#I intended to make something with fluff

[littlemissfix-itfic]

The Bad Days

Dean Winchester, who holds the weight of the world on his shoulders, who is self-sacrificial, who hides his anguish between snarky sarcastic jokes and a flirty, I-know-I'm-hot smirk, who is protective and loyal to those he loves to a fault, is not immune to bad days. In fact, Dean has them frequently, but the bad days, and I mean the really bad days, where the weight he holds and tries to shoulder alone finally comes crashing down on him, and all he can think about are the people he couldn't save, and the people he thinks he's failed all flash through his mind, and all the ways he's let down the people that matter most to him are all that he can see when he takes in his desolate reflection, are the days that he falters, and the days where he needs you the most. Those days that he pushes everyone away the most, those are the bad days I'm talking about.

Sometimes they'll start off ordinarily, or as ordinarily as a day in the life of a Winchester, or of a hunter, can. Those are the days when the angish sneaks below his feet, circling in the shadows and ensnaring him on Sam's pointed jab, or a flash of deja-vu as he catches a glimpse of a face that looks like someone he couldn't save. The days that start off mundane for Dean are the ones where the hair trigger could be anything from a misinterpreted joke, to a hunt gone sour, could send him into a spiral that would take even the strongest archangel out of commission for months at a time. Other times, the days will start with a heart-stopping jolt, with a cold sweat drenching the back of his shirt. On days when his morning starts with a anxiety-riddled, gasp as he stretches his arm across the bed, desperate to find the grounding comfort of your sleeping form beside him, he is surly and mean, and does everything in his power to isolate himself and push everyone away. Not out of a vindictive anger, but out of a deep-rooted self-loathing that makes him believe that he deserves this pain, that he deserves to be forgotten, abandoned, and hated by the people he holds dearest.

These are the days where he needs you most. Don't get me wrong, he wants you, and needs you every day, but when he's in a spiral, on the days where even basic kindness seems like something he doesn't even deserve to dream about, these are the days that he needs all of your love and concern. All of the worry that he teasingly tells you is wasted on a strong man like him, that he gets into shouting matches with Sam and Castiel over because damnit he is not an incapable child!

So on days like that, hold him a little tighter. Dote on him a little more. Tell him that you love him, and that he deserves kindness and love and he is not evil, hell he's not even bad. Remind him that for every mistake he's made, he's fixed a hundred others, and for every person he feels he's failed, he's save a thousand more.

On days when Dean Winchester feels like the world would be better off had he never been born, remind him how glad you are that he was. Remind him of how loved he is, and cuddle a little closer to him, and pretend not to notice the way your shirt grows damp when he buries his head in your shoulder and finally, finally lets himself feel, lets himself cry.

[fandombead]

For Those Who Have Mourned Me

Hello!! This is my submission for Anaroceit Shipweek's prompt: Apology.

Summary: Virgil returns home after a quest to retrieve an invaluable gift for his partners takes far longer than he'd anticipated. How will they receive him? How could they forgive him after disappearing for 2 years? (note: Fantasy AU! Heads up for angst, this is hurt/comfort)

WC: ~3k || It’s on AO3! @anaroceitweek ! *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Apology

Virgil had no idea how he was going to explain himself. There wasn’t much he could say that would make this day easier. But he’d been psyching himself up for weeks and he was here now. But would they want him back?

Virgil stopped walking as the quiet forest opened into a grassy clearing. 

He felt faint as he stared up at the little cottage backed to the stream on the other side. He clutched his walking stick hard to stay standing, exhaustion and longing and heartache battling it out in his chest. Guilt rose from his stomach and made him feel sick. His magic sparked at his fingertips from the increasing anxiety and he could only grip his satchel to his chest, protecting thd thing he’d fought so hard to retrieve. That would make a world of difference and change all of their lives for the better. He had to believe it would, or else this was all for nothing. 

They…they’d accept him back, wouldn’t they? Once they knew why he’d been gone so long. He could explain it to them, and he’d do anything for them to apologize, to be pulled into their embrace, and he’d never leave it again if the asked it of him. If they wanted to hold him again. 

Tears pricked at his eyes but he wasn’t allowed to cry over this. He had no right to. It didn’t matter how much he’d missed them or how many times in the months it took to get back to them that he wanted to give up the quest. He should have told them. He didn’t know he’d be gone this long, but he should have. 

The sun was nearly gone behind him, casting long shadows of the trees on the house. 

A light was on in their sitting room by the garden. Attention drawn to prolong the inevitable, it looked like they’d planted the new crops already in his absence. He wondered if Roman had helped Jan in his place this year. And last year. 

He wanted to go in and hold them. He just wanted them to understand: prayed to whoever would listen that they’d understand why. Did he have the right to call this his home anymore after such an absence? Virgil doubted he’d be welcome, but perhaps that was just his own doubt clouding his mind. 

Perhaps.

Virgil forced himself forward, hobbling carefully down the path. He looked as frazzled as he felt, and maybe he should have stopped in town to be presentable first. He’d bathed in the river regularly, but the clothes were old now, damaged from travel. Maybe they could forgive him for it, too, if they could with everything else. He hadn’t wanted to delay another moment once back in the safe lands of the kingdom.

The path hadn’t changed much, even if a little overgrown with grass and wildflowers that hadn’t been cleared in a long while. The porch still creaked on its second step. Roman had said he would fix it soon. The bench swing on their porch was not as white as it used to be, sun-damaged and with a few chips in the paint, but it still had a clean outdoor blanket folded over the back of it and was free of dirt or pollen like it was regularly kept up. They still used it, then.

He tried to imagine the two of them there, sitting and watching the sunset like they used to together on many nights. He wonders if they sat there together watching the path for him to return. He wonders how long they waited, assuming he would come back for months. Hoping he would come back. Guilt tightened in his chest as he stood there far too long, staring and lost in thought. 

He did not realize he wasn’t the only one outside.

 Roman’s sharp gasp followed by the loud clatter of his watering can on the stepping stones leading to the back of the house was the only warning Virgil had. Virgil jumped, nearly tripping over his walking stick in his haste to whip around and just as startled as Roman stared. He had changed so much quite visibly. Ro looked more hallowed, his eyes not as bright as they used to be with small creases underneath. He had longer hair than Virgil had ever seen him with, messily put up in a bun.  

Roman was right there, and Virgil’s heart ached to reach out, to say something and make that shaken expression change. 

“Virgil!” he cried out, and it was almost more of a wail.

He wasn’t able to say a word before Roman was rushing him. “R-Roman– I-I’m so sorry, I really– oof!” 

Virgil’s back bumped the door in a moment of distress, because so much that had run at him in these past years had been hostile and trying to kill him. Roman closed the distance faster than Virgil could sidestep and he flinched, almost expecting anger to greet him, but arms encased him, not trapping or to hurt, but holding him close, as if he were something precious. Roman held him fiercely, and it took Virgil several long seconds to realize he wasn’t the one shaking. Or maybe Roman just was more than him. Virgil let out a small wounded noise as all the words he’d had ready were stuck in his throat, and it was all he could do to hang onto Roman’s arm around him.

The front door swung open and Virgil could not see behind him as he was currently being clutched against Roman’s chest, the tall diefic being refusing to relinquish him as he somehow cradled Virgil to him while they were both standing. Roman was sobbing over his head.

Virgil collapsed forward unwittingly, too startled to stay upright. Roman held fast, sinking carefully down with him and not letting Virgil slip from his strong arms. Virgil was stiff, trembling as he didn’t know what to do with his arms.  Roman tried to speak through his sobs, as Janus both tried to console him and fuss over Virgil, reeling as well, but knowing he was needed by them both. That didn’t stop Virgil from seeing tears on his face as well, Janus pulling Virgil against his chest when Roman let up for a moment to fuss over his state.

Virgil clung onto him like a lifeline, shameful in how weak he was to allow it. They should be furious with him, but they were too kind to turn him away. They wouldn’t, even though he’d properly abandoned them. He’d told himself he wouldn’t cry– wouldn’t force their sympathy from past feelings for him. 

“We’ve got you, love, it’s alright.” Janus said soothingly, and tried to pretend his voice didn’t hitch on the words. He cradled Virgil’s face in his cool palms, pressing their foreheads together as he just seemed to reveal in the sudden relief and change in their reality.

So many dreams of this very moment, a hope they’d shared in all its clear futility for two years now. Janus held on tight to make sure he was real, and refused to open his eyes for fear of waking up again.

“We thought you were gone,” Roman breathed out, pressing his damp face into Virgil’s wayward curls. “The–the pendants– stars, they told us you weren’t even alive– they didn’t glow when we reached out with thoughts of you, nowhere in the world…we t-thought you were–”

“I am so sorry,” Virgil whispered, clinging to Roman’s sleeve and pressing his face into the fabric desperately. He still smelled like canvas and that fruity spritz that Virgil always loved on him. He grimaced, trying to reign his emotions in, he couldn’t get overwhelmed right now. He had to tell them; needed to explain himself before they realized they should be far more upset. Though they had every right to be. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out, louder this time. “I-I– I never intended to be gone this long– but I couldn’t give up and time passed so much faster than I–”

Virgil cut himself off, trying to calm down. He wasn’t trying to make excuses. Janus hated when people couldn’t even be accountable, but what could he even say? 

Virgil clutched the bag to his chest and tried to pull back, however reluctant, to get his arm out. He managed to wiggle it free when Roman realized he was trying to get to it and let up a bit on his hold, not letting him go for even a moment.

“I– I got you this.” 

Janus and Roman’s eyes widened at the curling amber circlet he pulled from his bag, Roman covering his mouth when he saw it held gently in Virgil’s hands in offering. The headpiece had unshaped Ecludite at its front, trapped by a translucent tesseract crystal. The chunk of metallic crimson was no bigger than a coin and nonetheless radiated the immense power it contained just from being exposed. It was invaluable and a thing of legend and entirely non-existent in this mortal realm. Which meant…

“Virgil– this is from Erok!” Janus exclaimed, nearly standing again in his horror. 

Roman gaped, immediately turning to Virgil, who shrunk in on himself. “You went to Erok on your own?! Do you have any idea how dangerous and reckless that was? For two years!” 

Janus was shaking his head, trying to steady himself. “We could have easily lost you even from meeting in the afterlife, do you have any idea what would have happened to your soul had you died there? What’s likely already happened to your Quintessence–”  

“I-I know this doesn’t excuse me leaving!” Virgil said quickly, head bowed. “I know it was so stupid and I should have told you and that it was horrible to not even let you know where I was going the day I left– gods, I left a letter telling you I’d be back in a week…! I–I know this doesn’t make it up to you. For what I did before I left–” “Virgil!” Roman tearfully cut in, horrified and not able to take just listening a moment longer. “Did you do this on your own because of that guilt? Did you truly think we would not care or would want you to ever go to that– realm of chthonian horrors?!”

Virgil wouldn’t look at either of them. “If I thought for a moment at the start of all this that it would take me so long to get back, I swear I would not have gone like that, I never wanted to worry either of you, I wanted to do this for you! You both are so amazing and took care of me at my lowest–  A-And I had to do something–I could do something, I could b-bring you Mindscape’s Gate–”

“You should have taken us with you!” Roman cried, nearly knocking one of the most powerful dimension-crossing pieces out of Virgil’s hands, much to their little mage’s fear. Janus was faster, quickly taking it and the bag Virgil had settled it on away, holding it in his lap. Janus ran a hand through Virgik’s hair, settling it there as he gazed at him hard. “Virgil, you matter so much more to us than a portal back home. We would have found a way together, but to risk your magic being striped, your life– everything you are for this, all alone…”

They fell silent, save for Roman’s quiet soothing murmurs in their home tongue.

Virgil shook his head slowly, unable to hold the gaze. “I–I was selfish. I didn’t want to risk you, but thought…stupidly, that I could travel and make it after some lousy soothsayer told me how to get there. They never mentioned how hard getting back was and I was too desperate to ask. But you were just so terrified and devastated when the Di-Keep stole your connection to Home.”

“V-Vee, stormcloud, please, you’re–”

“Y-You both can go home again! You can see the others, so it was worth it, the risk, everything, it had to be worth it!”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment that time, and Virgil tried to pull away, but neither let him, Roman making a soft noise of protest. 

Janus shook his head as he tilted Virgil’s face gently to meet his soft eyes. “You did…all that for us. It was amazing of you, and…and so brave, even if…short-sided.” he said carefully, sighing as his face fell. “But you must understand, you mean so much more to us. No matter what happened, we do not want you to ever put your life up for us. It is so much more valuable to me than anything we’ve ever come to find in this realm. You are our greatest treasure.”

Virgil felt himself trembling at the implications.

Roman pressed his nose against Virgil’s shoulder, holding him close as Janus pulled them both to him, the circlet miraculously having been shifted safely to the bench swing as if it were just a souvenir he had gotten them.  

“We love you so much, our brave and selfless knight. We missed you deeply. We are so thankful the realm allowed you to return to us. If I’d known that’s where you were this whole time, we would have come for you, no questions asked. You must have been so scared…”

Virgil shuddered as his composure left him entirely, held so close between them and not wanting to let either go. He fisted Roman’s soft cotton shirt in tightly as Janus pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We have you now, my love. And we aren’t letting you go again.”

“I-I-sorry.” 

“We know. All will be alright.” Janus soothed, and Virgil held onto the words meant to comfort him. They did not know if he would be alright again. “I’m sorry– y-you mourned me.”

“You are here now, you are home.” Roman cooed, voice lulling. “You returned to us. Don’t you worry right now about how we will handle it. We are relieved.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil sobbed, and he didn’t even know what specifically for. For everything that he knew they must have went through. They had to be relieving the pain he’d put them through, showing up out of nowhere like this–

Janus shushed him softly, brushing long damp hair from Virgil’s face as it stuck together on his pale cheeks. Being without sun for two years would have such awful effects on mortals. Janus made a note to have Virgil sit outside with him as he recovered.

“All will be alright, windstorm.“

It had all but set now, the shadows all-encompassing in their little clearing as the stream bubbled in the quiet. Crickets and fireflies started their nightly concert and dance in the tall grass, having a light show that didn’t compare to the constellations starting to come out above them. They sat there, letting Virgil cry out all his feelings of loneliness and longing and fears he would never come home, that they’d never even know what happened to him. He didn’t stop his garbled apologies until he was physically too exhausted to keep it up. Roman and Janus patiently reassured and comforted him the entire time until he finally fell silent, slumped against Roman’s chest as Janus held his free hand, stroking the scarred skin in his cool, smooth ones.

“I-I’m going to lift you up, okay?” Roman warned right before Janus pulled back. It wasn’t even a second later that Roman took his place once more, easily lifting Virgil and standing with him, followed by more quiet fretting over how light Virgil was. Virgil could only curl into Roman, unwilling to pull away drained as he was. If they abandoned him now, he would simply lie there, unmoving until the Wyervins and scavengers found him. He had nothing left. He weakly clutched at Roman’s chest, chasing the dark thoughts away. Such thoughts had long haunted him in dreams of his return. They got to him, warping his memory of them and their love. Janus and Roman were not like that. Ro was bold in his outspoken declarations of adoration and love for them both. Jay was more subtle but no less sentimental and just as intense, showering them in sweet words and close contacts.

“I have you, little hero. You’re with us again.” Roman reassured as Janus got the door for them, sweeping the precious token up with his telekinesis once more to bring it and Virgil’s staff safely inside. He made sure it was slid back into its bag and that it was set in the study, safe in the heart of their home. Many would kill or worse to get their hands on something so impossibly priceless, but they already had something worth more in their arms. They could discuss it in a few days or weeks, after they all had recovered enough and had a proper talk about all of this. 

Jan was not so sure a complete recovery was feasible, no matter how many decades and centuries passed, but they could be okay again. They would get to a place they could function in normalcy, even if it was never gone. Maybe it should never be gone, as life-changing as it was. Neither he nor Roman were done explaining to their beloved just how much he meant to them, and they would get it through the cloud of doubt in his mind. They would dote and tell him constantly of that truth, and reassure his anxieties as much as he needed them to without question. He had been through something no one should have to face and survived it. He was going to need time and help recover from that. They’d be here to listen and help him get any residual soulmarks healed. They’d guide him through the trauma and how to cope with what he’d never be rid of. They’d do anything for Vee, for Virgil, as long as it meant they’d still be there to love and protect him. He was as much their home as Mindscape, and they’d never let him be isolated from them ever again.

“We will take care of you, darling. You can rest now.”

[sysig]

Shapes never felt so good (Patreon)

[krikeymate]

Where I live it’s so warm, I’m basically melting. So I was wondering if you had a cute idea about how Sam and Tara would spend a really hot summer day. Just some more fluff and wholesome content, if you feel like it :) Hope that you’re not melting, wherever you live! ☀️

The weather has been great! I prefer being too hot to being too cold tbh. I can't type when I'm cold! Stay hydrated folks! (I say, dehydrated.)

I think Sam is a eugh, it's too hot kinda person, who prefers to stay indoors with a cold drink and a fan. Tara meanwhile is a sunbathing kinda gal. (I also headcanon Sam runs hot and Tara runs cold, so.)

Of course, that was before Tara got stabbed to shit and covered in scars. She's probably really insecure about it now (bye-bye bikini).

~

The weather begins to get hot and sunny and Sam notices. Tara stays covered up, despite the heat, despite the fact Sam knows she loves the prickling of the sun on her skin. Or at least... she used to.

Sam frowns, trying to remember last summer. To her frustration, she can't. They were so busy with moving and finding a job and summer classes to prepare for the new school year, it had passed them by in a flash.

(Sam catches Tara standing by the window with her eyes closed, basking in the heat and the light. Her sister still loves the sun, she learns.)

"You can't seriously still be cold," Sam jokes one day, catching Tara heading out in a long-sleeved top once again. She doesn't miss the way Tara freezes, how her eyes widen, how she can't think of a response. Tara throws out a quick "I don't know what you mean," and escapes out the door. Sam frowns at the display and realises that despite all the progress Tara's made, there's obviously still things she's not ready to talk about.

(Despite all the progress Sam's made, there's still things she's not ready to let go.)

So Sam waits a couple days, observes, thinks about what she wants to say. Then she corners her, demands to know what she's doing and why. In those exact words.

Tara blinks at her, confused, and holds out her cup. "I'm... drinking juice?"

"What? No!" Sam exclaims, taking the cup from her sister's outstretched hand and putting it back on the counter, a little harder than necessary. Tara frowns.

