel. Damn, he’s the one worked up.

“I was just, I was- I was watching, uhh,” abort mission now. “I was watching Bad Times.” The moment you said it, you regretted it.

“You what? Were you really?” The ecstatic tone in his voice was trampled by the curiosity coming next. “Had you never seen it?” You shook your head.

“Well what else haven’t you seen!” You pondered the thought for a moment, racking your brain for movies you knew he had done. Think… What posters and movies are in the movie room at the house?

“I haven’t seen 12 Strong or Rush. I haven’t seen those Snow white movies. What are they called again?” You almost felt bad that you hadn’t seen the movies. But honestly, were you going to allow yourself to watch them and then have him catch you randomly, so he can get a big head about it? No.

“Are you serious right now? You haven’t, like, done your research or something?” Big head, was that it?

“Seriously, think about what you just said.” You shook that comment away. “I have seen Vacation, but we are not going to talk about that one.”

“Oh c’mon we can talk about it! I should be the one embarrassed here! Not you.” You didn’t reply. You were going to have to burn through all these movies really quick when you got home.

You both had burned through Tennessee in two days, laying low through Nashville and avoiding the more popular places. New York was a story in its own. At your request, you both went to a Yankees game, not because you liked the team, more so because you wanted to step foot into the stadium and say you’ve been to a New York Yankees game.

Chris slipped the contract into the post office before heading to the airport, knowing they would receive it by tomorrow since you were in the city.

“I did it.”

“I know you did, I’m proud.” A weight had been lifted off his shoulders, he didn’t regret it. You were right, he needed to do it for closure for himself at least.

“Now I only have one surpirse left while we are in the states, okay?” You eyed him skeptically wondering what he was up to.

You about murdered him when you were brought to a private jet. While he shrugged his shoulders and said it was free, all he had to do was film a quick video inside and post it for it to be sponsored.

“Besides, are you going to say no to joining the mile high club?”

“Yea, you wish.”

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

Text

The Wife [11/?]

The Wife || Ch 11 ~ 5k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: 1. Very slight mentions of Killian/Milah and Killian/Eloise 2. Mentions of drug use. 3. Once again there is a possible trigger in this chapter - nothing graphic, only vague mentions - that is also a bit of a spoiler, so you can check the notes at the end, if you wanna be prepared. Otherwise, this is a definite E for extreme emotions.

He wakes slowly with dulled senses and the knowledge that he indulged too much the night before. Nothing will get done today, it is the price he has been paying for these short and sporadic benders for years. It’s probably for the best. If his body could stand it, he would’ve been much too tempted to push it to its limits when Alice wasn’t around.

Killian swallows on a dry throat and grimaces at the taste in his mouth. Some strong tea to face the day, perhaps some coffee, if they had it. It takes half a dozen blinks for his eyes to open completely and he faces the morning light with indifference. It’s later than he has woken in months – ever since Alice came home – but Alice isn’t home anymore. He closes his eyes again and shakes his head. Emma is, however, and it is still early enough that she might just be going down to—

The movement on his left makes his heart seize in his chest, his head swivels to the side despite the heaviness and nausea, his vision blurring for a moment before he focuses on the form beside him. With a sharp intake his whole body wakes up and he feels the ache in his head and the ache in his left arm and the ache in his chest and the light weight of her small hand on his stomach. In the next second, he is on his feet, stumbling out of the tangle of blankets and almost falling on his ass, blinking wildly at the sleeping woman in his bed.

He doesn’t know how she found herself here. Again. He is not even clear on how he got here. Again. The world blurs a little at the edges and Killian tries to cling to the here and now. But the here and now is not all that reassuring.

It’s Emma, he repeats in his mind. Her golden waves are unmistakable, as is the curve of her cheek visible under them, somehow even the almost foreign touch of her hand felt unmistakable. It’s Emma, it’s Emma, it’s Emma.

Emma would never.

