#I was thinking about posting this last night but decided against it
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i... wow. sorry if this is too vulgar; i was at the gym when you posted, and like you've psychologically conditioned me, my underwear became.. awfully sticky.. and remained that way the whole day (which i would send a picture if i fear it'd be too far) because i decided to save the read for when i reached home. I'm grateful i did, because despite being shorter than the rest of your works, it was, as always, a masterpiece :)
i hope your exam went well (not sure what timezone you're in, but here friday is basically over... so you've completed it in my book) and as a little prize, here's another tiny brainworm loosely inspired by my experience with your notification today:
desperate! perv! agatha who gets off to your voice, ft. masturbation, pillow humping and fucking, sheet (?) sniffing, daddy kink, praise, voyeurism and dubcon depending on what you want i guess
maybe you're unaware of how your voice affects agatha, innocently obeying when she asks you to "do as many pushups as you can, saying my name each time, baby", and because you love your girlfriend, you'll heed her and her little quirks. you just presume she wants to properly know how many pushups you can do, since it's easy for you to cheat by just saying numbers, right?
or, maybe you're a little more aware then you let on. maybe you exaggerate your noises a little, grunting "agatha" in the husky tone you know she adores, voice gradually dwindling into a whimper of her name.
hopefully unbeknownst to you, agatha is imagining your voice calling "daddy" over and over. you haven't discussed it yet, and she's too embarrassed to bring it up, because what if it's too much for you? the sheets are still gently stained with your juices from your shenanigans with her from last night, and she was supposed to change them (and, well she technically was) -- but she saw the darkened part of the sheets and got all riled up again.
agatha groans as she hears you, and hastily fumbles for the mute button, not wanting you to hear her (maybe she instead presses the video button, and you see flashes of her rigid cock, her head thrown back, and you cant help but buck your hips each time you lower yourself to the ground).
"baby, darling, you've ruined me," agatha mumbles, moving to position a pillow between her legs because she doesn't want to touch herself, rather have your hands, your mouth, your cunt. fuck, she's starting to drip precum just thinking about you.
pushing her nose against the stain you left on the sheet, she inhales sharply, desperately, taking in the lingering scent of you as she humps the pillow like a dog in heat.
it's not enough, she realises, and she tugs the sheet up, inadvertently giving her the brilliant idea as your pillow falls; if she folds it in half, it forms a nice gap that envelopes her throbbing dick nicely, and she can't bother to think about the logistics of it when she's hearing your voice on the other end, already done with pushups, just rambling on about your day like you don't know what you do to her.
she brings the soiled sheet up to sniff, groaning as she jolts into the pillow, babbling "daddy's good little girl" and "my favourite cocksleeve" and "please, baby, you're so good for daddy". (if you can hear her, perhaps you pause your talking just to question what she's doing, but she's too far gone into her pleasure to even notice).
"daddy needs you so bad, pretty girl, ngh-" and she pulls out of the (now sticky) pillow to cum all over the sheets, and the idea that your leftover juices on the fabric are now covered in *her* cum sends another load out of her, splattering audibly as she bucks her hips into nothing.
(if she's muted the whole time, she delights darkly in the fact that you don't know a thing, her naive little pet. but perhaps she realises only after, that her mic and camera is on, when you pipe up with a "enjoy yourself, daddy?" and she grows humiliatingly hard all over again.)
I'll stop here because my head is pounding lol, but i hope you like it (and i hope the start doesn't make you uncomfortable). thank you for gracing us with your incredible writing miss covenofagatha, looking forward to your next piece, whatever it is 😉
sorry i keep bothering you in your asks, let me know if you want me to stop! also, please don't feel obligated to write this in full as a request or anything, it truly is just a wriggly brainworm thought I have that i thought you might like 💜
-lots of love, worm anon
Every time you send an ask it has me on the fucking floor jesus christ how do you keep coming up with hotter ideas
I don't even know how I would be able to write more about this because every single word is so perfect and so detailed and fuck so hot oh my god
#asks#brainworm#agatha harkness x fem!reader#agatha harkness x reader#agatha x reader#agatha x you#agatha harkness x you#agatha harkness smut#agatha smut#like 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵#🥵#so hot 🥵#fuck 🥵
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IRON & EMBER - Chapter 2
[ CH. 1 ][ PLAYLIST ] [ AO3 Link ] (Soon, waiting on invite)
RATING : Mature (Eventually) TAGS : Jayce x Viktor / Post Arcane / Fantasy AU / Mage!Viktor / Knight!Jayce / 7k words / Part 2 of ??
CHAPTER DESCRIPTION : Jayce fills Viktor in on the people they knew in their reality, and what they are up to in this one. They go on a shopping trip to get some clothes made for Viktor by local seamstress, Gwen, then tour the city before a realization hits Viktor like a ton of bricks.
AUTHOR NOTES : While I do know a good deal of League of Legends lore, I do not claim to be an expert and for the sake of the story I am taking some creative liberties with characters that were not present in arcane. (additional author note at the end)
CHARACTERS : Jayce x Viktor (Arcane), Gwen (League of Legends), Mentions of other Arcane cast.
CHAPTER 2
Viktor awoke to the soft glow of morning filtering through the window. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, he sits up and finds Jayce’s blanket carefully draped over him. A small note on the nightstand catches his eye.
Scribbled in an all too familiar script, Gone to check in with the captain, back soon. Help yourself to anything you want. - J
A small smile tugs at Viktor’s lips as he sets the note aside. Rising to his feet, he stretches slightly before heading out to Jayce’s kitchen. His fingers absently trail along the wooden countertops as he checks the cupboards, finding the expected—plates, cups, and utensils. Opening another cabinet, he finds an assortment of neatly labeled jars filled with tea leaves. His lips quirk in approval as he continues to rummage for the rest of what he needs.
The fire in the hearth has begun to die down, but he spots a small stack of spare logs nearby. Kneeling, he carefully arranges a couple into the embers, prodding the fire back to life. Satisfied with his work, he sets the kettle on the hook above the flames, waiting for the water to boil.
As he waits, Viktor takes the opportunity to examine Jayce’s home in the daylight. It is a cozy abode, humbly decorated yet inviting. Plush rugs soften the wooden floors, and an array of plants are tucked into corners and along the windowsills. It seemed this world’s Jayce had an appreciation for greenery, and his Jayce had come to love it as well.
Curiosity nudges him to explore further. He wanders down the hallway, noting the layout. Besides the guest room he had occupied, there is a spacious storage closet and a modest washroom. Another door leads to a double set of stairs, likely to an attic and basement. The last door is Jayce’s bedroom. He hesitates for a moment, tempted, but ultimately decides against intruding without permission.
A sudden whistle from the kettle draws him back to the kitchen. He swiftly moves to remove it from the fire, carefully pouring the steaming water over the infuser of tea leaves. The fragrant aroma fills the air as he retrieves the book he had been reading the night before. Wrapping Jayce’s blanket around his shoulders once more, he settles into the couch with his cup of tea, immersing himself in the pages while waiting for Jayce to return.
Viktor has lost track of time and how many cups of tea he's downed by the time he hears the door open and looks up to see Jayce enter. A boyish grin spreads across Jayce's face as he takes in the sight of Viktor, seemingly more relaxed today than he was the night prior.
"Ah, good, you're up! I got stuff for breakfast, and the Captain gave me the week to help you get...uh...readjusted, as I worded it to him."
"You didn’t need to do that, Jayce. Isn't that your income?" Viktor asks, frowning slightly.
Jayce waves away his concern. "Don't even worry about that. I could take a lot more time off than a week and be fine. Plus, you're more important right now."
Viktor softens at his words, not used to being considered important, but not disliking the idea if it’s Jayce who thinks he is.
He heads to the kitchen with the sack of goods he purchased on his way home. Viktor watches as Jayce pulls out fresh eggs, thick slices of bacon, fruits, and fresh-baked bread, immediately setting to work preparing breakfast. He moves with an easy familiarity, appearing as comfortable in the kitchen as he was in the lab.
"Did you learn to cook here?" Viktor asks curiously, watching him work.
"No," Jayce chuckles. "It may surprise you to know that my mother taught me to cook when I was young. If you ever left the lab, maybe I could have cooked for you now and again," he adds teasingly as he effortlessly prepares the meal.
Viktor continues watching, a smile crossing his face. Seeing this more domestic side of Jayce gives him butterflies. He snaps out of it as Jayce slides a delicious-looking plate of food in front of him.
"Th-thank you," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck. Hopefully, Jayce hadn’t caught him staring.
They fall back into casual conversation.
"So," Jayce asks, "I'm sure you have a ton of questions. Where do you want to start?"
Viktor wasn’t prepared. Jayce was right—he had so many questions. Start simple. Start simple, he tells himself, calming his sudden nerves.
"Well, you told me about what happened to you. What about those we knew? Mel, Heimerdinger..." He hesitates, remembering the terror he saw in her eyes as she turned to dust before him. "Sky?"
Jayce looks at him with regret. "I’m so sorry about Sky, V. We should have listened to Heimerdinger. But you’ll be pleased to know she is alive here, and doing quite well. She’s an alchemist at the Academy—one of their top healers, in fact."
Viktor’s eyes light up. At least in this world, he hopes she will lead the full and amazing life she deserves. "That does bring me some comfort."
"Most of the people we knew are here in some form. Cait is Knight General—basically in charge of the whole garrison. Vi is a fellow knight too. Powder never became Jinx. She and Vi are quite close. Powder and Ekko are exceedingly bright students at the Academy, from what I could dig up of their records." Jayce chuckles. "Though even in this world, she still has a knack for blowing things up. If anyone is going to push this Piltover forward, it will be those two. Zaun and Piltover have a much better relationship here, it’s not perfect, but those from Zaun have far more opportunities to do great things."
Viktor always knew Jinx—er, Powder—had the potential to do so much more. "And Mel? Heimerdinger?" he asks, wondering why Jayce hadn’t mentioned them first.
Jayce leans back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mel… well, she’s here too, but she’s not exactly the same as we remember. Since magic is not as prominent here, she never was touched by the arcane. And Heimerdinger—he’s still at the Academy, of course. The old yordle’s a legend in every world, I suppose.” He chuckles, though there’s something contemplative in his expression.
Viktor watches him closely. “What else do you mean by Mel is not the same?”
Jayce sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. “She comes from a different background here. She’s still powerful, still influential, but since she never became an empath her mother had a much easier time molding her, she’s part of Piltover’s council but she is not the same woman we knew.”
“There is still a council in this world?” Viktor asks in surprise.
Jayce nods, leaning back in his chair. “Same council we knew long ago. Heimer, Mel, Salo, Cassandra... the gang’s all here, still running things.” A wry smirk tugs at his lips. “No Jinx to ruin their parade.”
Viktor considers the implications of this. The council had once wielded unchecked power, their decisions shaping the rise and fall of industries, lives. Their influence had been both a guiding force and a dangerous weapon. Would it be different in this world?
“Thankfully,” Jayce continues, “without things like airships and Hextech to capitalize on, they’re far less ruthless than the versions we knew.” He pauses before adding with a chuckle, “Well… besides Mel. She wants to turn Piltover into Noxus 2.0.”
Viktor raises a brow. “That does not sound pleasing.”
Jayce lets out a tired sigh. “Yeah. She's as ambitious as ever. The only difference is that now she supports Noxus' ambitions instead of Piltover’s.”
Viktor hums in thought, drumming his fingers against the rim of his cup. “And the rest of the council?”
Rubbing his jaw. “The dynamic hasn’t changed much. Heimerdinger still tries to be the moral compass, but he’s outnumbered. Cassandra plays politics, Salo and Torman are still opportunists. Shoola and Iridius are generally level headed if not overly cautious” He exhales slowly.
Viktor watches him closely. “And you? Where do you stand in all of this?”
He watches as Jayce rolls his shoulders, forcing an easy grin. “I keep my head down and do my job as a knight. No desire for a role on the council again.”
Viktor narrows his eyes. “That does not sound like the Jayce I knew.”
Jayce lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah, well… things changed. Priorities changed.” He reaches across the table, his fingers resting lightly on Viktor’s arm. “My focus became finding you. Piltover could burn if it meant I’d find my way to you again.”
Viktor feels warmth creeping up his neck again at Jayce’s touch and the confession. It’s not the first time since waking that Jayce has made it clear Viktor is his priority, and yet, Viktor finds he may never quite adjust to hearing it. He swallows, forcing his voice to remain steady. “Well, now that you found me, what is the priority now?”
Jayce hums in thought, his thumb absently brushing against Viktor’s arm. He still hasn’t moved his hand. Viktor pretends not to notice how much he likes the gentle gesture. “Well, we do need to stop at my tailor, and I’d like to give you a proper tour. But I guess, most importantly, making sure you’re okay.”
Viktor is caught off guard. “Wh-what do you mean? I’m alive. I’m okay, aren’t I?”
Jayce gives him a pointed look, one brow raised in skepticism. “Viktor. You thought you were dead. You woke up in a world that is almost your own but isn’t. The only person here who really knows you is the man who—" Jayce hesitates, but only briefly, "—who tried to kill you. And then thought he died with you after you turned into an arcane primal force that nearly tore the world apart.” He exhales slowly. “I’d say that’s a lot to cope with.”
Viktor looks down at his mug, unable to argue with any of that. His fingers tighten around the ceramic as he studies his own hands—the faint, shifting hues of purple and gold still lingering beneath his skin. Everything had changed so suddenly, so drastically. But what unsettled him most was what he hadn’t been able to put into words, the thing that had been gnawing at him from the moment he woke.
The arcane had not abandoned him.
It was weaker, fainter, but not gone. And it felt different—more untamed, unshaped by human hands. Something primal and raw.
He lifts his gaze back to Jayce, taking in the concern knitted between his brows. The trust in his eyes. The quiet devotion Viktor still wasn’t sure he deserved. Jayce had never needed a hammer to break him down—he was doing it now, brick by brick, just by being here.
“I—” Viktor hesitates, but then he feels the faintest squeeze on his arm, calming him.
“I still feel it,” he finally admits. “The arcane. It’s weaker, but… different. Not like what we created with the Hexcore. This feels…” He searches for the right word, rolling it over in his mind before settling on, “…ancient.”
Jayce's fingers twitch slightly against Viktor’s arm before he finally pulls his hand away, running it through his hair instead. He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening for a moment as if holding back whatever immediate thought crossed his mind.
“Ancient?” he repeats, voice measured but laced with concern. His brows knit together as he leans back slightly, studying Viktor like he’s trying to see beneath his skin, past the surface, to whatever it is Viktor feels. “How do you mean?”
Viktor flexes his fingers, “It is not the same as before. Not the refined energy we channeled into the Hex gemstones, nor the volatile force of the Hexcore.” He hesitates, weighing his words carefully. “This feels…as though it has been waiting.”
Jayce’s frown deepens. “Waiting for what?”
Viktor shakes his head. “I do not know.”
For a long moment, Jayce says nothing. He just watches Viktor, his fingers drumming absently against the table. Viktor knows that look—it’s the same one Jayce always got when working through a problem, when he was connecting dots that others hadn’t yet seen.
Then Jayce shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “Does it hurt?”
The question catches Viktor off guard. His first instinct is to say no. But he stops himself before the lie can take shape. It does not hurt in the way the Hexcore once had—it is not a clawing, consuming force, not a hunger gnawing at his insides. But there is something else, something just beneath the surface.
“It… pulls,” he admits slowly. “Like a current in the ocean, always there, waiting for me to follow.”
Jayce looks troubled by that. His fingers drum once more against the wooden table before he abruptly pushes himself up from his chair. He paces a short path across the kitchen, running a hand over his jaw.
