#It's very slight but tagging just in case

[pupstim]

Someone told him he didn’t have a spine...

Dannymay Day 10: Bones

I honestly didn’t know what to do with bones but then I remembered an idea of Danny cracking his bones like glowsticks and I had to draw it.

I figured this could be AU too like maybe Danny is so ecto contaminated that his own bones can be considered ecto weapons like clubs. Just a silly thought. I wanted something with Danny beating the crap out of Vlad as well but figured that would be too much.

Very happy with how this came out and I figured out glowing! Look at his spine it glows! His hands too! WOW! I forgot his eyebrows in two of the panels but shhh just pretend they’re there ;)

[800db-cloud]

spare some spy hcs? 👀

OKAY. ok. so i have been putting off answering this ask because i’m admittedly very shy and very afraid of sharing my headcanons. and also because i have A LOT OF THEM.. but here we are!

here are my headcanon spies :) René works for RED and Jacques works for BLU!

where to start, where to start… i have a LOT of headcanons for them, i’ll be talking for FOREVER here. i’ll just start with story because why not! xP

René’s parents were also agents/spies, so he was always destined to be one as well. And he lives up to his parents’ legacies! He’s most notorious for destroying gangs and mobs and the like from the outside in. He was brought to America years ago to take out a dangerous mob boss, but unfortunately found himself infatuated (and involved) with the boss’ daughter. Luckily for him, the boss’ daughter wanted the guy dead, too.

René’s story is honestly a lot more fleshed out than Jacques’, but here goes anyway:

Jacques’ father was a very rich and powerful man in politics. Jacques himself was the result of an affair, and to keep it hush-hush, his father decided to raise him. Raise is a strong word, though— but he did help his father gain intelligence and blackmail on opposing political parties. Jacques proved to be a promising spy since childhood.

If anyone has any suggestions/ideas for Jacques’ story, let me know haha x) he didn’t have the greatest upbringing per se…

last thing on this section i wanna talk about is the Scouts. René is related to both of the Scouts; he’s RED Scout (Jeremy)’s biological father, and he’s BLU Scout (James)’ adoptive/step-father. Jacques has no relation to either scout, but acts as a guardian figure to BLU Scout.

anyway, this is the part where i continue talking about other miscellaneous headcanons! and these come with doodles :)

You couldn’t catch René DEAD without his mask, or his suit! He’d neeever take them off around other people (‘other people’ is mainly just Scout. For obvious reasons.) Meanwhile, Jacques is pretty lenient in letting his teammates see his face! Everyone on BLU’s seen his face at least once.

A big part of why René refuses to strip down is also due to the fact he has a LOT of tattoos. No doodle for this one because I’ve yet to decide on what tattoos to put on him (ideas are very welcome!!), but yeah! Most of the tattoos were ‘forced’ onto him/he had to get for jobs and ‘fitting in’ with bad crowds, but a good few of them were of his own accord, too.

Jacques doesn’t have tattoos, but he has a myriad of another thing: scars! Lots and lots of scars on this guy. Faded and old, sure, but they’re there. Most prominent ones are the one around his neck (from when the RED Medic beheaded him) and the ones on his forearms (those are from the LAST time he was imprisoned— looong story…)

René doesn’t cook very often for his team, but when he does, everyone’s always BLOWN AWAY by this guy’s cooking! René’s really bad at taking compliments, though— (“Cooking food that’s remotely edible isn’t a compliment, it’s basic survival.”) —but rest assured he’ll be thinking about it for the next month. Jacques, however… Do NOT let this guy into the kitchen. Ever. The BLU base has a special fire extinguisher “In Case Spy Decides To Turn On The Stove”

oooh, this one is an hc and a HALF to me. René much prefers working alone. It’s just in his nature, being isolated and whatnot. He likes to deal with things by himself– maybe he doesn’t want to burden others? On the contrary, Jacques NEVER works alone. It’s a trait he’s had even before being hired to BLU. You never know when things could go wrong, so it’s best to have someone else to fall back to… or someone else you can blame!

these hcs both have something to do with how René and Jacques show their trust in other people :) it’s a bit convoluted but it gets there:

René is, amusingly, very bad at remembering names. Almost laughably bad. There have been many-a-story of his days before RED where he’d get a target’s name wrong, even after he’d repeated it in his head dozens of times over. Names are difficult for him, so if he remembers yours, it means you mean a lot to him! He prefers using his teammates’ names rather than their titles. René is unaware of how charming this specifc trait is to his coworkers (they saw how much work and effort it took for him to memorize their names, they’re just happy with how far he’s come!)

Jacques has a… to put simply, very complicated relationship with food. But the one thing he’ll never turn down is sweets. His favorites especially being chocolate bonbons. Jacques has a hard time eating in front of others, let alone sharing his food! But if he genuinely likes and trusts you enough, he’d have half the mind to share with you. Admittedly, he hasn’t brought himself to share with most of the members of his team yet, except for a select few. Mostly BLU Medic and BLU Sniper.

—

and of course, eventually, EVENTUALLY, these two also become friends! it took a little bit but believe me, they both respect each other’s skill in their job :)

AHHg i could go sooo much longer about them— from things like their physical traits (how much teeth they have? it’s a pressing question) or different periods of their life (why did rené have to leave his family? why was jacques imprisoned for the last time?) BUT this post is so… so, so long. My fingers hurt from typing

If you’ve managed to read through this Beast, THANK YOU RAAHH!!! thanks so much for asking this, too. i hope to spare more hcs someday. hehe ^_^

[ultimateinferno]

I've been thinking about Falin vs Laios on making friends. Laios being concerned for Falin's isolation and his excitement for making a friend of his own.

[misty-wisp]

What's wrong, Omori? You look as if you just saw a ghost!

(alt. ver under the cut)

[pandaspwnz]

like so many others I've caught the Astarion brainrot and seeing as I have 10.000 screenshots of the guy, I feel like it'd be a shame not to share them. I was trying to figure out how to upload them, what categories to go with, and I've settled on calling this one the miscellaneous meowmeow section, for faces caught in various places that made me go 🥺 I've edited the photos only slightly in that I've blurred out the text on screen to avoid spoilers, but also just to get full focus on that glorious face. I have loads more screenshots and also categories but I make no promises in regards to when those will be uploaded, but I definitely do want to share because he's our boi 🥺 Enjoy!!

[konnei-art]

My experience in totk so far.

Small non story spoilers so watch out

[snickerdoodlles]

there's a lot of things people blame for why fandoms feel like ghost towns these days, but no one's really talked about the way discord's contributing to it

[mechahero]

Character headcanon generator - 10 headcanons! Generate 10 headcanons and share whether they're true or not. Repost, don't reblog.

Lambda has an incredible long-term memory but an awful short-term memory. (Not true. His long and short-term memory are fricked to hell in back. #untreated ADHD BABEYYY)

Lambda speaks only in meme references. (Not true. For all the time he spends on the internet, he rarely picks up on memes.)

Lambda can beat you up, but wont. (True... to an extent. He usually needs a fairly good reason to do so.)

Lambda hacks their stats in every video game they play. (Not true. He likes to play video games as is.)

Lambda enjoys doing taxes. (Not true. This guy has not done taxes ever in his life. Unless you count item tax when he heads out of town to get groceries he can't find in Motor City.)

It would not take much for Lambda to turn evil. (... technically true. All it would take would for there to be an event that's far too much for him to handle to happen before Lambda says fuck it and starts behaving like the genuinely terrifying monster he's been turned into on a widespread scale.)

Lambda is a very good singer. (True but only a bit. He's decent.)

Lambda is afraid of doing anything without their parent's permission. (True but only pre cyborgification. He used to be downright terrified of doing something without their permission, usually his mother's, because going out and doing it anyway meant coming home to get hit for it.)

Lambda can't sit in a chair properly. (True. If he finds a way to sit that's comfier than how you're supposed to sit in a chair, he's going to do it.)