Yet, she is in his bed, where he does not remember bringing her, she is in his room, where he has never invited her, and she is in her nightgown and—

He looks down and he would probably sigh in relief at his rumpled but fully dressed state – he would, if there was space for a sigh between the unceasing breaths his chest seems to be consuming at an alarming speed. As grateful as he is for the clothes on his back, he wants little more than to tear them off along with his burning skin. He needs to breathe, he needs to get out of this room that he cannot remember entering, that he cannot remember ever seeing Emma inside.

Why would she—

“Killian?”

*****

If she didn’t still marvel at these moment of all-encompassing warmth, she would feel almost stifled under the blankets. As it is, she pays them little mind when her half-opened eyes notice and try to focus on the figure standing beside the bed. Her mind is foggy with sleep but her heart is waking up rested and content and she feels her lips start to pull up in a pleased little smile as he turns to face her.

And then she is wide awake in seconds, her heart coming to a sudden halt – immediately on edge as to what might have caused the horror on its beloved’s face. It takes him stepping back, his eyes glued to her as if he is seeing her for the first time, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side, his stance rigid and defensive, and his eyes still fixed on her – it takes all that for Emma’s heart to realize that it’s her.

She put that look on his face.

“Killian, I—“ she rises to a sitting position, bringing the blanket with her though she is hardly indecent under it and he has seen her so before. “I’m sorry, I—“

The door is left wide open after him, his bare feet slapping against the hallway floor. The burst of cold air makes her shiver and the single wet trail cools on her cheek.

*****

Killian stumbles down the stairs and turns into his study, hoping beyond hope that he doesn’t run into anyone before he gets inside. He digs out the change of clothes he keeps there, fumbling with his socks and shoes and tearing his shirt off, cursing like the sailor he used to be.

His lip curls a little as he puts his thumb against one of the jarred scars on his left side. He runs it down – armpit to hip and encounters five more along the way. The skin around the straps of his brace is an angry pink and the end of his forearm aches worse than it did after his last journey but he is still grateful that he kept it on during the night, if she spent it with him.

She did. Emma slept in his bed, whether he remembers it or not. It’s the non-remembering that makes his eyes sting and his teeth grind against each other and, against all logic, he pulls the buckles tighter around his damaged arm.

His eyes fall on the bottle and glass on the small table before the fireplace, grey with the ashes of the night before. The sound of glass against brick is not satisfying, it makes him flinch and Killian curses his shot nerves and throbbing head and every other part of him.

He picks up the clear decanter but it has less than two mouthfuls of water inside and he resigns himself to the fact that he will have to venture into the kitchen, if he doesn’t wish to suffer from dehydration on top of everything else battling for the right to torture him.

*****

The bed goes cold laughably fast once he is gone, her body seemingly not enough to retain any of the warmth that was trapped inside. She should get up. She should get up and get out and never set foot inside this room again but she is not yet sure her legs will obey her, if she attempts it.

Eventually, when Killian’s door has been gaping open for half an hour, Emma manages to slip her legs onto the cold floor and then into the slippers she finds at the end of the bed. She takes her shawl and shuffles into her own bed chamber.

She doesn’t want to be here. She wants to find out where he is, she wants to explain, to apologize, to do whatever she has to to make sure Killian never looks at her like that again. The way she might have looked at him, if he was someone else – if he was a man who bought himself a pretty wife to show off at dinners and balls, if he was a man who bought himself a used wife to abuse any way he liked, if he was a man who dragged his wife in his bed without carrying whether she wanted to be there or not. She was prepared for that before she knew Killian, before she found out that she has choices and freedom.

She supposes he was not prepared for someone to violate his and it makes her feel even more wretched.