“That’s—” he stops, lets out a short breath, then turns back to Viktor. “That’s a lot. A lot for you, a lot for me to process.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Hell, V, you’ve been awake for barely a day and we’re already talking about ancient, primal magic?”
Viktor tilts his head. “Would you prefer we discuss the weather instead?”
Jayce huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “No. I just—” He exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what this means for you. Or what it means for Piltover.”
Viktor watches him closely. “You are afraid.”
Jayce sighs. “Not of you,” he says, firm and immediate. “Never of you.”
He leans forward again, bracing his hands on the table, close enough that Viktor can see the worry etched in his features. “But I am afraid of what they’ll do if they find out.”
Viktor doesn’t need to ask who he means. The Council. The same people who in their world had feared magic, feared the idea of Hextech, who tried to control it the moment they understood its power. If they learned that Viktor was connected to something older, something raw and untamed…
“They will want to study it,” Viktor murmurs.
Jayce nods grimly. “Or worse.”
The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing between them.
Then, softer, Jayce adds, “I’m glad I took the week off. It’s no longer just to help you adjust, Viktor. I need time to figure out how to keep you safe.”
Viktor looks at him, truly looks at him. Jayce, who had spent years trying to fix what was broken, who had lost nearly everything in his search for answers. And yet, his first instinct was still to protect.
The warmth from earlier creeps back into Viktor’s chest, unsettling in its own way. He looks away, back down at his hands. “I see.”
Jayce studies him for a moment longer, then claps his hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Right. Well, heavy conversations during breakfast can’t be good for digestion. Eat up. We have a city to explore, and you need new clothes before people start thinking I kidnapped you.”
Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. The conversation isn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, he allows the shift, lets the tension ease.
There would be time to unravel the implications of his connection to the arcane and what he was possibly capable of. For now, he would let Jayce distract him. Just for a little while.
They finish their meal in content quiet. It turns out Jayce is actually a fantastic cook, and Viktor finds himself looking forward to more of his meals. He had never placed much thought into food before—so often, it had been an afterthought, something consumed in hurried bites between long hours in the lab. But here, with Jayce, it feels different. Something to savor.
When they finish, Viktor insists on helping clean up, despite Jayce’s protests that he’s a guest. They move easily around each other in the kitchen, Jayce washing the dishes while Viktor dries them, stacking them neatly back into the cupboards. It’s a simple, domestic routine, but Viktor finds a quiet satisfaction in it, it’s something tangible amidst the overwhelming strangeness of his new reality.
Afterward, Jayce sets about trying to find Viktor something more suitable to wear. The process is… less than smooth.
Jayce tosses him a sweater first, thick and warm, but the moment Viktor pulls it over his head, it nearly swallows him whole. The sleeves hang well past his hands, and the hem drapes nearly to his knees. He flaps his arms, the extra fabric flopping comically.
Jayce snorts, leaning against his dresser. “Okay, that might be a little big.”
“A little?” Viktor deadpans, staring at his own sleeve-covered hands. “Jayce, I look like a child wearing his father’s clothing.”
Jayce hums in thought. “You know, it’s kind of cute.”
Viktor pulls the sweater off with an exasperated sigh and throws it at Jayce’s face. “Find something else before I freeze to death.”
Jayce laughs as he peels the sweater off his head, tossing it aside before digging into the dresser again. He pulls out another shirt—this one a simple button-up. Viktor slides it on, relieved that at least the fit isn’t as disastrous. The sleeves are still too long, but rolling them up to his elbows fixes that well enough.
Jayce, ever the menace, nods in approval. “Okay, now you just look like you walked out of one of those novels you read.”
Viktor huffs, adjusting the cuffs. “Better than an orphaned waif, I suppose.”
Jayce grins. “I don’t know, the ‘tragic, windswept genius’ look works for you.”
Viktor rolls his eyes. “You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Can you blame me? It’s not every day I get to play dress-up with you.”
Viktor ignores that comment entirely and sets about wrapping the excess fabric into a sash Jayce provides, at least making the fit more manageable.
Jayce steps back, crossing his arms as he surveys the finished look. “Not bad. You could almost pass as a respectable citizen.”
Viktor raises a skeptical brow. “Almost?”
Jayce smirks. “I mean, you still look like you’re about to deliver some ominous monologue about the dangers of unchecked ambition.”
Viktor places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “How dare you. My monologues are never ominous.”
Jayce just gives him a look.
Viktor sighs, finishing the last of his adjustments. “Are we done?”
“Just need shoes.” Jayce kneels, digging around until he finds something suitable. He holds up a pair of boots first, then eyes Viktor’s slim frame and shakes his head before swapping them out for a pair of slip-ons. “Try these.”
Viktor steps into them, relieved to find they fit well enough. Jayce stays crouched, resting his arms on his knees as he studies him again, something softer in his expression now.
“You look good,” he says, quieter this time.
Viktor feels warmth creep up his neck, suddenly very aware of how closely they’re standing. He clears his throat, brushing his hands over his sleeves. “Yes, well, considering the alternatives, I will take what I can get.”
Jayce grins but doesn’t argue. “Alright, let’s get going. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”
As they step out of the house, Viktor glances once more at the cozy space Jayce calls home. He hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere in this world. And yet, somehow, he does.
Maybe it isn’t the place at all. Maybe it’s the person in it.
The streets of Piltover bustle with morning activity as Jayce and Viktor make their way through the city. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar—buildings in the same places but constructed differently, people dressed in styles reminiscent of what Viktor remembers but with subtle, unfamiliar details. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint metallic tang of worked steel from the smithy down the street.
Jayce walks beside him with an easy confidence, offering a reassuring presence as Viktor navigates this strange-yet-familiar world. He catches a few people offering them polite nods or greetings, some even calling Jayce by name. It seems, much like before, Jayce is well-known here.
“You’re quite the local celebrity,” Viktor muses as they weave through the crowd.
Jayce chuckles. “Not really. I just do a lot of work around town. Engineering, repairs, that sort of thing. Helps getting to know people.”
“Mm. And here I thought you were simply charming your way through life.”
Jayce shoots him a grin. “That too.”
They arrive at the tailor’s shop, a quaint yet refined boutique tucked between a bookshop and an apothecary. The sign above the door reads Hallowed & Co. Fine Tailoring. The moment they step inside, the scent of linen, wool, and polished wood surrounds them. Bolts of rich fabric line the walls, neatly organized by color and material, and mannequins display expertly crafted coats and waistcoats.
A young woman emerges from behind a curtain, adjusting the lace cuffs of her blouse. She’s dressed in layers of ruffled fabric, her ensemble meticulously coordinated in deep blues and blacks, accented with delicate silver embroidery. Her long azure-blue hair is tied back with black ribbons, and when she sees them, her face lights up with a delighted smile.
“Jayce Talis! You’re in need of my services again?” she teases, resting a hand on her hip. “Did you already manage to get grease on the last outfit you ordered?”
Jayce lets out a good-natured laugh. “Not this time, Gwen. It’s actually Viktor who needs your help. We need to get him a full wardrobe.”
Gwen’s sharp eyes flick to Viktor, scanning him with an appraising gaze before clasping her hands together. “Oh, what a wonderful canvas to work with!” she exclaims. “And you’ve got the perfect frame for something refined. Tell me, Viktor, do you have a preference, or shall I simply dress you as I see fit?”
Viktor, mildly taken aback by her enthusiasm, clears his throat. “I prefer a structured, practical style? I think? I don’t really know fashion all that well.”
Gwen beams. “Oh, that’s not a problem. We will figure out what works for you together.” She gestures toward a fitting area. “Come, let’s get your measurements.”
Jayce claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Have fun with that. I’ll be over here looking at fabrics.”
Viktor shoots him a flat look but steps forward as Gwen retrieves her measuring tape. She works quickly and efficiently, jotting down notes in a little leather book while occasionally humming to herself.
“You carry yourself like a man who prefers deep, understated tones,” she muses, glancing up at him. “Charcoal, navy, emerald, perhaps a rich aubergine?”
Viktor nods in approval. “I favor subtlety.”
Jayce, from across the shop, holds up a bright ruby fabric. “What about this? You’d look good in red.”
Viktor eyes it for a moment before shaking his head. “Too bold.”
Jayce snorts, muttering, “Still allergic to standing out, huh?”
Gwen grins. “A more classic palette it is.” She turns, sifting through a collection of swatches before pulling a few options. “This midnight blue with silver threading would make for a stunning waistcoat. Or, if you want something a little warmer, this forest green wool is both stylish and practical.”
Viktor considers them before selecting the navy. “This.”
Gwen nods approvingly. “Excellent choice.”
Jayce, meanwhile, has found his way to the sleepwear selection. He picks up a luxurious-looking robe, deep maroon with gold embroidery along the sleeves, and holds it up. “What about this? You could look regal while sipping your evening tea.”
Viktor barely spares it a glance. “I am not a prince, Jayce.”
Jayce smirks. “You could be.”
Gwen giggles.
Viktor huffs, but there’s a faint hint of amusement in his expression.
They move on to selecting casual wear—linen shirts with subtle detailing, lighter vests for layering, and well-fitted trousers that wouldn’t restrict movement. Gwen sketches quickly, making notes of embroidery details and fabric textures.
Finally, they reach the topic of shoes. Viktor selects a few pairs of finely crafted leather boots—one set for everyday wear, another more formal, and a simple pair for lounging at home.
By the time they are finished, Jayce is leaning lazily against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an easy grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
“I suppose not,” Viktor concedes.
Jayce glances at Gwen, who is finalizing the order. “How long will the work take?”
“Given the urgency, I can have the essentials ready within three days. The more intricate pieces may take a week. But given your current predicament,” she gestures to his current attire. I have some premade outfits that should fit you better that I can send you with now if you’d like.”
Jayce nods. “Perfect. Just send the bill to me.”
Viktor frowns. “Jayce—”
“No arguments,” Jayce interrupts, giving Viktor a steady look. “Consider it a gift. You deserve to be comfortable here.”
Viktor exhales deeply, a mix of resignation and gratitude mingling in his chest. He realizes, with a sinking certainty, that he has no way to pay for the clothing himself. Instead, he watches as Jayce leans in to speak with Gwen, who is busily finalizing the details of the order.
Gwen nods curtly and disappears into the back of the shop. Minutes later, she reemerges carrying two carefully folded outfits. The stack is neat and precise—an ensemble that hints at Viktor’s refined taste—with a pair of leather boots. Gwen’s eyes sparkle with pride as she holds out the neatly stacked bundle.
“There’s a changing room over there if you’d like to try them on, I can make any minor adjustments you might need.” She gestures to a door to their left. “These should hold you over until I can have the basics made to fit you perfectly,” she announces, her tone warm and confident.
Viktor runs his fingers lightly over the fabric as he accepts the clothing, feeling the texture promise both comfort and a touch of elegance he hadn’t appreciated before. The gesture, so unburdened by transaction or obligation, speaks volumes about Jayce’s care—and perhaps about the new life Viktor is slowly beginning to accept.
Jayce catches Viktor’s eye, his own smile softening. “You’ll look sharp, V. I don’t want you to feel out of place.”
Viktor manages a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of the gift—and of Jayce’s unwavering support.
Viktor thanks Gwen with a nod and slips into the changing room, the door closing softly behind him. In the quiet space, he unfolds the neatly stacked bundle on a small table and examines the garments with a measured eye. One outfit, in particular, catches his attention. He runs his fingers over the fabric: a deep, elegant navy blue corset-style vest that promises a structured, dignified silhouette; beneath it, a deep maroon button-up shirt exudes warmth and subtle flair; paired with high waisted black trousers, the ensemble speaks of understated sophistication.
The maroon shirt slips on effortlessly, and as he pulls the trousers up, he is pleasantly surprised—they fit him perfectly without a need for adjustments. He carefully dons the vest, noticing immediately how it hugs his frame in all the right places. In the mirror, the reflection that meets him is both striking and refined—a man reborn in style, his features set with determination and a hint of vulnerability.
After a few moments of quiet self-reflection, Viktor steps out of the changing room. In the soft light of the boutique, he stands before Gwen and Jayce, who are waiting expectantly. Gwen offers an excited smile and a satisfied nod, her eyes gleaming with professional pride.
But it is Jayce's reaction that stops Viktor in his tracks. Jayce, usually so composed and confident, appears utterly entranced. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Viktor in the elegant attire. A blush tints Jayce’s cheeks, and he fumbles for a moment as if caught off guard by a revelation he hadn’t anticipated. For a heartbeat, the world seems to still, and Viktor senses an unfamiliar vulnerability in Jayce—a quiet bashfulness that softens the hard edges of his usual demeanor.
“You… you look remarkable,” Jayce stammers, his voice lower and more hesitant than usual. He avoids Viktor’s gaze for a moment before managing a small, sincere smile. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so…elegant.”
Viktor arches an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he studies Jayce’s reaction. “Thank you,” Viktor replies quietly, his voice carrying both gratitude and a touch of irony. “I suppose change isn’t so bad after all.”
Jayce’s bashful smile lingers as he steps closer, his hand resting on Viktor’s shoulder in an all too familiar manner. “No, not at all,” he murmurs. “In fact, I’m rather… excited…about the idea of change.”
Gwen breaks their momentary trance with a polite cough, drawing both Viktor and Jayce back to the present. Jayce flushes, quickly apologizing. “I’m sorry,” he says, glancing at Gwen with genuine gratitude. “Thank you again, Gwen.” He gathers the other outfit for Viktor, handing it over for her to wrap up.
Gwen smiles warmly as she safely packs the second outfit for Jayce. “Of course, Jayce. It was my pleasure.”
After saying farewell, Jayce and Viktor step back out onto the street. Jayce once again offers Viktor his arm. The gesture, while becoming as natural as breathing, causes Jayce to make a mental note to construct a new cane for Viktor—one that will perfectly match his new look. “Guess now I’m the one making you look bad,” he teases, his tone light as he grins.
Viktor raises an eyebrow in playful reproach. “I don’t think that could ever be possible,” he blurts before he realizes what he was saying, catching himself and looking away. Dressed in a form-fitted tunic and slacks, complemented by a dashing overcoat, the idea of Jayce making anyone look bad was unthinkable.
Together, they meander through town at a leisurely pace. Jayce points out various places and sights—a bustling market square, a quiet garden tucked between cobbled streets, even a fountain whose waters catch the afternoon light just right.
Viktor can’t help but smile as he watches Jayce in this world. Here, in these streets filled with simple pleasures and genuine conversation, Jayce seems so undeniably happy—a stark contrast to the relentless urgency they once both carried. For a long time, they had been consumed by their efforts to harness magic, to reshape the world according to their ideals, and in the process, they’d clearly forgotten how magical the world already was.
They finally reach a beautiful park in the heart of the city—a lush oasis where a wide river meanders through the city, its gentle current sparkling under the afternoon sun. As they step onto the manicured lawns, Viktor’s eyes light up with a distant, bittersweet recognition. The park’s winding paths and the river’s steady flow remind him of his childhood: of afternoons spent near the water testing his mechanical boats, marveling at how the current danced around his creations.
For a moment, Viktor is lost in the reverie of those bygone days. Then, in a flash of sudden clarity, his eyes widen and he blurts out, “Rio!”
Jayce, startled by the unexpected outburst, jumps aside as Viktor whirls to face him. “Jayce, in the year that you were here, was there any trace of shimmer?”
Jayce furrows his brow in confusion. “Shimmer? N-no…actually, no. Shimmer never seems to have been invented here. Why?”
Viktor grins widely, a wild light in his eyes. Without thinking, he nearly leaps forward, throwing his arms around Jayce in a tight, exuberant embrace. “We need to go to Zaun. I need to find her—” He catches himself mid-hug, quickly disentangling his arms as he realizes the precariousness of his position.