Tagged by: stole it from @electricea lol Tagging: YOU 🫵

[theimperialnuisance]

FFXIV Write 2023 || FFXIV Write info\\Prompt list\\Character info \\Master post ||

Prompt 16: Jerk

a quick, sharp, sudden movement.  Character(s): Kien Eilath, G'raha Tia Cw: nightmare aftermath, slight indications of a panic attack Word count: 941 Notes: No real set time frame for this one, probably between pre-EW or post-EW. This was actually a continuation from a prompt back in 2021 but I only wrote the first half so here is the aftermath of it. G’raha wakes Kien from a nightmare, not realizing how paralyzing his nightmares can be.

G’raha stirs awake suddenly, his senses on high alert at the sound of Kien groaning next to him. He slowly sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and taking note that the room was practically pitch black with how late it must be. His eyes adjust quickly enough, turning his gaze back to his partner as another groan escapes him followed by a sharp inhale of breath. It seems as if he was having another nightmare. 

These weren’t common occurrences–G’raha only noticed Kien would get nightmares on the days he was exhausted or sick and today had been the ladder. A slight fever from overworking himself too much again–he had nearly passed out during a meeting with the Scions so G’raha quickly excused himself with the other and put him straight to bedrest when they got back to Kien’s apartment. 

The other had fallen asleep instantly, practically dead to the world with how deeply he’d fallen asleep. This was the first indication of life from the other since his head had hit the pillow several bells ago and G’raha wishes it wasn’t in the form of a nightmare. 

He hovers his hand uncertainly above Kien’s shoulder, unsure if he should try and shake him awake or just let the nightmare pass. But with how violently the other begins to thrash and moan, he decides trying to wake him might be for the best. He gently calls out to him, hoping his voice can break through his dream but to no avail, Kien’s head continues to jerk back and forth as his brow furrows in pain. 

“Kien, hey,” G’raha doesn’t whisper, raising his voice a bit as he reaches a hand out to rest gently on Kien’s shoulder. The touch causes Kien to tense up and suddenly G’raha pulls back with a start as Kien jolts upright with a ragged gasp. He waits with bated breath as he watches the raven-haired Miqo’te look around frantically, his body trembling before he finally begins to curl into himself with a choked sob. He can’t help the small sigh of relief that escapes him. He was awake.

On instinct, G’raha reaches his hand back out toward Kien to comfort him but pulls it back just as quickly, ears flattening with guilt as Kien seemed to not recognize him yet. The moment G’raha’s hand had gotten close to him, Kien had whipped his head up and fliched so hard that his body flung itself into the wall. Now G’raha was watching in helpless desperation as Kien really begins to panic, ears pressed flat against his head and chest heaving for air as his pupils widen in fear. Shit. G’raha thinks–he was still trapped in his nightmare. 

“Kien, Kien! It’s me,” G’raha tries to break through Kien’s senseless babbling, his voice raising just enough and he leans over to flick on the bedside lamp, hoping the warm glow of light would help. “Listen to my voice, you’re alright, you’re safe.” He moves himself back a bit further from the other, hoping the distance between them helps. 

G’raha continues to mutter soothing words until finally Kien’s breathing begins to slow down and he uncurls himself from the wall. He had closed his eyes at some point in his panic attack but was now opening them cautiously as G’raha scoots closer to him again. “That’s it, breathe with me,” G’raha continues as he hesitantly places a hand on Kien’s shoulder again, relieved when the other doesn’t flinch. His eyes search the other’s for a sign of recognition as he slowly coaxes the other to take deep breaths.

Kien exhales, his eyes dilating for a moment before narrowing back again and he blinks, finally making direct eye contact. “Raha…?” his voice is quiet and still a bit shaky but coherent. “What happened?”

“You had a sort of waking nightmare,” G’raha lets out a shaky breath, squeezing Kien’s shoulder gently before releasing his hold. “Are you alright?” 

Kien slowly nods his head, his hands still trembling as he moves one of them to trace his scar on his right eye. “I was dreaming of my brother again. Of when he attacked me and gave me this. It felt so real. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t fight him off, I felt him grab me–I–” his voice began to tremble again as the tears finally break free and before he can finish G’raha pulls him into a tight embrace, rubbing his hand in soothing circles on his back. 

“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” G’raha whispers. “It was a nightmare, he’s not here, and he cannot get you. I promise.” It was strange to see Kien at such a state of vulnerability but G’raha knew part of this was due to his still lingering fever and he was sure the other would barely remember this moment when the morning came as he did with the nightmares before this. And that was alright with him. He would do what he could to protect him and keep him safe. 

Kien lets out a shaky breath, nuzzling further into G’raha’s embrace. The two stay like that for a little longer, G’raha’s fingertips tracing shapes on Kien’s back as he feels the other begin to slump again, sleep reclaiming him. He gently lowers the other down to the pillows and leans over to flick off the light before lowering back down to his pillow and pulling the other back into his embrace. Kien’s breaths are gentle and steady and G’raha hopes his slumber will be peaceful and undisturbed this time. He places a soft kiss on the other’s forehead before drifting off to sleep again once more. 

[pebblewithapen]

yk in retrospect i probably should have realized sooner that there was something a bit off about my dreams. probably shouldn't have taken roughly 15-20 years to realize "hey bestie most people aren't running for their life every time they close their eyes. since like elementary school."

Its giving tma The Hunt tbh like girl what entity did my 4 year old ass piss off to get marked like that /j

[spencerreidenjoyer]

guess | spencer reid x reader

wc: 2.3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, alcohol consumption (reader is not drunk during sex), lingerie, munch!spencer, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

a/n: heavily inspired by guess by charli xcx ft. billie eilish, specifically billie's verse. yes the song dropped yesterday. yes i listened to the song once and decided to write a fic about it. i'm insane about s7/8 reid rn so :) (also posted on ao3!)

You swear you don’t mean to show off, but the miniskirt you’re in doesn’t help your case in the slightest.

Spencer had told you to join him at the bar for drinks with his coworkers, the bar just a couple blocks down from the club you were at with your friends. Your boyfriend had been away for most of this week and you really wanted to see him, so you don’t think twice about popping by to see Spencer. Besides, you hadn’t seen Penelope, JJ and Emily in a while either, and those girls treat you too kindly.

You realise how skimpily dressed you are when you walk into the bar, though, when you approach the very properly-dressed group of FBI agents at a booth in the corner. Your top is cropped and low-cut, revealing your cleavage, and you were wearing a little black miniskirt, the hem of which barely skirted the tops of your thighs.

Spencer has never commented on your fashion choices, often being the very satisfied recipient of your sometimes revealing outfits. But as you greet the BAU, his eyes are dark and hungry as they roam your figure. You smile at him with a whispered “Hi, baby,” before you kiss him chastely. The look on Spencer’s face is unreadable, other than the fact that you know he appreciates the view.

His gaze darts up at Derek from across the booth when he whistles at you.

“Looking good, mama.” Derek waggles his eyebrows at you, earning him a smack to the chest from Penelope and a hearty chuckle from Emily.

You lean over to hug JJ, Penelope and Emily in that order on the other side of the table, and you feel Spencer’s hand quickly snake across your waist, pulling you back to sit down. You glance over at him briefly, but he only keeps his gaze straight ahead.

“You are one lucky guy, Reid,” Emily laughs, and you feel Spencer’s arm curl around you tighter, pulling you in closer.

The rest of the night is pretty fun, cracking jokes and talking with Spencer’s team, but with the alcohol in your system from earlier, it only takes a few more drinks for you to get drunk. You’re extra giggly, half-sitting in Spencer’s lap, his hand not leaving your side. You feel the rumble in his chest when he speaks, saying, “I think we’re going to head home first. This one here seems a little drunk already.”