So, like she has done for the last half hour – like she should have done last night – she ignores what she wants and gives him the only things she can beside apologies and excuses – time and space. She dresses slowly and methodically, choosing a simple grey dress without ornaments and brushing her hair carefully, letting it flow down her back. When she is done, she sits in front of her mirror a little longer, making sure she can control the trembling of her chin and the twitching of her eyebrows and the tears that seem to lie in wait in the corners of her eyes.

If she believed in anything or anyone, she might have prayed now. Prayed that she hasn’t destroyed her happiness the way no one else ever could.

*****

He knows it’s her. His second order of business, after drinking half a jug of water and pouring the other half over his head, was to tell Peter to take Granny and Ruby to town and have the day to themselves.

So he watches the door open slowly and he breathes deeply and tells himself to sit where he is and try to smile at her – nod, if he can’t – and apologize and wave it all off – cite a nightmare or the effects of drink, and tell her all was fine and he does not wish to talk about it.

He tells himself all that and then some but the moment he sees her face it all slips out of his sole hand. Her effort is admirable but he can still see all under her fragile mask – the anxiety and the regret and the guilt and the questions.

It makes him jump to his feet and walk out into the biting autumn air before she can even finish uttering his name and if he feels like the biggest fool for fleeing from a woman – from his wife, then it is just one more thing for him to feel like a fool about.

*****

She thinks she would have let him go. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s given him all the time she can find it in herself to stay away. If it wasn’t for the flash of guilt on his face that has no place there. If it wasn’t for the fact that he stalked outside in his damn shirt sleeves.

*****

It doesn’t take her long to find him. Truly, if he wanted to run, he should have mounted Roger an hour ago. But there is no point in running from Emma – not when he knows he doesn’t really want to stay away and has almost accepted that she does not want him to stay away either. He knows now that he has to tell her and that it will never be any easier to do so, it will never be the right time and, if anything, after all she has entrusted him with, he should have done it already. Come what may.

What comes is her step crunching the leaves that have already yellowed and fallen to the ground. She drags her feet, making more noise than her light built usually will, and he snorts and smiles mirthlessly. It’s the way one approaches a scared, wounded animal and, considering the situation, he can’t blame her for the caution.

The stone bench is cold under him and he almost regrets purposefully avoiding the swing in the back but it felt much too poetic to go there for this. So the coat that appears in his line of vision before she does is a welcome sight, if a surprising one.

He follows the elegant curve of her arm and passes the hair curling over her shoulder to find an entreating expression. In the pale sunshine, among the dying greenery, with profound sadness and tenderness he cannot deny in her eyes, she looks like the daughter of the sun and moon herself – made of equal parts blazing light and soft shadows.

“Please.”

She urges the coat toward him, bringing him out of his daze, and he is grieved to see that she thinks he might refuse it just because she is the one offering. So he takes it, carefully avoiding her white fingers, and shrugs into it with a slight wince, the pain in his arm not quite numbed from the cold.

She stands there as if she has come before a court and he has no words of reassurance and he hates it. He is trying to convince his right hand to release its tight grip on the hard stone under him and reach for her when she moves forward. There is enough space for her on the bench and he steels himself for the nearness of her, focuses on calming his galloping heart so intently that he almost misses her knees bending and settling over the dried leaves. His eyes widen as she sits back on her heels and lifts her gaze to meet his own – more penitent than she has any reason to be, her hand fluttering close to his knee and his hand before she seems to think better of it and lets it drop in her lap.

“Killian, forgive me, I didn’t mean— I never should have—“

It’s the hitch in her breathing, the way she struggles to take air in for a moment, that breaks through all the rest. He only ever wanted to spare this woman anguish, never to be the cause of it.

He slips forward and lowers his own knees to the ground, holding her gaze until they are on the same lever. The grass and foliage are slightly damp, no cooler than the stone he was sitting on, though certainly cool enough to chill Emma, and he reaches to pull her woolen shawl tighter around her almost on instinct.

This time she doesn’t hesitate and her hand grabs onto his and clutches it almost painfully, as if she is trying to physically pass the truth of her words into him.