Jayce, still visibly confused and now trying to steady his racing heart, “Zaun? I mean, that’s no problem, but who exactly are we looking for?”
Viktor’s grin grows even more determined as he steps back, his eyes shining with a child-like excitement and urgency. “Rio. A man named Singed used her in his creation of shimmer. If shimmer was never invented here, then she might still be alive, somewhere down in Zaun. I have to find her.”
For a long moment, the only sound is the gentle murmur of the river and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The weight of Viktor’s realization hangs between them, charged with memories and possibilities. Jayce studies Viktor’s fervent expression, caught between confusion and adoration. The sight of Viktor so expressively happy makes him feel as though his knees might buckle beneath him. He doesn’t know who—or what—Rio is, but if she can make Viktor this happy, then he would turn the entire city upside down to find her for him.
Jayce clears his throat softly, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Viktor… you’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” His eyes search Viktor’s face for any sign of doubt, finding none—only the unyielding determination of a man set on a course he must follow.
Viktor nods, his gaze fixed on the shimmering water. “Absolutely. Rio isn’t just a piece of my past. She’s a part of me, she brought me joy as a child but Singed used her. Distorted her. Turned a creature of beauty into something twisted for his own gains.” His voice trembles with a mix of hope and anger as his memories of his time with Singed flooded his mind.
Jayce steps closer, his arm instinctively slipping around Viktor’s shoulder as they turn their attention back to the river before them. “Then we’ll find her,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “I’m with you every step of the way.”
For a moment, Viktor’s eyes glisten with unshed tears—an amalgamation of relief, gratitude, and a rekindled sense of purpose. He glances at Jayce, the unspoken feelings for him with every heartbeat. “Thank you, Jayce. I—I know this isn’t going to be easy, she’s a rare creature. But Singed had built his lab around her habitat, so it’s a place to start. I need to see her happy and free.”
Jayce’s smile is soft but resolute. “Tonight, we rest and gather what we need. Tomorrow we will start searching.” His words, though simple, resound with a sincere commitment that touches Viktor deeply.
As the river continues its quiet song and the park’s natural beauty wraps around them like a soothing embrace, Viktor and Jayce stand side by side. A journey into the depths of Zaun, into memories long buried. Shimmer had been the start of what had torn them apart and now, perhaps, finding Rio could be the start to bringing them fully back together.
In that moment, with the afternoon sun gilding the water and casting long shadows among the trees, Viktor glances down at his stained hands. He still feels the fear of the unknown, of not knowing what he is capable of, but with Jayce at his side again it doesn’t feel so all consuming.
They continue their tour, Viktor buoyed by the newfound hope that Rio could be out there somewhere. His spirits are noticeably higher as the afternoon wanes. With the sun beginning its slow descent, Jayce suggests they head back to his home—but not before a detour to a quaint restaurant with a lovely outdoor patio.
The restaurant exudes a relaxed charm: warm, glowing lanterns, ivy creeping along the stone walls, and smaller lanterns casting a gentle glow over the tables. Seated under a pergola draped in flowering vines, they place their orders and settle into a comfortable conversation as they wait for dinner to arrive.
After a few moments of quiet conversation and the soft clink of cutlery in the background, Jayce turns to Viktor with genuine curiosity. “So, tell me more about Rio,” he says, his tone both inquisitive and supportive.
Viktor’s eyes light up as he begins to explain. “Rio is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered—she’s a rare mutation of a Waverider.” He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. “Waveriders are normally found around in the Guardian Sea, near Bilgewater. But somehow, Rio ended up in caves in the upper levels of Zaun, where the water from Piltover flows through.”
Jayce nods, listening intently as Viktor continues. “What makes her extraordinary is her regenerative abilities. She can heal herself at an astonishing rate. Singed saw that potential and exploited it in his relentless efforts to defy death. In his desperate bid to create something that would stave off death—he harnessed her regenerative power. That, in turn, gave birth to shimmer, and Rio’s unfortunate downfall.”
Jayce’s eyes widen in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Viktor’s words. “So, shimmer…it’s tied to her, to this mutation?” he asks softly.
Viktor nods. “Exactly, and if shimmer never took hold here, that means Rio might still be out there, untouched by the ambitions of those who would misuse her gift.”
As their meals arrive, the rich aromas of freshly prepared food mingled with the evening air. Their conversation resumed as they broke into their second bottle of wine, the mellow notes of red filling the space between each sip. Between bites of their meals, Viktor leans forward, his eyes alight with determined speculation.
“Tracking her down,” he begins, “won’t be easy. Despite her large size, Rio’s a herbivore. I’m thinking if we can get the right fruits and vegetables—something irresistible—we might lure her out of hiding.” He gestures animatedly, nearly toppling his glass in his excitement.
Jayce nods thoughtfully, his gaze flickering between Viktor and his half-full glass. “So we’d set up a sort of… bait?” he asks. “Some kind of feeding station?”
“Exactly,” Viktor replies, warming to the idea. “It won’t be foolproof, but it might just work, if she managed to find her way into those caves in this world too, that is.”
As their conversation drifts between plans and theories, their laughter mingles with the soft murmur of the restaurant. Eventually, as the meal winds down, Jayce signals the waiter and settles the bill, thanking him with a courteous nod. Viktor, a bit more flushed from the wine than before, stands abruptly—and wobbles.
Jayce is quick to react, steadying Viktor with a firm hand on his lower back while chuckling. “Easy there, V. Don’t want you falling over.”
They leave the restaurant, both men it turns out are a bit unsteady on their feet, and they find themselves laughing at each other's missteps. When they finally reach Jayce’s home, the evening’s fatigue mingles with their lingering mirth. Jayce fumbles for the oil lamps, his fingers clumsy in the dim light, while Viktor struggles to haul fresh logs into the fireplace. After a few humorous stumbles and gentle teasing, Viktor manages to coax the fire back to life and finally collapses onto the couch with a contented sigh. A few moments later, Jayce joins him, stretching and releasing a long, weary sigh.
Now, with the sun nearly set and most of the illumination coming from the flickering oil lamps and the steady glow of the hearth, a chill begins to seep into the room. Even with the fire burning, Viktor shivers slightly. Jayce notices immediately, sliding his arm around Viktor and pulling him closer.
For a moment, Viktor tenses at the unexpected embrace, but then the warmth—both physical and emotional—slowly relaxes him. They settle into a comfortable silence together, watching as the sun sinks lower through the bay window. Outside, lamplighters begin their nightly rounds, and one by one, the street’s oil lamps flicker to life.
Perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps Viktor was simply feeling brave, but as he leaned into Jayce he took a chance at resting his head softly on his shoulder. He allowed himself to dream. He wished this quiet, tender moment could be his life every day, even if he knew there was still so much to unravel. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the comfort of the present.
AUTHOR NOTE: I took a few creative liberties with Rio. In the show Singed claims to have “cultivated” her mutation, but in League Lore, Pixiemanders are a naturally occurring mutation of the Waverider species, so in this, Rio is a naturally mutated Pixiemander. I also interpreted the fact she was dying as something caused by Singed’s experiments, so no experiments, no dying Rio. I want a happy ending for our girl mkay? <3
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Khare never used to be quite so dim-witted. Her slower thought process and ability to learn has been heavily impacted as a result of her mutation but she's still canny enough to gauge a situation or look of a person and go "Yeah, that is somebody I probably shouldn't piss off."
#🌈 || musings#I was thinking about posting this last night but decided against it#The shake ask just now forced my hand#It's such a painful issue for Khare because she knows she was normal before all this happened and now it's a struggle doing basic tasks#On the other hand her common sense is rather more intact than a lot of people's#She is definitely not the sort to go mouthing off to the guy who could snap her spine like a matchstick#Or taunt giant dragons if it can be helped#She has this internal voice that often pipes up with “Are you SURE that is a good idea?”#And sometimes it is!#But when it counts you can reasonably assume she'll do the right/smart thing... eventually#Sorry for the shitposting I have another doubleshift AGAIN#There is a lot going on locally this weekend with jogging and airshows and shit#So extra hours it is#Should be off tomorrow to finally tackle something#I do want to write I do but work is burning my ass out#1st of July though huzzah#Hope you're all having a great weekend lovelies
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I think that anon yelling at you about the USB is thinking you're trying to get back with an ex-boyfriend or something and is trying to insert themselves
yeah literally like ANYTHING could be on that usb and none of you know what my friendship with the guy is/was like
#it's not getting to him i've decided against the whole thing#ALSO. NOT A BOYFRIEND.#a friend. i am a lesbian. please. not saying this against you anon i know what you're saying. but just in general. i am a lesbian.#anyway my point is don't assume you know everything about my life. you don't know if it's a good idea. you don't know what's on that usb#i know i post a LOT on here but i am in fact keeping a lot private#frankly what's a worse idea was that LETTER god#i haven't reread it since last night but oh my god he absolutely cannot read that#it also doesn't read as the person he knows me to be at all.#i just wanted to give him his promised christmas present and some cookies and to tell him i think of things i want to tell him constantly#but it doesn't matter honestly.#i am not trying to get back with an ex-boyfriend#i'm not even trying to convince my friend to come back and talk to me#i just want to let him know that i miss him. that i care about him.#that i'm here for him even when he wants to distance himself.#i'm not capable of convincing him to come back. i just love him you know. i don't want to lose him.#asks
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never ending night
bruce wayne x femwife!reader
word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!
CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.
It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.
“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.
The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.
“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.
“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.
“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.
“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”
“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”
Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.
“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.
“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”
“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.
You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.
“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.
“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.
“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.
You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.
“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.
“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.
“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.
“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.
“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.
“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.
Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.
“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”
“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.
“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”
You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.
“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”
“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.
“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.
“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.
Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”
You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.
As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.
At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.
He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.
As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.
But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.
So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.
Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.
#ailis writes#requests are open#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne#bruce wayne x fem!reader#bruce wayne x wife!reader#bruce wayne x you#batman#batman x reader#batman x fem!reader#batman x wife!reader#batman comics#christian bale batman#battinson#bruce wayne fic#bruce wayne imagine#bruce wayne x y/n#bruce wayne fanfiction#bruce wayne fluff#batman x y/n#batman imagine#batman fic#batman fanfiction#batman fluff#batmom#reader insert#x reader#fem reader
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Bump Relief - S.R.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Content warning: fluff, pregnant reader
Word Count: 1.8K
Summary: Making you comfortable while you're pregnant is his number one priority, so he decides to give JJ's little trick a try
Request: maybe Spencer hearing from JJ or reading somewhere that holding the baby bump relieves the mother and decides to try it on his girlfriend/wife?
A/N: So a few days ago, I asked for short requests because I was dying to write something short. I sat down to write, and it got a little longer than I anticipated(I have no excuse). It's a known fact I can't write anything short, so I don't know why I try. I was going to post this tomorrow, but I really needed the serotonin I get from posting a fic, so enjoy!
masterlist | requests are closed!
Spencer was twirling a pen between his fingers, deep in thought. All of his thoughts were about you because of course they were.
He thought about you while he fell in love, proposed, and watched you walk down the aisle towards him. You occupied every waking moment when he wasn’t focused on his work, friends and mother, or hobbies. You were a constant in his life, and have been for years.
But he’d been thinking about you a lot more in the last 6 months, and especially the last few days. About you, and the little angel.
At 34 weeks pregnant, you were glowing from the inside, just as beautiful as you’d been in your wedding dress. Or that’s what Spencer saw when he looked at you.
But along with all the beauty of growing your little one came the few negatives, some of which he couldn’t help but notice too. How you hadn’t been wearing your wedding rings since the start of your third trimester.
Or the light sheen of sweat on your brow just going up the stairs to your apartment. Or even the discomfort at the small of your back from carrying all the weight around. The small winces he heard coming from you, along with the scrunch in your eyes and nose.
He wanted to take a part of your discomfort and bear it as his own. He’d watched you grow this little bean inside you for months, fight the morning sickness, and the only thing he’d been able to do was hold your hair and rub your back, watching as you suffered through it.
Or the changes in your body, your clothes not fitting, or sometimes feeling like an outsider in your own skin. He’d been able to offer reassuring words, and kisses laid across your whole body, any point that sparked an insecurity in you - worshiped.
He’d wake up in the middle of the night to satisfy your weird food cravings, or even the desire to have him as a snack.
He’d been to every appointment with you - held your hand, wiped your tears, or kissed the crown of your head. You’d heard the heartbeat together, where he’d spoken in your ear, thankful to you for giving him the greatest gift of all to come in a few short months - being a dad. Something he’d wished for, for years, sometimes even thinking he’d never get to experience it.
But that’s as far as he could help you and god, he wished he could do more.
He didn’t hear JJ approaching and wasn’t even paying attention when she called his name out softly. And then again, and again.
Snapping her fingers in front of his face worked like a charm though.
“Yes?” He asked, after a light shake of his head to clear his thoughts.
“Where’d you go Spence?” She leaned against his desk, giving his shoulder a small squeeze in support, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s good,” He didn’t look or sound convincing, and watching JJ’s brow arch in question, he sighed, “Well, okay, not everything.”
“What’s going on? Are Y/N and the baby okay?” She asked a frantic worry in her voice.
“They’re good and healthy,” Spencer confirmed, watching her let a sigh of her own. He decided then and there to seek her advice. She was his friend, and seeing as she’d been a mom twice now, she knew exactly what you were going through.
“She’s been feeling uncomfortable, carrying the weight of the little bean around,” He smiled, simply mentioning his child softened everything within him, “And I see her trying not to show it that much, but it’s clearly exhausting her even more, and I wish there was something I could do to help, you know?” He sounded so small at that moment, rubbing his wedding band, feeling like he was failing you somehow.
He knew that wasn’t possible, you told him daily how proud you were of him and everything he did and has done for you, but even now, he couldn’t help but worry sometimes.
“Well, there’s this one thing that worked wonders for me when I was pregnant with Henry, and Michael too.” She started before she shared her little secret.
You breathed in deep, moving around yet again, and then exhaled a long breath.
Your couch was one of the most comfortable things in the apartment - at least it had been before you’d started popping. Now it felt more like the most uncomfortable piece of furniture ever, but you knew that was just your inability to get comfortable - well, anywhere really.
It was a struggle finding a way to feel good, but not like your baby was sitting on your bladder, or putting more pressure on your back than needed. You had roughly 6 more weeks to go, but you already felt about ready to pop.
Your bean was grown in size - with a tall daddy like your husband, you weren’t even that surprised. You somehow knew that they’d take even more than his height - you hoped they’d inherit his best characteristics too. His love for learning, his calmness, and most of all his heart. Maybe his hair too - you loved his hair. And his smile. God you simply loved him.
You couldn’t wait for him to get home - the only time you felt like your whole body could relax was whenever he was with you, one hand or both thrown over your bump in a protective manner, talking to you and your baby quietly.
You tried a few more times to get comfortable, a few different positions - leaning on your left, your right, or even with your back straight, and nothing worked.
Another deep exhale left you and you simply gave up - lying on your back and praying for no uncomfortable sensations for at least a few minutes.
Just as you felt your eyes droop - you wanted a few minutes to simply breathe - you felt a little kick to your left. It didn’t hurt, luckily for you, your little one seemed to be a pretty calm, small bundle so it wasn’t often any cry for attention left you rattled.
You did let out a little chuckle, rubbing the spot. As you rubbed at your stomach, small kick after small kick under your hand, you heard a key being inserted into the lock - the door opening and closing, keys rattling on the key hanger next to the door.