Sam tugs at the shoulder of her top. "I'm talking about this!"

"My... clothes?"

"Yes!"

"Sam, you're not making any sense."

She knows, groaning. All that practice and she's still messing up her words. She doesn't want to get this wrong, it's important.

"Why are you wearing that? It's like 80 degrees! Put a damn crop top on or a bikini or something, you're making me feel faint just looking at you."

Sam watches understanding dawn on Tara's face by the way it carefully becomes blank. From the way she takes a step back.

"What, you're gonna tell me how to dress now?"

They both cringe at her tone, it's defensive and aggressive, familiar.

One step forward, two steps back. "No Tara, of course not. I just... I would really like to know why. This isn't like you."

Tara struggles to swallow back a maybe I've changed in those five years you disappeared for. She knows it won't help, it won't fix anything. It'll only hurt her sister. She bites her cheek, her therapist's voice echoing through her head.

This is Sam. She can be honest with Sam. Sam won't judge her, she won't be mad.

She repeats the mantra to herself several times before pulling off her top. "Look at me, I can't go out like this!"

Sam frowns back at her sister. "I don't-"

"My scars, Sam! Look at them!"

There's a pleading to Tara's words, they sound desperate, and hurt, and Sam takes her in her arms.

"You're beautiful, Tara."

"They're ugly."

"They're a sign of your resilience, of how strong you are. How could that ever be ugly?" Sam kisses the top of her head and steps back, hands on her shoulders. "You're a survivor, and you should be proud of that. But if you're not ready to show that to the world, then that's fine, but you don't have to hide at home. Ok?"

Tara bites her lip, turning away.

Sam catches her by the chin. "Ok?"

"Ok?"

They take to sunbathing together in the apartment, stretched out beneath whichever window is catching the light best at the time.

[pixelatedraindrops]

So I got to thinking.

With all these whump edits I do for it, I seriously wonder if people in the RainCode fandom who look up this tag are all like "Oh that weirdo made another edit of these characters sick, what is wrong with them"

Then I remember this is tumblr.

There's all kinds of weird shit on here x'D

It's THE place to be a weirdo and be proud of it.

[cargopantsprentiss]

Fanart era temporarily on hold. Fic era thriving.

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[jjk4isen]

ꗃ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 .

❝ answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and holding me— was she the one on your mind? ❞

summary: it's hard knowing you aren't really the person in toji's heart but loving him was something you still did regardless. as for toji, he thinks he's ready to give you his all.

desc: 2.8k words, f!reader (referred to as ‘mama’), canon compliant i think, takes place after mamaguro's death and before toji’s, age gap (early 20s reader, early 30s toji), baby gumi ahhhhh, sfw, angst to fluff to angst again lol, intended lowercase, think you're tsumiki’s mom but without tsumiki bc the relations would be too complicated and also the second wife erasure in the canon storyline?? yeah it's reserved specifically for this fic, not proof read i fear but pls read it's really interesting i can swear by it lmaoqhdhns

dating a widowed man with a son wasn't easy especially when the said man is still in love with his former wife, or rather, his wife who had died.

love is often beautiful but sometimes it's unfair. it can also be cruel. what other reason would make you still stay despite knowing you'll never measure upto the person who had been here before you?

and you've heard stories about her. she was sweet, so beautiful— not just in her appearance but her entire being was beautiful. there always was an ache in your heart upon just the mention of her name.

so how much more would it have ached for toji?

“mama” the spiky haired boy, barely two years old calls you and you realise the silence in the room. “not mama, i’m nana okay?” sick.

nana. not mama but close enough. it doesn't matter anyway, n and m are just letters and next to each other so how much difference would that make? you're the one that's here after all, are you not?

if there's a lump in your throat and your eyes are burning with unshed tears, you force yourself to ignore.

“okay nana” megumi nuzzles his face into your chest, slowly drifting away to sleep. the boy always liked cuddling with you and it melts your heart immensely.

your hands strand through his dark hair. people always said he's the carbon copy of his dad but you'd like to differ. megumi has his mother's eyes and his hair resembled hers more than it did his dad's.

the thought sends another ache in your chest but you push it away– as you always have.

you recall the last time toji had heard megumi call you “mama”. you had never seen toji that livid. he was never a gentle man to begin with but that night, there was nothing else you've been more scared of.

was he like that to his wife? maybe not.

does that matter though? it's not like toji treats you badly. he's decent and loves you an enough amount. you weren't crazy enough to stay when you're not wanted so that must mean you were something to him right?

you also recall the whispers of pity and condemnation thrown at you for just being with toji. him being a brute is one thing but the difference in age is what people seem to have a problem with. you're so much younger than him and have your whole life ahead of you so why are you entrapping yourself this way?

you disagree though. love doesn't know any age and you definitely aren't naive to be head over heels over a guy just because he's relatively older. no, this was real and genuine.

a faint knock disrupts your train of thoughts. “he sleepin’?” toji nods towards the small boy in your arms and you nod back in return.

taking care not to wake the sleeping kid, you slowly pry his hands away from you and pull over a blanket to cover his small body.

when you make your way towards toji, he wastes no time in pulling you closer “missed you” he mumbles, placing a kiss onto your forehead and suddenly all thoughts plaguing your mind disappears. that's all you could ask for, even if it was just for a moment.

“i missed you more” you whisper back, he only huffs out an amused chuckle.

“got bad news though” a frown finds itself on his lips, decorated by a single scar next to it.

“did you lose all your money again?” toji was a gambling addict, another thing you forced yourself to tolerate just for him.

“sorry, doll. thought i’d win this time” he rubs small circles on your back comfortingly and it makes you a bit uneasy to know that he has his way with you so easily.

“it's alright. i’ll just find another part time job”

“so good to me” toji pulls you into his chest and you let out a sigh— of exhaustion? relief? you couldn't really tell but that's not important, toji had you in his arms.

“i’ll try and think of something too. don't worry your pretty little head too much” he lifts you up with ease. while you're in his arms, you feel the safest.

toji really felt bad this time. he was confident he would win but that stupid horse had to trip and lose its lead, ending up last of all places. he knows luck never favoured him but that's didn't stop him from trying again and again and again.

he also knows how you didn't say anything more than necessary about it but he isn't that much of an idiot either. he sees how your expression falters and your shoulders slump a little more when he comes home with another news of his gambling loss.

this is also why he tries, or rather, tried to quit — one too many times, unbeknownst to you. however, old habits die hard and most of the time (everytime) toji gives into his urge and loses yet again. the cycle keeps happening.

maybe this isn't just about gambling.

with the way you're asleep so soundly next to him after putting his son to sleep and taking care of him too, he is overcomed with yet another feeling to be better for you and megumi alike.

toji isn't a gentle man; everyone knows that, you do too — even more than anybody else but he can't help the familiar pool of warm feelings surging through him the longer he stares at your peaceful state.

he remembers the last time he felt it, with another person. it felt like a lifetime ago.

he also remembers how painful it was when he lost it — the person, the feeling altogether. his hands that were making their way to caress your face stops mid air.

toji knows you deserve so much better. you've been nothing but patient to him, so amazing, so perfect to him. still, he just can't do it yet, just not yet.

he will eventually, he hopes you stay until then.

toji wakes up to an empty bed and his heart sinks a little but the creases and wrinkles on the sheets serve as a reminder that you were really here.

he makes his way towards the kitchen, only finding megumi sitting on a chair next to the dining table.

“hey kid, where's your mama?”

toji freezes. it came out so naturally he didn't realise he said it himself and almost thinks he didn't but megumi's wide eyes prove that he actually did.

“m…mama?” megumi says hesitantly and toji nods this time. “yes, your mama”.

“potty potty!” megumi points to the bathroom and giggles, toji follows suit. the man crouches to his son's eye level and pats his head.

“you love your mama, kid?” toji sees megumi's eyes sparkle as the boy nods enthusiastically “very very much!!”

“yeah? i love your mama too.”

toji smiles to himself, he can't wait to tell that to you.

the next time toji got his pay, he finds himself hesitating. instead of heading towards the race tracks, his feet takes him to a jewellery store.

instead of picking out a slot and testing his luck, he picks out a ring. it's not fancy by any means but he thinks it would be the most beautiful band of metal to exist if it slides into your ring finger.

the tiny ring carries all the heavy feelings he has for you.

──

it was one particular evening when you saw an old man lingering by the front gate. its particular because the warm sunset and the soft cool breeze contrasted the ground breaking truth you find out.

“can i help you?” you ask the old man who looks at you up and down, not making an attempt to hide his distaste of your sight.

“is this where toji zenin lives?” he stares down at you with his scrutinising gaze; it makes you feel small.

“zenin?” you ask, confused. is he referring to toji? but his last name is fushiguro is it not?

“yes toji zenin. i heard he has a son as well. you're not the mother are you?”

is it that obvious? you wonder how the old man figured it out. regardless, you're not about to give him his answers so you stood your ground.

“i’m sorry i don't know what you're talking about.” you turn around, about to head inside when his words make you stop short.

“are you fushiguro?”

that's toji’s last name isn't it? not zenin or whatever he called it. so why is he asking you that? is he implying that you're married to toji?

“no. you have the wrong person.”

“why? did he say not to get involved with anyone from his clan?” the old man draws closer, chucking to himself. you're just there unmoving, trying to comprehend the situation and the words coming from his mouth.

“or did he not tell you that either? did he tell you anything at all?” he stands tall in front of you, tearing away bits of yourself with every word he says.

“when he returns, tell him the clan wants to propose him an offer. you can do that much at least won't you?”

…

and when toji comes home that night with the ring cluched tightly in his fist and inside the pocket of his white pants, the world stills.

he finds you in a state he has never seen you before. you look completely and utterly defeated.

“hey, what's wrong?” his hands come to caress your face so effortlessly, the ring and prior nervousness long forgotten.

“talk to me what's going on?” he looks around and the house seems emptier than usual. your laundry that were usually hanging with his were gone.

your small trinkets you placed around the house to “make it more lively” were nowhere to be found.

and there's a bag in the corner of the room which toji prays and hopes he isn't what he thinks it is.

your hands push away his own that were cupping your face. you're not even looking at him.

“say something damn it!”

you flinch and toji takes a step back. he recalls the last time you trembled in fear — when he got mad megumi called you his mom. he punishes himself for it.

“im sorry. please talk to me.” he isn't touching you now but he wants to. he wants to reach out and pull you close, as he always had done. but now there's an unbearable silence and the small distance between you both felt like lightyears away.

“who's zenin” your voice was meek, barely a whisper but toji's eyes widen. how did you find out about that?

no fuck that, he was supposed to be the one telling you. in his own time.

“i can explain” was all that came out of him. he's nervous, he doesn't know where to start. there's a lot of information to unpack and he's not sure how to do it without hurting you too much.

when he doesn't elaborate, you ask another “who's fushiguro then?” your voice falters a bit and toji curses himself for it.

but he's done running away and keeping things from you. “my… my late wife” he says wryly.

your eyes close and a shaky breath leaves your body, as if he just confirmed your worst suspicions. damn life is so funny isn't it? everything you thought you knew apparently wasn't what it seemed to be after all.

opening them again, your vision blurs and you realise tears were escaping your eyes. fuck you didn't want to cry now of all times but they won't stop.

and the way toji was looking at you, it makes you want to throw up.

“i must've been so stupid to you” you let out a humourless chuckle. “did you pretend im her?”

your gaze was sharp and so were your words. maybe all your bottled up feelings were resurfacing. it doesn't make you feel better about it but that doesn't stop you though.

“answer me. did you think of her when you're in bed with me? when you're kissing me and when you're holding me, was she the one on your mind??” your voice was loud now. you should be afraid of waking up megumi who you cradled to sleep just a few hours ago but no, your thoughts are too clouded right now.

toji sighs. he has no excuse.

“i used to” he actually looks ashamed as if he wasn't the one who did it purely out of his will.

your scoff makes him wince “but not anymore.”

his words fall on deaf ears “you know… i knew you did. but i stayed regardless because i thought there would be a chance that maybe one day, you could open up your heart to me. im not even asking for all of it, just a little… i thought you'd let me in.”

you're blabbering and honestly, so distraught.

“but not a moment was there when it was me isn't it? it was always her in the first place.”

now toji should have said something, anything but he stays there planted in place. and maybe that was your breaking point.

you turn around, grabbing your bag and brushing past him towards the door. instead of holding onto you and stopping you, toji clutches the small box containing the ring — your ring in his pocket, almost crushing it in the process, as he hears the door slam.

you think it's funny how toji did not reach out after what happened. it's poetic even. very fitting of him, till the very end, he did not give two shits about you.

so then, why were you back here?

it's been four long years since the trajectory of your life changed. you still don't know if it was for the better or for the worse.

saying it has been hard would be an understatement. it took you a long time just to get back onto your own feet but you did it regardless. however, you left a part of you here long ago and now, you're here to take it back.

that and you missed megumi dearly. perhaps it was an excuse too because you won't deny a part of you still missed toji, despite everything that happened.

standing a few feet away from the place you used to call home, you hesitate.

maybe this was a bad idea. oh this was definitely a bad idea. you'll see them, and then what? what comes after that?

closure? don't make yourself laugh. you’ll just be reminded of how you couldn't be that person for toji— how you'll always come second. and what if they moved?? there's no reason they'd still be here right?

forget this, you don't need to do this. why must you still be the one who put effort? to reach out? four long years passed and still no news means they clearly moved on... right?

you were convinced enough and was about to go back when you saw little megumi carrying a backpack on his back, seemingly coming home from school.

your feet wouldn't move and your eyes wouldn't blink. he grew up so well.

the world pauses as your gaze follows the kid you used to consider your own, now as good as a stranger.

“do you know that kid?” a voice at your back makes you whip your head around. life really is full of surprises and this time, the surprise was in the form of a tall man, no a tall kid with white hair, looking at you curiously through his round tinted glasses.

“... no i don't” well you weren't exactly lying. you don't know the megumi you see now. perhaps if he asked whether you raised him since he was a baby till he was two, then your answer would've been different.

“oh okay” the boy shrugs. “poor guy though”

“why? whats up with him?” you turn to look at megumi again who was minding his business walking home and your heart aches a little.

“I'm here to recruit him. his dad died you see so he's–”

“wait what was that??”

“his dad. he's dead” the amused boy in front of you chuckles and you stare at him, horrified.

“what happened to him?” your voice was shaky and doesn't sound like your own. he leans down to meet your eye level and smirks “why? i thought you don't know that kid. why does that matter to you?”

your stomach churns as you stare at him, not even knowing what to say— the smug expression on his face only widens.

“so you do know him.”

'know' would be a weak word to use when it comes to toji. you knew of his habits, the simple things he does and also of the more complex ones — like the exact place his scar decorated his lips and how it felt to kiss it.

then again, you don't really know anything about him and maybe you never will.

and maybe that's really, the closure you needed.

[loverafey]

biting his bicep ! bf!rafe x reader.

          ꕀ warnings - none / fluff!! reader's a bit freaky, suggestive at the end, just a product of me staring at his arms too much in drew's latest photoshoot. wc -  658.

your eyes had been transfixed on rafe’s arm for longer than you had initially intended to. it was supposed to be a fleeting glimpse, simple admiration for the fact that your boyfriend’s biceps had gotten big, the way they were outlined nicely albeit wearing a long sleeved sweater.

but no, it just had to turn into a whole staring fest where you tried not to swoon. admittedly, it was hard.

unintentionally chewing on your bottom lip, you were glad that he was busy elsewhere, looking at papers for some contract — or something, you had truthfully forgotten what the ordeal was. and you couldn’t bring yourself to care in this moment, wondering what it would be like to just gnaw onto those arms of his.

“stop ogling at me like that.” his playful scoff snapped you out of your daze, blood instantly rushing to your cheeks. shit.

“i wasn’t.” you were quick to retort, although quite a pointless lie. he had caught you after all, his eyes now knowingly looking back at you, a grin easing its way on his lips.

“aw, broke my heart a little bit there.” rafe feigned offense, tossing the papers aside before moving over to you on the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist as he tackled you, causing you to let out a yelp. you broke into giggles, more so from the embarrassment at being caught, feeling his lips brush against your forehead to press a soft kiss before pulling his head back slightly to look at your face.

“can i bite your bicep?” you asked abruptly after gaining some courage, causing his eyes to widen momentarily, an amused huff leaving his lips.

“wow, that really came out of nowhere.” his hands trailed up to caress your sides, just shy away from the undersides of your breasts, pressing another kiss, on your cheek this time. “you wanna bite my bicep?” you were quick to nod, smiling all goofily, unable for him to resist.

making it out as if he was doing it reluctantly, he rolled his eyes and sat up, taking his sweater off. you couldn’t help but take note of every freckle and mole painted on his skin, wanting to do nothing but to kiss each of them.

without waiting for him, your hands grasped his arm and tugged him down, squeeze onto his right bicep, your mouth quick to latch onto it. it was a gentle, experimental bite, filling you with a fuzzy feeling once you pulled back to see the indent of your teeth left on his skin. a mark, really. you couldn’t help but feel a sense of victory as you dove back in to bite onto his bicep again, feeling the muscle underneath your teeth. it made your jaw hurt a bit, your eyes finding his as he looked over at you in awe, a hand reaching over to ruffle your hair up while you were nibbling on his skin, leaving behind visible love bites.

“you’d make a sick vampire.” he chuckled lowly, his voice having gotten weaker. he was clearly enjoying it, your eyes instinctively trailing down to his pants, seeing the consequence of your biting.

“you like my arms that much, huh?” rafe obviously knew the answer to that, grabbing you as soon as you pulled away, flipping you around so now your back was flush against his chest. “then… you wouldn’t mind if i were to do this?” one arm came to gently wrap around your neck, making sure to not be tight but firm enough for your face to be squished by his bicep as he flexed. oh you could just squeal, heart skipping a beat as you tried to move your head down in this impossible position and take another nibble of his arm.

“so hungry.” rafe spoke, his other arm coming to wrap around your middle so you were all snug against him, not planning on letting you go anytime sooner.

[lizzyiii]

His Mother's Sister

pairing | aemond x aunt!reader word count | 4.7k words summary | aemond becomes instantly captivated by his alluring and enigmatic aunt upon her arrival in King’s Landing, his fascination growing into a consuming obsession. one night, he sneaks into her chambers intending to claim her, only to find himself ensnared and wholly claimed by her instead. tags | 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, obsession, incest, oral (f), aemond being a simp, aemond being obsessed, older woman/younger man, reader is in her early 30s a/n | haven't written smut in a while, so here's my smut piece before I continue with my normal angst and fluff

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“I have summoned your sister to King’s Landing.”