“It’s alright,” he hears himself saying and her eyes widen, her head moving back and forth almost frantically.

“It’s not. God, it’s not. I shouldn’t have—“

“Perhaps not. But this had nothing to do with you, Emma. I don’t… I didn’t think you… I just… Bloody hell,” he hangs his head, then tosses it back angrily.

The sky above them is grey. Not the grey of coming rain or the grey of late day but the grey of a world that is shedding its life and preparing for winter. It brings him little peace and no hope so he looks back into her green eyes – bright and alive, and then he looks back at the sky because he is a coward and doesn’t want to see the emotions in them transform with his words.

“When you go to war with someone… people say they become like brothers to you but that’s not… I’ve never loved a single one of the men I served with like I love my brother. It’s not that. They don’t become someone loved, they become you. Their blood mixes with your blood – sometimes literally,” he chances a glance at her to make sure he is not going too far but her face is open and unflinching and he feels the responsibility of choosing his words carefully even more acutely because not one will pass by her unnoticed. “They become a part of you. So – much like yourself – you don’t love them purely and without judgement, but you cannot deny them.”

“And Arthur never failed to ask when he knew he wouldn’t be refused,” he shakes his head and chuckles darkly – he hasn’t seen the man in near 20 years and yet Arthur was probably one of the people who determined how Killian spent those very years. “His first wife ran away with his childhood friend and, after that, I don’t think he really knew how to recognize affection or— no, I think he purposefully didn’t look for it. But pomp – pomp he liked, and entertainment. And so did his second wife, perhaps even more than he did. Their parties were—“

He cuts off and looks to the side and he can almost see all the bodies – ladies wearing as much jewels as their thin necks could support, the gentlemen trying to balance two glasses and two cigars between their ten fingers – five, if one hand was already around a woman’s waist, he can smell those overstuffed and unaired rooms, the wine and whiskey that you could almost taste without drinking it, the clouds of smoke that made it hard to know who you were talking to for a second. Society’s jungle, full to the brim.

Killian almost flinches from the light touch to his cheek. Her hand is cold and her eyes fill with regret as she goes to withdraw it, but she is still holding his right hand and he doesn’t have another with which to show her that her touch was like always – not unwanted, just unexpected.

“They were popular. Within a certain set. I wasn’t… I wasn’t truly part of it. Not that I’m trying to...” he grits his teeth and moves on. “Arthur’s wife loved making matches and she had plenty to match – a whole group of women that I knew nothing about at the time. I suppose they knew enough about me for one of them to take a fancy to me.”

He looks down and recalls the little thrill of manly pride he felt a lifetime ago whenever a woman would seek his acquaintance and favour – whether he sought hers or not.

“But I was already… I’d made promises to Milah and I was—“

His jaw works until he feels her hand applying some pressure against his. He doesn’t know if he can tell her. He has barely begun and he—

“You don’t have to.”

His eyes fly to Emma’s and the look on her face makes him want to just drop his head to her lap and hide from this, from everything.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I do, Emma. You deserve—“

“No,” she shakes her head and shuffles closer, her knees fitting between his, trapping the dampness between her skirts and his pants. “I didn’t tell you about my past because you deserved to know, even though you did. I told you when I felt that I could and I—“

She lowers her eyes and he marvels at her, at how she can be both so soft and iron strong in her convictions and her every little action.

“I want to know everything there is to know about you, but I don’t want you to—“

“I do trust you, love. I do feel like I can and I… I need you to know.”

“Even after… after today?”

He takes a deep breath and leans forward, pressing his lips above her brow before he drops his forehead to hers and nudges her to look at him again.

“Especially after today,” he takes a moment to gather himself before he goes on. “I’d pledged myself to Milah and I wanted to be faithful to her. I was there on the invitation of a friend, not to meet women. I’d chosen the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

Something flashes in Emma’s eyes but he is too damn apprehensive of what he might find, if he observes her too closely, to think about it.