“Sweetheart? Where are my girls?” He asked, as you heard the familiar sounds of him hanging his jacket and satchel, and taking off his shoes. You’d decided the gender would be a surprise, but Spencer insisted that it was a girl - you had a feeling he wanted to be a girl dad.
You raised a hand, waving in the direction of the door, not wishing to move now, “We’re here, love.”
You didn’t attempt to push yourself up, you just stayed where you were, rubbing your belly and waiting for your husband to make his way over.
Sure enough, just a few seconds later he was kneeling next to the couch close to your head, moving pieces of hair away from your face.
“Hi.” He whispered before he leaned down and laid a series of small kisses all over your face - one on each cheek, one on your forehead and nose, finishing with a gentle press of his lips against yours. It still made a small shiver run through you, just like it always did.
“Hi.” You returned when he pulled away, watching him as he leaned towards your belly then, kissing just next to where your hands were still sitting. A kick followed his kiss like your baby knew it was his daddy having returned from work.
“Hi, little love.” It was his little nickname for them, and you loved it. You ran a hand through his hair then, soft and thick to the touch.
With his hand sitting next to yours, wedding band gleaming in the light, he pulled you into another small kiss. His face was inches away from yours.
“Can you stand up for a second, love?” He was whispering, content in keeping you three in a small bubble of touch and soft words.
“Why?” It sounded like a whine, but in your defense, everything felt more comfortable than before now that he was there.
His eyes softened then, understanding written all over his face, and a small smile on his slightly chapped lips too.
“Just want to try something JJ suggested. Please? It’s going to feel good, I promise.” He kissed your brown in reassurance, and promise.
You sighed again, allowing him to pull you up.
“If I hate this, you have to go get me those super sour lemon candies from the candy store on the other side of town, okay?” You bargained with him. You’ve been craving those since last night, but he’d been going out on a limp for your every whim and you wanted to cool it for a day or two and allow him some time to breathe.
He smiled softly, hand on your lower back, moving up and down.
“Okay, sour lemon candy it is.”
“What are we doing again?”
“Okay, I’m going to settle behind you, and I want you to lean your upper body against me, lay your head on my shoulder,” He instructed, moving behind you, hands on your hips just like he’d told you to do. His scent filled your nostrils, and you moved your head to the side to nuzzle his neck. He kissed your head, “Okay, now relax, and let me do all the work, yeah?” Again, soft, in a whisper.
“What work -” You started before you felt his hands settle underneath your bump, holding onto it, and allowing the weight to fall on his hands instead of falling on you. You felt light like you were no longer carrying your little bean, but instead, it was safely nestled into his father’s arms. A half sigh-half moan left you, so relieved, thankful in that moment, to JJ and to your husband.
“Good?” He asked. Tears gathered in your eyes, so overwhelmed by the reprieve. You nodded, just a tiny bit choked up at that moment.
“So, so good. Thank you.” You said, one hand moving to cup gently around his, face once again burying into his neck. You couldn’t believe the universe had granted you this man to be by your side for years to come. This dedicated, adorable, kindhearted man, and all his care.
He rubbed his thumb against your bump, feeling your little girl kick against him, and he kissed your hair, holding you both, doing his very best to help in any way he could. Just like he always would.
Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fluff#reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic#dr spencer reid
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"baby ,i care for you,, 2.6k words synopsis: caleb nurses you back to health contains: fluff! lads caleb x f!reader (caleb calls you "good girl" + "silly girl" x1) ,established relationship! ,just some self-indulgent fluffy sick comfort ,chef!caleb ,kind of stern!caleb (he's just worried) ,caleb makes u take medicine ,two suggestive jokes (cause its caleb) ,like one second of angst ,one single use of "gege" ,he carries you to the couch ,he pats your head/gives u a massage ,lulls you to sleep ,one head kiss ,i think thats it note: not proofread! its 5 in the morning when i post this so forgive any mistakes i just needed this out of my system i need him to take care of me so baaad :x enjoy
-
for some reason, you woke early for someone who didn't sleep till the late hours into the morning last night.
what you'd gotten couldn't even be considered proper sleep, more like just a nap, but somehow your body wasn't too keen on slipping back into the grips of slumber that easily.
and somehow, you woke up feeling even worse than you had for the past two days.
even if your sore throat was mostly gone, you heaved out a couple of dry coughs as you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket, shivering in the cold that surrounded the room (courtesy of your comfort, unable to sleep comfortably otherwise even if it worsened your current condition), and on top of that your head was softly throbbing. not wanting to deal with it, you decided to lay back completely to soothe the pain.
your nose was stuffy and runny at the same time, reaching for some tissues on the bedside table to wipe away at it, not before sneezing a couple of times and sniffling afterwards— it was so sensitive today for some reason.
you let out a deep sigh, soft breaths escaping from your mouth as you couldn't breathe comfortably from your nose.
how did it get worse? sure, you only took medicine once yesterday instead of every couple of hours like you were supposed to, but seriously, it was just a sore throat and a small fever!
you sighed, irritated that you were still sick. weren't you supposed to be the one with a good immune system? you and caleb often argued about it, and if he were here, he would surely use this as a point that his was better.
the yearning for his presence bit into the silence of the room as you laid comfortably on your back, shutting your eyes once again as your shallow breaths evened out.
you thought about getting up, washing your face and then making your way to the kitchen to make yourself some tea, and then something to eat so that you could take your medicine and then proceed to rest- something caleb would already be doing for you the moment he'd realize you were sick.
but he wasn't here right now, and even though you'd seen his moments posts about being out with friends, you had no plan to worry him when this was just a little cold.
you thought about it- you were hungry after all, and you wanted something warm to soothe your throat, but just the idea of going all the way down and doing all of that at the moment in your state was tiring.
but, you had taken care of yourself for the past two days like this. what was another?
you opened your eyes, pulled yourself up with a groan, swung your legs over the edge of the bed to slip on your slippers, slipped on the closest sweater and slowly padded your way to the bathroom, leaning against the wall for balance as your headache and sick haze had you dizzy and unsteady on your feet.
you washed up without much of a hitch, and when you exited the bathroom, you thought you heard a door close.
huh?
you thought it might be your mind playing tricks on you. after all, you were at home by yourself and weren't expecting anyone (even if you yearned for someone, the stray thought of him being here leaving you as soon as it came), and you couldn't think of anyone that would stop by on a random wednesday who also happened to have a key to your place.
you shook your head, pocketing your phone as you padded down the way towards the living room, pausing at the faint sound of the television being on- had you left it on?- before proceeding towards the kitchen.
you froze at the sound of light humming coming from your kitchen, feet subconsciously carrying your slightly swaying body closer at the pleasant smell of food wafting towards your nose, completely disregarding a certain bag laying at the end of the empty sofa.
your footsteps must've been heavier than you thought because before you could fully enter the kitchen, the person in question turned around, staring straight at you, spatula in his hand and smile stretching across his face.
"morning, sleepyhead."
you tilted your head.
"caleb?" you whispered.
"surprised?"
you took a few steps closer, heart pounding with excitement but managing to keep your distance due to your illness.
"what are you-"
"hey."
his playful smile quickly morphs into a look of concern as he studies your face, noticing your shallow breaths, quiet voice and slightly-swaying body.
"pipsqueak, are you sick?"
you jolt, looking off to the side.
"not really, its just—"
you startle at his free hand brushing your bangs from your head and resting on your forehead.
"hey! i don't have a fever, i'm fine—"
"your voice is mostly gone," he deadpans.
"that's—"
"how long have you been sick??" his look is full of concern, voice laced with worry.
"just the past two days.."
"two days? and you didn't think to tell me?"
"it was just a sore throat at first!"
"and you're telling me this is still just that?"
before you can answer you're interrupted, bringing up your sleeved arm up to cover the lower half of your face to sneeze twice into it before sniffling.
you put your sleeved arm down and sigh.
"bless you," he says, taking a once over if your state before placing a hand on your lower back.
"here, i made you breakfast, just- sit down, i'll get you everything."
"that's okay, i wanted to—"
"i have water ready for tea if that's what you're after, just sit down, i'll bring it to you."
he says it in a way that almost feels like he's scolding you, and you can't help but to obey and trudge over to the closest seat at the dining table, secretly grateful since your head was hurting more now.
you momentarily rest your head on the cool surface, missing the frown that adorns caleb's face at seeing you in such a weakened state.
he knew how prideful you were when it came to your wellbeing, and he also knew how, for as little as it happened, sick you got when you did succumb to illness.
luckily, from a surface level it didn't look too bad, and the duration wasn't anywhere near severe-level yet. he was sure it was something plenty of rest and medicine would help with.
which is when he vowed, while filling your plate and pouring the steaming water into your favorite mug with a green tea bag resting inside, that he would be the one to nurse you back to health himself.
just like he used to.
-
"that's way too many, caleb!"
"i'm not letting you leave until you take em' all."
"is this really necessary??"
"lingering sore throat, mild fever, headache, stuffy and runny nose, sneezing, dry cough. did i miss anything?"
"no.."
"then yes, this is all necessary. it's not even that much!"
"caleb, there's five different pills sitting in front of me. i am not swallowing all of that!"
"haven't you swallowed more than just this before?"
"caleb!"
you smack his arm and he lets out a hearty laugh— one that you're grateful to see (despite it being at your expense), given he's mostly been overcome with concern— before looking over the medicines again.
"fine, fine, here."
one hand drags an orange pill away towards him.
"how about now?"
you deadpan.
"you're joking, right?" you sniffle.
"that's the best i can do, pipsqueak. now hurry up and take them."
you let out a groan, but reach for the largest pill first.
"do i really—"
"yes," he crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. "i won't say it again."
you sigh, taking a small sip of tea before slipping the pill between your lips, tipping your head back before taking multiple large gulps of your tea to help its descent.
caleb nods, uncurling his hands and reaching for his utensil to grab some rice.
"good girl, now eat some more and take the rest," he instructs, shoving the rice into his mouth.
you're about to speak but are interrupted by a small sneeze.
"bless you."
you pout at him.
he points to your plate with his chopsticks.
"eat."
"you're lucky your food is so good..." you trail off, shoveling some eggs into your mouth, delight quickly filling you at the flavor of such a simple food item.
the cycle repeats: caleb watching you take sips of your tea and shoveling small bites of food into your mouth before pushing the next pill towards you until they're all gone.
in no time at all, both of your plates are empty. he takes yours from in front of you as you sip on the remainder of your tea, nodding when he asks if you're finished before taking them away to the sink.
you watch as he rolls up his sleeves and makes quick work to wash the plates, utensils, and the kitchenware he'd used, mesmerized by the familiar movements but willing to watch again and again all the same.
once he was finished and the dishes were properly put away, he dries his hands, walking back over to you and feeling your forehead again.
"hmm.. not too warm. how are you feeling right now? are you cold?"
you nod your head, and he gently pats the top of it. you close your eyes in response, the gesture soothing to you.
he grins.
always so cute...
"we should get you back to bed," he murmurs, bending down to your level. "want gege to carry you?"
you crack your eyes open and shake your head, prompting him to tilt his in question.
"i don't want you tripping on the way to your room if you're still dizzy, pipsqueak—"
"i don't wanna go to my room," you cut him off.
"can't i rest near you?" you peer up at him, hope filled in your droopy eyes, and something about that hits him.
you'd been on your own feeling like crap the past two days (now onto the third) and, knowing you, haven't been taking proper care of yourself, prompting the sickness to become what it is now.
no one could guarantee that you'd been eating properly, taking the proper medicine and on time, and most of all, not trying to work while in this state.
his heart feels heavy at the thought, but at his prolonged silence and hard stare, you shift your gaze behind him, embarrassed, and speak up again.
"or— i've already caused you enough trouble, right? this is supposed to be your time off and i've worried you enough... so i'll go back to my room! i wouldn't want to get you si—"
"no, no, no," he quickly cuts you off, swiftly shaking his head before grabbing onto your shoulders.
"pipsqueak, when have i ever denied you of your wishes?"
you sniffle. he did have a point...
"and besides, it's my job to worry about you, ya know?"
"so come on, let me carry you to the couch, yeah? we can put on whatever you like until you fall asleep."
you smile, ever so grateful at how caleb loved to spoil you.
you move to stand up and barely feel your feet hit the ground for half a second before you're easily scooped into caleb's arms, laughing at the sudden gesture before he walks towards the living room with you.
"caleb! i could've—"
"nope, you really couldn't have. i saw the way you trudged through the kitchen earlier, pipsqueak. you looked like you'd fall over if i so much as blew on you."
you look away, small pout adorning your lips, sniffling again.
"s' not my fault... don't even know how i got sick this time."
"maybe cause you missed me so much?
"yeah, maybe."
his heart throbs at your honesty, plopping down on the couch with you before smiling.
"so i guess this means i've got the better immune system, huh?"
"ugh, i knew you'd bring that up..."
he chuckles, letting you adjust in his hold as you use his lap as a pillow.
"whaddya wanna watch, pipsqueak?"
"dunno," you yawn. "just see what's on right now."
you watch as he looks around for the remote, pointing at it being just out of reach on the coffee table. you're about to offer to grab it before you see the strings of his evol grip onto it, bringing it into his hand before he catches it with ease and begins flipping through the channels.
"cheater," you tease quietly, letting out a small laugh at his use of his evol.
"hm?" he catches your words, humming thoughtfully in response, eyes glued to the television.
"you say that, but i remember a certain hunter practically crying under my evol while begging me to—"
"c-caleb!"
he laughs at the way you try to swat at him as you're laying down, settling for a small thwap! on his thigh instead.
"sorry, sorry," he says nonchalantly, loving how easily riled up he could get you at the mention your bedroom activities.
"here," he says, free hand finding its way to your head, softly massaging at your scalp.
"this a good enough apology?" he asks, only earning pleased mewls from you in response.
he smiles fondly in response, pleased at your little noises and the way you nuzzle into him further, resembling a satisfied cat that just filled its belly and was ready for its afternoon nap.
he eventually lands on a channel with a classic favorite movie for the both of you, setting the remote down and using his now-free hand to rub soothing circles into your back.
"you know, wearing my clothes while you're sick is a little selfish, don't you think?"
"s' warm," you mumble, slowly being lulled to sleep by his ministrations.
"and comfy. smells like you..."
even though he teased you, he always felt his heart grow fuller at the sight of you in his clothes, and he felt some amount of pride that it was the first thing you'd reached for even in your current state.
"yeah? i guess i can forgive you," he whispers, evol reaching for the nearest blanket to drape it over your lower half.
in the edges of slumber, you can feel a kiss being planted on the side of your head, but you don't have the energy to reprimand him for doing such a thing and risk himself getting sick.
he sits back up, watching you fondly as he continues his comforting ministrations.
"get well soon, okay? ill be right here when you wake up."
even after he was sure you were sleeping, he continued his gentle caresses, comforted by the fact that you were there with him, and that he could keep a close eye on you.
so long as you were under caleb's care, you would be okay; that was something he would always make sure of.
-
extra:
half-paying attention to the movie on screen, he was already planning a soup to make you when his phone buzzed beside him.
it was a message from a friend of his.
wanna grab a bite later? my treat! some others will be joining too.
grateful for the offer, he messaged back quickly.
can't, playing nurse for my cute girlfriend tonight~
aw, next time, then!
he placed his phone back down, looking back at you and brushing stray hair out of your face as he thought back to your words.
"can't i rest near you?"
you'd looked so helpless, almost like you were expecting him to refuse you and make you rest by yourself, but eyes holding a lingering hope anyway as they peered into his soul.
his heart is full, his eyes are full of mirth, lips curling lovingly.
silly girl...
there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, right beside you—
whether you were ill or perfectly healthy.
always.
and he would make sure you never felt the burden of illness by yourself so long as he could help it.