Aemond’s attention sharpened, his gaze lingering on his mother’s face as Otto spoke. He watched as the blood seemed to drain from her cheeks, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the table.

“For what purpose?” Alicent’s voice held a strained note, attempting to maintain a composure that clearly wavered.

Aegon, lounging at the head of the table, raised his head, intrigued. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, eyes flicking between his mother and grandsire.

“Marq Ambrose commands one of the most powerful armies in the Reach,” Otto stated with an offhand shrug, his eyes giving nothing away.

“And he would serve us best by keeping that power in the Reach, where it may be summoned at need,” Alicent interjected, her tone unyielding, her eyes locked on Otto’s. There was no mistaking the tension in her voice, a chill that crept through the words.

Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly as he observed his mother. His aunt had always been something of a mystery—whispered about in brief conversations that faded when he entered the room. A few years after his birth, she had been wedded to Lord Ambrose of the Reach, her presence a vague shadow on his life, a name he had heard only in passing. And now, with her impending arrival, he sensed a thread of something forbidden—a story that remained carefully locked away, just out of reach.

Aegon chuckled, breaking the taut silence. “Let Lord Ambrose come, then, if he so wishes to make merry in our halls. He is but my uncle by marriage; surely, we ought to welcome such kin to the capital.” His gaze gleamed as he spoke, and his smile widened. “And I would be most pleased to meet my aunt, at last.”

But Aemond’s mind lingered elsewhere. His mother’s discomfort stirred his curiosity, yes—but something deeper, a whisper of anticipation he could scarcely name, took root.

A week had passed since that conversation, and now the family gathered in the throne room, awaiting Lord Ambrose’s arrival. Aegon sat with careless authority upon the Iron Throne, his gaze sharp with the amusement of expectation, while the rest of them stood beneath the shadow of the dais.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and a knight’s voice rang out through the hall. “May I present Lord Marq Ambrose and his Lady Wife.”

A stocky figure stepped forward, his hair streaked with white and black, his girth almost comical in its fullness. Aemond cast but a cursory glance at the man, unimpressed by this swollen lord from the Reach, before his gaze shifted past him.

And then, Aemond stilled. His eye widened, his brows lifting as he fought to contain his reaction. His heart gave an unbidden jolt, nearly betraying him. If he had chanced a glance at Aegon, he would have seen his brother’s mouth agape, struck silent.

Beside Lord Ambrose stood his lady—a woman of such beauty that she seemed almost ethereal in her presence, like some creature of starlight veiled in fine silks. You could have been Lord Ambrose’s granddaughter, and yet here you were, his lawful wife. Aemond’s mind spun.

From what he understood, this aunt of his was five summers younger than his mother, yet you bore not a trace of age. Your beauty held a captivating allure, tempered with a regal composure that only added to your mystique. You appeared no older than five-and-twenty, though your presence held the calm authority of a queen.

"Lord and Lady Ambrose," Aegon declared with a broad grin as he rose from the Iron Throne and descended the dais, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Welcome."

Lord Ambrose, with a thick and lumbering step, inclined his head and spoke in a voice as stout as his frame. “We thank you for your welcome, Your Grace, and pledge our loyalty to the one true king.”

Aegon waved a dismissive hand, barely seeming to heed the man’s words. “Yes, yes, the crown is grateful for your loyalty and your… soldiers,” he said, his tone absent, as though the promise of men-at-arms meant little to him in the face of his aunt.

Then Aegon turned his attention to you, his expression shifting to one of eager charm. He stepped closer and took your hand, lifting it to his lips. "My aunt," he said, his voice thick with pleasure, “it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.” He kissed your hand, his gaze lingering on you as he released it.

Your lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, your sharp eyes gleaming with a trace of amusement as though you found the entire display mildly amusing. “The honor is mine, my king,” you replied, your voice soft but rich, laced with an elegance and confidence that defied your role as the wife of a lesser lord.

Aemond, standing nearby, felt his pulse quicken at the sound of your voice. It was smooth, sultry, and held an unspoken promise, a warmth that washed over him and stirred something deep within. His gaze lingered on her, captivated, as if drawn to some unnameable force.

Otto cleared his throat, a subtle warning in his gaze as he stepped forward, sensing the direction of Aegon’s attentions. He inclined his head politely. “Lord Ambrose,” he greeted, then turned to the lady beside him, his tone softening. “Daughter.”

Aemond watched with surprise as she stepped away from Lord Ambrose without hesitation, her face alight with joy. “Father!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. She crossed the floor with graceful steps, her skirts sweeping behind her as she embraced her father.

Otto’s usually stoic expression softened, his arms enveloping her with an affection rare to see from the Hand of the King. “How I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

Aemond, along with Aegon and Helaena, exchanged startled glances, astonished by the depth of feeling Otto revealed.

She broke away, casting a radiant smile at Otto before her gaze shifted, and she found Alicent. Aemond watched as his mother’s expression flickered, caught between awkwardness and reluctance, her shoulders tense. But his aunt moved toward her with the same confident warmth. “Sister,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around Alicent in a sincere embrace.

Alicent seemed to steel herself, managing a strained smile as she endured the hug. When they pulled apart, her expression remained stiff as she forced a cordial tone. “Sister,” she said carefully, “you look… as though no time has passed at all.”

The amusement in your eyes deepened, a subtle spark of mischief that curled your lips into a nearly smug smile. “And yet,” you replied, voice gentle but pointed, “it seems that time has left its mark on you."

The words were soft, yet they carried an edge that struck the air between them. Alicent’s face faltered, her polite mask slipping for an instant. Aemond watched the exchange, captivated by the intricate web of tensions and histories unfolding before him. He had thought his mother impervious, yet here she was, visibly discomforted under the gaze of her younger sister.

“Well,” Aegon’s voice broke in, strangely lively, “this calls for a celebration.” He clapped his hands, grinning widely. “A family supper, to welcome Lord… and Lady Ambrose to King’s Landing.” He glanced between his aunt and mother with a glint in his eye, as if relishing the simmering tension.

Aemond glanced toward his aunt, your eyes alight with a confidence that drew him in, entangled with memories he could only guess at. You seemed utterly unperturbed by the uneasy reception, holding yourself with an assurance that only deepened the fascination you stirred within him.

The supper was, in truth, a strained affair. Lord Ambrose quickly drank himself into a state of merriment, his voice growing louder with each goblet of wine he downed. He boasted endlessly of Ambrosia, their ancestral castle in the Reach, extolling the grandeur of its halls, the strength of its walls, and the might of his armies.

It was painfully clear that neither Aegon nor Otto paid him much heed; Aegon’s eyes glazed over with feigned interest, while Otto offered only the occasional nod, his mind elsewhere.

Aegon, however, deftly steered the conversation back to you at every opportunity. “But tell us, Aunt,” he said with a sly smile, “what tales do you bring from the Reach? Surely there are more interesting things than castle stones and soldiers.”

Across the table, Aemond found his brother’s persistent attempts at flirtation grating, yet he could not fault Aegon for giving you the attention. Your voice, like a song in his ear, drew him in each time you spoke, its smooth cadence addictive.

You spoke easily, your words painting scenes of courtly life in the Reach, of feasts and tournaments, your radiant smile outshining your husband’s drunken ramblings. Every eye at the table seemed drawn to you, but none with the quiet intensity of Aemond’s single, focused gaze.

He was captivated by the way you commanded the room, with a poise that cast Lord Ambrose’s bluster into the shadows. And when you looked his way, even for a fleeting moment, he felt as though the world quieted around him.

“And what of you and my mother in your younger days?” Aegon asked, a mischievous, drunken grin on his lips, his words slurring slightly as he leaned forward in his chair.

Alicent shot him a pointed look, her expression tightening as she cleared her throat. “Aegon,” she murmured, her voice gently chastising, “perhaps my sister would appreciate a moment to enjoy her meal.”

But you merely laughed, dismissing her concern with a wave of your hand. “Oh, it’s quite all right, Alicent,” you said warmly. Turning to Aegon, your eyes sparkled with a hint of nostalgia. “You see, in our younger years, your mother could barely stand to be near me.”

Alicent’s discomfort grew visible as she shifted in her seat, her voice soft but strained. “That is not true, sister.”

“Oh, but it is,” you replied with a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Not that I hold it against you, Alicent. I was terribly fond of her then; I looked up to her as one might look to a mother. But every time I tried to spend time with her, she would run off with Princess Rhaenyra, laughing at my expense.”

“Those were mere childish games,” Alicent interjected, her voice taut as she worked to maintain her composure.

“Indeed, they were,” you agreed with an unbothered smile. “Children can be so prone to envy and jealousy. You see,” your tone lightened, yet held a playful undertone as your eyes drifted back to Aegon, “I was often called the ‘Diamond of Oldtown,’ and perhaps such adoration left its mark on dear Alicent.”

The words were spoken with an air of casual jest, yet there was no mistaking the edge beneath them. Aemond watched as Alicent’s mask slipped, her cheeks flushing as she struggled to keep her voice steady. It was clear you were savoring Alicent’s discomfort, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting your eyes as they traveled slowly down the length of the table.

And then, your gaze found him.

“And what of you, dear nephew?” you inquired, your voice as smooth as wine poured in darkened halls. “I’ve heard many tales of you in the Reach.”

Aemond felt his heart thud within his chest, a warmth rising unbidden to his face as he fought to maintain his poise. “Tales of what, Aunt?” he asked, his voice low, striving for calm.

A smile curved upon your lips, one that was as inviting as it was knowing. “A great warrior, fierce and unmatched across the Seven Kingdoms. The rider of Vhagar, queen of all dragons,” you murmured, your words laced with a hint of admiration.

“That’s all, my lady,” Aemond replied softly, his gaze never wavering from yours.

And in return, you tilted your head ever so slightly, an amused glint in your eyes as though you were looking beyond the surface, into the very marrow of him. It was a gaze both alluring and unsettling, one that sent a shiver down his spine.

Before you could speak again, however, your husband’s voice cut through the charged silence. His tone was slurred and irritated, clearly displeased by the lack of attention on him as he clumsily launched into yet another tale of his supposed valor. Aemond noted how you sighed softly, a look of resignation crossing your features as you turned your gaze away from him.

But then, as though unable to resist, your eyes drifted back to Aemond. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed and, with a barely concealed smirk, you winked.

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, his lone eye widening ever so slightly as he blinked, wondering if he had imagined it. He looked back, only to find you now watching your husband with a look of faint distaste, a grimace twisting your otherwise perfect features. It was a small, subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and Aemond felt a surge of something dark and possessive stirring within him.

In that moment, he realized that this supper was not simply an introduction; it was an invitation, a challenge, and a temptation all at once.

These thoughts lingered long after, spiraling in his mind with an intensity he couldn’t quiet. Later, as he passed through the halls, he overheard a quiet murmur from a maid: Lord and Lady Ambrose had chosen to sleep in separate chambers. Aemond’s pulse quickened.

The knowledge seemed a silent invitation, a doorway left just ajar. He recalled the way you had spoken to him, your voice holding layers meant only for him. The look in your eyes—hungry, as though you sought to devour his very soul—left him craving to be consumed by that gaze again. No, this was not his imagination. He was certain of it.

And it was this certainty that drove him through the darkened halls of the Red Keep, slipping past drowsy guards, cloaked in shadow, his steps muffled by the silence of the sleeping castle.

When he reached your door, he eased it open, careful to make no sound, and stepped inside with the stealth of a shadow. Yet he halted at once, caught off guard by the sight that greeted him.

There you sat, reclining on a velvet chaise, a goblet of deep red wine in hand, eyes cast down at a leather-bound book resting in your lap. The faint candlelight painted your skin in warm gold, and your attire—a red nightgown, translucent and clinging to every curve—left little hidden, casting a spell of allure around you.

Aemond’s throat tightened as he took in the sight, the image searing itself into his mind. But the quiet gulp betrayed him, and your gaze lifted, pinning him where he stood.

“Your Highness,” you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive warmth. “What a surprise.” The knowing smile on your lips told him this was no surprise at all.

Feeling the weight of your gaze, he steeled himself, adopting the guise of confidence. “I could not find sleep, my lady,” he replied, his voice steady. “And it would appear you are in the same predicament.”

You set down your goblet and closed the book in your lap, your every movement deliberate. Rising from your seat, you let the robe slide from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. “You know,” you murmured, teasingly, “it is most improper for a man to visit a married woman at such an hour.”

Aemond took a step closer, his gaze never leaving you. “But you are my aunt—my family.”

A small, knowing laugh escaped your lips as you slipped past him, your arm brushing his, a soft touch that sent a jolt through him. He closed his eye briefly, savoring the warmth, and when he opened it again, you had moved toward the bed, your smile one of invitation.

“The Targaryens are known for their peculiar customs when it comes to family.” You glanced back at him with an amused, daring gleam in your eye. “Tell me, what is it that you desire?”

He took another step forward, drawn like a moth to flame. “I think you know what I desire.”

“And if I were to say yes,” you purred, sitting upon the edge of the bed, “what would you do?”

He moved closer, his voice low with reverence. “I would do whatever you asked of me.”

Your lips curled, eyes glinting with a barely concealed command. “Then kneel for me,” you whispered.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but any hesitation vanished. He lowered himself to his knees before you, his head tilted upward, gaze reverent. “As you wish, my lady.”

You studied him, a look of satisfaction crossing your face as you gathered your skirts, parting your legs with a languid grace. Tilting your chin, you gave a single, soft nod. “Then go on, my sweet prince,” you murmured, your voice a quiet command, heavy with promise.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. His hands came to rest on your hips as he began to place soft kisses along your skin, working his way higher.

When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you, his eye hooded.

"Are you certain about this, Aunt?" Despite his words, his body language betrayed his eagerness - his breathing quickened and his fingers tightened their grip on your hips ever so slightly.

You let out a soft moan as he kissed your thighs, your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, "Yes I am certain, now continue before I change my mind."

With a low growl, he surged forward, burying his face between your thighs. He wasted no time in finding your sensitive bud with his tongue, flicking and circling it expertly.

One hand slid up to cup your breast through your thin nightgown, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his ministrations below. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, gauging your reactions to find what felt best.

The other hand gripped your hip more firmly, holding you in place as he devoured you like a starving man at a feast. Wet sounds filled the room as he worked tirelessly to bring you pleasure, lost in the taste and scent of your arousal. Your back arched as he licked your cunt, a loud moan escaped your lips, "Oh gods, yes."

Your fingers tightened in his hair, as you bucked your hips against his face, seeking more of his skilled touch, "Yes, feast on me."

Spurred on by your moans and the encouragement in your voice, Aemond redoubled his efforts. He sealed his lips around your bud and sucked hard, his tongue lashing over the sensitive nub in rapid circles.

Two fingers slid deep inside your slick heat, curling to stroke along your inner walls as they thrusted in and out. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your dripping core mingled with your increasingly desperate cries of pleasure.

Aemond could feel you tensing and shuddering beneath his touch, teetering on the brink of release. He doubled down, sucking harder and fucking you faster with his fingers, determined to push you over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, screaming out in ecstasy as your body shook violently, juices gushing out and soaking his face, "Oh fuck! Aemond!"

You clutched at his head, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your skin glistening with sweat, "Don't you dare stop until I tell you to!"

Feeling your body quake and spasm around his invading fingers, Aemond drank in every drop of your sweet release, lapping at your pulsing sex greedily. He prolonged your climax with relentless strokes of his tongue, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure.

Only when your spasms subsided does he finally pull back, his chin dripping with your essence. He gazed up at you with a triumphant, almost feral glint in his eye, his own arousal straining against the confines of his breeches, "Have I pleased you, Aunt?"

"Yes, yes you have," you said breathlessly.

Without a word, he rose to his feet and began to strip off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular physique honed by years of training. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed with blood, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

"You have such a pretty cock, nephew," you said, taking in the sight of him, as your hand reached out for his cock.

Aemond's breath hitched as your hand wrapped around his throbbing length, his hips instinctively bucking into the touch. He watched, transfixed, as your fingers traced the ridged veins and delicate skin, marveling at how small yet firm your hand looked compared to his engorged member.

"It's yours," he rasped, his voice strained with need. "Do whatever you want with it."

He stepped closer, pressing the heavy weight of his erection against your palm, the heat of his skin seeping into your touch. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours as he grinded against you.

You broke the kiss, panting heavily, as you pulled him onto the bed. Then you straddled him, rubbing your dripping cunt along his cock, coating it with your juices, "I've never ridden a dragon before. Tell me, do you want me to claim you?"

Aemond's single eye blazed with lust and something deeper, darker, as he gazed up at you poised above him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the muscles flexing beneath his pale skin.

"Yes, Aunt," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Claim me. Make me yours."

His hands came up to grasp your hips, guiding you to position yourself over his straining cock. His head nudged at your entrance, smearing your slickness across it.

"Do it," he urged, his gaze intense and unblinking. "Take me deep."

So slowly you sank down onto his cock, letting out a loud moan as you stretched around his girth. You took him inch by delicious inch until you were fully seated on him, "Fuck, your cock was made for my cunt."

Aemond threw his head back with a guttural groan as you sheathed him completely, your tight heat enveloping his throbbing length. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin as he reveled in the feeling of being utterly filled in you.

"So tight," he panted against your throat.

His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as he began to thrust up into you, meeting each downward plunge of your own hips. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your mingled moans of pleasure. And feeling a tinge of frustration, his hands met the top of your nightgown as he pulled hard, ripping it in half completely, making you gasp.

You rode him hard and fast, your breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with your high pitched moans, "Yes, yes, fuck me harder Aemond!"

Aemond leaned forward, sucking on your breast as if he was a babe desperately seeking milk. He suckled greedily at your breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he drew the sensitive flesh into his mouth. His hands roamed your curves possessively, one sliding down to grip your ass while the other tweaked and tugged at your neglected nipple.

He met your wild riding with equal fervor, pistoning his hips up to meet your downward thrusts. The force of his movements drove you upward, impaling you again and again on his thick cock. Your cries of ecstasy spurred him on, his own groans of pleasure growing louder and more desperate.