“The booze and the cigars, and the less than gentlemanly conversation I partook in, but the women and opiates I refused.”

Her innocent shock puts the first tiny bit of amusement on his face but it doesn’t last for long, his eyes straying to the side again.

“I didn’t know a lot of things back then. Some I learnt from Arthur later, some I learnt... in stride. Arthur’s wife and the woman that became my wife – Eloise Gardner, and their friends were the closest thing to experts Storybrooke and the county had seen in the ways of opiates and the like. When I— When I woke up beside her, I couldn’t recall doing more than talking to her over a stiff drink. I wasn’t sure… I couldn’t rightly accuse a woman I’d obviously… bedded of—”

He swallows roughly and focuses his gaze on her skirt. He can see the green stain the damp grass has left on the dull grey and he pulls his hand away to rub at it as he continues, suppressing the urge to look up and gauge her reaction – the fact that she hasn’t scoffed or laughed or left is enough for now.

“Later Arthur revealed that… it was their practice to offer opiates to men they’d set their sights on and, if they were to refuse – which they rarely did I was told, they found other ways to give them the stuff anyway. As you can imagine, no self-respected gentleman, let alone military man, thought to… take an issue with being…”

He exhales on a bitter laugh and slumps back against the bench, feeling as exhausted as if he’d been riding all day to a destination he didn’t actually want to reach.

“She told me she was with child a month later,” he continues matter-of-factly, his voice cold and detached even to his own ears. “My relationship with Milah was already— It had already taken a toll but I still… I thought I could just pay her off and take the child. She obviously had no means and no desire to raise it. But…”

Selfishly, he takes comfort in the fact that Emma’s fingers have woven their way back between his own and he runs his thumb over her soft skin experimentally, testing to see if the motion will bring her back to the present and make her pull away. She doesn’t.

“But?” she prompts and he nods, agreeing to tell her as much as he has strength for.

“But I’d heard enough about her by then. I knew she couldn’t be trusted, if left to carry the child on her own. I had to… I had to take care of her, if I wanted to take care of my child. It was the only time I kept her away from her friends and took away all her toys – her vials and powders and god knows what that she would have given my daughter if—“

Killian is as shocked as he is horrified by the sound that comes from his throat and only slightly less so at the one he makes when Emma reaches for him, her arms winding around his shoulders and his forehead falling heavily right under her collarbone as he sheds a weight he has been carrying around for half his life.

She smells like lavender and the cold air and her dress is almost as soft as her hand running through his hair and he realizes with unexpected clarity and startling calmness that she will hold his fealty and gratitude in that same hand for the rest of his life.

*****

Emma thought she knew what it was like to hate someone. When she was young enough to hold onto every grudge, she thought she hated Regina. When she lay shivering in her empty bed, feeling emptier still, she was certain she hated Neal Cassidy.

Now she knows she has never hated anyone other than Eloise Gardner. She has never wanted to bring someone back from the beyond, just to hurt them with her own hands. But she tries to will the rage and bile away, tries to focus on the man in her arms – the man who is hers now and will never be Eloise’s ever again.

She wants to tell him how sorry she is all of this happened to him, how sorry she is that all his plans, his love was derailed, that he had to make all the decisions and sacrifices for his child alone, that he had to marry, to live with that horrid woman. Selfishly, most of all, she wants to tell him how sorry she is her own actions made him relive all of that.

And all her apologies get stuck in her throat – inadequate and useless, so she just tries to hold him even closer, tries to tell him without telling him.

“I’m sorry.”

And she thinks the words must have snuck past her lips all the same until she realizes that they came from him and she pulls back as far as she can without letting him go.

“Why would you— Killian, I’m sorry I made you think—“

“You didn’t.”

She feels his arm run tentatively up and down her back and she is torn between the comfort of it and the horror at the thought that he is the one trying to comfort her right now.