-
a/n: i'm sick and couldn't help but imagine the l&ds men taking care of me ,and namely imagined caleb nursing me back to health so here we are. caleb come home!
#love and deepspace#love and deepspace caleb#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace x you#love and deepspace fanfic#lnds caleb#lads caleb#l&ds caleb#caleb x reader#caleb x you#xia yizhou#love and deepspace caleb x reader#lnds caleb x reader#lads caleb x reader#love and deepspace fluff#lads x reader#love and deepspace fic#lads fanfic
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I lwk keep imagining Heeseung doing a livestream and you’re just sitting there bored and decide to give him head when he’s talking to his fans like>>>> help😭🙏🙏
HOT. au where idol!heeseung’s sextape gets leaked so he becomes a pornstar instead. bye
-
“What time is it for me? Oh, I think it’s midnight…Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”
Heeseung sits behind his desk and leans against his gaming chair, giving his fans a small peek of his bedroom. They can see his door and artwork that keeps on his shelves and walls but they can’t see the bed where you lay sleeping peacefully with your back turned.
“Missed you guys,” he says with his voice kept low. His eyes flicker over the screen of his monitor to see you naked underneath his sheets. “Why am I talking quietly? It’s night time, isn’t it? I don’t want to wake the members up.”
They seem to buy it for now. Heeseung’s soft melodies that put you to sleep still air throughout the room, songs that describe sex and sensuality floating around as it permeates within the chat room of his livestream. He sees the comments—ones he can read—and smirks when the people watching him call him out for the nasty lyrics.
It takes him back to just thirty minutes prior when he was making a mess of you on his bed, shoving his cock and fingers so deep in your hole that he was sure you’d feel him as melodic lyrics talk about having sex all day and night. He hasn’t seen you in a while due to busy schedules but now that he has his own room and the walls are relatively thick, he’s got no problem plowing into you without abandon.
“Wet the bed? Yeah, that’s a good song.” Heeseung rubs his chin and flicks his eyes over to you before looking back at the chat. “What am I looking at? What do you mean? What could I possibly be looking at?”
The uptick in his voice sends his chat room in a frenzy. He feels like he might as well be high off his last orgasm and knows his fans can sense his change of attitude. Seeing you half naked in his bed doesn’t help calm his mind anyway.
Heeseung chats with these strangers for a while before you stir. The music drowns out the sound of his bedsheets ruffling and he turns up the music just a smudge in case you make any more noise. To his pleasure, you turn to face him and immediately catch that he’s on a livestream with the glow on his face.
“I’m not tired,” Heeseung says after a beat of silence, looking at his monitor before looking at you. The sight of your naked chest makes him bite his lips, tits spilling out of the blanket as you do your best to sit upright and cover yourself. “Not tired at all. Are you guys tired?”
His cock jumps when you shake your head. “I could keep going.” Heeseung’s attention returns to the screen as he runs his free hand through his hair. “You guys are too funny. What do you mean, why am I acting like this?”
Your tired eyes seem to understand exactly what he means and your own mind drifts over to what transpired before you fell asleep. With a careful step, you make room for yourself underneath the desk and let Heeseung situate himself in his chair as you spread his legs by pushing his knees apart.
This isn’t the first time the two of you have fooled around on a livestream but it is the first time he’s done it with his camera on. Heeseung loves looking at his comments as you get him off and loves all of the tweets and posts after the fact, speculating that he might’ve been distracted during the livestream. These scenarios fuel him to keep going and he thinks he might have a little taste for exhibitionism.
He looks down at you. Your cheek rests against his knee and his thumb comes to brush just underneath your eye with a gentle touch. He bites his lip when he looks past your eyes and sees you completely naked underneath him, tits bouncing as you get comfortable with your bare pussy towards the floor.
“Mm,” he moans subtly. “Can’t wait for the weekend. We don’t have any plans, for once. What are you guys up to?”
Heeseung pretend to grab his water in order to lift his hips from the desk and let you pull his boxers down. His cock is still soft before you. Your lips come to press gentle, quiet kisses over his warm dick while he gulps the water down and flexes his thighs to keep himself calm underneath your mouth.
“Coming to Korea? Wow.” Your tongue moves over the head of his cock and repeatedly licks over his slit in a back and forth motion, which makes him choke and cough. “You’ll love it here. I know I do.”
You pay no mind to him with his subtle flirtation as you work up his cock until it’s hard. Heeseung is always like this, so sensitive that one touch makes him harder than a rock in no time. Being on the road and away from you is tough and his hand can only do so much. Your warm mouth dropping spit to coat him for a blowjob is what keeps him hard.
“What’s up with my music?” Heeseung laughs, biting his lip as you engulf his tip in your mouth. Your wet tongue is warm to the touch and his balls feel heavy with you around him. “Nothing. I just like these songs.”
That’s not a total lie. He loves them because he fucked you to this music before turning on his camera. You give his balls a squeeze when you catch him in the lie and Heeseung winces, trying to hold in his moan.
“You guys are hearing things,” he tells the chat when they start speculating that someone might be in the room with him. “Why do I keep looking down? I don’t know. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
Another lie, but you let him go this time. You push your head down to force the entirety of his cock in your mouth and feel as his hips jerk at the sudden movement. Heeseung can only smile painfully and hold in his grunts while the camera is on him. Looking down at you isn’t an option since his fans have caught on to his line of sight but the thought of getting caught turns him on. He’d probably invite them to watch you suck him off if that wouldn’t cost him his job.
You look so cute on your knees like this for him. Heeseung avoids looking down at you but sees your mouth move from his peripheral vision and holds your hair out of your face as you push yourself up and down on him. You’re insanely wet to the point where you might as well be dripping right onto the hard wood of his floors. Hearing him talk to his fans about everything but what’s happening is turning you on far more than you’d like to admit. Seeing him flirt with fans on stage fuels your jealousy and winds up in mind blowing sex when he comes back home to you. You’re the only girl he’d ever want around his dick anyway.
You know Heeseung is close by the tightened grip he has on your hair and the way he flexes his nostrils because he can’t make a sound.
“When am I coming back to America?” Heeseung asks after reading a message. “I’m coming—”
He does, right into your mouth until his salty cum coats the surface of your tongue. You swallow him with his cock still lodged in you and suck him with an iron grip while he tries to answer the question but it’s so hard for him to focus when you’re sucking him like that.
“—in a while, I think.” Heeseung winces when you start to kitten lick his slit to catch the stray beads of cum that seeps from him. “Yeah. I’d love to come.”
#enhypen smut#heeseung smut#lee heeseung smut#enha smut#heeseung x reader#lee heeseung x reader#enhypen x reader#enhypen hard thoughts#enhypen hard hours#enha hard thoughts#enha hard hours#heeseung#hard thought
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we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader
You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.
wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit
tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...
a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)
Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.
It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.
You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.
Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve.
While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it.
Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.
You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.
And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.
About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly.
About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar.
Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you.
About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp.
About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room.
About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you.
“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.
“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”
You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.
“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end.
You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.
“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do.
Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect.
“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”
Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch.
You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock.
He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.
Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.
“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.
The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.
You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy.
Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person.
“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.
You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.
---
Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.
He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit.
Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point.
Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend.
Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.
Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining.
Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off.
He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him.
He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big.
He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.
“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion.
“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”
“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him.
You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.
“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”
“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them.
“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”
You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.
He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his.
He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you.
---
Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.
Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer.
But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.
You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.
You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–
There Spencer is.
“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”
“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”
You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”
“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”
You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”
Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot.
Do you make him… nervous?
“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.
No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought.
Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you.
You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart.
So, you turn it back onto him, “Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”
Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.
You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?”
“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”
“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”
Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”
“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one.
“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”
“And what makes you say that?” You hum.
“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”
“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”
His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”
You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.
“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”
“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his.
It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.
“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”
“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”
“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”
“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.
You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”
“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”
Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”
“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”
“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame.
You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”
“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”
“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”
Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”
“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out.
“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”
Spencer grins. “Good.”
His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”
“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.
You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers.
“Fuck me, Spence,” you say.
Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.”
His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.
“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender.
“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.
You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.
“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling.
“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”
You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.
“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”
You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”
“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.
“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”
“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take.
“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.
“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”
You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.
He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.
The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencerreidenjoyer writes
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Imagine the group cannot understand how you and Zuko are so close with you being a literal saint and Zuko being... well Zuko
AN: I am back! Man, it's been a hot minute since my last post! ...Lets not think about that because I am back! :) woo hoo
~1400 word count
Part 2 once your done reading :)
SO, lets jump in and see what this Zuko fic about??? Well, imagine this...
The whole group is together and you are the newest member joining from an encounter at a local market. You'd travel alone from town to town, trying to help in any way you can to help fix the wounds the war had created. You fit in well, very polite and nice, never showing any anger, but very capable of defending your own with a bow. You became close with Katara, almost like sisters. Though, unknown to the group that you were a fire bender, you wished to keep that a secret. Your nation had done too much damage and could not bear to be tied to such a name. You hadn't practiced in a long time and were contempt on keeping it that way. You were good enough with your bow, you could protect yourself without the aid of bending. But one person saw through your mask, the only other fire bender in the group. You had a feeling he knew, as he was finding ways to spend more time with you, offering to walk with you to the market, to fetch water or wood, and he seemed to only ask you questions while it was just the two of you. If he did know you were a fire bender, then let it be so.
You volunteered one night to gather firewood, and Zuko promptly offered his assistance, in your nature you gladly accepted, you did like the company. While you two walked, you held a wicker basket against your hip and did most of the talking. Zuko hummed in response, keeping note of their far distance from the camp. As the conversation seemed to die out, Zuko stopped walking and you walked a couple more steps before realizing his halt. You turn around and lock eyes, both of you stand straight and still like statues. You knew what was coming next, your hair swayed slightly in the wind, the setting sun leaving amber shadows across you both.
"You're a bender, a fire bender." Zuko states, no question to his voice. You couldn't deny it, there was no point, he knew. You looked at him and smiled. You confirmed his suspicions, and explained to him that you have been building a new reputation for yourself outside of a fire bender label, trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had affected. Zuko seemed sad, he apologized for his nation, our nation. He had promised things would change after Sozin's comet, once he overtook his father. You smile and agree that Zuko would make a fine Fire Lord, you talk to him about how much you believe can change. Ever since that night You two became close, very close. Close in ways the group could only suspect, but no proof.
On the last night of the Gaangs regrouping, before they had to pack up camp and keep moving, everyone had gone to bed, except for Zuko. He had a hard time trying to get to sleep that night, so he went out for a walk to try and clear his head. He sat by the nearby river and thought about what you had said, to rebuild a new reputation as to not be associated with the fire nation, start anew. Zuko balled his fists in anger at his country, the horrible things, unspeakable notions they had unleashed. Zuko scrunched his nose in disgust and felt the pull of his scar, a sensation that he was use to, one that would usually bring more frustration but only brought him sorrow tonight, as your words passed though his mind, 'trying to heal the brand the fire nation left on your skin as well as all its people and the ones it had effected'. Zuko felt the shame of his land pile on his shoulders, but he decided to head back to camp before he got too far into his head.
Back at camp, everyone was in bed, Toph slept alone in her stone tent, the boys had their own tent, while You and Katara shared a tent. Katara took a leap on that last night and decided to ask you about you and Zuko. She thought now would be the best time over any. Katara looked at you laying with your back to her, she gently poked your shoulder and you turned over.
"Sorry for waking you, but I had a question and I hope you take no offence, but you and Zuko... you guys have seemed to be getting very close... so um... are you guys... you know... together...?" Katara asked you in a quiet whisper with wide curious eyes.
While Katara spoke, Zuko had made his way back into camp and heard the faint whispers. It was unlike him to listen in on others' conversations but they had obviously not heard him return, and he seemed to be the topic of their subject so he decided it was fair game to listen. He caught on quickly as it was something about you and him.
You smiled and replied in a steady whisper, "Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more." You and Zuko knew there was a bond beyond your secrets you shared, but you two were not together, just close.
Zuko had his arms crossed across his chest, he felt no offence towards the statement you shared, it was true, it was a neutral answer he could respect.
Katara responds "Oh okay... um if you don't mind me asking another question," You nodded her on, Katara continued, "Zuko and you seem to be very different, as in you are so... vibrant and kind, I don't think I have ever seen you mad." She said giggling quietly, and you smiled. "But Zuko... well you know Zuko, he only ever... scowls. Spirits, I think a smile might split his face in half..."
Zuko furrows his brows at the comment, and grabs across his mouth, 'I can smile', he thinks to himself, lowering his hand.
Katara continues, "and... and it's like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk..." Katara looks at you, "How do you- being your bubbly self, connect with someone like him? How can you talk with him for as long as you do when he seems to barely listens half the time?"
'Barely listen??' Zuko thought as his eyebrows shot up at the comment, 'Is she serious? How could she possibly think that!'
You smile at her observation, "Zuko is very kind to me," you say sweetly.
Zuko's face relaxes to your answer, and he uncrosses his arms.
You continue, "But you're right, he never says much, and yes, he is indeed quiet, but when one has gone through so much, it is understandable. We all know that feeling to some extent and we all have our ways of dealing with it. I have accepted how Zuko conveys himself as he had accepted me for how I present myself. But over all, yes, he does listen, even if it seems he is not, he always does." You conclude with a sweet smile.
Zuko is almost taken back from your answer in a way he cannot explain, but it feels as if an unknown weight has lifted off his shoulders from your response. He decided to leave the conversation there as he had heard all he needed to, and turned to walk away. But the next thing you said had caught his attention.
"Who knows," You add, "his ears are probably burning right now with the mere conversation of us talking about him...". You both giggle and say your goodnights. Zuko smirked and rolled his eyes and walked back to his tent. Although, as he replays the conversation over in his mind, something sits like a small rock in his stomach. 'Zuko and I have become good friends, nothing more.' Nothing more, he thought over and over in his head, maybe with time that could change. Once Zuko becomes Fire Lord and is able to start the change that the world needed to heal, you would embrace your bending and be proud of your nation. But that would come in time, so for right now, he could work with good friends.
#prince zuko#zuko#atla#zuko fanfic#zuko x reader#avatar zuko#avatar#avatar fandom#atla fanfic#avatar the last airbender#grumpy x sunshine
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hotel room revelations || Spencer Reid
pairing → Spencer Reid x Reader
summary → While on a case, you have to not only share a hotel room but also a bed with the BAU's resident genius Spencer Reid whom you have had a crush on since he first joined the FBI. When you wake up during the night with his arms wrapped around you, previously hidden feelings come to light and you realize that your unrequited feelings for him might not be so unrequited after all.
warnings → sharing a bed, love confessions, early seasons!Spencer, insecure!Spencer, misunderstandings, friends to lovers, reader is part of the BAU, no descriptions or pronouns used for the reader, no y/n used
author’s note → I love the "there was only one bed" trope so of course I had to write it with my beloved genius. I'm so happy to finally finish another fic again so let me know what you think about it! <3 (forgot to post this fic and now my cm obsession fizzled out, oops. But I know it will come back to haunt me sooner or later)
word count → 5.2k
When you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re not too happy about it and not sure who or what to blame for it.
You grumble your dissatisfaction without opening your eyes and the warm body behind you freezes.
Now you’re a little confused and you try to fight off the urge to just drift off again so you can actually form a coherent thought because you don’t remember going to sleep with someone else by your side last night. But thinking is still a little difficult when you’re half-asleep and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to even remember if you’re in your own bedroom right now or in another state in some sort of hotel room because of work, so your memory is not the most reliable source of help at the moment.