Suddenly, he flipped you over onto your back, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eye. He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you captive as he pounded into you with renewed vigor, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place as you grinded your hips upwards to match his frenzied pace. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, urging him on, "Fuck! Right there!"

Aemond let go of your wrists, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to ravage your cunt. He swallowed all your screams and moans, relishing in the taste and feel of you.

"Cum in me aemond! Fill me with your seed!" You screamed into his mouth as another orgasm ripped through you.

The sensation of your inner walls clenching and rippling around him sent Aemond careening over the edge. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful jets.

"Ahh, gods," he gasped, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax. He continued to pulse and twitch within you, ensuring every drop is deposited deep inside your welcoming heat.

As the aftershocks subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting press against your satiated form. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled to regain his composure.

"That was...incredible," he murmured, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. “You are truly remarkable.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours as you both sought to catch your breath. A delicate shiver coursed through you, remnants of your shared ecstasy still fluttering within.

“There, there,” you purred softly, running your fingers through his silken hair, enjoying the feel of his softness against your skin. Aemond lay on your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the intoxicating scent of you mingling with the fading heat of your shared intimacy.

Once Aemond had calmed his breathing, he lifted his head to meet your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a fervent exploration, igniting a spark that flickered between you. His hand traveled down your body, the warmth of his touch setting your skin alight.

When his hand paused on your stomach, he broke the kiss, a frown creasing his brow as curiosity flickered in his violet eye. It was well known that you had been wed to Lord Ambrose for fifteen years without bearing a child. Whispers of your barrenness had circulated through the halls of the Red Keep, and Aemond could not suppress the question that hung in the air between you.

"Is it true you are barren?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

You regarded him with a playful smirk, the corners of your lips lifting. “No,” you murmured softly, your fingers gently caressing his long silver hair.

There was amusement in your voice, and as you laughed lightly, the sound was like music in the dimly lit chamber. “Do you truly think I had ever wished to be filled with a child by that fat cunt?”

Aemond’s single violet eye widened in surprise at your boldness. You continued, your tone shifting to one of quiet confidence. “Each time I’ve lain with him, I’ve taken moon tea the morning after.”

You leaned closer, your hand reaching out to caress his cheek with a gentle, deliberate stroke. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, igniting a spark that sent a wave of absolute pleasure down Aemond's spine. “Yet I don’t think I’d mind bearing your child.”

The very thought of your bearing his child sent shivers of exhilaration coursing through him. The idea that at this very moment, his seed might have taken root within you filled him with a sense of possessiveness that was both intoxicating and primal. In that instant, it became clear: you were his, and he was yours, bound together by an unspoken promise.

Aemond’s mind raced with possibilities. He would need to find a way to rid you of Lord Ambrose, but that task seemed deceptively simple in the face of what awaited him. Once the obstacle was removed, he would claim you as his wife, securing a future that felt destined.

You were made for him, and in his heart, he knew you had been waiting all this time—patiently, silently—for him to come to you.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (please say yes)

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst.

word count: estimated 15k words. (currently 8k)

teaser wc: 748 words!

synopsis: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, but having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roomie friends had their club’s exchange program? that was your final straw.

warning: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

a/n: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is getting longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish writing. also, the given teaser is unedited, changes might be included in the fic <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl)

With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.

“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.

“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”

“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.

“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smirk present on his face.

You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.

“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.

With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.

You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.

“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.

“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.

“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”

“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”

You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.

Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.

“Can’t move?” He teased.

“I’m just tired, move.”

“Or, you’re just weak.”

“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.

“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.

“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.

“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.

Messing with you was one thing.

Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.

But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.

“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.

He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.

“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.

You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt.

“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.

“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.

Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[grugruel]

Can you do that for me?

Pairings: ruined!Jayce x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: Formerly partners, you've started a new business in Zaun after Jayce's disappearance. One day, after hearing whispers of Victor's apparent evolution, Jayce shows up unannounced.

Wordcount: 4.2 k

Warnings: Some canon stuff (beware spoilers), pinv sex, angst, fluff, fingering, slight handjob, choking, biting, creampie, doggy, missionary, cowgirl (a lot of positions), sub/dom/switch!Jayce, power struggle, fight for dominance, praise (f and m recieving), spanking, overstimulation, "I love you", difficult feelings, hot depraved Jayce.

AN: Not proofread, I intend to make a few changes to it later but wanted to get it out. Might be spelling mistakes. I tried to fit a bit of everything into this. ENJOY GIRLIES🎀

Having pulled the curtains aside, a vigilant man inspects the dark streets below. "He's almost here, ma'am," the man says, eyes following the subject. There's a slight stiffnes to his stance, as if he's readying himself for a fight. "What do you want us to do?"

"Let him in," she smiles at him faintly, attempting to reassure the large man before returning to her paperwork. "Dont give him trouble, there's nothing to fear."

The guard nods slowly and crosses the room to leave, he knows she's right. Yet, he stays in the doorway, shoulders slumped and arms crossed.

Warm light creeps in through the entryway, contrasting the faint light that Zauns streetlights provide for her otherwise gloomy office.

Noticing how the strong wash of light remains, she looks up at her guard to find another question lingering on his lips. "I've know you long enough to tell when something ails you." She leans back in her chair.

He catches her gaze reluctantly, facing away before he speaks. The man clears his throat, he knows he's crossing a line. "He's trouble, if you ask me. The boys and I-"

The woman pulls her glasses of and sighs, done with her work for the evening. "Im a big girl, I can handle myself."

The guard leans against the doorway and shrugs in reluctant recognition. "We're worried for you, ma'am-" but catching himself on his words, his hands gesture to remedy his meaning. "Respectfully, of course," he ads quickly, aversed to insult his employer.

The woman stands slowly, walking around her crammed desk to casually prop herself next to him. "I know," she reassures, placing a soft hand on his chest. "But I'll be fine, send him in."

The large man huffs. "We'll be outside then," he begins, but as the next words begin to form on his tongue, he decides against it, solely out of trust for his employer. If he could, he would've added 'when you need us'.

She doesnt doubt it, nor does she take offence. They're a tight knit family down here, she cares for them as much as they do her. But this would be an interaction no family member should hear. "That won't be necessary, keep to the foyer . . . Now go," she hurries him, careful to keep an understanding smile on her lips lest he changes his mind.

With a heavy breath and one last glance, the guard reluctantly closes the door and heavy footsteps recede.

She sighs, moving to brace her hands against the desktop and preparing herself for whats to come, for what she suspects.

She lights the lantern on her desk and waits. Only a moment later the same warm light creeps into the room. She twitches, unprepared for his arrival inspite of her efforts as the squeaking door slices through the eerily silent space.

In her peripheral, a fallen man stands. He's tired and dirty. Cut up and run down. There's a moment of contemplation between her and the newcomer, she does not move and neither does he. It's been a long time.

Squeak, thump, click . . . Pause. He's locked the door. A heavy thud between metal and wood sounds next, there's a faint sound of coarse skin sliding along fine metal before the familiar vibrations of hextech dies out.

All that exists between them now is heavy breathing in two parts, laboring against their own minds and bodies.

The floorboards begin to creek, irregularly, as if the weight placed upon them has not yet decided it's course of action. She grips the desktop harder, fingernails burrying into fine wood. She can only guess why he has come. "It's Viktor, isn't it?" She breathes, trying hard to keep her voice steady.

She gets no response, the only answer she recieves is the creeking of floorboards as the uncertain weight shifts back and forth. But that is all the answer she needs.

Having seamingly made up his mind, determined footsteps approach her in a sudden haste. Srong arms wrap around her body, pulling her toward a hard chest in a tight, tight embrace. His head collides with her shoulderblade as he burries his face in her scent. Muffled by her body, strained breaths blow welcome warmth onto her skin.

"What's happened?" She whispers, not entirely sure she wants the answer for she can smell him now. Metal and gunpowder. But it's not the type raw metal used for smithing or creating, it's not the metal she's used to. No, this is pungent, corporeal. It's blood. "Jayce, please . . . " She begins, 'talk to me' her lips shape, but no sound comes out. Unable to muster the strength.

"Cant- I cant . . . talk about it. Not now, not yet," he manages, voice rough as if he has fought and damp breath raising goosebumps on her neck. "I just . . . Needed you. I need you."

A strong hand slides higher, knuckles intently brushing the underside of her breast. "Can't think anymore."

And inspite of her better judgement. "Ok," she agrees, whispering, as if her consience wouldnt be able to hear. She's missed him, worried for him. So, her body betrays her.

Laying her hand on top of his, she guides him over the hill of her breast.

His breath hitches while his other hand move downward, tracing her ribs, down her waist, stopping on her thigh and squeezing tenderly. Soft flesh dimpling beneath the force of strong fingers. "I've been lost, " his voice breaks. "Missed you." His hands slide further down to slither under the slit in her dress.

"No feelings right now, Jayce . . . Please, just-"

Two fingers slip inside of her and she gasps. "No feelings," he assures, placing a gentle kiss on her neck.

"Good, good . . . " she moans.

While massaging her breast his thumb finds her clit and tongue her neck, gently nipping and sucking on the crook of her neck. Her body grows to weak to hold itself upright so she puts her weight on her arms. Noticing, he holds her tighter and pushes her weight against the desk. "Already?" He whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of her ear as his fingers steadily thrusts in and out of her. "You're making it too easy for me."

A breathless chuckle leaves her, crammed between heavy groans. "You work with your hands . . . Mmmh, unfair advantage."

He bites her earlobe, tugging, teasing. "So do you, if I remember correctly." A grin twists her lips as her hand reaches between them and palms his enlarged bulge. He hisses as she begins to stroke it, heat immedietly surfacing as the friction between fabric and skin grows. "Mhhg, that's what I thought," he groans. "Good girl."

He pushes a third finger inside off her, curling them at just the right angle.

"Fuck!" Her free hand curls into a fist, joints having nothing better to do than occupy themselves in anyway they can. He puts more focus on her clit, rubbing dutyful circles into and and finally pushes her over the edge. "Mhh, shit-"

His fingers slow down as she hits her high, gently leading her through it as he supports her weight. "Just breathe, that's right . . . "

Her breathing has become a mixture of moans and wheezes, the pleasure stimulating every nerve in her body. "Did you . . . ?" She asks, suddenly remember her hand on his clothed member.

"No," he whispers and kisses her temple. "Theres time." He tries to turn her around. But fear grips her. "No-" she stops him, gripping the edge of the desk to keep herself in place. Seeing the changes up close would make them real, would make whatever he has come from, real. "I can't look at you . . . not yet." She reaches over her shoulder to cup his jaw, and just like that, their bubble of reminiscence bursts. They arent colleagues anymore and havent been for a long time. Nor is their third party longer there to rationalise with them. A shrap jab strikes her heart. "Give me time, and just," her other hand reaches behind her, grabbing the fabric on his hip to pull him closer, pressing his erection against the curve of her ass. "Like this for now, Jayce. Please . . ."

His head lulls against her back, pushing his forehead firmly into her spine whilst releasing a big, shaky breath. She can feel him bare his teeth, silently working through the consequences of his actions.

He doesn't answer, he only obeys.

It goes silent for a short moment, until the warmth on her hips disappear and the metal clanging of a belt buckle sounds behind her.

Quickly, one hand returns to her thigh to pull her dress over her ass.

"Dont hold back," she says.

There's a pause in his movements. "Are you certain?"

She nods and he wastes no time. Pushing himself against her, his knees spread her legs efficiently, just liked they've practiced many times before. With mo further warning, he sinks into her. One hand crossing over her waist as the other grabs her shoulder, then sets a ruthless pace.

Somehow she knows he needs to get this out of him, the pent of fury and need. But she doesnt complain, he always knew what he was doing.

The sound of slapping fills her office, while the lewd squelching from her previous orgasm further spurs them on. He bends over her, changing his grip. Fingers snaking around her throat as his knee and free hand work together to fish one of her legs onto the desk, hitting her deeper, harder. His thrusts are no longer about speed, but of that one special little spot.

He puts pressure on her throat, almost painstakingly so. But it feels heavenly and she wouldn't have it any other way.

With each rut, his members perfectly fills her. His face is next to hers and he kisses had bites around her neck and ear, making sure she knows how good he makes her fell by grunting and moaning right into her ear. It makes that pulsing in her core worse, and he seems to notice.

"Yeah, you like that?" He groans, kissing her soft skin right behind the ear.

"Mmmhmm," she hums, voice vibrating with the bumping of their bodies. Doing her best to keep silent, afraid that one of her guards suddenly decides to check up on her.

"Let me hear you, use your words," he breathes, flexing the fingers around her throat and biting her shoulder.

"Fuck-" her knuckles and nails take turns in destroying her desk, scratching and denting the expensive wood grain. "I like making you, mmh . . . feel good." She manages, words stuttering between thrusts.

He gently pulls on her ear with his teeth. "Good," he whispers, then releases her throat and places his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her against the desktop.

Slap. His hands comes down on her ass, then gripping the plump flesh hard to lessen some of the stinging. A jolt of electricity shoots through her and her insides clench arouns him.

Jayce whimpers from the sudden, godlike pleasure. "Wanna hear you, honey, don't be shy." His hand comes down again, harder this time.

She squeezes around him, nerves on fire as she feels her second climax building up inside her. She moans as tears run down her face, happy pleasurable tears only Jayce has been able to produce.

"That's it . . ." He slaps her ass a third time, and the wall inside her core crumbles. With a whimper, she comes. "You did so good, lovely, im almost there," he assures her. Tears stream down her face as his thrusts grow irregular, but continues to pleasure her body. "Fuck," she cries, squirming from the drawl iut orgasm. One hand holds her steady at the hip while the other slides up her back, rubbing her tender body until he brushes away stray hair from her profile.

"Hold on a little longer, just breathe, baby," he comforts her, such a stark contrast to the rough thrusts he's been dealing her body. Her fingers are jittery from the overstimulation, they aached to touch him, pull his hair, anything. But she cannot reach, so she presses her palms against the table to keep them occupied.

As he sees her tear streaked face, one last blow lands on her ass and he too, comes. He collapses on top of her, they attempt to regain their strength as their sweaty bodies lie flush against eachother.

After a few moments of breathing heavily together, Jayce wraps an arm around her torso and splays his hand over her rips, pulling her with him as he straightens out.

Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and turns around. Hands finding his face, guiding her lips to his.

"Please look at me, my beautiful girl. Look at me," he pleads, murmuring the words against her lips.

She opens her eyes and his breath hitches. Yellow, brown irises meet her won. They're the exact same ones she knew not too long ago. Except . . . Haunted.

His fingers brush along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. She winces at the soft touch and his brows furrow in confusion.

Capturing her chin, he tilts her head back.

"It's fine, I'm fine," she whispers, assuring him as she sees his expression. Pure shock animates them.

"I don't-" his fingers trace the red marks running around her throat and tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes. "Im so sorry." He falls to his knees, hands resting against her chins as he hides his face between them. "I don't know-" he chokes and kisses her legs with remorse. He pecks her delicately, trailing his lips over her knees and up her thighs, hands following behind, tracing the outside of her legs until they reach her waist and encircle her. He hugs her tightly, knees sore against the hard wood. "Im not right," he breathes, head lulling into her lap. She can feel wetness coating her skin, running between her thighs.

She exhales heavily and slides down the desk until the hard wooden floor welcomes her thighs.

They stay like this for a good long while, she's in no rush and neither is he. Over and over again, her fingers comb through his overgrown and unpreened hair while the sensation of his seed drips out of her. Sharp nails gently scratch at the nape of his neck, they trace his bonestructure and play with its halls and valleys. The back of her fingers caress the length of his nose and sharpness of his cheekbone.

All the while Jayce lays wordless, occasionally squeezing her thighs, her hips. Occasionally trailing featherlight touches along her legs, watching with wonder how goosebumps rise and fall.

She chuckles beneath her breath. It's the same expression he used to get when making progress in the lap, just like when they first cracked the hextech runes. "Jayce," she says, attempting to grab his attention.

Crouching beneath her, he looks up from her lap, chin resting on the softness of her flesh. His face glistens and eyes plead. He looks at her with fatigue, wordlessly asking for her forgiveness.

"What happened?" She asks, her voice soft but words demanding. She's not getting dersuled this time, she needs answers.

He shakes his head, reluctantly drawing his lips into a thin line as he breaks away from her gaze.

Her eyebrows twist together. "What have you done?" She asks, anger laces her tone now. But he closes his eyes, the corners of his eyes gleaming again. The fingers burried in his hair curl into a fist and she pulls his head back, forcing him look at her. "What. Have. You. Done?"

His eyes shift between hers, uncertain, unwilling. "He's gone . . . " He begins. "I had to, I had to–the hexcore, it was poisoning him, spreading like a disease." His voice is coarse. "I had to stop him, there was no other choice."

Her eyes grow. Viktor . . . Gone? She could only assume when Jayce suddenly pays her a visit, but never dared believe.

"I never ment to leave you," he says, hand reaching out to grab her waist. "You have to believe me." He rouches the fabric at the waist, white knuckling it out of desperation for an ounce of u derstanding. "Hextech isnt what we thought it was, not anymore. Viktor couldnt see it, he was infecting the undercity, it would've spread to Piltover, the rest of the world if I didn't stop him."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "But he was saving them, freeing them of shimmer."

"No . . . they weren't themselves anymore. I've been away, lost. I've seen–" She waits for him to continue, but he doesn't. "The hexcore mutates them, changes them. I had to stop him. It, the core."

Her eyes drift the Jayce's hammer posted by the door. "Like your hammer?" She studies the now misshapen weapon, once crafted with obsessive precision. Her eyes drift lower along the neck and over its face, blood splatter.

She looks away, closing her eyes to recollect herself. Remembering to strongly the smell of blood Jayce had arrived with.

"Yes," he says. "Like I did." His hand reaches up to loosely cup her face. She notices how the crystal from his old bracelet has fused with his skin. Her fingers run along his arm and slides along the crystal, feeling it, inspecting it. "I didn't chose this," he murmurs. "I didn't chose to leave you . . . I love you." His hand falls back to his side.

She's taken aback. Its not something they've said before, not while still partners, not before all of, this . . . But despite herself, she believes him. They were colleagues for a long time and affection had always kept them together. He wouldn't hurt Viktor without reason.

With hooded eyes and parted lips, he studies her, waiting for her judgement.

"You had to," she nods, seamingly decided.

Relief and disappointment floods his face all at once. He'd expected an 'I love you' back.