“No man should react that way to finding his beautiful, young wife in his bed—“

“That you did not invite me into.”

He shakes his head.

“You are my wife. You shouldn’t need at invitation—“

“And yet you have never even entered my room without one.”

Killian looks torn between his attempts to excuse her and the irrefutable truth of her statement and Emma smiles sadly as she slips her arms off his shoulders and drops her hands to his knees – unable to sever all contact.

“I can’t take it back but I swear to you I’ll never do anything against your will.“

“I know,” he says and she takes comfort in the fact that he is the one who takes her hand now. “Emma, I trust you. I want you here. I’m just not sure I can give you everything I should.”

*****

That’s a lie. He knows he can’t give her everything he should. Some of it she can surely see for herself – the parts he lacks on the outside, others she can only begin to guess – the intimate parts – his bed and his heart that he hasn’t really let a woman in since he said goodbye to Milah.

He feels like an utter fool for not predicting this but he could never imagine that she would actually want to touch those parts of him. He barely believes it even now as he stares into her eyes and feels her hand in his, as she remains before him after all he has revealed to her.

“I don’t need anything else. Just—“

She swallows and looks down, slipping each of her fingers between his own as her right hand takes his left one as well.

It’s those things – those things she says and does, that make Killian think there are yet other parts of him – unknown, undiscovered, ones only Emma Jones might be capable of uncovering.

*****

“I never meant for us to be…”

He shakes his head and she hunches forward instinctively, trying to curl her ribs around her heart for protection, pointless as it might prove.

“And now… now you mean so much.”

Her eyes widen – tentatively hopeful, cautiously happy, and she leans forward, questioning, glancing at his lips but not daring to take that little leap so soon after stumbling so hard, not willing to push for more than—

But Killian’s smile is finally free of bitterness and anguish, it is knowing and almost teasing and his hand releases hers to slip along her back and Emma can swear he is about to pull her into him, when she feels a shiver pass through her whole body.

He tugs lightly on the ends of her hair and then urges her up, their knees knocking into each other as they get to their feet. Killian’s jaw clenches and he lets her go to rub his knuckles over his left arm, her hand instinctively following his example – emboldened when he looks up with surprise but doesn’t immediately pull away.

“Perhaps we should have these conversations before a fire and with some tea in the future.”

She hums and nods and runs her palm up and down his arm one more time before she turns toward the house, knowing that – as much as she wants to get inside – she can’t fully hide her disappointment at the interrupted moment.

“Emma.”

She turns around and has only a moment to realizes how close he is before she feels his hand cradling the back of her neck and his mouth is on hers.

This is different than tentative kisses in the glow of the fire. This is as clear as the crisp air around them, as solid as the ground they sat way too long on. His lips wet and warm hers as his hand burns at her neck and she feels her fingers flex in the rough fabric of his coat as she tries to pull him closer. Her exhale turns into a little gasp when she feels the gentle slide of his tongue over her bottom lip and she is only slightly ashamed of the way she chases and tries to capture it. He indulges her and, for a moment that feels frustratingly short, she explores the possibilities of his open mouth and willing tongue. Then he pulls away before coming back once and then again, his lips barely brushing hers until she thinks she might growl at him and bite at his lip to keep him in place.

“Come,” he says and leads her toward the back door, his twinkling eyes telling her that he probably knows exactly what she is thinking. “As master of the house, I made the extremely foolish decision of releasing our staff for the day, so I’m taking it upon myself to draw you a bath and you should be so kind as to not tell me, if I do it poorly.”

Emma just shakes her head and looks at him, trying to keep her lips from twitching and failing spectacularly.

“What?”

She swallows the first sentence that comes to her lips and smiles tenderly.

“You are a very nice man, Killian Jones.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it abruptly, leaning his head to the side as if he is weighing her statement or judging the sincerity on her face.

“I try,” he concedes and Emma feels rather proud of herself for making him do so.