The someone behind you still holding you in their arms seems to get a little impatient and tries to slowly move away from you again but you don’t let them, instinctively grabbing their hand that is resting softly against your stomach and interlacing your fingers with theirs to keep it there. You hear a startled little sound close to your ear and feel the someone behind you going rigid, even holding their breath in surprise. Feeling bad about spooking your bedmate so suddenly, you apologize by soothingly stroking up and down their arm that is draped over your waist before going back to holding their hand. You don’t want them to let go of you even though you’re still not quite sure who exactly they actually are—but you’re still working on that.
What you do know, however, is that they’re warm and holding you in a gentle embrace and that you feel very safe and secure in their arms. And that you don’t want it to end.
You smile to yourself in satisfaction when you feel the someone gradually relaxing against you once more and you can finally pick up that derailed train of thought of yours to figure out where you are and why you’re not alone in bed.
But that’s when the someone behind you decides to speak up and solve the mystery at last.
“I… I’m really sorry, but I have to move. My arm’s completely fallen asleep…”
Oh. That’s right.
His voice is quiet, timid even and still laced with sleep, and suddenly you’re feeling a lot more awake than just moments before, your heart immediately picking up speed as you remember how you and Spencer ended up in the same bed together.
You’re currently in a little hotel room in a city halfway across the country because of a case JJ had presented you the day before. Five bodies with a sixth person still missing and the local police had decided to ask for the BAU’s help to stop whoever is responsible for these crimes. Spencer and you started to work on the geographical profile while the rest of the team drove to the scenes of crime and talked to the victims’ families. After working until the middle of the night but without making any considerable progress anymore, Hotch decided it was time to go to the hotel, rest, and return to the case after a good night’s sleep.
The hotel was pretty booked already when you boarded the jet so when you arrived at last in the lobby, exhaustion already weighing heavy on your shoulders and your eyelids dangerously heavy, the team was told they had to share rooms and even ended up with a room with a double bed instead of two single ones.
When JJ first announced this little circumstance at first, you really couldn’t care less. Somehow, your tired brain didn’t really consider that you would be one of the people staying in the room with a double bed and much less who would be the other person with you. But when Morgan sauntered over to you, letting the key ring spin around his finger, a wicked gleam in his eyes, you knew nothing good would come of it.
With a smirk he pressed the keys into your hand and announced that you and Spencer would be the lucky pair to share the room with the double bed, giving you a wink that made you want to kill him just a little bit. Morgan knows very well about your little, not all that serious crush on your coworker and makes a point to tease you about it whenever he can, which, unfortunately for you, is very often. Your only consolation is that Spencer is too oblivious to pick up on it even though Derek makes sure everyone and their mother knows how you feel about the young doctor. He obviously claims it’s only because he’s playing cupid and can’t stand the two of you dancing around each other for eternity, but you know for a fact that he’s obviously doing it for his own entertainment as well. Besides, playing cupid only gets you so far when only one person has feelings for the other one—which you’re painfully aware is the case for you and Spencer.
With an especially dirty eyeroll you grabbed the keys and turned to look at Spencer who gave you one of his signature tight-lipped awkward smiles. He didn’t look very happy at the prospect of having to share not only a room but also a bed with you and you tried your hardest not to take it personally. You know Spencer values his personal space so having to spend this and the following nights with another person next to him is nothing to look forward to for him—even if it’s with a good friend.
You masked your disappointment and bruised feelings with a small smile of your own and led the way toward the elevators at the end of the hotel lobby, pointedly ignoring Morgan’s teasing voice telling you to have a good night. You silently swore to yourself that you would get back at him for all of this when the case was solved and over, but right now you were more worried about surviving the next few nights of having Spencer so close to you yet completely out of your reach.
Dealing with your unrequited feelings for the young doctor on a daily basis wasn’t always easy for you but you contended yourself with being his coworker and friend even though it hurt more than you cared to admit. In the beginning, you hoped that your feelings would go away if you just ignored them—after all, it was just a stupid little crush on your adorable and dorky new coworker. But as time went on, and you were still plagued by an eruption of butterflies in your stomach whenever Spencer smiled at you, or accidentally brushed your hand with his when handing you a pen or a cup of coffee, or just stood near you for an extended period of time, you had to admit to yourself that your feelings for him were far more serious than you anticipated at first. The thought of just confessing to Spencer had crossed your mind a lot at this point, to get it off your chest, but the possibility of him rejecting you and losing one of your best friends in the process scared you too much to actually go through with it.
And before you knew it Spencer went on a date with JJ and made out with a gorgeous blonde actress in her pool and flirted with pretty barkeepers, and that was proof enough for you that keeping your feelings to yourself was the right course of action which didn’t mean it saved you from heartbreak or feeling sorry for yourself.
You started to distract yourself with alcohol and attractive strangers between cases, collecting fleeting memories with partners who never really helped you forget the one person who was always on your mind and in your heart. You went on like this until you could hardly look at yourself in the mirror anymore, feeling disgusted and ashamed of yourself, knowing that it would only get worse but still not stopping, telling yourself it was the price you had to pay for not having to spend the nights all by yourself. It was until you drunkenly stumbled into the apartment of yet another stranger, hurriedly opening buttons and zippers, carelessly tossing clothes to the floor, giggling when the stranger’s lips connected to yours despite feeling sick to your stomach. You saw it only when the stranger moved to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck; a photo of the stranger’s family, beautiful children and an adoring partner smiling brightly for the camera, and you wondered if you would ignore this too now that you have seen it, like you ignored the noticeable mark on the stranger’s finger where a wedding ring was clearly missing.
You felt faint when you pushed against the stranger’s shoulders, almost falling over your own two feet leaving the apartment only to find yourself in a part of town you were completely unfamiliar with in the middle of the night. Not knowing what else to do, you called Morgan who picked you up sitting on the curb, looking and feeling pathetic with tearstains on your face. He simply raised his eyebrows at you and wordlessly helped you into his car before driving back to his place. There, he gently wrapped you up in a blanket and cuddled with you on his old sofa for the entire length of three feel-good chick flicks all while alternating between handing you spoons of ice cream and tissues to dry your tears, listening to you in the early hours of the morning spilling your guts to him.
Thankfully, he never talked to you about that night again and you were grateful for it; otherwise, you would probably die on the spot from all the shame and embarrassment it would trigger in you. You had still apologized for inconveniencing him like this, staring at his shoes while stumbling over your words, fingernails biting into the palm of your hands. But Derek acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about, flashing you one of his defeating handsome smiles and you knew that all was good between you two, he was still your friend and didn’t think any less of you, so you pulled him down to press a grateful kiss to his cheek.
It didn’t however save you from Derek wiggling his eyebrows at you whenever Spencer and you sat pressed shoulder to shoulder absorbed in case files or when the two of you would share headphones on the jet while returning home. You are used to it by now, simply sticking your tongue out at him or giving him the finger when Hotch and JJ aren’t looking, earning a good-natured laugh from Derek and a confused glance from Spencer, who, to your relief, never quite understands what the constant teasing between you and the older agent is about.
So yes, after seeking pointless comfort with strangers until the point you almost didn’t recognize yourself anymore, you now are at a point where you would say that generally, you are just fine with knowing that Spencer would never see you as anything other than a good friend and coworker.
But after an exhausting day working on a grueling case, having made close to zero progress on it, and having to share a hotel room and a bed with Spencer only to wake up to him holding you in his arms, you really wish the universe would give you a break one of these days so you could take the time to get over your feelings for your genius friend once and for all.
You sigh quietly, willing your racing heart and those malicious butterflies in your stomach to calm down before letting go of Spencer’s hand, trying your best to ignore the pang of disappointment. The feeling only worsens when Spencer moves away from you, carefully putting some distance between yourself and him, taking all his warmth with him and you can’t help but to curl into yourself at that.
You feel him settle on the other side of the bed, already missing his touch even as fleeting as it was, feeling wide awake and wondering how you will ever fall asleep again tonight after that—and the nights still to come.
“I’m so sorry for ambushing you like that,” Spencer’s quiet voice cuts through the silence of the room, his bashfulness palpable with every word. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t, Spence. Don’t worry.” Quite the opposite, but you keep that thought to yourself, opting for lightening the mood instead. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I mean, I had to share a bed with Emily before and I woke up to her having me in a chokehold so I prefer having you as my bedmate by a mile.”
You’re blessed with a little laugh from Spencer, your body relaxing against the unfamiliar mattress but still missing his closeness from before. You feel him shift on his side of the bed and can’t help but wonder if he too was more comfortable with holding you in his arms. But you quickly dismiss this silly thought of yours, knowing that indulging in false hopes and wishful thinking doesn’t save you from the reality that Spencer just doesn’t feel the same way as you.
“But I’m serious. You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you reiterate after a moment of silence between the two of you, slowly turning around for a more comfortable position which isn’t in the slightest related to the fact that like this you are facing Spencer now. You can’t really make out his features in the darkness of the hotel room but maybe it’s for the best. Otherwise, you probably would give into the temptation of reaching out and brushing a few unruly curls of his behind his ear, your fingers softly lingering on his face just a tad too long.
“That’s—I’m glad…” His voice is quiet, almost distant, and you wonder if he’s already drifting off to sleep again. You couldn’t blame him for that. The day the two of you had was long and wearying, coming into work just to be presented with gruesome pictures from various crime scenes, discussing the UnSub’s profile and MO while being on the jet before being introduced to police officers and grieving family members alike, getting to work without a single break on your mind. If it wasn’t for these inconvenient feelings of yours that caused your heart rate to resemble that of someone who just ran a mile, you would probably feel as exhausted as Spencer is. But in your case, sleep is currently not really something you can think about when all you want is to curl up in his arms like before, feeling warm and safe and happy until the harsh reality of the next morning catches up with you again.
“Still, I’m sorry,” Spencer then whispers into the darkness, your name leaving his lips in a soft sigh, and you frown. There’s really nothing he has to apologize for and you want to tell him as much, but he’s faster than you, his words coming out in a self-conscious rush.
“I’m sorry that you are stuck here with me. I know you’d prefer being with Morgan instead and I’m sorry that he’s being such an idiot about all of this.”
Now you really don’t know what he’s talking about. What does Derek have to do with anything? But Spencer doesn’t let you voice your thoughts, only to confuse you even more.
“I-I know you like Morgan so you were probably hoping that he would just assign this room to himself and you, and I really don’t get why he’s so set on acting like he doesn’t have feelings for you as well. I get he’s not really someone who does relationships but he’s lucky that someone special like you is in love with him so—”
“Spencer, stop—” you suddenly interrupt this agitated rambling of his, trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s somehow convinced you have feelings for your fellow agent. “Wha-What are you talking about? I’m not in love with Derek Morgan. We’re friends, but that’s really all there is to it. What on earth makes you think that I like him like that?”
You push yourself up on your elbow in your bewilderment, the sheet that covers you and Spencer falling from your shoulders in the process. You quickly turn around, turning on the light by your bedside, not believing what nonsense you just heard. Dumbfounded, you look at the genius lying beside you, his expression confused and apologetic in return.
“I’m—sorry?” he starts while sitting up slightly so the two of you are at eye level, his voice hesitant and uncertain. “I just thought… The two of you are always together, even outside of work, on the weekends. And you have all these little private jokes with Morgan and conversations that always stop whenever someone else gets closer. And he always makes you laugh and flustered, so I just figured—you know, that you like him more than just a friend or a coworker.”
He takes a deep breath and looks away, his fingers fiddling with the hem of the stiff hotel sheet while you can only stare at him open-mouthed.
“And I figured that he’s an idiot for not realizing that he’s the luckiest man on earth to have your heart.”
The silence in the dim hotel room stretches on while Spencer pointedly avoids meeting your eyes and you continue to stare at him, your mind still trying to process that he is convinced about your feelings for Morgan when your heart only belonged to Spencer for a long time now, when you wish for nothing but to wake up in his arms like you just did every day for the rest of your life.
You reach for him and grab his face, holding him in place when he’s startled by your sudden action and the intense eye contact, his eyes widening in confusion and shock but you don’t care. You can’t. There’s a sudden need in you for him to understand how wrong he is about your alleged feelings for Morgan, to make him see the truth that was always right in front of him.
So you resolutely look into his eyes, ignoring the subtle trembling of your fingers against his soft skin and the ringing of your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve experienced explosions going off right next to you, you’ve cornered armed serial killers and ran into possibly lethal situations without a second thought, but somehow you’ve never been as fucking sacred as you are right now. You could ruin everything you have with Spencer with what you are about to say, but you can’t keep it in any longer. You need him to know how you feel about him, how you’ve felt about him for so long now.
“Spencer Reid, you listen to me. I am not in love with Derek Morgan, I never was and I never will be. I can’t believe you’d think that when I’ve been pining for you for literal years now! It’s always been you, I need you to know that. From the moment I saw you standing next to Gideon with that stupidly adorable sweater and that awkward smile of yours, I knew I was done for. So I never want to hear you say that I have feelings for Morgan when I’m in love with you!”
Your voice is shaking throughout your little speech, but you make it to the end, intently staring into Spencer’s eyes who looks back at you with such a stupidly shocked expression that you would’ve laughed at him if not for your heart beating so wildly against your ribcage that it physically hurt.
The silence that follows your confession is oppressive and all-consuming, and you let go of Spencer’s face so he doesn’t fall victim to your nervous urge to sink your fingernails into something. Instead, they bite into the skin of your forearms as you hug your midsection, watching the young genius open and close his mouth multiple times without making a sound, his eyes blinking rapidly.
Dejectedly, you nod to yourself, already putting together a list of romantic comedies in your mind Morgan will have to endure together with you while you pathetically sob into his shoulder, tissues and ice cream keeping you company on your little coffee table in front of the TV.
You didn’t really expect it to end any differently, but it still hurt more than you anticipated. Your eyes begin to sting and you close them, stubbornly fighting the urge to cry. You have enough time for that later, preferably when you’re not sharing a room with Spencer anymore and the case is over, so you take a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself before opening your eyes again.
Spencer is still looking at you with wide eyes, a noticeable blush adorning his cheeks. Any other time you would find this discovery incredibly endearing, but right now, with your heart in pieces and dangerously close to crying, it only reminds you that you can’t take your words back, that now he knows how you feel about him and that your relationship with him will never be the same again, even if the two of you stay friends.
You manage a meek smile that Spencer doesn’t return, and you wonder if his silent reaction to what you revealed to him could be a blessing in disguise after all. You want him to say something, anything, to you but at the same time you don’t know how well you and your bruised heart would handle hearing him say that he doesn’t feel the same way about you out loud.
What you do know is that you can’t stay here any longer, you need to get out of this room, out of this situation, now.
With one last look at Spencer, you avert your eyes, your voice quiet, tinged with regret.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper before sitting on the edge of the bed, your back now to him, only tilting your head back to speak in his direction. “I’ll ask the others if I can stay in one of their rooms for the night.”
You move to stand up and that’s what snaps Spencer out of his daze at last, hurriedly reaching for you before you can get up, much less process what is happening, one of his large hands on your arm while the other is cupping your jaw tenderly, almost hesitantly. The kiss he pulls you into then is the opposite of that. It’s urgent and desperate and completely steals your breath away, your heart leaping into your throat and your stomach lurching in confused delight. Still, it takes you a moment to kiss him back, entirely too overwhelmed to react, but when you do it’s just as urgent, just as desperate. Your teeth clank together slightly but you ignore it in favor of meeting Spencer’s tongue with your own, your head beginning to spin. You’re not sure if it’s from the kiss or the lack of oxygen but you really can’t care less about that at the moment, especially not when you swallow the appreciative groan that falls from Spencer’s lips as one of your hands finds its way into his curls and pulls not all too gently on them.