She leans in, kissing him for the first time since he disappeared. Finally reunited. "We'll get through this, ok?" her voice is uncertain, what's happened has not been fully processed.

"Ok," he agrees and straightens his back, carefully placing small kisses along her abdomen as he does so, afraid he'll scare her away. "I've missed you so damn much." He levels his head with hers, meeting her gaze head on.

"I've missed you too," she responds. "But I need you now, Jayce. Can you do that for me?" She places a soft kiss on his lips.

"Certainly," he murmurs against them.

She stands, slinding his hand into hers and leads him to the bed. With his back to the bed, she places her hands on his chest and pushes him into sitting at the edge of the bed.

One leg over the other, she straddles him, standing on her knees so he has to look up at her. His she brushes the hair away from his eyes and lowers her lips to ghost over his. Their scared and quivering, needy to be on hers.

His hands slide up her sides and curves around her back, coming to rest in the arch above her ass. Gently, he massages circles into her skin, tickling her intentionaly.

She squirms beneath his touch, luring a satisfied grin from him. "You look good like this." Her fingers run through his beard, tracing his new scars. "Dangerous." Reaching down between them and into his pants, she pulls Jayce's member free and lowers herself just enough to tease his tip.

With a hiss, he locks his thumb over her hipbones and wanting to guide her onto him.

She shakes her head, a smirk playing in the corner of her lips. "My turn," she whispers and pull the straps of her dress down, letting it gather at her hips. Jayce's eyes immeidetly fall as his hands slide up her ribs with a specific destination in mind. "Dont touch," she warns. "Now look at me, Jayce." Her chest is inches from his face, but unallowed to look and unable to touch, his eyes appear like that of a wounded stag.

Her nimble fingers work on the buttons of his shirt and quickly slides it off of his shoulders. "Ive missed this," she purs, dragging a finger down his torso, her nail leaving a white scratched up mark behind it. "But this is new," she refers to the chest hair she's never seen before. "I like that, too." Her lips meet his jaw as she leaves kisses all the way down to his collarbone and shoulder. Her continues down his abdomen and below his v-line, then there's a sharp intake of breath as she stokes his member, circling the leaking pre-cum around his tip.

"Devil woman," he groans, but there's a twisted smile to his lips.

She returns it and takes a step back, letting the dress fall completely as if wanting to prove his point and oh, how she revels in the desperation on his face.

Her gaze fixes on his hands, clenching and unclencing in his lap, knuckles white from the strain. She bites her lip. "You look good like this," she repeats. "All, fallen apart . . . " She steps closer, placing herself between his legs. "Bloody and broken."

Never has he taken his eyes off of hers, and as she lowers herself onto his lap once more, she finds his member and lines him up. And finally, she sinks onto his thick inches. Still, he does not touch her. There is only a desperate whimper leaving his lips at the much needed pressure. Obedient, or respcetful? Either way, he deserves his praise. "Good boy. Now, touch me," she whispers and topple them over.

He twitches inside her at the words, but before she can react he's upon her. Fitting one breast into his mouth and the other in his hand, he licks and spits and squeezes. Sucking the entierty of her tender, plush flesh into his mouth.

"Ooh," she braces herself, strings of pleasure and heavy breaths return to them. "You liked that didn't you, pretty boy?" All she gets in response is humming between the lewd, obscene slurping.

Alright, then. Putting a hand on his chest for support, she begins to move, rocking back and forth just watching his expression of pleased torture.

Moving his hands to her hips, lips tear free from her breast for some much needed air, only to replace them upon her lips and kiss her with fervour.

She sits up, getting a better vantage and he follows not long thereafter. Unable to sit by and let her do the work. Leaning back on one hand and wrapping the other around her back, he helps her rut against him while he can't softly thrust up to meet her. "Fuck me- Jayce . . . " She gasps, hardly able to get enough air to moan.

He grins against her lips, sharing their breaths. "You liked that didn't you, pretty girl?" He mocks her.

She laughs breathlessly and digs her nails into his biceps. "Naughty," she murmurs and bites his lip, drawing blood. Again, she feels his member twitch amidst all the rocking between them. Their eyes meet and share a knowing glance. She cocks an eyebrow, he blushes. "That's what I thought," she smirks. It's her win, for now.

Unable to let it slide, Jayce takes the reigns. Flipping them over, he pins her beneath him without missing a single thrust. Amidst the confusion, he interlocks their fingers and pulls her arms above her head, stretching her out and limiting her movement.

She squirms against his restrains, testing the limits but he's rock solid. With her legs around his waist, he thrust perfectly into her and she cant help but roll her hips. She can feel the knot tightening in her core and she furrows her brows with displeasure. Missionary always did her in, he'll win. "Unfair," she moans, throwing her head back as waves of pleasure wash over her with every movement of his hips.

He moves one pair of their locked hands down so ha can stroke her throat with his thumb, placing soft kisses on the damage he caused.

His tenderness alone could cause her to crumble. "Put your back into it at least," she whines, realising she only had her pettiness left. Being beneath him, in his control feels way better than any win she could earn.

A breathless chuckle leaves him. "Yes, ma'am," he grunts, releases her and pulls out before he hooks her legs over his shoulders and thrusts back in. Hands finally free, she cups his face and pulls him in for a kiss concealing the cries bubbling up in her throat. For as it stands, he moves expertly and he's deeper–better than any man ever has been. "Fuck me-"

He smirks. "Tell me I'm good, again . . . " Shes uncertain if this is his ego talking or- "Please, please tell me im good," he whimpers, kissing her inbetween every word.

Without warning her third orgasm washes over her, back arching and nails digging into Jayce's cheeks. "You're so good to me," she sobs. "Such a good boy."

His thrusts falter and then he too, comes. Filling her with his seed, once again.

With shaking limbs he falls to her side, one arm draped over her chest. Both breathing heavily as they regain their senses.

"You win," ge admits and kisses her temple.

Yes she does. "I love you, too," she smiles, heart and teeth achingly sweet.

[pandapetals]

Crush

logan howlett x fem!shy reader - slight angst, misunderstandings, struggle expressing feelings, crushes, introvert reader, x-men cameos, logan being jealous, fluff at end

You have a crush on Logan but being shy and introverted makes it hard for you to tell him that.

read on Ao3

You had a painfully obvious crush, at least to yourself. You kept it locked away, buried under layers of awkwardness and forced indifference. There was no point in admitting it, no point in setting yourself up for the kind of rejection that would leave you reeling for weeks. That’s why they called it a crush—it hurt. And you’d rather avoid the sting altogether.

Logan, of all people, would never look at you that way. Why would he? The man was a living embodiment of rugged confidence, the kind of guy who attracted the attention of bold, sexy women without even trying. Women who exuded confidence, who knew how to flirt without stumbling over their words or turning beet red at the slightest hint of interest.

You were not that woman.

You were awkward, sometimes downright clumsy with your words, and whenever Logan was nearby, you either avoided him completely or turned into a jittery mess. The few times you’d actually spoken to him, you’d kept it short, clipped even—anything to hide the way your heart raced whenever he was within arm’s reach.

But today? Today, fate was not on your side.

"Hey," Logan’s low, gravelly voice cut through the air, pulling you out of your swirling thoughts.

You jumped, nearly dropping the stack of books in your arms as his voice startled you. A squeal escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you cursed under your breath, feeling heat flood your cheeks.

"Hi!" you blurted out, avoiding his gaze as if your life depended on it. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him, settling on the wall, the floor, even the damn ceiling—anywhere but on Logan’s piercing hazel eyes.

You stood there, clutching the books like they were some kind of shield between you and him, your heart hammering in your chest. Logan stood in front of you, his hands casually in his jacket pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. His brows furrowed slightly, probably trying to figure out why you were acting like a deer caught in headlights.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice gruff, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

You nodded quickly, a little too quickly, your palms suddenly sweaty. "Yep, fine," you muttered, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Just busy.” You gestured vaguely to the books in your arms as if that explained your entire existence.

Logan's gaze lingered on you, those damn intense eyes scanning your face, trying to read something in your expression. You swallowed hard, willing yourself to act normal, but normal wasn't exactly your strong suit when he was around.

"Right," he said, his tone skeptical but not unkind. "You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt."

You forced a laugh, though it came out more like a strained chuckle. "No, no bolting," you lied, though the urge to flee was strong. Your nerves were screaming at you to make up some excuse and leave before you made an even bigger fool of yourself.

Logan didn’t move, didn’t let you off the hook that easily. He stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching you with that calm, unshakable presence that made him impossible to ignore.

"So, I was thinkin’," he started, his voice a little softer now, almost hesitant—something you weren’t used to hearing from him. "You and me, we should... hang out sometime."

Your heart nearly stopped. Hang out? Logan wanted to hang out with you?

Your brain went into overdrive, trying to process the words, but instead of the cool, collected response you wished you could give, you blurted out, “Why?”

The word came out sharper than you intended, and you immediately winced, mentally kicking yourself. Of all the ways you could’ve responded, why was probably the worst? It sounded rude, and defensive, like you couldn’t believe he would even suggest it.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not?”

You blinked, feeling your face grow even hotter. “I-I don’t know, I just—” You stumbled over your words, trying to backtrack but only making it worse. “I mean, you don’t usually talk to me, and I figured you’d rather—uh—hang out with someone else, you know?”

The smirk on Logan’s face softened, his eyes narrowing slightly in the way they did when he was trying to figure someone out. "I’d rather hang out with you," he said, his voice low and steady, without a hint of hesitation.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking you. He was... serious and that realization only made you more nervous.

You shifted on your feet, clutching the books tighter. “I’m... not exactly the best company,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze again. “I’m awkward, and—well, I’m not really good at this kind of thing.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and almost warm. “Darlin’, you think I’m lookin’ for someone perfect to hang out with? I’m about as rough around the edges as they come.”

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at him from under your lashes. He was still watching you, but there was something softer in his expression now, something that made the knots in your stomach loosen just a little.

“I don’t know,” you murmured, feeling your voice wobble under the weight of everything unsaid. Uncertainty hung in the air between you and Logan, thick and suffocating, making your chest tighten with every awkward breath.

Logan stepped closer, his usual gruffness softened by the unspoken question in his eyes. His hand moved toward your face, almost instinctively, but he stopped short, his fingers lingering just inches from your cheek, as if he was afraid to touch you—afraid of crossing a line. His jaw clenched the hard edge of frustration in his expression barely masked by the vulnerability he wasn’t used to showing.

“Do you hate me or somethin’?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, so sudden and raw that they knocked the wind out of you. Hate him? Your throat tightened as you stared at him, the disbelief written all over your face. How could he think that? How could anyone hate Logan? The idea was so far from the truth that it left you speechless for a moment, caught between the shock of his question and the overwhelming desire to fix whatever misunderstanding had led him here.

“No—” You shook your head, the word falling out of your mouth clumsily, but it wasn’t enough to erase the hurt that flickered behind his eyes.

Logan’s face hardened, that familiar guarded look slipping back into place like armor, shielding him from whatever pain he thought you were hiding. He shifted his weight, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that felt more like a barrier than anything else. “Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered, his voice low, almost resigned. “You don’t talk to me. Hell, you barely look at me.”

You winced, feeling the truth in his words like a knife twisting in your gut. He wasn’t wrong. You had been avoiding him, dodging his gaze in hallways, keeping your conversations short, brushing him off whenever he tried to get close. But it wasn’t because you hated him—not even close. It was because every time he looked at you, your heart raced in a way that terrified you, a way that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.

The last thing you wanted was to fall for someone who could never want you the way you wanted him.

Logan took your silence as confirmation of his worst fears. His jaw clenched tighter, the hurt in his eyes hardening into something closer to anger, though not quite—more like frustration and resignation rolled into one. “Look, if I’ve done somethin’ to piss you off, just say it,” he said, his voice rough around the edges, but quieter now, like he was trying not to let the hurt show. “But this whole… act? This avoidin’ me all the damn time? I don’t get it. I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve this.”

His words cut deep, guilt gnawing at the edges of your heart. You could see it now—how your awkwardness, your fear, had been misread as rejection. How Logan, of all people, had been standing there, arms outstretched, only to be met with walls you didn’t even realize you were building.

You opened your mouth to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. You didn’t know how to explain the mess inside your head, the way you’d convinced yourself that keeping distance between you and him was safer, easier, than admitting how much he affected you. How much you wanted him, despite everything telling you it could never work.

Logan’s eyes flashed with frustration as the silence stretched between you. He ran a hand through his hair, his rough fingers tangling in the strands like he was trying to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. “You’re really not gonna say anything, huh?” His voice broke a little, rawer now, like the frustration had finally worn him down.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the weight of his words suffocating. The look on his face—the quiet hurt, the way his eyes flickered between anger and something far more vulnerable—was too much. It was too much to bear, too much to know that he’d spent all this time thinking you hated him when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but they carried more weight than you realized.

Logan stilled, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for something—some hint of truth, some explanation that made sense of all the confusion that had built between you. “Then what the hell is it?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t get it, darlin’. One minute you’re actin’ like I don’t exist, and the next you’re—” He stopped himself, his breath catching in his throat as he tried to find the right words. “I just don’t know what the hell I did wrong.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, at the way he seemed so sure he was the problem. The truth weighed heavy on your chest, but fear kept your mouth shut—fear that once you said it, once you admitted how you felt, there’d be no going back.

Logan wasn’t going to wait forever. He took a step back, pulling his hand away from where it had hovered near your face, his eyes flickering with something close to disappointment. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna beg.”

He turned as if to walk away, and panic surged through you, your chest tightening with the fear that you’d let him leave without explaining, without fixing what you’d broken. Your hand shot out instinctively, grabbing his arm before you even realized what you were doing.

“Wait—Logan, please.” Your voice cracked, your grip on his arm tightening. He stopped, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you with those sharp hazel eyes, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

He waited. His silence a heavy, painful thing as you struggled to find the right words. “I don’t hate you,” you repeated, more firmly this time, your heart pounding in your ears. “I… I just—” You swallowed hard, your chest aching with the weight of what you were about to admit. “I didn’t know how to be around you.”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he studied your face. “What d’you mean?”

You bit your lip, your mind racing for an escape, any way to pull yourself out of this vulnerable moment. You could feel the truth bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out, but fear clenched around your chest like a vice. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t tell him.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, your voice tight, forced. Your eyes flickered to the floor, your stomach twisting as you scrambled for something, anything, to steer the conversation away from the truth. A lie formed on your tongue, half-formed and desperate, and you latched onto it before you could stop yourself. “I’ve just been... distracted.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “By what?” His voice was quiet, but there was a sharpness to it, a need to understand that made your stomach churn. He was getting too close, too damn close.

Panic surged through you, and before you knew what you were saying, the words tumbled out. “It’s... someone else.” You cringed inwardly as the lie left your lips, feeling the weight of it settle between you like a barrier.

Logan’s expression shifted, confusion flickering across his face, and then something darker. He tightened his jaw as his eyes hardened. “Someone else?” he repeated, his voice low, carefully controlled.

You nodded, your heart sinking. You couldn’t stop now. The lie was out, and you had to commit to it. “Yeah, um... it’s just—I’ve been kinda... into someone from the team.” The words felt foreign, clumsy like they didn’t belong to you. You hated how easily they fell from your lips, how they felt like a betrayal of everything you actually wanted to say.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he studied you. “Who?” The word was clipped, sharp, like he was bracing himself for something he didn’t want to hear.

You froze. Who? You hadn’t thought that far ahead. Your mind raced, and in your panic, you blurted out the first name that came to you. “Scott.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Logan’s reaction was immediate—his jaw clenched so tight you thought you could hear his teeth grind. His eyes flickered with something hot and dangerous before he quickly masked it. He took a step back, his hands curling into fists at his sides, his posture rigid. “Scott, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing the guilt that rose in your throat like bile. “Yeah,” you mumbled, hating yourself more with every second that passed. “I mean... I know he’s kinda, you know with Jean but...you can see why I didn’t want anyone knowing—”

Logan let out a sharp breath, cutting you off. His eyes, usually so intense but warm, were cold now, narrowed and unreadable. “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” His voice was rough, edged with something that made your heart ache. “Because you’re into Scott?”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. You just nodded, the lie sitting heavy on your chest, suffocating you.

Logan’s laugh was humorless, more of a bitter scoff than anything else. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his movements tense, almost angry. “Well, should’ve seen it.” 

You stood there, the room suddenly feeling too big, too empty, the weight of your lie pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Logan had left without looking back, his words still ringing in your ears—“Should’ve seen it”—and you wished, more than anything, that you could take it all back. But the damage was done, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret.

You slumped into a chair, burying your face in your hands, replaying the moment repeatedly, wishing you’d had the courage to just tell him the truth.

Meanwhile, Logan was storming down the hallway, his mind a tangled mess of frustration, confusion, and something he couldn’t quite name. He wasn’t one for feelings—hell, he’d spent most of his life trying to bury them—but this? This hit him differently. The thought of you having a crush on Scott had thrown him, and for his life, he couldn’t figure out why. What the hell did you see in the guy?

His footsteps echoed through the mansion as he made a beeline for the training room, where he knew Scott would be. When he pushed through the door, the room was mostly empty, save for Scott, who was busy adjusting one of the control panels near the Danger Room entrance.

"Summers," Logan growled, his voice low and sharp as he approached.

Scott turned, eyebrows raised beneath his visor, clearly not expecting Logan to barge in like this. "Logan," he said, keeping his voice neutral. "What’s going on?"

Logan stalked closer, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Did you know she had a crush on you?" he demanded, his voice rough with barely contained frustration.

Scott blinked, clearly confused. "Know about what?"

"Her," Logan snapped. "She’s got a crush on you. You knew about that?"

Scott looked completely taken aback, his mouth slightly agape before quickly composing himself. "Wait, who are we talking about?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. "Are you talking about... her?"

Logan clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking beneath his stubble. "Yeah, her. She told me she’s been into you, and now I’m tryin’ to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on."

Scott’s confusion deepened, and he shook his head. "I had no idea," he admitted, sounding as baffled as Logan felt. "I thought she had a thing for Kurt."

Logan's scowl deepened. "Kurt?" he repeated, the name coming out like a low growl. "You’re sayin’ she’s into Nightcrawler?"

Scott shrugged. "That’s what I thought. I’ve seen them talk a few times, and she seemed... I don’t know, shy around him. Figured she liked him."