“I’m not drunk,” you lilt, rolling your eyes. You lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder, blinking hard before you meet Penelope’s gaze. You hear Emily defending you about how you aren’t drunk, but Penelope smiles at you and says, “I think boy genius is right.”

You frown deeply, almost comically so. “Penny! You’re supposed to back me up here!”

Penelope laughs, always so kind to you. “Come on, honey. Let Reid take you home.”

You huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child. You don’t notice the way Spencer’s gaze darts down to your chest shamelessly. Derek whistles, and you assume Spencer must glare at him because Derek is raising his hands in surrender, telling Spencer he doesn’t mean anything. What were they even talking about? You don’t know, but Spencer is murmuring in your ear about getting a taxi home, and after you say goodbye to all of his friends, you’re letting him guide you out of the bar and into the cool night.

You shiver, the very little fabric you have on not doing you any favours when the temperature drops. Spencer is quick to shrug off his jacket and help you put it on. His jacket is long enough on you, considering Spencer’s height, to cover your skirt.

“I swear alcohol’s supposed to warm you up,” you grumble, holding your arms close to your chest as you try to stay warm. “I’m fucking freezing.”

“You feel warmer for a bit because the alcohol is a vasodilator – it causes the blood vessels under your skin to dilate, increasing blood flow, which makes you feel warmer. If you drink more, the higher levels of alcohol actually work to shrink your blood vessels instead and make you feel cold. Do you have a headache?”

You shake your head, but take the chance to snuggle up to Spencer now. “You feel nice and warm.”

“Good,” Spencer says, holding you close. In no time, he flags down a taxi, and you two pile in and drive towards his apartment.

Spencer’s hand is drawing circles into the side of your thigh, mindless, but the touch is incredibly distracting. You ask him softly, “You’ve been touching me all night, Spence. Something on your mind?”

“You,” he whispers back. “Can’t stop thinking about your underwear.”

You squeak at his brazenness, smacking his chest. “You– Spencer!”

“I got a good look when you were practically bent over the table just now,” Spencer continues, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “Didn’t even give me a chance to guess.”

You gape at him like a fish, but Spencer smiles and murmurs in your ear, “You know how much I love when you wear that lacy black pair.”

You bite down on your lip, trying not to moan like a whore in the back of this taxi. You just look at him, silently wishing he’d do something. Spencer presses a kiss to your jaw, and you feel your cheeks heat.

Thankfully, the driver is quick to announce that you’re at your destination, and you and Spencer stumble out of the cab quicker than you’d like to admit. Spencer doesn’t even wait for his change before he slams the car door shut.

Spencer crowds you against the back of the elevator, an old, rickety thing with no camera, so you feel less bad when Spencer slips his hand under your skirt and past your panties, his finger sliding between your wet folds. “Spencer!”

“You’re so wet for me already,” Spencer groans, kissing down your neck desperately. His fingers are so tantalising, rubbing up against your clit, your hole. “You’re so sexy.”

“Spencer,” you whine. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

The elevator doors creak open on Spencer’s floor. “Let’s go, then.”

Spencer barely locks the door behind you before he’s kissing you, eager and sloppy and desperate. It’s so hot, his large hands on your waist pulling you closer to him, and you feel the growing problem in the front of his pants.

“Spencer,” you moan. You feel his hands push up your skirt, feel him wedge his leg between your thighs. You must be soaked through your underwear by now, and you shamelessly rut your hips forward to grind against his leg.

“You know I love your fashion sense, my love, but this is slutty even for you.” Spencer’s voice is dark when he says it, and you whimper. “You’re dressed like you want somebody else’s attention.”

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. “No!”

“Derek was eyeing you like a piece of meat earlier. Emily, too.” Spencer frowns.

“I only want you, baby,” you insist, holding onto Spencer’s arms. “Only want you to notice me.”

“I am the only one who knows the colour of your underwear,” Spencer hums, his fingers skirting the waistband of your panties. “And fuck, you look good in them.”

“Please, Spence,” you whine, your plea lilting off into a gasp as Spencer lifts you, getting you to wrap his legs around him. You’d seen how he looked when he was younger, so scrawny he looked like he’d get swept away if the wind blew too hard, but now, he’s got more meat on his bones. His body is a pleasure to look at, let alone feel under your hands, which you’re happy to do now.

You touch the firm lines of his body through his shirt, as Spencer carries you to his bedroom. You mumble, hands frisky, “You’re so hot.”

“Says you,” Spencer smiles. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”

You grin as he lays you on his bed, gasping when he slides his palm over your wet cunt through your underwear. His thumb flicks over your clit through the lace, the material dulling the electrifying sensation. you whine, “Spencer, please.”

Spencer tsks, looking down at you. “Let me take my time with you, darling. You’ve been teasing me all evening.”

He presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, making you moan loudly. While he tends to tower over you in bed, you also deeply appreciate the view of him getting on his knees so he can make a home between your thighs. His hair is wild, unruly, and you run your hand through it, admiring it. Keeping your gaze, Spencer leans down to kiss your pussy.

You feel his warm breath on you, the scratch of his stubble on your skin, pinned down simply by his gaze as his tongue darts out to lick you over your underwear. You whimper, as Spencer wraps his arms around each of your thighs, using you as an anchor as he presses his face between your legs.

You sob, because what Spencer’s giving you just isn’t enough, not when you need to feel his tongue on your cunt. He thumbs at your hole through the fabric, dipping into your wetness in a cruel approximation of the pleasure he usually gives you.

“Fuck me,” you groan. “Take my panties off already.”

“Not yet,” Spencer hums. Instead, he pushes your panties to the side, lets his fingers slide over your cunt. You gasp at the sensation, his rough, calloused fingers sliding over your wetness, and then you feel the warmth of his tongue.

The sounds his mouth makes as he eats you out are filthy, obscene. His tongue flicks over your cunt with a practised precision, familiar with what makes you tick, the wet, slick sounds too overwhelming. Your toes are curling with how good Spencer makes you feel – legs trembling, breathing heavy. You can’t stop the whimpers that leave your lips, almost helpless in the way you moan for him.

“Please,” your voice is shaky as you cry out for Spencer. “I need you so bad, baby."

Spencer hums against your cunt, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine in your pleasure. “Okay, my darling.”

Finally, finally, he’s sitting up and pulling your panties down, your little skirt still pushed up to expose your cunt. You look up at him, silently wondering why he hasn’t taken it off. He plays with the soft fabric in his hands almost absentmindedly and says, “I think we should keep it on.”

You blink up at him, not coherent enough to say anything about it. Instead, you watch him take his shirt off – you whistle at the sight, while he just rolls his eyes. He unbuckles his belt and push his pants down, his cock bobbing up, hard and red and leaky. You bite your lip, thinking about how he’ll feel inside of you.

“Kiss me,” you whine, and Spencer smiles at you. He tastes of you when his lips press against yours, and he’s quick to deepen it, his tongue in your mouth, like he's close to devouring you whole.

While he kisses you hungrily, you feel his hand between your legs, moving to line himself up with your entrance. You moan as the blunt head of his cock presses up against your hole, the sensation you’ve been craving all evening. Cruelly, he rubs up against you just like that, sliding between your folds but not giving you the satisfaction you need. You’re close to biting his head off.

“Spencer–” you start, but Spencer decides to press his cock into you right at that moment, and you sob with the way his thick length splits you open. Every time he fucks you, you feel like he was made for you, filling you up in all the right ways, feeling so perfect on top of you, inside of you.

You meet his lips and kiss him lazily as he starts to thrust into you, at the perfect pace, just deep enough to hit all the right spots. It’s too good, Spencer knowing you and your pleasure like the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” Spencer groans against your mouth, finally showing some sign of his unravelling. “You’re so tight, darling.”

You gasp, groaning his name, legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, feeling like you could fuse into one person with how much you’re clinging onto him. You press your forehead to his shoulder, moans punched out of you with every one of Spencer’s thrusts.