The kiss only breaks when you’re certain the two of you are running out of air completely but still Spencer whines quietly at the sudden loss of contact, following your lips until the hand in his hair tugs him back. You placate him with a quick peck to his nose before concentrating on calming your heavy breathing and frantically beating heart, your forehead softly resting against his.
You don’t protest when Spencer starts to pull you closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and guide you to settle in his lap, your head now resting on his shoulder, humming in contentment at the kiss he presses to the top of your head. You don’t say anything for a while, having no need for words, not when you feel Spencer’s heart mirror the rhythm of yours as you place your hand on his chest.
You look up at him when he covers your hand with his own and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that makes your skin tingle pleasantly. His eyes swim with emotions but he doesn’t look away as you try to decipher all of them even though his blush reaches from the tip of his ears to somewhere underneath the soft shirt he wears. Your fingers itch to pull the collar of the shirt down a little, just to see how far that blush really goes when he quietly clears his throat, the bright smile on his pretty lips faltering slightly.
“I’m sorry for—for not saying anything just now. I couldn’t—I wasn’t sure you really meant what you said, I just couldn’t believe it wasn’t some sort of joke.”
You shift in his embrace, ready to repeat what you have said, to express what you feel for him until he is sick of hearing your voice, but before you can even open your mouth, he quickly steals a kiss from you, and then another one, effectively shutting you up and looking quite proud of himself too when he meets your eyes again. So you have no choice but to let him finish what he has to say like you always do, always giving him time to collect his thoughts and listening to him when he is ready to share them with you.
“But I know you would never lie to me, especially not about something like this and only then did I realize we could’ve been doing this years ago if I hadn’t been such an idiot and too blind to see what was in front of me all along because—because I’ve been in love with you for a long time now too.”
The smile that spreads on your face is so big it hurts your cheeks, radiant enough to challenge the whole sun and you have to twist your fingers into the front of Spencer’s shirt to pull him down to you so you can feel his lips on yours again. They’re soft and warm and real and when you part again the laugh that bubbles past his is like music to your ears, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.
You lean further into him and his arms around you tighten in response, enjoying the comfortable silence in this unfamiliar hotel room for a little while longer before gently speaking up again.
“You’re not an idiot Spencer. How could you have known when I’ve always been too scared to say anything? But now I did and we’ve finally found each other, and from now on we can make up for lost time. What do you say, my pretty boy?”
The adoration shining clearly in his brown eyes tells you everything you need to know and you move in to kiss him once more, preferably without ever stopping again, but suddenly Spencer tenses against you, making you look up at him with a quizzical look.
You can’t stop the little groan that escapes you at his next words.
“You and Morgan—did you really never—?”
As your genius worries his bottom lip between his teeth you really wish Morgan would finally stop being a part of your conversation.
“I—I believe what you’ve said, that you don’t have feelings for him,” Spencer continues, “but I’d understand if at some point, you know—because the way you are around each other—"
“Spencer. Let’s not do this again,” you have to interrupt a second time this night, but not unkindly. “Yes, even though I have feelings for you I have slept with other people, but it never meant anything to me—in fact, it just made me feel so, so horrible. And when it comes to Morgan—he and I are friends and that is all there is to it. It’s true I spend a lot of time with him, that we have a lot of little inside jokes and private conversations just for our ears, but do you want to know what the one common factor is with all of these things? It’s you, Spence.”
You emphasize your words with a kiss to his jaw, easing the tentative look he gives you by gently running your fingers through his soft hair.
“Most of the time I spent with Derek was just me whining about how much I wish you were mine and how unfair it is how adorable you look whatever you do and how smart and kind and pretty you are, and that you probably tried to kill me when you wore your glasses to work every day for some time. It’s honestly a miracle Morgan didn’t also develop a crush on you by sheer proximity to me, like through osmosis. He had to listen to me for years pining about you so he gets back at me for it by teasing me relentlessly about you, so I’ll have you know that all of our funny little private jokes are actually at my expense. My point is, even if Morgan would’ve wanted to start something with me—which he never did by the way—, he, and those other people too, never stood a chance because I only ever had eyes for you, Spence.”
“Oh.”
Spencer shakes his head in disbelief but he’s grinning like a fool with his cheeks and ears painted cherry red. He’s quick to hide his face in your hair, too overwhelmed by the sincerity in your voice and you think that now your genius finally, finally understands. But still, you would continue to reassure him about your feelings if his insecurities should get the better of him again, understanding that he doesn’t doubt you but that the voice in his head sometimes isn’t the kindest to him and that everything about this is very new to him.
You close your eyes, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder until you’re on the brink of falling asleep, the comfortable and content silence of the hotel room and the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest steadily lulling you to sleep. After the long day you’ve had and the excitement of this night, exhaustion has now caught up with you and if the big yawn that escapes Spencer is any indication, he is feeling its effect as well.
You’re vaguely aware of Spencer reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp before moving the both of you to lay down together, shifting and coordinating limbs until you’re both comfortable with him holding you in his arms, his hand resting softly on your stomach and your fingers interlacing with his.
You smile to yourself, knowing that from now on you’ll have the privilege of falling asleep like this every night—in the arms of your beloved genius.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader
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VEGAS
based off of this
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!chris x fem!reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while on a trip with chris in vegas, you get a little too excited when you see his new instagram post. you just can’t help yourself.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, teasing, masturbation (female), spanking, p in v, slight choking, hair gripping, semi-public, making out
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,029
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: chat i have mixed feelings about this one😔
❝i’m losing my patience, this ain’t staying in vegas!❞
⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆
this kid. he has to be doing this shit on purpose now, and nothing pisses you off more. he thinks he’s so fucking clever.
for context, matt and chris came to vegas for justin’s big poker game. you decided to tag along, but currently, the three of them are downstairs in the hotel common area to hang out. wanting to give the boys their own time, you stayed in the suite.
you’re sitting on one of the chairs on the balcony enjoying the city sounds and the night sky until your boyfriend decides to do this.
ah, the rule. it’s simple, yet impossible at the same time. chris set it a while ago when you were acting like a brat, and it stuck from that day on. if you break it, you’ll get punished.
RULE ONE: never touch yourself when he’s not there.
let’s face it. you had your hand down your pants the moment you saw that photo.
not caring if people around can hear or see you, your fingers slide in and out of your dripping hole with ease. you make sure to capture it all, the squelching noise and your moans getting louder the faster your movements go. “chris.” you whine, wishing they were his hands instead of yours.
the shake in your legs gets tenser the closer your high gets. “going to cum for you.” you moan into the phone, biting your lip to silence the scream you want to set free. it doesn’t take long for you to make a mess of your digits, exhaling from relief. you don’t hesitate to send the video to him.
heart beating in anticipation, you hear the front door shut not even minutes after the last message. all you do is stare into space and patiently wait for the person you need most to come outside.
his footsteps get closer before the sliding door opens and closes, your innocent-looking eyes finally meeting his as he walks in front of you. he crosses his arms without saying a word, and you spread your legs to show what he does to you. he licks his teeth, admiring the mess sitting between your thighs.
a trail of cum connects from your pussy to a small puddle beneath you on the chair. from the slickness, it’s practically begging for chris’s cock to abuse your insides.
in the blink of an eye, he grabs your calves to pull you to him. you gasp, him cupping your ass to lift you over his shoulder. he gives you one… two spanks before setting you down against the railing.
pressing hard against your clit with his thumb, he moves it in fast circles. “no teasing, please.” you protest, lolling your head back with a moan.
“you’re the one to tell me to not tease?” he scoffs, now moving his thumb slower up and down. “you’re lucky i’m going easy on you tonight.”
looking down ashamed, his hand wraps around your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss. your tongues intertwine, the noise wet. chris swallows your sounds of pleasure.
lips travel down to your neck, licking and biting at your skin. not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to drive you crazy. the erection in his pants nudges at your clit, not helping with the sensation you already have there. his breath is hot on your ear, teeth nibbling at the lobe. “turn around.”
when you do, he grips your hair to bend you over the cold steel, lifting his shirt that you’re wearing. you look down at the pedestrians below, who are completely oblivious to the actions happening above them. cars drive by, some horns honking in the distance.
chris’s pants bunch up on the floor when they meet it, aligning himself at where you are desperate. you gasp when you feel his dick stretch your walls, wrapping tightly around him.
before he’s about to thrust into you, you decide to take matters into your own hands. your hips move up and down, fucking yourself on his cock as you grip tightly on the surface in front of you.
groaning contently, he rests his free hand on the small of your back, giving you a spank here and there. licking his lips, he doesn’t take his eyes off the way you bounce back against his pelvis. the way your ass recoils is mesmerizing.
your moans are soft, lids fluttering closed when your legs start to tremble. because of that, you can barely move yourself anymore. then, you feel a hand wrap around the front of your throat once again, lifting your head to rest on a shoulder. “what were you thinking about, hm?” chris asks, thumb grazing your cheek. “what made you cum that hard?”
eyes opening, you shake your head. his hips thrust slowly, hitting that spot nice and deep. “you’re just so handsome.” you whisper, tears glazing your orbs.
his thrusts get more brutal when he kisses you, silent screams leaving your mouth. clicking his tongue, he leaves a smack on your ass. the stinging makes you accidentally cry out before stopping yourself.
he chuckles. “don’t be shy. let everybody know whose cock you’re screaming on.”
your moans get louder the more he hits your g-spot. you take a look down — where you could’ve sworn you made eye contact with a passerby.
the grip on your hair tightens, his dick throbbing against your clenching walls. you’re about to cum, and he’s not far behind you. the speed of his hips has you on your tippy toes, whimpering loud into the las vegas air. “i’m cumming. fuck, i’m cumming!” you squeal, making a mess down his base.
pulling out, your fluids drip down your legs, chris painting your back white. he lets go of your entire body, immediately almost falling to the ground if the railing wasn’t holding you up. you lean your head over it, trying to catch your breath. he smirks at the view.
after all, he’s been with you long enough to know what your cycle is like. perhaps he did make that instagram post on purpose; just for you. knowing that you’d cave. oh, well.
𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @stars4matt @freshsturns @sturnlcvr @tpvmz @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings
#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#matthew sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo smut#Spotify
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Hey girl, I LOVED YOUR HEADCANONS. Specifically abt Ken x Reader. If you can write about headcanons abt maybe when he's jealous? You covered literally almost everything in your headcanons, so I have nothing to request except this 😭
❥﹒kenji sato x gender neutral reader
✦. synopsis — part 2 of the kenji sato headcanons because i am totally normal <3
✦. love mail — i swear i promise ill post hsr guys 😞 just let me have my moment w sato i beg. i’ve decided to just do this req + add some more hehe. thank you sm requester for enabling my brain rot! (pls more ppl do so)
✦. tags — NO SPOILERS, fluff, dadgirl kenji, non-intimate/sexual kissing, kenji sato x reader, i wrote this w my brain off again ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ;; pls
Jealousy was not fun for the Kenji Sato. Before Emi came along and changed him, I can see him being the type to get jealous easily. Why would you need to talk to other people anyway? You had him, he was the best. He’d make it real obvious too, suddenly wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close, or the following days he has you wear his iconic jacket while you’re out with him so everyone knows exactly who and what you two are. If it gets to the better of him, he’ll get all pouty about it. He wants all your attention, your eyes all over him and him only. Maybe even hands but that’s a different thing. But I think after Emi’s influence, it’s less possessive and he’s grown to trust you with others instead of letting his feelings get in the way. Of course he’s not immune to jealousy, but you notice it a lot less. It’s less suffocating for you and you’re grateful he’s grown. You did love the pouty face he’d make though, it was cute.
Now if you were jealous, which is really no surprise.. Kenji had thousands of admirers, he had gifts on his doorstep like every other day. He’ll do everything to prove and reassure you that you’re the only one who has his heart. He’ll post you on his social media, take you out on dates, all those things to wash your worries away. Lastly, he’ll hold you in his arms at night and whisper everything he loves about you. Everything you were silently insecure about, he loved. Every date you thought he forgot, he remembered. And to meet a guy like that? How lucky can you be? (He tells you he’s luckier of course. <3)
I think he’s a messy kisser for the most part 🧐. (Forgive me in advance for this part. I am not very good at these things.) When he can take his time, he’s slow and gentle. Genuinely just trying to show you that yeah, he loves you, so damn much. And he’s going to show that through his passion by taking things slow so you can really feel his devotion. Other times, because he’s always in a rush, he’ll do a messy but clearly desperate kiss. He doesn’t like leaving without one, and you can describe him kissing you like it’s his last, (because it’s really not a far-fetched guess considering his line of work) his hand behind your head and pressing your lips against his in an almost ravenous manner. He does give you a very quick kiss on the forehead and runs off after finishing, leaving you a little dazed.
He LOVES to take you out on night rides. If ever you get a little nervous/have a fear of motorcycles, he’ll talk you all the way through via the cardo he put into your helmet. He’ll take you to some nice cafes or restaurants around Tokyo, other time’s he’ll bring you to some favourite childhood spot of his. When you arrive, he’ll tell you about his mother and the memories he’s made in this very special spot. It warms your heart to see his expression be so fond when he talks about his childhood – he truly misses it.
Before you knew of Kenji’s identity, I think it would be funny if you hated Ultraman. You just LOATHED the guy, Kenji asked your thoughts on Ultraman on the first date and you went on a rant about how he threw your car at a Kaiju only to miss. (He felt so embarrassed). It would be funnier if afterwards, he began to actually do his job as Ultraman properly.. and avoided cars on your street and avenue. He wanted to make sure you didn’t utterly hate Ultraman before revealing that he was him.
It would be cute if you and him knew each other like, much earlier. And you called him Ken. And then he made that his alias while he was becoming an All-Star baseball player. :) He’ll brag about it all the time in interviews too, that you’re the reason he uses it. <3
He’s the typa guy to have a picture of you in his room, behind his phone case, in his wallet, in his car and literally anywhere he can get his hands on. He bought a polaroid camera just to take pictures of you, he could care less about the price of film or the camera itself.. he just wanted to have as many pictures of you as possible. He’ll brag about it to his baseball teammates too, considering he also keeps one in his pockets for good luck. :)
You're his goodluck charm. <3
#♡ — 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆#kenji sato x reader#ken sato x reader#ken sato#kenji sato#ultraman rising x reader#ultraman rising
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Bradford Has a Princess
I used one of the amazing Tim Bradford ideas posted by @nevereclipse for this!! I hope you like it and it's along the lines of what you were thinking!☺️
Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader
Summary: Tim Bradford is whipped for you, treats you with nothing but the best princess treatment, and when his fellow officers call him out on it, he realizes how he truly feels about you.
Warnings: fluff! princess treatment and Tim being a SOFTIE™
Word Count: 1.6k+ words
You blow your hair out of your face before you tug it painfully behind your ear.
“Easy,” your boyfriend mutters, reaching over carefully. He gathers your hair much gentler than you had, pulls it loosely behind your ears, and uses the hair tie he wears around his wrist to secure it. “Better?”
You hum before you say, “Thank you, Tim.”
His hand moves down your back, resting comfortably against the base of your spine. After you finish your project, you take a paper towel from the nearby roll and wipe your hands.
“Need anything else?” Tim asks.
You smile over your shoulder as you rest against Tim’s chest. He’s older than you, and though some people might frown upon your relationship, you love him, not only because of the selfless way he treats you. Tim places his arm around your shoulders, then uses his free hand to pull your hand closer to him. He traces his thumb over your knuckles, then looks at your nails as his calloused palm holds you like you are the most precious thing in his life, in the world.
“I can make you an appointment at the nail salon you like,” he offers. “Tuesday?”
Tim shifts his hands, running his fingertips up and down your palm as he smiles.
“I can wait,” you answer. “I actually saw a kit online that lets you make your own nail art. Maybe I should try that next time.”