Logan’s frustration flared even higher, his temper fraying as the conversation spiraled further away from what he thought he knew. First, he’d thought you were into Scott, and now Scott was telling him you might have a crush on Kurt? None of it was making any sense, and the knot in Logan’s chest tightened.

"Thanks for nothin’, Summers," Logan grumbled, already turning on his heel and heading for the door.

Scott held up his hands, his visor catching the light. "Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just telling you what I saw."

Logan grunted in response, barely acknowledging Scott as he stormed out of the training room, his mind racing. If Scott didn’t know, and if you weren’t into him... then maybe Kurt had the answer. Logan’s jaw clenched at the thought, a surge of jealousy he hadn’t expected twisting in his gut. He needed to get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Logan found Kurt in the garden, perched on a stone bench, lost in thought. The air around him was peaceful, the soft sound of birds chirping and the rustling of leaves in the wind providing a calm backdrop to the scene. But Logan wasn’t here for calm.

"Kurt," Logan called, his voice cutting through the serenity like a blade.

Kurt looked up, his yellow eyes widening slightly as Logan approached, clearly sensing the tension rolling off him. "Logan," he greeted cautiously, his tail twitching nervously. "Is something wrong?"

Logan stopped a few feet away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You and her," he said bluntly. "There somethin’ goin’ on there?"

Kurt’s brows furrowed in confusion, his tail curling around the leg of the bench as he tilted his head. "Her?" he echoed, trying to follow Logan’s line of thought. "Who are you talking about?"

Logan huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. "The girl," he growled. "You’ve been talkin’ to her. Scott thinks she’s into you. Is that true?"

Kurt blinked, completely thrown off by the accusation. "Into me?" He shook his head quickly, standing up from the bench. "No, Logan, that’s not true. We’ve spoken, yes, but nothing like that. She’s... well, she seems reserved around everyone."

Logan’s jaw tightened. "So you’re tellin’ me you haven’t noticed her actin’ strange around you?"

Kurt smiled gently, trying to diffuse the situation. "Everyone acts strange around me at first, Logan. But no, I don’t believe she has feelings for me. I think you might be mistaken."

Logan let out a frustrated sigh, feeling no closer to an answer than when he’d started this ridiculous search. "Great," he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "First Scott, now you... I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on."

Kurt watched him for a moment, his expression softening with understanding. "Perhaps," he began carefully, "you’re looking for answers in the wrong place. If you want to know who she cares about... maybe you should ask Ororo."

“Why would I ask her?” Logan growled, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s she got to do with this?”

Kurt, ever patient, tilted his head and gave Logan a knowing smile. “Because she and Ororo are friends. I’ve seen them spend a lot of time together. If anyone knows what’s going on, it’s her.”

Logan grunted, rolling his shoulders, his tension palpable. He didn’t want to involve Ororo—didn’t want to turn this into more of a thing than it already was. But if Kurt was right, and Ororo knew something… well, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Thanks,” Logan muttered, already turning to leave.

Kurt nodded, watching Logan go, but his yellow eyes were filled with something more than amusement—something that hinted at the truth Logan was too stubborn to see for himself just yet.

Logan found Ororo in the greenhouse, tending to a row of plants that thrived under her careful touch. The humid air clung to him as he stepped inside, the smell of earth and rain filling the space. Ororo didn’t look up at first, her focus on the delicate leaves of a blooming flower, but she knew he was there. She always did.

“Logan,” she greeted calmly, her voice like the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. “What brings you here?”

Logan wasted no time, his frustration still simmering just below the surface. “I need to ask you somethin’,” he said, his tone gruff as usual.

Ororo finally looked up, her serene expression unwavering. “Go ahead.”

He hesitated for a second, feeling foolish now that he was standing in front of her. Ororo wasn’t the kind of person you grilled for answers, but he was desperate. “You and her,” he started, his eyes narrowing. “You two are close. Has she… said anythin’ to you about someone she’s into?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “Why do you ask?”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He hated this dance, hated feeling like he was walking into a trap he couldn’t see. “Kurt said you’d know. I’m tryin’ to figure out if what I heard is true, that she’s got feelings for Scott.” The name came out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Ororo tilted her head, her expression softening. “Logan, what exactly are you trying to figure out?”

Logan scowled, feeling the question cut too close to something he hadn’t fully confronted. “I just… need to know if she’s into someone. That’s all.” His words were clipped, defensive.

Ororo’s eyes sparkled with quiet understanding. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched him with that unnerving calm that made him feel like she could see right through him.

When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “Logan, if you’re so concerned about who she’s interested in, perhaps you should ask yourself why.”

Logan stiffened, his muscles coiled tight. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Ororo’s smile softened, but she didn’t back down. “You’re chasing answers about her feelings, but I think the real question is about yours.”

He blinked, thrown off by her words, but before he could snap back with his usual gruffness, something clicked—something that made his heart tighten in his chest. Jealousy.

Was that what this was? All this running around, demanding to know who you were interested in, snapping at the thought of you liking someone else… it wasn’t about figuring out the truth. It was about him. It was about the way his heart twisted at the thought of you being with anyone but him. The way he couldn’t shake the anger, the gnawing insecurity, because deep down, he wanted to be the one you were looking at, thinking about.

Ororo watched the realization settle over him, her gaze steady but compassionate. “You’ve been chasing the wrong answers, Logan,” she said softly. “If you want to know how she feels, ask her. But first, figure out how you feel.”

Logan stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, the weight of her words sinking in. He didn’t respond, didn’t know how to. Instead, he gave a curt nod, turning on his heel and stalking out of the greenhouse, his mind a mess of conflicting emotions.

The rest of the day, Logan couldn’t get Ororo’s words out of his head. Jealousy. He wasn’t the type to get jealous. He’d lived too long and seen too much to get caught up in feelings like that. But damn it, whenever he thought about you with someone else—Scott, Kurt, anyone—it made his blood boil in a way he couldn’t explain.

By the time night fell Logan had had enough. He needed answers. He needed to know the truth, not just about you, but about himself.

With a deep breath, he made his way to your room, his pulse thrumming with a mix of frustration, confusion, and something he wasn’t quite ready to name yet.

When he knocked on your door, he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps inside. A moment later, you opened the door, looking surprised to see him standing there. The expression on your face quickly turned to confusion when you saw the intensity in his eyes.

“Logan? What’s going on?”

He didn’t waste any time. “We need to talk.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on the doorknob. “About what?”

Logan stepped closer, his voice low and rough. “About you. Who the hell you’re really into?”

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face. “W-what are you talking about? I already told you—”

Logan cut you off with a growl, his frustration boiling over. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve been runnin’ around all day trying to figure this out—askin’ Scott, Kurt, even Ororo. And you know what? None of them know a damn thing. So I’m done with the guessin’. You’re gonna tell me the truth. Right now.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure Logan could hear it. The weight of his words, the raw frustration in his voice, wrapped around your chest like a vise. This was it—the moment you’d been running from, the one that made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and terrified.

You couldn’t run now. 

You swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Logan... I don’t like Scott. Or Kurt. That was just—I panicked,” you confessed, the lie sitting heavy between you both, a truth finally dragging itself into the light. 

Logan’s eyes, usually so unreadable and guarded, were stormy with confusion and something sharper, something closer to hurt. He stared at you for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’d just said. “Why did you lie?” His voice was rough, almost accusing. “If you hate me, then just admit it.”

The way he said it—the bitterness in his tone—cut through you like a knife. Hate him? The idea was ridiculous, absurd, and yet it was clear Logan had convinced himself of it as if you avoiding him, your awkwardness, could only be explained by disgust.

“I don’t hate you!” you blurted, more forcefully than you intended. Your voice cracked with the weight of your own emotions, and you immediately took a step back, trying to gather yourself, but Logan wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Then why does your heart race every time you see me?” Logan pressed, his voice low but intense. He took a step toward you, the space between you growing smaller, the air thick with tension. “I must scare you, right? You must be terrified of me because you hate me.”

The words hit like a wave, your breath catching as his eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration, vulnerability, and anger swirling in his gaze. He was waiting for you to confirm it, to say what he thought was the truth—that you couldn’t stand to be around him.

Your throat tightened, your pulse hammering in your ears as you struggled to find the right words. How could you explain what you felt when even you didn’t fully understand it? The confusion, the fear of rejection, the way being near him made you feel so exposed like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. 

“You don’t scare me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Logan, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His voice was still rough, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath—like he was holding on to the hope that maybe there was more to this than he thought.

“I don’t hate you,” you said again, your voice steadier this time, though your chest still felt tight. “I just... I didn’t know how to act around you. Because every time I see you, every time you’re near me, I—”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Logan didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, waiting, watching, almost daring you to finish.

“I feel something,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares me.”

Logan’s expression shifted, the anger fading as something else settled in—something that made your stomach twist in anticipation. His jaw clenched, his fists relaxing at his sides, and for a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you, like he was seeing you for the first time.

“What’re you sayin’?” he asked quietly, almost hesitant like he didn’t trust himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.

Your breath hitched as his question hung between you, the truth teetering on the edge of your tongue. You had been running from this moment for so long, hiding behind your awkwardness and your fear. But now? Now you had to say it.

“I’m saying...” you began, your heart pounding as the words finally came, “that I could never hate you because I don’t know how to handle…you.”

Logan’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away as the truth hit him. He took another step closer, his presence almost overwhelming, but not in the way you feared. It was grounding, steady, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like running.

“I make your heart race because... you like me?” he asked, his voice low, the disbelief in it unmistakable.

You nodded, your chest tight with anticipation, your eyes locked on his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I do.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again, softer, more open than you’d ever seen it.

“All this time,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of something raw, something you weren’t used to seeing in him. “You’ve been drivin’ me crazy, and I thought—” He stopped himself, his lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

You felt a wave of relief crash over you, the weight of your unspoken feelings finally lifting. “I couldn’t stand being around you,” you admitted with a nervous laugh, “because every time I was, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, like a quiet rumble from deep in his chest. He took another step closer, his hand reaching up, this time closing the distance and gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was warm, his fingers rough but careful as they lingered there.

“Well, now I know why you kept avoiding me,” he muttered, his smirk softening into something more tender. “Guess I should’ve figured it out sooner.”

You smiled, feeling your heart flutter in your chest as you looked up at him, the tension between you shifting into something deeper, something that felt like it had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to come to light.

“So... what now?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with something unreadable, but his smile stayed, slow and easy. “Now?” he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Now…I would really like to kiss you.”

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours for a heartbeat, waiting, giving you the chance to pull away—but you didn’t. Instead, you leaned in, your heart racing as his lips finally pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment he thought he’d never have.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, but it didn’t take long for the heat between you to build, the months of longing and tension finally breaking through. When you pulled away, your breath shaky, Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he muttered, his voice low, teasing but soft.

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “Yeah, well... better late than never, right?”

Logan smirked, his fingers brushing through your hair. “Right.”

[aquaticmercy]

Breaking Point

Summary : You and Bucky had always hated each other. When Bucky gets injured during a mission, you start wondering if the hatred was just masking something else.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Enemies to Lovers and Confessions! Fluff. Hurt/comfort. Past trauma. Cursing. Violence. Injury. A bit of Jealous!Bucky.

Requested by : @beansprout713

Word count : 4.8k

Note : Enemies to Lovers will always be so good to write about. Thank you for requesting this! Enjoy!

Requests are open!

You adjusted your coat, clutching your purse as you strolled back toward the Avengers compound after your date. Your head hung low from the frankly underwhelming night you shared with Ryan, a guy you’d met through a mutual friend. 

Ryan was a librarian. He was perfectly fine, perfectly handsome, perfectly polite. But you weren’t looking for perfect. You sighed. 

He talked about his job, about how a group of school kids making noise had been annoying him. When he asked about yours, you shifted in your seat with unease. You can’t really tell the whole truth. What would that even sound like?

Oh, I went on a mission last week and shot a guy. Don't worry, he was a bad guy.

You would’ve sounded ridiculous.

In the end, Ryan was just another normal person. He couldn’t keep up with you, with your life, being an avenger. With this line of work, you wondered if you’d ever find love. 

You were halfway up the steps to the entrance when you saw him.

Bucky Barnes stood by the doors, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes locked on you as soon as you came into his view. The outdoor light cast long shadows across his face, strengthening the sharpness of his features.

Bucky watched you walked up the steps. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the aching swirl inside him. It was easier to push you away, to let the sharp edges of his words do the damage before you could get any closer, even if he could not deny how beautiful you were underneath the dark glow of the night sky. His gut twisted, knowing you put in all this effort for some half-decent guy who could never give you enough, not that you needed to put any effort at all. He shook his thoughts away, eyes narrowing. 

Great, you thought. The last thing you needed tonight was to deal with his brooding attitude. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever sharp remark he was about to throw your way.

Bucky stepped closer, his chest only inches from yours now, and the proximity sent a jolt of heat through you. His gaze flickered down to your lips for the briefest second before he met your eyes again.

"Out late, aren’t we?" His voice was low.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him as you opened the door to the compound. "It's called having a life, Barnes. You should try it sometime."

He followed you inside, his boots heavy against the floor. "A life, huh?" He scoffed, his tone harsher than usual. “That’s what you call having dinner with some guy who won’t last longer than a week?" His voice was low, almost a growl, but there was something else behind it—something you couldn't quite identify. His eyes didn’t leave yours, and the air between you crackled with a tension you had always felt with him. 

You swallowed hard. "Why do you care who I spend my nights with?" you replied, your voice shakier than you intended. 

His jaw clenched. "Maybe I care because none of those guys know what you really need." His voice was gravelly, and the implication in his words made your stomach flip. For a second, you couldn’t breathe.

You quickly brushed his words. "And you think you do?" you shot back, but your voice faltered. 

Bucky left the question open, not knowing how to respond. Instead, he did what he always does best. He deflected. "You can’t keep a boyfriend because you’re too brash. Too loud."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, the pain twisting in your chest as his words echoed in your mind. He always had a way of cutting deep, but this was different. Calling out your coping mechanisms seemed too low, even for Bucky.

"Wow." Your voice wavered slightly, but you quickly steadied it, refusing to let him see just how much he affected you. "You really know how to hit where it hurts, don’t you?"

Bucky didn’t respond. For a second, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—regret, maybe. But he didn’t apologise. Instead, he turned away, his metal arm flexing at his side.

"Just go to bed," he muttered, almost condescending except for the hint of softness in his voice. "I need you well rested for the mission tomorrow."

As much as you and Bucky outwardly despised each other, the two of you were surprisingly effective partners in the field. Again and again, you found yourselves paired together. You never complained, though. There was an undeniable intimacy in your partnership that you craved, even if Bucky hated your guts.

"Is this really about the mission?” Your anger bubbled to the surface. 

His hand shot out suddenly, gripping your wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop you from moving too far past him. His metal fingers were cool against your skin, his blue eyes alight with frustration. "It’s about you not taking things seriously.” He said, almost sneering. “Instead of preparing your gear, you're off with some random guy. Do you even care?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall. Not in front of him. 

"I care more than you think, Bucky," you said quietly, pulling your arm away from his grip.  "But you don’t get to talk to me like that. You don’t know why I am the way I am."

Bucky’s expression softened slightly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then quickly snapped it shut, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. The truth was, he’d been watching you for months. Not just on missions, but in moments like these, when you thought you were alone. You wore your confidence like armour, but sometimes, when you let it slip, he caught glimpses of something deeper. Something that made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way he did, whatever that feeling was. Whatever the racing heart in his chest meant. Whatever the butterflies in his stomach meant. 

But he couldn’t let himself go there. 

The silence between you was unbearable, and finally, you turned away.

"Let’s just get through tomorrow without killing each other, okay?" you muttered. Without waiting for his response, you walked away, leaving him standing alone..

Why did he always do this? 

He didn’t know half of what you carried. Didn’t know what it was like to lose—to build your walls higher every time someone left, because that was the only way to survive.

Or maybe he knew too much of what it was like.

You spent your life keeping people at arm's length. Dates were fine. Fun. Superficial. They didn't ask for more than you were willing to give. You could smile, laugh, let your guard down just enough to feel normal, but never enough to let anyone in. 

Bucky—he was too close. He saw too much. He could cut through the walls with one sentence, and it scared you.

As you made your way back to your bedroom, part of you wondered—what would happen if you let him in?

What a stupid thought. 

—

The next morning, the air between you and Bucky was still cold, your argument from the night before hanging in the air like a hurricane. You were briefed on the mission, but you barely paid attention. Your mind was still reeling from the sting of Bucky’s words. And you hated that he had the power to make you feel this way.

In the quinjet, silence filled the space between you, making the air feel too thick and heavy to breathe. Bucky sat across from you, his gaze fixed on the floor, his hands resting on his knees. You stole a glance at him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched tight, and for a second, something flickered in his eyes as he glanced at you. Regret, maybe?

“Look," you muttered, breaking the silence. "About last night—"

“Don’t," he cut in, his voice low but firm. "Let’s focus on the mission."

You swallowed, biting back whatever words had been forming. He didn’t want to talk about it. Fine.

The knot in your chest tightened. You wanted to tell him—wanted to say something to bridge the gap between you, but the walls were still there, and neither of you was ready to break them down.

—

The mission was supposed to be simple. You and Bucky had done this a hundred times—get in, gather intel, get out. He was the shadow, slipping in unnoticed, while you were the distraction, loud and violent, drawing the guards’ fire away. 

You took point, leading the guards away with your usual brashness. Something that Bucky criticized you for.

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, tracking your every movement. Most of the time, his gaze felt like scrutiny, like he was waiting for you to mess up. But today there was something else. Protectiveness, perhaps?

As you manoeuvred through the base, you split up. You were supposed to patrol the halls, distract any guards, draw fire from Bucky to you. Bucky was supposed to secure the intel. You stopped in the centre, where you were supposed to wait for communications right about now. 

Where is he? you thought, scanning for Bucky, but he was nowhere to be seen. He was supposed to signal once he’d reached the server room. But the silence on the comms was making you nervous.

Your instincts kicked in, as you heard more guards coming from your left. 

You cursed, ready for confrontation.

You felt exposed, vulnerable. Normally, you could feel his presence. But now, something was different. The usual synchrony between you two felt… off.

Suddenly, the footsteps halted as gunfire erupted in the distance, shattering the uneasy quiet. Your heart raced. That wasn’t part of the plan. Bucky wasn’t supposed to engage until he had the data. The sound of gunshots rang in your ears, echoing in the corridors of the enemy base.