“Feels– Feels so good, Spence, love you,” you cry.

“I love you too,” Spencer groans, voice low and rumbly in his chest. “You’re so perfect, my love.”

You sob as your orgasm hits you, crashing into you like a tidal wave. You shake as you come, feeling so positively overwhelmed with the way Spencer fucks you, the way he holds you, the way he kisses you. You can’t feel your legs as you come down from your high, head spinning with all the pleasure. “Spence…”

“I’m– Fuck–” Spencer’s tripping over his own words as he comes right alongside you, your clenched pussy sending him over the edge too. He blows his load deep inside you, sticky and hot and so satisfying. You can feel how hard he’s breathing as your mind clears, his arms trembling as he holds himself up so he doesn’t end up collapsing onto you.

“You’re perfect,” you hum in Spencer’s ear, soft and gentle as you kiss the side of his head. You pull him in close, letting him rest his weight onto you, and your hand goes to stroke his hair softly. “So good. I love you.”

“Thank you. I love you more,” Spencer groans, his voice a little raspy already. “I’m sorry if I was too possessive over you in front of my friends tonight."

“All is forgiven, especially since you were sexy as fuck,” you grin up at him. “You’re always sexy.”

“Says the girl in a miniskirt and black lace panties.” Spencer smiles.

“All the more I know what I’m talking about, then,” you giggle, before kissing him slow.

[wolfiesmoon]

The greatest gift

it's the most wonderful time of the year as they like to say so how about you recieve the best gift from santa on top of that 😈

this is suggestive perhaps??

Characters featured: mikey, hanma, baji, mitsuya

₊˚⊹♡ Mikey

You were joking when you asked for "Mikey" for christmas. You thought Hina and Emma knew you were joking.

So why the hell was Mikey currently tied up with a christmas ribbon and sitting under the christmas tree in your house, staring back at you with a slight smile?

"Merry christmas."

"I- HUH?!" you quickly covered your mouth, not wanting to be too loud at midnight. "Mikey, why are you in my house?" you whisper yelled.

"Emma and Hina jumped me." was his comically simple response. Well, it would be comically simple if Mikey didn't scare the living crap out of you just a few moments ago.

"That- That doesn't explain anything!" at this point, you've given up with trying to be quiet.

"I can't tell you anything more. I have no idea what's happening either."

"How are you so calm about this anyways?" you walked closer to him, inspecting the tag on the ribbon that said "Merry christmas from Emma and Hina".

"Now that I think of it, it is pretty weird to be kidnapped by your sister."

You're not even going to ask how they managed to get him in here without the keys.

"Well, uhhh... how about I unwrap you...?" you offered awkwardly after a small silence.

"Are you sure you want to do that? You'll unleash the true present by doing that." something... strange flashed behind his dark eyes.

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. ♡"

₊˚⊹♡ Hanma

"Merry christmas. ♡" you froze at the sound of his voice.

You were woken up by some weird noise downstairs, quietly walking down to investigate the source. You even took a knife from the kitchen just in case.

But instead of a robber or kidnapper, what you found was Hanma Shuji tied up in a big red ribbon. Smiling at you.

"Don't you merry christmas me." you didn't know what to say or do. You were scared out of your mind just now and that combined with the strange sight in front of you made you at a loss of... anything, really.

"Woah, that's a big knife... What were you going to do with that?˜" he sounded more amused than anything.

"You little... I don't... What is even happening?" you dropped the knife on the ground.

"Someone told me that you want 'Hanma Shuji' for christmas."

"Well, you know what I thought I was going to get for christmas? Kidnapped, that's what!" you yelled, not even caring about how loud you are right now.

"Hahahah, how amusing!" he laughed, seeming very satisfied.

"You won't be saying that after the things I will do to you. You know you can't escape when you're tied up, right?" a smirk crossed your face suddenly. A sense of boldness overtook you.

"Oooh, aren't you bold. ♡" his smile only widened.

₊˚⊹♡ Baji

"No way." you had to do a double take when you saw what you thought you saw.

Turns out this christmas is more interesting than you thought it would be. A present from Toman ended up being Baji Keisuke in the flesh.

"Mmmf!" he's probably telling you to free him right now, which admittedly, is hard to do when your mouth is gagged.

"Wow, this is like, the best present I ever got. I gotta thank the boys later." you walked closer to him, kneeling down and inspecting him in all his tied up glory.

Baji looked half angry half embarrased, and honestly that just made you want to tease him more. You kissed his cheek, smiling cheekily.

"Hmmf..." you laughed a little at his face.

"Mmmf! Hmmm!"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'll let you out. But that doesn't mean that I'm done with you just yet." you smiled, taking the bow of the ribbon into your hands to untie it.

"Mmm..?!"

₊˚⊹♡ Mitsuya

"Me and Mana have a surprise for you." Luna ran up to you all of a sudden.

"What is it?" you placed your hands on your knees to get closer to Luna's height.

"Wait till christmas." that was Luna's only response before running off to continue playing with Mana.

"Hmmm..." you hummed, a bit confused.

.

"Was this... Luna and Mana's gift?" you looked at the comically large christmas present under the tree. What in the world did those two give you?

You carefully removed the lid of the box, worried about the contents. Only to find Mitsuya inside.

"I- What the hell?" Luna and Mana sure are some evil children.

"I don't know either. Hakkai approached me just now and said "sorry" before wrapping me up and putting me in this box with no further explanation." his eyes never left yours.

"I think I know who's idea this was..." you stepped inside the box, sitting directly across from him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Your little sisters told me something about a surprise for christmas..."

"Oh my god. That explains... a lot." he looked as if he just made a big realisation. You couldn't help but laugh a little at the sight.

You pecked his lips all of a sudden, making him jump slightly. "Tell them thank you later."

"Shouldn't you be thanking them?" he smiled.

"No, I'm sure you'll be the one thanking them tommorow." His eyes widened at your mischevious smirk.

an early christmas present for my mikey, hanma, baji and mitsuya babes 💕

i want to make sure yall are well fed with that christmas dinner this year

[serawritesthings]

hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.

OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head. Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut Word Count | 10k A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡

While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.

Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in. 

The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man. 

You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth. 

“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body. 

“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.

“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger. 

Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.

“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject. 

“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.

As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.

“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.

“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.

You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.

“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.

You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.” 

Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.

“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll. 

Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door. 

He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur. 

You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose. 

“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look. 

“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure. 

–

Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach. 

“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn. 

He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.

He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.

“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.

“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.

“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”

As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West. 

Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.

Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.

Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.

What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.

“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.

“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.

“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”

“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”

He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.

“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours. 

“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing. 

“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff. 

“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.

Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height. 

“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much. 

It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.

You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.

“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.

“Cold?” 

“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.

“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work. 

Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.

“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”

Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.

“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.

“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”

“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”

He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words. 

“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled. 

It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”

“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.

Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.

It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.

“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.” 

“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.

“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.

“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”

“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving. 

Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.

You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.

His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.

“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.

“Yes, kind.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.

“Sure.”

–

It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway. 

It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.

Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.

Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite. 

If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.

And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby. 

Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.

He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.

It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.

Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.

“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.

“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.

Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.

Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people. 

Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.

“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.

You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears. 

As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.

How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.

How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable. 

“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.

“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes. 

You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls. 

“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.

“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”

“No, I-” 

“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”

His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did. 

“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”

You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.

“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.

“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture. 

You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.

Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes. 

He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being. 

So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.

“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.

He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.

“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle. 

“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”

A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”

As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.

“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him. 

Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips. 

Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.

“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something. 

Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.

And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.

“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.

Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.

And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.

It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground. 

“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm. 

“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.

It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.

You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch. 

It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.

“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.” 

You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.

You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking. 

“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.

“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.

You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck. 

Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.

Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own. 

He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.

And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him. 