Now just to convince him to take a bath as well and then ransack the pantry with her.

A/N: Vague mentions of non-consensual sex.

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marvelmadam08 · 6 years

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The Captain & The Culprit (11)

After escaping from a Hydra lab you’ve been running and hiding since. Afraid of your abilities and your forgotten past, you keep away from people until The Avengers come and find you.

Summary: The aftermath of your first mission sets you back mentally and emotionally. Thor drops in and causes more confusion.

Warnings: Emotional setbacks, thunderstorms

Your head lolls to the side, a pounding headache in full effect. The humming of the quinjet tells you that you're back in the air. You groan when the jet jerks, causing your brain to rattle in your head.

Slowly the events come flooding back. You went for Bucky first, it was easy with the cybernetics in his arm, you made him clasp his hand around his own throat until he crumbled to the floor. Steve grabbed you next, pinning your arms down in a bear hug. You rammed your head into his and kick off a wall sending you both flying back through the shattered window again, you fell straight down to the first floor. People screamed and ran for protection while you and Steve went at it.

Tony and Natasha went after Dr. Smith, you and Steve ended up fighting in the cage where he managed to get the upper hand and knock you out.

Looking around you see The Avengers standing with their backs to you, watching the cloudy sky. Across you lock eyes with Dr. Smith, tied and gagged, a dark smile in his eyes. You try to lunged for him, but your entire upper body is restrained by a harness.

"Steve?" You pulled at the straps on your arms

Everyone turns at once, except for Bucky who tensed when he heard your voice. Steve cautiously approaches you, slowly reaching to touch your face.

"Please untie me." You whisper "I can't handle being strapped down like this."

"It’s okay, you’re okay." He tells you calmly "Listen, once we get to the tower, Bruce is gonna have to run some tests... Keep you for observation..."

"You're gonna lock me in a lab?" You shake your head "No, Steve please. I'm fine, honestly. He just got into my head, it won't happen again."

"Trust me, it will." Bucky's eyes were dark and distant when he spoke

"I'm sorry, you have to believe me. Don't force me to be a lab rat again. Steve please, I'm sorry." Your voice breaks a bit but you bite back your tears, not giving Dr. Smith the satisfaction in seeing you cry again

"You have to trust me (Y/N). This is for your safety."

"Is being tied up for my safety too?" You struggled against the straps, Steve looks over at Natasha before looking at you again. "I see."

"Just for the flight." He lowers his voice

"And however long Dr. Banner keeps me for observations." You slump against the seat, Steve tries to stroke your cheek but you pull away from him.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered before going to stand with the others up front again

The flight is filled with awkward silences, Steve only speaks to you when he asks if you need to use the restroom. Bucky does his best to keep his distance from you, and Dr. Smith gives you a continuous smile. Only when the quinjet jerks violently does everyone start talking again.

"It wasn't me." You stare up at the roof of the jet, feeling a few eyes on you

"We're flying through a storm." Natasha announced

"Are we sure it's a storm?" Tony asks, surprisingly calm

The jet shakes again, Dr. Smith fell from the seat, his gag coming loose from his mouth.

"Steve, his gag is off." You quickly warn them

Bucky is the first on to react, grabbing Dr. Smith by throat with his metal hand.

“Fără grijă, soldat.” (No worries Soldier.) he choked out “Voi aștepta până ajungem înainte să o omorăm.” (I'll wait until we land before making her kill you all.)

Bucky his eyes flicker to you for moment, but the fear was clear in his expression. He tied the gag back tighter, and dropped Dr. Smith back to the floor of the jet. Lightning started to appear in the sky, Natasha expertly flew through it but not without difficulty. A bolt nearly strikes the wing, you shift in your seat leaning to get a better look at what was happening.