“Barnes, what the hell’s going on?” you hissed into the comms, trying to keep your voice steady. No response.

Your breath hitched. Something was wrong. Your steps quickened, your pulse pounding in your ears. The sound of shouting and footsteps grew closer. Where the hell is he?

You ran towards where Bucky was supposed to be. Rounding a corner, suddenly a gunshot rang out—close. Too close.

A sharp pain seared across your side as you dove for cover behind a stack of crates. You cursed under your breath, pressing your hand to the wound. Blood oozed through your fingers. The bullet had grazed you, which was survivable, but the sting was enough to remind you just how dangerous this was becoming. 

You shot your attacker with your last bullet, bullseye on the center of their forehead. The body went stiff, still on the ground. Brutal. Clean. Necessary.

“Where are you, Barnes?” you muttered, your breath coming in ragged bursts, but you were only met with static from the other line. You were supposed to be the distraction, but without his backup, you felt vulnerable in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

Damn it, this isn’t working. You threw away the comms and crushed it beneath your heel.

You heard the commotion getting closer and closer, and then suddenly the gunfire stopped. Maybe Bucky had been able to disarm the enemy and was making a run for it. 

You glanced over the edge of a crate. Your eyes widened, spotting the sniper hidden on the corner, by an air vent, aiming on your head. Your heart pounded, knowing you don’t have the energy to dodge another shot. 

You took a deep breath, readying for impact.

Then, there was a flash of movement—Bucky!

He appeared out of nowhere, barreling toward you just as the sniper lined up his next shot.

“Move!” he shouted, his voice brimming with panic. 

Before you could react, his body slammed into yours, tackling you to the ground. The breath was knocked from your lungs as you hit the ground hard, his weight pinning you down. 

Bucky’s chest pressed against your back, his breath heavy in your ear as he shielded you from the line of fire. His metal arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and despite the chaos, you couldn’t ignore the heat of his body, the way it made your skin tingle. But the relief was short-lived.

The next sound you heard was a grunt of pain.

You twisted beneath him just in time to see Bucky stumble, his hand clutching his side. Blood. Too much blood. It soaked through his tactical suit, spreading rapidly as he slumped back, his face pale with pain.

“No!” The word tore from your throat as you scrambled to your feet, gently laying him on the ground before he could fall. You grabbed his arm, trying to keep him upright, but he was heavy, his body sagging against yours.

“I’m fine,” he grunted, his voice strained, but the way he leaned on you told a different story.

You felt the adrenaline surge through your body, giving you the last boost of energy you needed. You grabbed Bucky’s rifle, blindly shooting at the direction of the sniper. 

You weren’t shooting clean shots anymore. You didn’t care. You didn’t stop until you saw the body fall on the floor. 

You scrambled back to Bucky. 

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and fear as you pressed your hand to the wound in his side, trying to stop the bleeding. “Why didn’t you stay in position? You weren’t supposed to—”

“To what?” he rasped, wincing as he tried to move. “Let you die?”

“I had it under control!” you shot back, hough you knew it was a lie. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, but the closeness only fueled your anger. “If you had just stayed where you were—”

“You were in the open. I had to—” Bucky interrupted, his voice sharper than before, his eyes dark with frustration. His hands tapped his pocket, making sure he had the intel you came here for.

“I was doing my job, Bucky!” you shouted, your grip tightening on his arm. The fear bubbling up in your chest was quickly being overtaken by anger, the unresolved tension from last night’s fight bleeding into the moment. “But you—damn it, why do you always have to make everything harder than it is?!”

His eyes met yours, blazing with frustration. “I’m the one keeping you alive!” he growled, stepping closer despite the pain radiating from his wound. “You never listen—”

“You don’t trust me!” you accused him, your voice shaking when you noticed the bleeding wasn’t slowing. Did it hit an artery? “and now you’re hurt because you had to play the hero!”

His jaw clenched, his hand gripping your arm tightly as he struggled to stay upright. “I don’t—” He stopped, his voice catching as the weight of your words sank in. His eyes flickered with something that made your heart twist. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The confession was so quiet, so raw, that it hit you harder than any bullet could have. 

Your anger faltered, the heat of the moment cooling as you stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. “Bucky…” you started, but the words died on your lips.

Soon, you heard hostile footsteps growing louder in the distance. You didn’t have time for this. Not now.

You tore your gaze from his, focusing on the immediate task at hand—getting him out of here. 

You supported Bucky as best you could, half-dragging him through the enemy base toward the extraction point. His body was heavy against yours, his breaths shallow, but he still had enough strength to keep his arm around you, guiding you through the chaos.

“Stay with me, Barnes,” you muttered, your voice tight with worry as you half-ran, half-stumbled through the corridors.

Bucky groaned in response, his grip on you tightening, his weight sagging against your side. “Are you even… strong enough to carry me?” he gritted out, his voice laced with pain. There was a flicker of his usual sarcasm there, a sign he was still fighting.

You shot him a glare, even as panic clawed at your chest. There was a hint of charm in his voice this time, and you couldn’t help but smile a little. “Don’t make me regret saving your ass.”

His weight pressed heavily on your shoulders, and his blood soaked into your gear, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Every time his breathing hitched, you pushed yourself harder, refusing to let the fear of losing him take over.

—

By the time you got him back to the quinjet, Bucky was barely conscious. You worked frantically to stabilise him, your hands shaking as you hooked him up to an IV and bandaged the wound as best as you could with the limited supplies on hand.

When you finally returned to the Avengers compound, they wheeled him away to the med bay, and despite the doctors’ reassurances that he’d pull through, you refused to leave his side. 

For the rest of the night, you stayed by his bedside. 

Sam dropped by a couple of times, bringing you water and food you couldn’t bring yourself to touch. On his third visit, he lingered, watching you with a knowing expression. Bucky was still unconscious, the steady rhythm of the EKG was the only sound in the room as you stared at him. Your hands clutched the arms of your chair as if holding onto something solid would stop your thoughts from spiraling.

“You’ve been here a while,” Sam said softly, not wanting to disturb the stillness in the room. “You should eat something.”

He pointed at the bottle and sandwich he had brought a couple of hours ago. You nodded faintly, but your eyes didn’t leave Bucky. “I’m not hungry.”

Sam sat in the chair next to you, his gaze flicking between you and Bucky. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"So..." he started, drawing out the word like he was testing the waters, "you finally decide to stop dancing around each other or what?"

You shot him a glare, but it lacked the amusement you usually reserved for his teasing. "Sam, not now."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Sam replied, holding his hands up in defence. "It's been months of this weird tension, and now you're sitting here like you're at the end of some romantic drama. It's about time you said something."

“Can we not do this now?" You repeated, snapping this time, though you did not mean to. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Sam reassured you quietly, now aware of your agitation, “You don’t need to sit here all night worrying.”

“I’m not…” you trailed off, realising how defensive you were being. With a sigh, you slumped back on your chair. “I… I should’ve seen the sniper sooner.”

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You know Bucky. He wasn’t about to let you take that hit, no matter what.”

You glanced at Bucky, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lowered your voice, scared that he would somehow hear you. “I don’t understand why he’s always like this. One minute he’s insulting me, and the next, he’s throwing himself in front of bullets for me.”

Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You matter more to him than you think.”

You scoffed quietly, not quite believing him. “He sure has a funny way of showing it.”

“Listen,” Sam said, his tone soft but firm. “Bucky… he’s complicated. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. But the fact that you’re sitting here, all torn up over him? Makes me think his feelings aren’t one-sided.”

You looked over at Sam with visceral scepticism in your eyes. 

Sam leaned forward again, his expression serious now. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. Hell, he gets jealous of the guys you go out with.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Sam’s words sink in. The argument with Bucky from the previous night echoed in your mind—his harsh words, the way he’d cut into you so deeply, as if trying to push you away. Was that really how his jealousy manifested? 

Then there was today, how he’d risked his life without hesitation to save you.

“He nearly died today,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “Because of me.”

“He didn’t do it because he had to.” Sam shook his head. “He did it because it was you.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Sam’s words settling in your chest. You had always felt the tension between you and Bucky, the unspoken something that simmered beneath the surface, but you had never let yourself fully confront it. Maybe because it was too scary to admit. Maybe because you feared that caring about someone like Bucky Barnes carried more risk than you were willing to take.

You blinked back the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t know what to do...” with all this information you had just dumped on me. 

Sam smiled faintly, standing up and resting a hand on your shoulder. “Just be here when he wakes up.”

You watched as Sam walked out, leaving you alone with Bucky again. You let your eyes fall back to his sleeping form, his face still pale but peaceful. You reached out, hesitating for just a moment, before gently brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead.

—

Hours had passed before Bucky finally stirred. The room was heavy with the weight of everything that had happened, thick with the scent of blood and sweat. You sat beside him, your body drained, shoulders hunched over. Your mind stayed alert—unable to tear your focus from him for even a second. 

“Bucky?” Your voice was hoarse, cracking under the pressure of everything you had witnessed, everything you had felt. 

His eyelids fluttered as if fighting to lift a weight the weight of the world. For a long, quiet moment, he just stared at you, eyes cloudy and disoriented. “You’re still here,” he mumbled, his voice fragile.

“Of course, I’m still here,” you shot back, the sharpness in your tone betraying the tenderness that hid behind it. Your emotions simmered beneath the surface, threatening to overflow. His muscles tensed as he attempted to sit up, but a grimace of pain shot across his face, stopping him short. “You should’ve let me handle it,” he muttered through clenched teeth, frustration leaking into his voice. Not because he had been shot, but because it broke his heart seeing you here. You looked so weak and sleep deprived. You looked so tired, your wounds untended.

The anger that had been quietly burning inside you flared. You rose to your feet, the chair scraping the floor in the silence. Your conversation with Sam swam in the back of your mind, but old habits die hard. “Handle what, Bucky? Getting shot?” 

His gaze snapped to yours, the weariness in his eyes replaced with a flash of cold steel. “Why does it matter to you if I live or die?” His voice cut through the room, louder now, tinged with a bitterness. 

The question hit you like a blow, freezing you in place. Your heart pounded violently against your ribs, the truth clawing at your throat. Every wall you’d carefully constructed around yourself, every defence you had in place, crumbled in an instant. Before you could stop yourself, the words you had fought so hard to keep buried tore free.

“Because I fucking care about you!” you shouted, your voice breaking. “I care about you so much that I have to pretend I don’t just to keep myself sane! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The air between you felt electric. Bucky’s eyes widened, the force of your confession hanging in the space between you, churning like a wave ready to break. He didn’t move, didn’t speak at first, just stared at you as if seeing something he couldn’t comprehend.

Then, after a beat that seemed to stretch into eternity, his voice came, a low, gravelly whisper that was almost lost in the silence. “You think I don’t feel the same?” His words trembled with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before.

Your breath caught, and your body stilled. Maybe Sam was right, the realisation dawned on you.

His voice was cracking under the strain of emotions he’d long suppressed, grunting as he sat up. “I push you away because it’s easier than admitting how much I—” His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists as he struggled to say what he’d buried for so long. “If I let myself feel it... if I let myself get close to you... I’ll lose you. And I can’t—” His voice faltered, breaking. “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart wrenched at his words, at the fear so raw in his voice. Slowly, you took a step toward him, your legs trembling beneath you. The distance between the two of you had never felt so vast, even though it was only a few feet. “Bucky…” The anger, the frustration—it had drained away. Your voice was softer now than it has ever been with him, gentle. You sat on the edge of the bed, facing him.

He looked up at you, and in his eyes, you saw everything you had ever felt mirrored back at you—the fear, the longing, the unspoken love that had always been there but never acknowledged. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as you finally let the walls fall completely. 

“It’s easier than admitting how much I—” Bucky tried again, but couldn’t finish. The words weren’t enough. 

You closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, your hands reaching for him, pulling him into you, and your lips crashed against his with a force that felt like it could shatter the walls around you. 

The kiss was desperate, letting go of everything you had kept at bay for so long. It was raw, unfiltered. It was an outpouring of all the feelings you had tried so hard to ignore. There was nothing but you and him, the world outside of this fading away into nothingness.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, chests rising and falling in sync, your foreheads pressed together as if you were trying to ground yourselves. The gravity of what had been revealed was too much for you to process.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

"What is this?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What are we?”

Bucky's breath was shaky, his forehead still resting against yours as he struggled to find the right words. His hands hovered at your waist, as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you tighter or let you go. The vulnerability in his eyes, raw and unguarded, mirrored yours.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice rough and hoarse, barely audible. “But I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t mean something.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching your face as if trying to decipher your feelings, afraid of what he might find there. “You… you matter to me. More than anything or anyone.”

The honesty in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing in your ribcage. You didn’t know how to respond—your thoughts in a tangled mess. 

“Bucky…” You started, unsure of where to begin, but the words just didn’t come. You reached up, cupping his face gently with your hand, brushing your thumb across the stubble on his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a shaky exhale escaping his lips.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if admitting it out loud made it more real. “I’ve lost so much. I’m scared—” He broke off.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, the words firm, even though fear still lingered in the back of your mind. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as the weight of your words settled. Bucky stared at you, pressing his forehead against yours once more, the tension in his body easing ever so slightly.

“Together,” he repeated softly.

The room was quiet again, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound that broke the silence. You sat there, holding each other in the stillness.

And maybe, someday soon, you’d have the courage to say what you both had wanted to say:

I love you.

-end

[ruewrote]

𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒.

PAIRING: josh washington x fem!reader WARNINGS: teasing, no use of y/n, touching GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: meddle about by chase atlantic WORD COUNT: 1k NOTE: ghostface!josh coming soon . . .

navigation | ask | josh washington masterlist

josh always had to be touching you. it was something you noticed early on in your friendship, but it had grown more noticeable over time. a casual brush of his fingers across your waist when he walked by, how his hand would find yours when no one was looking.

at first, you didn’t think much of it, it was just josh, always needing someone close. 

but now? now it felt like more.

tonight, the group had gathered in the theater room of the washington lodge for what was supposed to be a relaxing evening after a long day of hiking.

the lights were dim and you were sprawled out on the large sectional with everyone, blankets thrown over legs, as a movie played on the tv. josh, predictably, had taken his usual place next to you, his thigh pressed against yours under the blanket, his hand resting on your knee like always.

it wasn’t like he was doing anything that anyone else would notice, it was subtle, almost innocent. but you felt it. the warmth of his hand on your leg sent tingles up your spine and it was almost impossible to ignore the way your heart beat just a little faster when he touched you.

"you two are practically glued together," emily teased from across the couch, smirking as she sipped her drink. "it’s cute. you can’t stand to be apart for five seconds?"

josh, unfazed as ever, grinned. “what can i say? i’m a hands-on kind of guy.”

you rolled your eyes, chuckling softly, but the way his fingers squeezed your knee for just a second sent a jolt through you. he wasn’t letting go, not even when everyone else joined in on the teasing.

ashley leaned over the back of the couch, an exaggerated look of pity on her face. "i mean, it’s cute and all, but how do you breathe? he’s always touching you.”

josh shrugged, still looking completely comfortable. “she doesn’t seem to mind.” his voice was playful, but there was an edge of seriousness beneath it.

you glanced over at him, your pulse quickening. no, you didn’t mind. in fact, you had grown to expect it, maybe even craved it. his presence, his touch. it had a calming effect on you, even if it was doing the opposite to your emotions now.

your friends had been teasing about this for weeks and you weren’t sure how to explain the connection without sounding ridiculous.

"she knows that i'm just that good at making sure she’s comfortable," josh said with a quick grin. "it’s kinda my thing."

emily laughed. “at this point, i wouldn’t be surprised if you two woke up spooning!”

you felt the blush rising to your cheeks as you shoved josh lightly, but his hand slid down your leg, brushing the inside of your thigh, lingering just a second too long before pulling away. you froze, the sensation sending a wave of warmth through you.

he shot you a quick look, eyes twinkling with amusement, but there was something else behind them.

before you could respond, chris called out from the other side of the couch. “what? it’s just a little friendly affection, right?” he winked, clearly teasing.

“yep,” you agreed quickly, your voice coming out more breathless than intended. “totally. just friends.”

josh gave a low hum, leaning back and stretching his arm out along the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing against your shoulder. “if you say so,” he murmured softly, only for you to hear. the weight of his touch felt heavier now, his fingers grazing your skin.

as the movie droned on, your focus drifted away from the screen. your mind was entirely on josh, the way his body was so close to yours, the way his touch lingered. you found yourself leaning into him more without realising it, like you were drawn to him just as much as he was to you.

the others had mostly gone back to watching the movie, though there were still occasional glances your way, always with that teasing edge but josh didn’t seem to care. his thumb traced slow circles on your shoulder now, his hand occasionally slipping down to brush your arm. 

you turned your head slightly, looking up at him. he wasn’t even looking at the movie anymore. his focus was entirely on you.

“josh?” you whispered, keeping your voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

“hmm?” his eyes flicked down to meet yours, his expression soft but with that familiar mischievous glint.

you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to say what was on your mind. “why do you always…?” you trailed off, not sure how to phrase it without sounding too obvious.

he smiled, a knowing look crossing his face. “always what?”

“always… touch me,” you finished quietly, your pulse quickening at the vulnerability in your own words.

josh’s smile didn’t fade, but his gaze grew a little more serious. he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper as his hand moved from your shoulder to your cheek, cupping it gently. “it’s… comforting. you’re comforting.”

you stared at him, heart racing as the weight of his words sank in. there was more to it, you could feel it, more than just the comfort of touch. there was something between you that had always been there, quietly lingering beneath the surface.

“you don’t mind, do you?” his thumb brushed against your cheek now, the gentle motion sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the blankets.

you swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. “no,” you whispered. “i don’t mind.”

josh’s gaze flickered down to your lips for a second before returning to your eyes. there was a moment of hesitation, but then he leaned in just a little closer. “good,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“because i don’t think i could stop even if i tried.”

comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

© ruewrote 2024.