But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh. 

His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.

It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.

The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers. 

“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night. 

Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.

“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval. 

You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.

He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.

A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions. 

For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.

And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.

“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.

“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.

Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.

“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.” 

He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him. 

While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck. 

You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.

Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else. 

You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you. 

God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.

“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.

“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control. 

Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.

He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.

Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements. 

Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.

“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.

He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.

Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before. 

Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.

Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.

“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.

“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”

“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.

They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.

“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.

“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.

“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.

“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.

“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face. 

The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.

You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.

Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly. 

Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you. 

“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.

The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.

As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.

“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.

“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come. 

“Are you jealous of Charles?” 

If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.

If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled. 

“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs. 

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.” 

Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him. 

“Only me, right?”

“Only you, stupid.”

[daydreaming-ace]

This isn't for when your parents actually call for you. This is specifically for when your brain makes it seem like your parents are yelling for you, but in reality they're asleep or something.

[springtyme]

Hi Sage! I was so happy when I saw you are gonna write for criminal minds! Can I request some soft smut with Spencer? Maybe his and reader’s first time together, they have to share a bed on a case or something like that. I love your writing so much and I would love to see how you’d write Spence ❤️ thank you for sharing your writing!!

𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♡

Thank you so much for the sweet words and the lovely request dear anon! ♡ I had such a good time writing this, and I can't wait to write more for Spencer!

Spencer Reid x afab!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: Having to share a room with one of your fellow BAU agents is not an uncommon occurrence, and that agent being Spencer is not new either. The two of you have roomed together on multiple occasions before, but all previous instances have been different from this one. In all those prior cases, you both had separate beds, but not this time.

word count: 7.3k

warning/tags: Smut! (18+, mdni!) Mutual pining. Friends/colleagues to lovers. Idiots in love. Slightly awkward. A hint of angst, but mostly just fluff. Nightmares. Wet dreams. Inexperienced (but not virgin) Spencer. Vaginal fingering. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. I haven’t had time to proofread so sorry if there’s any mistakes.

In many ways the room is about as ordinary as any small town hotel room can be. However, one aspect instantly catches your attention upon opening the door - the room only has one bed… 

As you step further into the room, you exchange a bewildered glance with Spencer, both unsure of how to proceed. It is a big bed, more than enough room for the both of you to be able to sleep comfortably next to each other, but despite how good of friends you and Spencer are, something about it feels weirdly intimate. 

Having to room with one of your fellow BAU agents on cases is not uncommon, and sharing a room with Spencer isn’t new either. The two of you have roomed together on multiple occasions before, but previous instances were distinct from this one. In all those prior times, you both had separate beds. 

“I, uhm… I can sleep on the floor,” Spencer suggests tentatively, breaking the silence that had filled the room. His voice is hesitant, almost as if he’s apprehensive about suggesting such a thing.

You look at him, noticing the slight blush on his cheeks as he avoids eye contact. It is clear that he doesn’t want to inconvenience you or make you feel uncomfortable by overstepping any boundaries.

But there is absolutely no way that you’re going to let Spencer sleep on the cold, hard floor, especially after a long day of chasing down an UnSub. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Spence,” you protest, shaking your head gently. “There is more than enough room on the bed; we can put some pillows between us if that’ll make you more comfortable,” you suggest. You can see his apprehension, his discomfort at the idea of encroaching on your personal space. 

In a way it’s very sweet, you know Spencer well, and you know how little he would enjoy lying on the floor, yet he is willing to give up his own comfort for you.

But at the same time you can’t help but feel a little pang of… Of what exactly you’re not sure. Disappointment maybe, or even longing? And a little irrational fear that maybe he actually finds sleeping next to you so uncomfortable that he would prefer the floor.  

You have tried to suppress your feelings for Spencer for a long time, you have had a crush on him from the moment you first joined the BAU three years ago, but the more you got to know him, and the deeper your friendship deepend the deeper your feelings for him also grew. 

You know that you’re being irrational, but you can’t help but wonder if Spencer actually feels uncomfortable by the idea of sharing a bed with you or if it’s something else entirely. As you continue to stare at him, hoping for a clue, Spencer nervously fidgets with the strap of his bag which he still hasn’t put down. 

“Sure, pillows…” he finally speaks, his voice trailing off. You can tell he’s hesitant, it’s clear that the idea of sharing a bed with you is not something he had anticipated or prepared for.  

You take a step closer to Spencer, trying to ease the tension that has settled between you. “Spencer, it’s going to be okay. We’ve slept in the same room many times before, remember? This is just a little different, but I’ll promise to stay on my side of the bed,” you assure him, offering a small smile.

Spencer glances over at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before he takes a deep breath andnodding slowly as he finally sets his bag down and starts to remove his jacket. His movements are deliberate, almost mechanical, as if he’s trying to distract himself from the tension in the room. Lost in your thoughts, you find yourself stealing glances at him. You watch his every movement, wondering if there’s more to his unease than just sharing a bed. As he hangs his jacket neatly on the back of a chair, you can’t help but notice the way his fingers tremble ever so slightly. 

“Do you want the bathroom first?” you ask, trying to break the silence and bring some normalcy back into the situation. Spencer looks up at you, his eyes reflecting gratitude for the distraction.

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” he replies, his voice slightly shaky. He walks past you towards the bathroom, his steps quick and purposeful.

While he’s in the bathroom, you take a moment to collect your thoughts, as you start to take out your pajamas and toiletries from your bag before going over to the bed, placing a few pillows in a row in the middle of the mattress. The tension in the room is palpable, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more going on with Spencer. You’ve always had a strong connection with him, but lately, there have been moments when you’ve sensed a shift in his behavior towards you. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s a certain longing and vulnerability that seems to surface whenever you’re together.

As you ponder these thoughts, Spencer emerges from the bathroom. He’s changed into his pajamas, checkered flannel bottoms and a long sleeved cotton t-shirt, his hair damp from his shower. You can’t help but notice how adorable he looks. There is something so soft looking over him like this, almost domestic and your heart skips a beat.

“Your turn,” he says softly, gesturing towards the bathroom. You nod and make your way inside, trying to steady your own racing heart.

The warm water from the shower helps to calm your nerves, but your mind is still filled with questions. What if there’s a chance that Spencer feels the same way? What if this shared bed situation could bring you closer together?

You finish your shower and step out, wrapping a towel around yourself. As you reach for your pajamas, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to stay calm and not let your emotions get the best of you, yes you have developed feelings for Spencer but first and foremost he is your friend and, and you can’t start assuming things. He is allowed to find sharing a bed with you awkward. 

When you return to the room, Spencer is already tucked into one side of the bed, the one closest to the door, his back turned towards you, and you can’t help but notice that he is far closer to the edge of the mattress than he needs to be. The only light in the room now coming from the bedside lamp on the side of the bed that has been assigned to you by Spencer.

You quietly slip into your side, letting the heavy comforter cover your body as you lay down on your back, looking over at Spencer’s back for a short moment before looking back up into the ceiling.  

The proximity between you is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking, as you lie there, so close to each other yet so far away. You take a deep breath before you break the silence once again. “Ready to turn off the light?”

Spencer shifts slightly, his voice barely above a whisper as he responds, “Yeah, sure.” You reach over and switch off your lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The only source of light now is the faint glow of moonlight coming shining through the blinds.

As you lay there, your mind starts to wander, replaying all the moments you’ve shared with Spencer over the years. The late-night conversations, the shared laughter, the times he’s been there for you when you needed someone the most. Each memory fills you with a mixture of warmth and longing.  

“Good night, Spence,” you utter softly into the darkness,   

“Night,” he replies, his voice barely audible in the quiet space and the room falls silent once again. 

You let out the softest of sighs as you close your eyes, finally letting yourself feel how tired you really are, slowly letting yourself try to surrender to sleep. 