"Rogers, feel free to take over anytime." Natasha jerked the quinjet again, Steve hops in the second pilot seat, everyone rushes to a seat (Bucky even sits Dr. Smith back into a chair) and buckles in. Tony with a tablet in his hand, going through it fiercely.

"Any thing yet Stark?" Steve asks, hopeful

"No sign yet Cap." Small droplets of sweat appear on his brow

“I’ve heard landing during a storm is the best way to avoid it.” Katniss (Clint) grunts when his head hits Bucky’s left shoulder “No matter what’s on the other end.”

The storm got worse, why they continued to fly through it was beyond your logical thinking. Steve does his best to maneuver between the lightning but the jet gets struck by one, taking out an engine. Alarms go off, the jet starts to drop along with your stomach.

"Stark?!"

"On it." Tony unbuckles himself from his seat and grabs a sleek metallic case from under his seat, his Ironman suit, one of them at least. You quickly put two and two together

"You can't go out there in this! What happens if your suit gets struck?" You pull against the restraints hearing the groan of the metal bolts

"Someone has to get the engine started again sweetheart. Can't do it from the inside."

Another bolt of lightning hits the jet, taking out the other engine and the power altogether. Tony flies up to the roof as the jet does nothing but drop from the air in a nose dive. You snap off the restraints, quickly freeing your hands. Sliding to the front of the jet due to the slope, you place your hand on the console, the ground below you quickly approaching. The blue smoke leaves your hands, spreading through the jet's dead tech like oil. A surge pulses through you when you hear the engines come back on.

"Pull up!" You tell Nat and Steve

The jet is forced back upwards, but still dropping towards the ground. You whip around and catch Tony in a cloud of smoke before he face plants into the floor. A large thud comes from the outside of the jet, helping you even out in the air.

"Brace for impact!" Nat warns you, still pulling back on the controls along with Steve. “(Y/N) get your ass in a seat!”

You pushed Tony into a seat, he buckled himself in. Steve grabs you by the waist, securing you in his lap just before the jet collides with the ground. The quinjet is stopped, getting pushed against something underneath until it came to a upward stop.

“What the hell?” Nat sat forward to see what caught them

The quinjet groans, being set down on the ground. A maroon man, dressed in green, stood at the front of the jet, a gold cape flowing behind him. You could feel his powerful energy surging through him, coming from the jewel at the top of his head. Strong thuds moved across the top of the jet, a man with long blond hair and a giant hammer clung to the window.

"Friends! I have returned. I apologize for my sudden and destructive entrance." He bellowed, you feel everyone in the jet relax "Can you let us in? I am in need of a restroom.”

Nat pressed a button on the console, letting the loading door down.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks you, checking you for damages

“I’m fine, I’ll go back to my restraints now.” you get up from his lap

“(Y/N) wait-”

"Is it over?" Katniss(Clint) groans, eyes closed tight, not bothering to move

"I think so." You pant and look over to Tony "What was that you said about fixing the engine from the inside?"

"I always liked you." He kissed your hand "Anyone else's arm numb?"

“Friends!” Thor walked onto the jet with a wide smile until his eyes land on you. His eyes are wide with shock and his smile drops completely “It can’t be.”

“Excuse me?” you eyed him

“I thought you were-” he stepped closer to you backed away “What’s the matter? You act as if you’ve never seen me before.”

“I haven’t.”

Steve pulled you to his side “You know her?”

“Of course, I’ve known her since we were children.” Thor continued to walk towards you

“I don’t know who you are.” you feel the spark building in your fingertips. Thor sees the discomfort in your face and the way you cling to Steve before he backs away slowly, the hurt clear in his eyes.

“No I guess you don’t. My mistake, excuse me.” Thor walked off to the private restroom on the jet, leaving everyone, including Dr. Smith, confused.

#steve x reader #captain america x reader #thor #age of ultron #avengers #hydra #tesseract #bucky barnes #hawkeye #vision #tony stark #avengers endgame #danger #100 days of productivity #chris evans

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