[chobunz]

── stress relief. ( sjy ) 🎧

๑ Jake hasn’t gotten as much attention from you lately, so I guess he has to bother you in order to receive it..

pair: clingy bf!jake ㅊ busy gf!reader | warnings: smut, pwp, fluff, very silly and unserious banter, teasing, begging, fingering, oral (f. rec), spit kink (?), marking, unprotected s.x, creampie | words: 4.0k

welp- this was a lot longer than i intended it to be lol, srry not sorry. also why am i always making jake such a needy bf ? LOL, idek.. i just love a man that’s down bad for me what else can i rlly say shdhshsd

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

exam season never stroke you as easy, that’s why you took more time than you had into studying. you spent most of your days sitting infront of your laptop and it’s handy dandy partner— your notebook. on the side of that you were juggling your boyfriend’s needs, alongside your mother’s constant smothering over the phone about how she wants to see you this week. you constantly tell her that you don’t have the time and if you had the time you’d rather go over there than anything. you loved your mother dearly, but you wanted big things for your future, especially when you imagine a family one day with your lover.

“mom, we’ve been over this a million times, i love you and all but i’ve told you. i don’t have the time to go and see you right now..” you hated having to put your studies first before anything, but that was the only way in order to become successful. you couldn’t afford to slack off and just take time for yourself to do whatever you wanted, you had to remain focused.

your mom didn’t seem too happy with that answer, she really wanted to see you and you could hear it in her voice. it broke your heart the way she sounded. “i understand that, but i really miss you staying over sweetheart.. maybe we can plan something this week ?” she truly hoped that you’d say yes but you couldn’t just drop everything and go home for the weekend, unfortunately things were far more complicated than that.

you were beyond stressed out, and along with her constant nagging it only pushed you over the edge, you were well over aggravated. it’s like she only thinks for herself sometimes..

“doesn’t sound like you understand, i don’t have time and i can’t come see you ! you’re being really selfish right now.” you’ve tried reasoning with her but it just never worked, usually you’d give in and comply with her demands but you had to put yourself first this time. “i’m sorry but not today or tomorrow, not even this week, i love you mom.”

“i love you too.. i guess i’ll talk to you later then ?..”

“mhm, bye mom.”

and with that, you quickly hung up. you felt bad with how you raised your voice at her, but sometimes she doesn’t think. you could tell she had gotten upset just by the tone of her voice and that by itself made you feel like shit.

weight on your shoulder: multiplied.

not long after, jake had came home, he’d seen you working your ass off and understood how this upcoming exam was important to you. although, he also got to shake hands with this disasteress stress. for one, he constantly has to force you off your work to go to bed. he hated seeing you risk your own health for the sake of success. jake knew you’d pass with flying colors, he believed in you, he always had. you were few of the top students in your class. of course you had it. while he also studied for exams, he’d rather not risk his mental health for a test he could easily just take again. and he always told you that, but you’re too stubborn to ever listen.

“babe, i’m home !” he shifted to the living area, where you just so happened to be at the time. “new station?” he giggled, joking about how you finally moved from the dining area.

“yeah, i guess..” you yawned while busily typing away at your HP. jake checked the time once hearing you yawn.

“baby, get up. bed time, now.” he clasped his hands together a second before walking towards you and your silly little laptop. you don’t say anything back, only continuing what you were doing, as if he wasn’t even important enough to acknowledge.

“uh.. are my words delayed ? did i stutter? save whatever you’re doing, right now and get your little ass into bed.” he cocked a brow at you, waiting for you to comply, hands taped to his waist.

“jakeee, just a little more.. ‘m almost done ! i promise. it’s just a little bit left !” you plea at him, hands speeding up it’s pace, dancing along the keys moving to the save button after typing another sentence. your face looked drowsy. you looked tired. and you knew it.

“great then just a little bit for you to do tomorrow ! room, now.” his one arm and his other grasp you, taking you under your arms and up on your feet. “bu-”

“go.” he cut you off, nodding his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. you finally caved, maybe you did need rest. and that’s just what you did, but not before talking to the sweetness that lay beside you.

๑ ๑ ๑

“so, how was your day..” you ask the half sleeping boy who’s face was deeply snuggled in between your breasts. he couldn’t sleep unless he was holding you, the warmth of your body against his gave him the much needed comfort he desired.

“mm.. good, i just wish you were more involved in it..” you felt the vibration of his voice through your skin making you giggle, yet, you were upset with how it’s now just dawned on you that you chose studying over the man who’d give you the whole world if he could.

it seems you’ve been acting awfully selfish lately, barely returning any of his calls or responding to his texts hours later. he feels like he’s constantly giving one hundred percent in this relationship while you barely gave half of that. jake knows you love him, you wouldn’t be coming home every night if you didn’t, but he misses that stage where you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know how caught up in exams i were, i haven’t been giving you much attention, have i ? ..”

“you holding me is all i need.. i cherish the time i get when you aren’t studying..” he mumbles, hands tracing shapes along the slope of your waist.

“thank you for giving me time and understanding.. i love you baby..” you kissed his head tenderly. receiving a hum in reply you knew he was tired, so you yourself dripped into slumber.

๑ ๑ ๑

your alarm rang forcing you out of bed and before doing so you switched your alarms off. you looked over at your resting partner. he was so peaceful when he slept he looked just like a baby, and you wanted nothing more than to baby him ;(

*okay.. i wanna hurry and finish this.* you pulled the blanket off your arm before dangling your feet off the cushion of the bed.

“what’re you doing ? where are you going ?” he instantly wakes up when he feels the weight of bed lighten, hands capturing the hem of your sweatshirt to forcefully halt your movement.

“i’m just going to finish up my studying,” you remind him from yesterday, cupping his face as you turn around to face him.

“goodmorning, jakey.” you cheesed.

a strong pair of strong arms wraps around your figure, “gummorning, princess.” he half yawns, looking up at you with those precious, endearing eyes of his.

“c’mon, let’s go play in toothpaste.” you tap his arms signaling him to let go.

“are you saying my breath smells bad ?” he chuckled, finally setting you free.

“i mean, if the shoe fits !” you playfully joked, getting up immediately after he unarms you.

“c’mon babyyy.” you try one more attempt to get him out of bed, hearing him act all whiney since he didn’t want to. he’d much rather still be under the sheets and laid up with you, but you were on a mission today.

finally, you two ended up in the bathroom. mornings were always chaotic, so much going on as you took turns brushing your teeth. while he brushed his, you were brushing your hair and doing your skincare routine. you were getting ready to take a shower so you gathered all of your needed things, only waiting to brush your teeth. when you finally got a hold of the sink you got your tooth brush and sat on the counter, kicking your legs. you were sometimes childish, but so what ? nobody wants to age anyway.

“stop being weird, little girl..” you were laughing almost choking with the minty taste of toothpaste in your mouth, you quickly spat it out. “and you pee loud ! it’s like gun fire !”

he chuckles at your comparison, “i know a few things i do loud.” he mumbled before walking over to your figure that sat tall on the sink as you rinsed your toothbrush, caging you in.

once your toothbrush was away your arms immediately swung around his neck, you’d missed holding him all day everyday, which is why you contemplated on cutting your studying short for today.

“you’re so cute..” jake couldn’t help but be all over you, he’s waited far too long just to have you like this again; peppering kisses all over your face and jawline, trailing them all the way down to your collarbone. your body tingles in excitement, wanting nothing but to have your boyfriend’s hands roam your whole body. but you’d soon snap back to reality— the sad, underwhelming reality of what you’re actually supposed to be doing.

“jake.. we can’t.. i have to finish, remember ?” you felt like a broken record at this point but it seems as though it goes in one ear and straight out the other. he hasn’t touched you in so long, he doesn’t even know how he’s survived without it. he has his needs too, and his hand wasn’t going to cut it anymore. he desperately needed you more than anything right now.

“i’ll be quick ! i swear, pleaseeee.” he tries his hardest to plead with you, eyes practically begging you for an ounce of sympathy. “just want you so bad…”

usually you wouldn’t give in so easily, but the way he looked at you made you wanna fold in a heartbeat. was studying really more important than getting some dick ? yeah probably. but how could you say no to that face ? it’s been weeks since you got some and the urges were only getting stronger. you had no willpower left, so you finally surrendered to him.

he now has you in the palm of his hands, exactly how he wanted. he’d constantly be thinking of you, and all those times where he’s had to pleasure himself in order to get some form of satisfaction has now paid off; he could simply act out all of his horny thoughts on you now. and since he’s already got you where he wants, he wasn’t letting you go anywhere like you usually do. jake plays with the hem of your sweatshirt before lifting it up over your head, practically dying to kiss every inch of your body. he doesn’t know how he got so lucky to have someone as pretty and smart as you, but he’d never take it for granted— holding you within his grasp, carrying you back to your shared bedroom and gently placing you down onto the bed.

“my pretty baby.. ” jake couldn’t keep his eyes or hands off you for a second, drinking in the sight of you underneath him, it made him wanna tear you to shreds.

though he couldn’t do that just yet, he wanted to take his time with you. show you how much he truly appreciates and loves you. he definitely lied earlier when he said he’d be quick, there’s no way he’d be able to rush this. not when he’s had all this built up sexual tension that’s been eating at him since the last time you two fucked. the neediness of his actions were more than telling of his intentions, you knew he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him— if not more. plus, how could you refuse that puppy dog look he’s given you ?? he made you go crazy just from his facial expressions alone.

his hands slowly traveled up to caress your breasts, the pads of his fingers swiping over it’s hardened bud, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. he loves the way your body reacts to his touch, how you’d arch your back just from the feel of him. your low moans and whimpers were enough to make him go even more feral than he already is, feeling his cock twitch just from the way you’d sound. he craved you more than anything right now. you bit your lip when his mouth wraps around the base of your nipple, his hand working it’s way down to cup your clothed core, getting a feel of how much of a dripping mess you were for him.

“mmh.. so wet for me already babygirl,” he giggles when noticing the dampness of your panties. you seriously couldn’t believe you’ve fucked yourself over his touch just for exams. you often found yourself subconsciously humping your pillow to the thought of him, wishing that his face was buried between your legs instead of it. your body grew so sensitive over time, it was like you forgot how good he made you feel..

“need you so bad baby.. let me relieve all the stress and tension out of you..” his voice was low, full of lust and desire for only you. he kept teasing you with his fingers, enjoying every minute of you writhing and squirming under his body. he’s missed this dearly, and he was going to take full advantage of this. your mind drew itself blank, unable to think of anything but your beautiful boyfriend on top of you. you judd your hips up against his hand, building a steady rhythm to match his, the friction driving you absolutely insane.

“oh..fuck-” you let out a gasp when his thumb “accidentally” brushes over your clit, his hands shift to tug the fabric of your panties down as fast as he possibly could— but that didn’t stop him from continuing his little torturous teasing spree.

his head rested perfectly between your plush thighs, staring down at your pretty, glistening folds, tracing his finger everywhere expect where you needed him most. “mm.. jake, quit teasin’..” you whined out of frustration, which only made him giggle even more, until he finally complies with your demand.

“you’re right, my hardworking girl deserves a reward. doesn’t she ?” he looks up at you with a devious smirk plastered on his lips, all while sinking two digits into your small entrance— making you cry out from the sudden fill he’s added.

“spread your legs wider for me baby.” you didn’t even hesitate upon hearing that command, legs shooting open immediately. keeping your thighs open with your hands so jake could get a better look at your sopping cunt.

“feels good, huh ? you missed having my fingers inside you ?” he continuously thrusts in and out, gradually increasing his speed as you’re on the verge of falling apart. he absolutely loved seeing you like this, it’s what he lives for. he felt so accomplished knowing that only he can make you feel this way; no one else could ever have the same effect on you that he does.

jake knew you were far too weak to speak, your moans echoing the walls of the room was pure music to his ears. with just a curl of his fingers, your walls cinch around them greedily, watching as they’d disappear into your tight hole. your whole body trembles, as you cupped your breasts to knead them gently.

“fuck, you’re so hot. such a pretty little pussy, all for me.” he pants softly, taking in the sight of your eyes squeezing shut, how you were so overwhelmed already. he could bust just from this alone.

his head dips down in between your thighs, latching his mouth to your clit. he’d switch from harshly sucking to lapping his tongue on the swollen bud, eliciting the prettiest sounds out of you. “taste so fucking good baby. could eat you out all damn day..” he praised again, drowning himself in your sweetness.

you don’t know how much more you can possibly take but you firmly pull on his hair for leverage, tightly tugging it not even registering that it could possibly hurt him. but he doesn’t complain, his free hand caresses your thigh gently, flicking his tongue rapidly on your clit and drinking up your wetness, you taste like a dream. you mewl slightly above a whisper, forgetting how to use your own voice. his mouth was making you feel more than amazing, better than anything you’ve felt before.

“ ‘m gonna come !..” your hand now held onto his hand for support, lacing your fingers to intertwine with his. you grind your hips harder, feeling like you’re about to explode.. your juices squirt onto his fingers and his chin, making a mess all over the sheets beneath you, in utter utopia from the intensity of your orgasm.

“shit..baby” he moaned, licking his lips to savor every taste of you. he lifts his head up, beaming with a rush of excitement to finally have you take his cock. “get up,” it sounded a lot more demanding than he thought, but he couldn’t wait any longer. he was so horny that he wouldn’t even be surprised if he nuts the minute he enters you, (but thankfully he won’t because that would simply defeat the whole purpose of everything).

you did as you were told and quickly got up to land yourself on top of him. it’s obvious what he wanted you to do, he wants you to ride him while he looks up at your pretty face. it’s one of his favorite positions, not only does he get to lay back and let you do all the work but he secretly loves that you’re the one in control.

“mm.. that’s my girl,” he groans once you hover over his length, gently stroking the base of his shaft. his hands slid up to find purchase on your hips.

his embrace felt all the more than loving— it was familiar, warm, and protective. skin on skin, body to body; beautifully unraveling as one. your mouth flung open when you slid yourself inside but no audible noise came out— it was but a silent scream. he was sporting a semi-hard on but once fully submerged and accustomed to you tightening around him, your walls could feel his length slowly swell up inside you, it was one of those indescribable feelings that you cherish forever.

“better start moving baby, this dicks not gonna ride itself.” he playfully demands, slightly bucking his hips up to feel some motion, “or do you want me to do all the work instead, hm ?” that offer was extremely tempting, but it’s not like he wasn’t going to do that later on.

“n-no, wanna ride you jakey… i’ll start moving” you stutter, shakily rutting your hips against him, he fills you up so perfectly as if his cock was designed solely for you. placing both palms on his broad shoulders for anchorage whilst raising your hips to now finally properly ride his fully erect.

“fuck… s-so big— so full..” you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how he stuffs you completely. his low grunts were the most melodic tone to your ears, along with his heavy panting and nails digging into the dips of your hips— he had your head spinning.

jake was enthralled with the fact only he could have you like this, a pretty little whining mess just for him. his cock throbbing in you intensely made you clench around the thickness, mouth falling back open to reveal a long strand of your saliva, this only brought him more joy as he pulled you in for another kiss, moaning nonstop into his mouth. you picked up a steady rhythm while riding him, moving up and down as you thread your fingers in his soft hair, feverishly making out with him. it all felt too good, he felt unreal, it became almost too much for you.

you gnawed at his lower lip when you pulled slightly away, leaving another string of your spit connected together; he drove you madly insane. his attention went soaring elsewhere now, producing wet kisses along your side profile, to your neck, gently sucking and biting on the skin to admit a reaction. a deliberate shriek leaves your mouth, feeling your muscles tighten as you tremble, he left more faint love bites to your collarbone and visible bite marks to your shoulder. he notices your struggle to stay balanced and shifts his arm, firmly on your waist to keep you in place.

“love the way you take this dick like a pro babe, you’re fucking amazing.” he praised you over and over, his words of encouragement helping you build quicker stamina, bouncing on his cock as if you were deprived of it for months (technically speaking you were, but maybe not for that long).

“you know i love you right princess ?” he husks, assuring that this’ll always mean something more than just sex to him, you were far from disposable, his love runs deeper than you could ever imagine.

“y-yes jake, i do. i love you t-too— mmh fuck !” your head plunges backward when he thrusts his cock back into you to match your movements, bringing one of his veiny hands to come rub your ass, sinking you further into him.

you kept a steady pace as you lower your middle finger to play with your clit as you rode him, the extra stimulation to your nub had your head dropping lower in reverse. you were so excruciatingly wet all you could hear were his hard breaths mixed with your soaking arousal slamming into his cock, only thing running through your mind was getting to milk him empty once you both reach your climax. a moan slips the both of your lips in unison as you scrunched your eyes shut from euphoric sense of pleasure.

“no no, look at me baby— keep ‘em open.” he ordered. your eyes flicker open once again, obediently following his rules, giving him the eye contact he so desperately craves.

“love looking at this pretty face every single fucking day,” he groans, still holding your hips securely in his grasp, “all of this is mine, mine, mine.” each time he’d say it another deep stroke would slam into your cervix. a final hit to your sweet spot had you trembling under him, crying out his name while screaming at the top of your lungs— you can tell he was getting close too by his chest heaving and sultry grunts and moans laced with an endless loop of your name being said.

your face contorts from your nearing orgasm imploding you, the o-shape formation of your lips taking over, “g-gonna come jake… can feel it !” a drawn out sigh leaving your breath as you catch it.

“yeah ? gonna make a mess all over this cock ?” he felt you clench around him at his every word, your hand reaches down to your bud caressing it slowly ready to reach your high again.

“go ahead baby, let go for me.” he grants your undying wish with those words, chasing your high as you finally let go, cream leaking down the sides of his cock.

“fuck, so good.. such a good girl for me.” he felt himself closer to the edge, “where do you want my cum this time babe ?” he asks impatiently.

“inside, inside me please !” you practically beg for it, eyes growing heavy, and your breathing becomes irregular. you soon felt your walls being coated with his thick, hot cum, filling you up with every last drop. you instantly collapsed onto his chest, completely drained and worn out by the end. the room remained silent for a few minutes, just enjoying each other’s company, lost in his warm embrace.

“hmm.. what about now ?” jake broke the quite atmosphere with his random question, leaning closer to peck the side of your face, “how does my breath smell now ??” he teased from earlier’s incident.

“oh my god, shut up,” you turned away from him with hot cheeks. “what does it smell like huh ?” he laughed at your embarrassed state.

“go away !” you pushed him off of you to go do your little pee pee check. “smells like your yummy little pussy, donnit baby !” he watched you hop into the bathroom.

“my pee too loud ! can’t hear you !!” you shut the bathroom door with a tiny giggle.

you could still hear jake hysterically laughing in the background.

2 am smut hits differentt >:33 had to post a cute lil fluffy fic for my jakey pooh cs he’s so cutieful hehehe <3

also, hii lee ik ur reading this loll ilyyy .+(´^ω^`)+ .

@leeechin ♡︎