· · ·

It’s still dark in the room as you wake up, only an hour or two have passed since you fell asleep, and for just about half a second you get to wonder what had woken you so abruptly before the reason becomes clear to you. 

It is Spencer who woke you. In the dimly lit room, his agitated body twists and contorts restlessly next to you. You turn around so you’re facing him, propping yourself up on your elbow so you’re slightly hovering over him, the darkness of the room shadowing his face, but as your eyes get used to the dark you notice the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his eyebrows knitted and his breathing erratic and shallow.  

Unintelligible, fearful murmurs escape his lips, carrying traces of an impending terror. With a gentle touch, you place your hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer some comfort as you try to gently pull him out of his nightmare.

“Spencer,” you say softly. “Spencer, wake up.”

His eyes fly open, wide with fear, his gaze darting around for a second or two, before they lock with yours which seems to calm him down a little. -

“I’m sorry, I woke you,” he mutters, his rapid breathing slowly coming under control. 

“Spence, it’s okay, I get them too,” you remind him. “We all do.” 

“I-I know… this one was just so real…”  Spencer takes a moment, his brows knitted as if he’s contemplating whether to share the details or simply let the disturbing dream fade away. “You were there,” he finally says, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I couldn’t get to you in time, I-I kept running but I didn’t get any closer a-and…” but then he stops, like he can’t get himself to continue.  

You feel how your heart clenches at his words, he had a nightmare about you…

“Well, I’m right here, and I’m okay,” you reassure him, offering a soft smile before you place a gentle hand on his shoulder as if to emphasize your statement, hoping to offer some comfort.

He places his own hand on top of yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“You think you can go back to sleep?” you ask him as you finally remove your hand from his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he says and the two of you both lay back down on the mattress, but a short silence falls over the room before Spencer speaks again. “Would it  be okay if we removed the pillows?” 

“Of course,” you whisper back, removing the pillows. There is still a decent gap between you, but the cushioned wall is now gone. You yearn to close the gap, wanting to reach out for him, to comfort him with an embrace, but you just stay on your side of the bed. This can be enough, you can live with just being his friend, despite how your heart yearns for more. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, now laying on his back instead of facing away from you like last time you said goodnight. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper back, “and, Spence?” you add.

“Yeah?”

“Remember you can always talk to me if you need it, I know how it feels.”

A beat of silence. “Yeah, I know, and thank you, it’s really nice to know that.”  

You let out a soft sigh as you finally close your eyes again. “Of course, that is what friends are for.”

“Yeah, friends…” he mumbles, so low you barely hear it. 

But you do hear it, and you ponder over it a little as you again begin to slowly drift off to sleep, and as you find yourself in the liminal space between wakefulness and slumber. Each breath you take seems to synchronize with Spencer’s soft breathing. In the darkness, your thoughts become even more encompassed by the draw you feel towards him, the yearning to hold him, to be held by him.

Suddenly, you feel a shift in the bed, and your heart skips a beat. Did Spencer just move closer to you? You open your eyes to find him curled up, facing your direction. His features softened, no longer affected by his nightmare, but now relaxed in sleep. It takes all of your willpower not to reach out and touch his tousled curls, to trace the contours of his face.

But you don’t. You don’t want to risk jeopardizing the friendship you share. As much as you yearn for more, you’re determined not to overstep any boundaries. 

With a heavy sigh, you turn away from Spencer, facing the wall instead. Your emotions are in disarray, swirling within you like a tempestuous storm. The closeness you currently have, even if it’s just a hair’s breadth away, feels agonizingly bittersweet.

As you drift closer to sleep, nestled in the comfort of the bed, you feel a sense of contentment and tranquility. Despite the uncertainty and longing, there is solace in the silent presence of Spencer beside you. And for now, that is enough.

· · · 

You are stirred from sleep once again later in the night. This time, it is a gradual, more peaceful transition into consciousness. A sense of warmth and snugness engulfing you, making you fill with a sense of complete safety and comfort, your eyes still closed and your mind still groggy from sleep. 

As you slowly emerge from your drowsy state, it takes a moment for you to identify the source of your comfort. As time passes, and you’re pulled enough out of your sleepy daze you start to become aware of the gentle movements against your body, and you start to perceive the muffled sounds emanating from beside you, and confusion is washing over you for a short moment before you remember where you are. Remembering that you’re in a hotel room in a small town in Nebraska, a hotel room which you’re sharing with Spencer, a hotel room that only has one bed…   

 Your eyes flutter open as Spencer’s arms squeeze you a little tighter, your back is pressed up against his chest and your legs are tangled under the warm covers. His steady breath gently fan the back of your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin, grazing just over your pulse point. 

And it is now, as you are being pressed tight up against him, that you feel it. How he gently is rocking against you. How the outline of his hard cock is pressing against the curve of your ass. You let out a faint gasp, as a warm shiver runs through you right down to your now throbbing cunt. 

Your heart skips a beat, overwhelmed by the intensity of this unexpected intimacy from Spencer. You are not completely sure what to do, what Spencer would prefer you to do in this situation. There is no way you’re gonna be able to wiggle out of his embrace without risking waking him. You should probably wake him, right? 

You can’t believe that this is really happening, that you really are in this position with Spencer right now. But you know that you can’t read too much into it, that people just get wet dreams sometimes, that this is just a physical reaction. He didn’t even want to share the bed with you in the first place, and you were the one who insisted on it. As much as you dread having to face him in this position, you really should wake him. 

You know Spencer, you know that he will feel embarrassed when you wake him, but it will be nowhere near as bad as the betrayal he will feel if he finds out that you didn’t stop this. 

Taking a deep breath, you start to gently nudge Spencer awake, careful not to startle him. “Spencer,” you say gently, slightly wiggling in his embrace as you try to face him. “Spencer, wake up.” 

As he stirs, his eyes flutter open, and he looks at you with a mixture of confusion and sleepiness, before a look of absolute horror overtakes his face, his eyes filling with panic. His embrace immediately loosens, and he quickly pulls away from you. The distance between your bodies, making you feel a sudden pang of emptiness as he bolts off the bed. 

“I- I’m so sorry,” he stutters, his voice frantic. “I don't know what came over me. This isn’t... I didn’t mean to…” His words trail off, and he looks utterly mortified.  

“Spence, it’s okay,” you try to reassure him, watching as he begins to pace back and forth in the small room, and start to gather his belongings, his eyes darting around the room anxiously, as if searching for an escape. “Spencer?” you try again, hoping to bring him back from the edge of his spiraling thoughts. You get out of the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floorboards. 

But Spencer doesn’t seem to even hear you, he just grabs his bag and starts stuffing his belongings inside, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. “I-I’ll leave,” he begins, his voice strained with guilt and embarrassment. 

“Spencer, please,” you say softly, stepping around the bed to get to him. “You don’t have to leave.”

He is halfway through the bathroom door by now, his bag dropping from his shoulder. Tears are pooling in his eyes, his expression tortured. “I can’t stay,” he says, his voice quivering. “I made you uncomfortable...”

“Spence,” you try again, now standing only a few steps from him. 

“No… I made you uncomfortable, and I-I’m so sorry, I just- I mean- or no, I didn’t mean…” he begins to ramble before giving up and burying his face in his hands. 

Your heart aches at his words, at the pain in his eyes. You never wanted this to happen, never wanted to make him feel like this. “Spence, you could never make me uncomfortable” you say, trying to keep your voice as steady and comforting as you can, your heart thumping loudly in your chest. 

“You don’t have to say that,” he begins, but you cut him off before he can start spiraling even more than he already is. 

“I do, Spence, cause it’s true. You haven’t made me uncomfortable, okay?” you need him to believe you, you are colleagues and you’ll have to see each other everyday, but also, and more importantly, he is your friend and he means so much to you, you just can’t lose him. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I promise. Please, look at me.”