“Send me the link.”
Tim kisses your temple, then twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers. He decides he could spend forever here and wouldn’t even care what his friends thought about it.
“Tim!” Angela calls. “We’re all going to Andre’s.”
“Actually,” he begins.
“No, you skipped out the last three times, you’re coming with.”
“No arguments,” Nyla adds. “We might even make you pay.”
Tim sighs, his shoulders dropping as he nods. He follows them out of the station and is unsurprised to see Lucy, Nolan, Aaron, and Wesley waiting in the parking lot.
“Tim, you’re coming too?” Wesley asks. “I thought you’d finally sworn off fraternization.”
“Ha ha,” Tim deadpans.
“Can I ride with you?” Aaron asks. “My car’s getting a new wrap and Wesley’s backseat is a little tight with the carseats.”
Tim doesn’t answer but doesn’t say no, so Lucy nods and encourages Aaron to go. Aaron climbs into Tim’s passenger seat and buckles his seatbelt without a word.
“Oh,” he exclaims as Tim backs out of the space. “Who’s the Dior lip gloss belong to?” He lifts the tube out of the floorboard and recognizes it as part of a set his mom has. “This is expensive, they must be missing it.”
“She knows it’s here,” Tim grumbles, extending his hand to take it.
“Your sister?” Aaron guesses as Tim places it in the center console. He sees several other items, like a scrunchie, a receipt, and powder.
“None of your business,” Tim snaps. “Why are you getting an expensive car wrapped, anyway?”
“Because I can.”
Tim and Aaron fall silent, Tim thinking about you as Aaron wonders if the others know about the woman taking up space in Tim Bradford’s truck and in his life.
During your next date night, Tim opens the door for you, then wraps his arm around your waist as you enter the restaurant. He moves to his left to stand slightly behind you as you wait to be seated, and you smile over your shoulder at him.
At your table, Tim pulls your chair out for you, but you stop before you sit when someone says his name. You turn, and Tim’s shoulders tense beneath his blazer.
“Angela,” he greets tightly. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a date,” she answers with a smile. She looks at you before she asks, “And you?”
You sense the tension and interrupt to introduce yourself. You provide your name and shake her hand, then look to Tim.
“My girlfriend,” he tells Angela. “We’re on a date, so…”
“I’ll ask more later then. I mean that Timothy, you have a lot to tell me.” She turns toward you again and says, “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Alone, you take Tim’s hand across the table and apologize for interrupting him and his friend. He promises that he wasn’t bothered by that and assures you that he wasn’t avoiding introducing you on purpose but was just surprised. You fall into easy conversation, as usual, and the date is over far too soon.
When the waiter leaves the check on the corner of the table, you ask, “Going Dutch?”
“Going insane if you think I’m letting you pay for a date,” Tim mumbles before speaking up to say, “My treat.”
Tim offers his blazer before you walk out into the windy Los Angeles night, and you wrap your hands around his arm as he leads you to his truck. You’ve never felt as loved and as cherished as you do with Tim Bradford.
As you enter Tim’s house, he uses your joined hands to pull you back toward him. He dips his chin, gesturing for you to sit on the couch, then lowers to the table before it. With a gentle touch, Tim runs his hands down your leg, from your knee to your ankle. After he hooks his finger under the strap of your heel, he pulls your foot up, resting your calf on his knee to unhook the small buckle against your ankle and remove your shoe. He repeats the process with the other shoe, then lays his hands on your knees and leans forward.
“Hi,” you whisper with a smile.
Tim smiles in the proximity, then runs his hands up your legs to rest on your thighs.
“I love you,” you add.
“I love you,” he replies before he moves beside you on the couch, cups the back of your neck in his hand, and pulls into a kiss that proves it.
Tim stops mid-step as he enters the roll call room the following morning. Angela and Aaron are perched atop the tables to watch him with matching looks.
“What?” Tim asks.
“You have a girlfriend,” Angela says.
“That I’m thinking you bought Dior for,” Aaron adds.
“Who are you and what did you do with Timothy Bradford?”
“Yes, I have a girlfriend, and I bought her some makeup,” Tim admits. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal?” Aaron repeats incredulously. “You, Tim Bradford, are whipped.”
“He took her to an expensive restaurant last night,” Angela tells Aaron without looking away from Tim. “I bet he footed the bill, too.”
“There is no reason to be discussing this at work,” Tim points out. “So, drop it.”
“Drop what?” Lucy asks from the doorway.
One word, Tim mouths to Aaron. Aaron nods, but Angela smiles. Tim knows he has no power over her, but when she changes the subject, he sighs and nods once. She’ll bring it up again when he least expects it, but for now, the ‘news’ of his ‘being whipped’ for you is contained. He isn’t ashamed of you, of course, but some things need to be private.
Immediately after walking into Tim’s house, he kisses you so hard that you can feel the sticky texture of your lip gloss as it smears from the corners of your lips and onto your chin. When he pulls back, holding you up as you blink at him, breathless, he uses his thumb to wipe away the shiny mess he made.
“I missed you too,” you say.
“I was told today that I’m whipped,” Tim replies.
You furrow your brows, and Tim taps his knuckle against your forehead and smiles as he shakes his head. You relax but hold his side as you wait for more information.
“Aaron and Angela know about you, and he told me I was whipped. I realized that he’s right.”
Terrified that Tim is about to break up with you after this realization, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He huffs and tugs it free.
“I am more in love with you than I ever dreamed of being capable of. So…”
Tim is clearly trying to find the right words, and you smile as you offer, “Incandescently happy?”
“Completely and incandescently happy,” he agrees. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Tim smiles, then notices he disturbed your outfit with his sudden affection. He tugs the ridden-up fabric down over your hips before dragging his fingertips along your upper arm to fix your top.
“Remember when you bought me the makeup wipes?” you ask.
Tim nods and inquires, “Do you need them?”
You try to contain your smile but fail. “No, you just proved you can take off lip gloss without them.”
Tim tugs you closer, hooks his arms under your hips, and lifts you up. You gasp in surprise before gripping his shoulders. After he carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the counter, he takes your shoes off and stands between your legs.
“Should I make dinner or are you going to keep distracting me?”
You tap your finger against your jaw and pretend to ponder the question. “That depends… will your friends still be okay with this relationship when they find out you’re a cradle robber?”
“Maybe I should give you back then.”
You pout, and Tim kisses your forehead before he turns away. He passes you a bouquet of red roses, then sets a glass of your favorite beverage beside you. It’s the response you hoped for, and after you gently place the flowers aside, you pull Tim closer by his collar and smile against his lips.
#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x y/n#tim bradford x you#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford fic#tim bradford the rookie#tim bradford#tim bradford fluff#fem!reader#hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader#the rookie abc
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HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK
pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33
♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess
i. sorry about the blood in your mouth
vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new.
she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.
“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.
“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”
the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in.
“morning, killer.”
vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night.
it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —
“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.
she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it.
“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.”
fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue.
oh. right.
your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it.
what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?
vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers.
even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral.
your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.
“did you bring me here for round two?”
“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”
“so you’re — what an enforcer?”
“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble.
you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet.
you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.
“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.
“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.
you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.”
vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal.
what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill.
vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.
“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”
“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.
your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying:
“you’re not my enemy.”
maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are.
she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought.
“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”
vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.”
“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.
“i can hold my own — ouch.”
you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool.
“when you’re sober, maybe.”
“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”
“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.”
you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.
“vampires?”
you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”
vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.
“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”
“so….what are you, exactly?”
you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm.
you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you.
“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction.
vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add:
“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.
“you’re joking?”
“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”
“do you normally take the people you save home?”
you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.
“no,” you admit.
vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —
vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?”
you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other.
an unspoken question: do you know what i really am?
because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.
“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”
her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”
“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.”
“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises.
you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone.
she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent.
on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.
“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile.
something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled.
vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.
“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.
“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”
your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.
you were….asking her out.
the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?
“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”
you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”
“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.”
you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.
“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”
“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow.
you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.”
vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul.
(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)
“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”
she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back.
with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be.
except —
vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse.
it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing.
really, it’s more nightmare.
because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears.
meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart —
it’s your destiny to end those nightmares.
you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.
ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog
there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights.
vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self.
you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle.
you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming.
she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.
so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest:
"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar."
your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:
"you're on, killer."
later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd.
"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin.
(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)
"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."
you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster.
it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night.
then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes.
she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her.
vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.
she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble.
the show must go on, and you’re already center stage.
the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready.
you falter when you see that it’s vi who’s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.
you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive.
nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.
you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.
the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.
but, you don’t.
the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.
this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.
….
vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone.
“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with.
“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog.
“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”
you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”
the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.
“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.”
“i’m sure you’ll manage.”
vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins.
“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.”
you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.”
you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters.
vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.
“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly.
“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest.
“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood.
vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.”
the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble.
“this is serious, vi.”
“i know! but —”
“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”
your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.
“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.
your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.
“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”
“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”
vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”
you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.
“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.
you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her.
“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?”
you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.
“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”
“so….”
vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile.
it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile.
“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”
….
on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.
you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.
now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.
the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through.
gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same.
(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)
these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.
it’s really the little things.
like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school.
she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter.
sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways.
other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days.
you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.
it works. it works really well.
except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.
you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.
….
vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.
it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble.
she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:
just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.
there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.
she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:
“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray.
you’re not talking about her.
“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”
“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip.
whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed.
when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.
“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom.
you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest.
“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table.
“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”
“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”
“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice.
you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter.
“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”
“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs.
“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter.
vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry.
your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth.
“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.
you freeze. “how much did you hear?”
vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”
“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.”
there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose.
you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.
the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin.
vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear.
she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.
a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.
….
the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose.
vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen.
“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.”
“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!”
“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.
“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?”
fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.
you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”
vi swallows the lump in her throat.
“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”
“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically.
you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for.
“please, angel, don’t —”
“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.”
“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”
a tense silence follows.
you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena.
you’re planning your next move.
in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —
“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s.
you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.
“wait. you should know that i’m —”
“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.
there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them.
“then let me – i mean, i can help —”
you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up.
she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists.
you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:
vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.
“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”
“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.
“why are you doing this?” she growls.
“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”
with that, you’re out the door.
vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight.
a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage.
you’re not dying tonight.
and vi’s been hungry for too long.
iii. all my devotion turns violent
the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.
you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.
all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her —
fuck.
you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other.
something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach.
you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes.
the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.
your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.
you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs.
you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.
that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious.
iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)
vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.
she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her.
she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse.
she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.
it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl?
vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.
she just hopes she wasn’t too late.
vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive.
you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood.
vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you.
she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever.
dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.
your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….
day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly.
“please wake up,” vi whispers.
fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.
another sleepless night passes.
at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses.
fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either.
instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up.
you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.
vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment.
you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.
“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”
the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse.
“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”
you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.
“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”
it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said.
you thanked her for saving you.
you apologized for using who she is as a weapon.
what did you mean by that?
unless —
i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.
she’s worth it.
you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how….how long?”
“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring.
“are you serious?”
“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —”
“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”
you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.
“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily.
“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?”
“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”
you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:
“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”
vi blinks at you. “never.”
“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.
fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said.
she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.
this whole time…..
it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap.
but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once.
you welcomed her into your home, into your life.
you kissed her.
this whole time.
“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear.
except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale.
“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”
her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.
it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper.
but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.
vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.
“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”
vi whines when you start to pull away even more.
“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”
to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.
“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.”
“you’re on, angel.”
her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you.
“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.
“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her.
you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble.
“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?”
and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.
“what else do you want?”
vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.
“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames.
she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.
your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss.
vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder.
she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.
“v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”
a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.
you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust.
“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.”
vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving.
“but then you would —”
“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.”
“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”
“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted.
vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.
vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more.
but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety.
“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.
and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth.
after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak.
vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers.
“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches.
you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.
you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.
“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her.
vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”
“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”
you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view.
vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.
“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”
“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.
eventually, you both calm down.
“you hungry?”
“not really. you?”
vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?”
“sounds heavenly.”
it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.
fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.
your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.
“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.
“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it.
“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”
when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.
“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”
your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”
“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”
you let out a surprised laugh.
“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks.
“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."
vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven.
you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:
“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”
v. my heart is black and beats for you
TWO MONTHS EARLIER
it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them.
someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless.
if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it.
after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:
it’s her.
she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls.
it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook.
your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol.
that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins.
so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else.
“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”
you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.
“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.
“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”
“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”
your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left?
you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do.
but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.
in other words: fuck the council.
(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)
you manage to get her to her feet.
she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.
you trust your instincts and carry her home.
#y'all im SORRY ik more ppl voted for the spiderverse au (it's coming soon i promise)#but i got stoned w/ my best friend and we talked about love and queer friendships and twilight as gay cinema bc kristen stewart#and my friend convinced me to ask out the girl i have a crush on and then we watched monster high....#apparently those were the perfect conditions for me to finish this fic#i edited on the plane yesterday and like i said it’s the WOLF MOON TONIGHT??!#so yep werewolf!vi has been living in my mind rent free i want her to bite me and i want to bite her oops.#vi x reader#vi smut#vi fanfic#vi league of legends#vi#wlw smut#wlw fanfic#lesbian#vi fluff#saf writes#i. richard silken#ii. mitski#iii. japanese breakfast#iv. um jennifer#v. agatha all along#and title is ofc chappell roan!!
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run for the hills – lh44 (+18)
masterlist ||
Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.
Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader
Word Count: 9.3k
Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!
Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”
Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee
Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.
Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media.
But this time, it’s different – he's alone.
Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own.
There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace.
He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life.
And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment.
He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.
Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t.
Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point.
He clears his throat.
You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”
“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects.
You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?”
He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word.
You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?”
He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.”
You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. ��Sure, Lewis.”
“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.”
You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?”
Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down.
You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?”
Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest.
“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut.
“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?”
You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?”
He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?”
You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.”
“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.
“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed.
“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth.
You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.”
Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.”
“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”
Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–”
“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?”
“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?”
You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.”
“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–”
“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.”
Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before.
“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–”
“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–”
“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?”
His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation.
“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.”
“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—”
“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–”
His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?”
His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.
“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.
Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be.
“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.”
You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.”
His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp.
Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you.
“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.”
But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him.
And Lewis knows it.
His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind.
The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender.
Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”
“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe.
Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel.
You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended.
“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent.
“Act like this changes everything.”
His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?”
Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words.
“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.”
The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.”
Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek.
You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears.
He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”
“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters.
“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.”
You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.
“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.”
“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.”
Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?”
You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it.
Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.”
The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist.
Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.”
You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest.
You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you.
You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.
Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.”
You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.”
“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.”
The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.”
He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.”
Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him.
“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.”
You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”
“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.”
“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.”
“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”
Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.”
The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.”
He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?”
The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.”
He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.
You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.”
He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory.
Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.”
A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning.
His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.
You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body.
You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?”
He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second.
“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.”
“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?”
With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.”
Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.
Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.”
The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation.
Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.”
A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.
The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.”
You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes.
Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing.
“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs.
The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.
His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”
“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-”
He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.”
“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.”
He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”
The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now.
His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.”
Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe.
“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.
Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly.
His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.
“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core.
Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead.
“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.”
“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling.
“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless.
“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender.
Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.”
“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you.
His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.
There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”
Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat.
You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness.
He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.”
The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you.
“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading.
You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment.
When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you.
Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.”
You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride.
He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.”
You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch.
“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest.
For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”
The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.
He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?”
“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.”
“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.”
You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise.
“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.”
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