You take a step closer to Spencer, reaching out for him, gently placing your hand on his trembling shoulder. Sensing the depth of his distress, you speak softly, attempting to soothe him further, and he finally looks at you, his damp eyes filled with shame and embarrassment. 

“I... I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he stammers, his voice shaky. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable or take advantage of you. I don’t even know why I…”

You interrupt him gently, placing a hand on his cheek to bring his attention back to you. “Spencer, listen to me. It’s alright.” 

He searches your eyes, seeking reassurance. A moment passes before he finally speaks. “Are you sure it’s alright?” vulnerability shining through his words.

“Yes, Spence… It’s alright,” you feel sad, because as selfish as it is, you do wish your words weren’t true, wish that it did mean something, but you have to ignore that for now. It’s not fair to be selfish right now, what you need is to comfort Spencer and reassure him that it’s okay. You have to ignore how good it felt to feel him against your body, having him grinding against you, having his lean arms around you…

“What happened... It was just a physical reaction and I don’t hold it against you. I know you didn’t mean for it to happen, and it’s not like you can control your dreams,” you offer him a small smile, one that you hope will convince him that you mean what you’re saying, but it feels bittersweet as you say your next words. “I know it didn’t mean anything.” 

Spencer’s shoulders visibly slump as he absorbs your words. He still looks deeply conflicted, but your reassurance seems to have calmed him down slightly. “That’s not true…” he murmurs, he sounds unsure, almost shy as he says it, yet there is a determination flickering in his hazel brown eyes. 

That’s not true..? You wonder if he is going to disagree with your statement about not being able to control dreams and launch into an extensive explanation of the technicalities of lucid dreaming, but what he says instead makes your heart flutter and fills you with a sense of hope. “It did mean something,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. The room feels charged with tension, the air thick with uncertainty. You take a step closer to him, your hand still resting gently on his cheek. “Spencer, what do you mean?” you ask, your voice soft and filled with curiosity. And a realization courses through your body, he didn’t just have a wet dream, he had a wet dream about you… 

He takes a deep breath, his eyes locked with yours. “You mean so much to me. My dreams, my nightmares, my…” he trails off, a pink blush spreading across his cheeks, my wet dreams, his blush is telling. “My waking thoughts, they always end up being about you.”  

You feel your heart swell, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling within you. Spencer’s words hang in the air, leaving you momentarily breathless. Unable to contain your own feelings any longer. You close the last distance between you, so close that you now can feel the heat radiating from his body, your hand sliding from his cheek to the back of his neck. Your touch is gentle, craving a connection, desperate to convey your own emotions. “Spencer,” you whisper, your voice filled with a tenderness you can no longer hide. “It’s the same for me.”  

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise, his breath hitching in his throat. It takes a moment for his words to find their way back to him. “You...you feel the same way?” he says, almost breathlessly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deception. “You’re not just saying this to make me feel better?”

You shake your head, your voice filled with sincerity. “No. I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t mean it.”

Relief floods his features, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. His pretty, pretty lips which look so soft and so damn kissable… “Oh…” is all he manages to say, his voice filled with soft gentle wonder. 

You can see how the weight is slowly lifting off of his shoulders, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and happiness. He reaches out to take your free hand in his. He moves his other hand to your waist, at first not  fully committing to the touch, his fingers gently ghosting over your pajamas, but with a soft smile of encouragement from you he gently places his palm against you, and his touch sends a wave of warmth through your body. 

The room seems to shrink, the world outside becoming distant and irrelevant. At this moment, it’s like the two of you are the only two people left on this earth. Spencer’s lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something more, but the words remain trapped in his throat. Instead, he leans in, his breath mingling with yours, and then, his lips brush against yours in the softest, most tentative of kisses.

It’s a moment of pure vulnerability, and raw emotion. The kiss is a little hesitant at first yet filled with longing. The warmth of his lips against yours creates an electric current that surges through your entire body, igniting a fire within you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him, as if he never wants to let you go. The possessiveness in his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself losing all sense of restraint. 

In this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. All that matters is the connection between you and Spencer, the warmth that courses through your veins with every touch and every kiss. You feel how heat is pooling in your stomach.

 Your fingers tangle in his hair, lightly tugging on the wavy strands, making him gently moan into the kiss as your other hand finds its way to his face, caressing his cheeks as if trying to convey all the feelings you have bottled up inside.

The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and desperate, as if both of you have been longing for this moment for far too long. It’s a dance of tongues and teeth, a melding of souls, and you can’t help but lose yourself in the sensations. The taste of his lips, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the way he pulls you closer as if he wants to merge your bodies into one.

Desire courses through you, igniting a fire within that consumes every rational thought. You press yourself flush against him, unable to stop your body from slowly grinding against him as the need for more contact intensifies, making Spencer moan into the kiss, which only makes your own desire for him grow even stronger. Every touch, every movement sends a jolt of anticipation through your body, the friction between you building a deliciously tantalizing tension.

The need for more becomes unbearable, but your lungs start to burn and you finally break the heated kiss to get a breath of air. His lips hovering mere inches from yours, his breath warm and ragged. The room is filled with thick tension as you lock eyes, the intensity between you crackling with electricity. You take a moment to steady your own breath before asking him, a little shyly, what you want to know the most in this moment. “Wanna tell me about your dream?” 

Your words hang in the air, a challenge and an invitation, as you search his gaze for approval. He looks into your eyes, his own filled with a mix of desire and vulnerability. “How…”  He takes a deep, steadying breath, before continuing. “How about I show you instead?” 

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, a rush of excitement and anticipation flooding through you. Without hesitation, you nod your head, your voice barely above a whisper as you respond, “I’d like that.”

You reach for his hand, guiding him towards the bed. As you lay down, he hovers above you, his eyes filled with a mixture of passion, desire, and a hint of vulnerability. The vulnerability only makes you want him more, to show him that the connection you both share is real, that it’s more than just a passing moment of lust.  

You place a hand at the back of his neck, drawing him down towards you, and his lips meet yours in another fervent kiss. The weight of his body pressing against you sends a thrill through your veins, a delicious ache building between your thighs. You bring your legs up, wrapping them around him, making him let out a low grunt. 

His mouth leaves your lips to instead trail down along your jawline, down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake. His movements start out slightly clumsy, but he is very quick to adapt and adjust, finding a rhythm that suits both of you. You tilt your head back, giving him better access, surrendering yourself to the pleasure that ripples through your body with each touch of his lips. His hands move up the sides of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Fuck, Spence,” you whine. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, urging him on. His lips find their way to your collarbone, and he nips at the sensitive flesh, causing a gasp to escape your lips. The sensation sends a jolt straight to your core, and you can feel yourself growing wetter and wetter with desire for him.

His fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming along the curve of your waist, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You arch your back, silently begging for more, and he obliges, his hands slipping further up until they find your breasts, his thumbs rubbing softly over your hardened nipples. A low moan escapes your mouth, and his lips find yours once again, swallowing the sound and pouring his own desire into the kiss before pulling away to speak. “We… we weren’t wearing this much clothes… In my dream.” 

As the words tumble from his lips, you feel a surge of anticipation flood through you. The desire to match his dream, to fulfill his fantasies, takes hold of you. With a breathless chuckle, followed by an encouraging smile you nod and begin to undo the buttons of your pajama shirt, slowly revealing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he watches the fabric slip off your shoulders and expose your breasts fully to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe and reverence. 

Spencer’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches out, gently cupping your breasts, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His eyes never leave yours as he experiments with different pressures and strokes, learning the map of your body through touch. Each caress sets you ablaze, igniting a fire within you that only he can satisfy.

“I...I never imagined this could be real,” Spencer admits, his voice laced with awe and reverence. “To have you like this, to be able to touch you, it’s beyond anything I ever dreamed of.”

His words melt into the air, caressing your senses as you guide his hands down your body, your breath hitching with each movement. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache growing unbearable as his fingers brush against your heated, still covered core.

“Then let’s get rid of the rest of our clothes,” you whisper, your voice filled with anticipation and desire. With shaking hands, you help Spencer undress, removing his shirt and pants after he has shed you of your own pants. 

The air is thick with tension, as the only things that are now covering the two of you being your own panties and Spencer’s gray boxer briefs. You swallow, the sight of him making a hot shiver run through your body, right down to your throbbing cunt, making you squeeze your thighs together. The imposing size of the bulge in his underwear only adds to the anticipation that swirls inside you. The dark spot of precum on the gray cotton, making you drool and without a second thought, you slide your hand down to where his arousal strains against the garment, palming him gently through the fabric, a low groan escapes his lips, the sound music to your ears. 

“Shouldn’t we get these off too?” Your voice takes on a sultry tone as you gently squeeze him through his underwear. 

Another groan, this one a little more whiny, falls from his lips, as he nods eagerly.       

You let out a gasp as he follows your suggestion, and slides off this last item of clothing. His hard cock springs free, hitting his stomach. He is big, thick and throbbing with a bead of precum at the tip that you would love to lick off of him. You have never seen a more mouthwatering cock in your life, and if it wasn’t because you were so damn desperate to have him inside of you, you would get on your knees and choke on him in this instant. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a really pretty cock, Spence?”  

“N-no…” 

“Well, you do,” you assure him. Spencer’s cheeks flush by your bold compliment as you reach out for him. “Now come here, pretty boy,” you say, pulling him down on you again and he doesn’t hesitate, capturing your lips once again, but not before telling you how beautiful you are.

“Can’t concentrate sometimes, you’re so beautiful, it’s distracting,” he murmurs between kisses. “And you’re always so sweet to me, to everyone, and so fucking sexy,” he whispers against your lips. The warmth of his breath sends a shiver down your spine, intensifying the electricity between you.

You smile into the kiss, feeling an overwhelming surge of affection for Spencer. His words touch a deep, insecure part of your heart that you rarely expose to anyone. It’s moments like these when you realize just how lucky you are to have him in your life, and how deeply you want him to play an even bigger role than he already does.

Breaking away from the kiss, you gaze into Spencer’s expressive eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust and affection. “I could say all that about you too, you know” you confess, sincerity lacing your voice as you bring your hand up to push a stray curl away from his face. “You can be very distracting too, Dr. Reid,” you whisper, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you gently rut your clothed pussy up against his erection as you address him by his title. 

A desperate grunt escapes his lips as he feels the friction between your bodies. He leans his forehead against yours, his voice husky with anticipation. “God, you have no idea how badly I want you,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. You can feel his body trembling against yours, the need radiating off of him in waves. 

“Me too, Spence,” you pant, you are now grinding against him in a slow, sloppy rhythm, “need to have you inside of me so bad.” you confess. “Do you have a condom?”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly at your question, a mix of desire and concern flickering across his face. “No… I didn’t think... I-I mean, it’s not something I… I didn’t expect...this,” Spencer stammers, his cheeks turning pink. “I didn’t think we would…”

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you say, your voice filled with understanding, gently cupping his face in your hands, you take a little pause before continuing, “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean... so if you want…” you trail off, wanting him to be the one to make the decision   

Spencer takes a moment to process your words, his expression shifting from surprise to relief. He exhales a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. “I-I’ve never done this without a condom…” he confesses, blushing even more, “not that I’ve done this a whole lot…” he says, his voice filled with vulnerability.

You have been unsure about how experienced Spencer is but his honesty and vulnerability only make you appreciate him more. You stroke his cheek gently, comforting him with your touch. You are just about to tell him that it is okay, and that you don’t have to do anything he is not ready for and that you can stop if he isn’t feeling like doing this anymore, but Spencer speaks before you have a chance to say any of this.

“But I want to do it all with you,” he says, his voice filled with determination and longing. “I trust you.”

His words send a surge of warmth through your body, a reassurance that he is fully committed to this moment and to exploring the depths of your connection. You lean in, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, conveying both your love and desire for him.

Now that you finally know how it feels to kiss him after having pondered over it for so long you just can’t stop, his lips too intoxicating, too addictive. “I trust you too, Spence,”you murmur against his lips, your voice laden with affection and honesty as you spread your legs, inviting him to take the next step.

Spencer’s eyes flicker with a mix of desire and admiration as he brings his hands down to skim over the thin, and by now soaked, fabric of your panties, you arch your back, silently begging for more.

A hungry expression dances over his features before he slides the fabric aside, his touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins. His fingers trail through the wetness already pooling between your legs, spreading out your arousal as he circles your clit. A shudder runs through you, your back arching off the mattress as pleasure courses through your veins. He continues to tease you, his touch feather-light yet impossibly intense.  

“You’re so wet,” he says intrigued, and you find his fascination utterly endearing. 

“Well, it’s all for you, Spence,” you moan in response as Spencer’s fingers glide over your slick folds, his touch becoming more purposeful and assertive. The anticipation builds inside you, a mixture of desire and nervous excitement. You watch Spencer’s face for any signs of hesitation or uncertainty, but all you find is a hunger that matches your own as he slides a finger inside of you. Your breath hitches as he curls his finger, hitting a spot deep inside that sends a wave of pleasure crashing through your body. You grip the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric as Spencer adds another finger, stretching you and filling you up. 

The room fills with your moans and gasps, the sound of your pleasure mixing with the wet sounds of his fingers working you. You can feel your walls tightening around him, a signal that you’re close to the edge. Sensing your impending release, Spencer leans down, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss as he continues to thrust his fingers inside you. The combination of his touch and his kiss sends you spiraling over the edge, waves of ecstasy washing over you. 

You cling to Spencer, your body trembling with pleasure as he guides you through your orgasm, his fingers never faltering in their movements. As your climax subsides, he withdraws his fingers slowly, his gaze locked with yours. You’re both panting, trying to catch your breath as the intensity of the moment washes over you. 

“That was...amazing,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe. You smile, feeling a surge of pride and contentment wash over you.

“You’re amazing,” you reply, your voice filled with love. 

“I want to be inside you so badly,” Spencer confesses, his voice filled with desire and urgency. His eyes bore into yours, pleading for your permission. You can see the vulnerability and longing in his gaze, making your heart swell with affection for him.

With a nod, you give him your consent, silently urging him to take the next step. and he gets up on his knees. His erection stands tall, glistening with anticipation. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he slowly positions himself between your legs, his hands trembling slightly as he supports his weight above you, his  gaze never leaving yours.

As he slowly enters you, a rush of pleasure courses through your body. Inch by inch, he fills you, stretching you in the most delicious way. A low moan escapes your lips, the sensation overwhelming yet incredibly satisfying. Spencer’s eyes never leave yours, his expression transitioning from concentration to blissful surrender.

Once he’s fully inside you, he pauses, allowing you both to savor the feeling of being intimately connected. You run your hands over his back, sending shivers down his spine as you guide him to start moving. With each thrust, waves of pleasure crash through you, igniting a fire that burns brightly between you.

“Spencer,” you whisper breathlessly, your voice filled with need, “you feel amazing.”

He whimpers in response, his rhythm picking up as both your bodies move in perfect synchronization. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, a raw display of the passion simmering between you.

The room is filled with the sounds of your bodies colliding, the bed creaking in rhythm with your passionate movements. Spencer’s thrusts become deeper and more assertive, his movements guided by pure instinct and the desire to please you. He holds nothing back, giving himself to you completely.

“You’re so tight,” he groans, his voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and disbelief. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

You dig your nails into his back, urging him on. “Don’t hold back, Spencer,” you gasp, your voice laced with urgency. “Give it to me, all of it.”

Your hands roam his body, tracing the contours of his lean muscles, urging him on with every touch. His lips find yours in a desperate kiss, each one filled with a mixture of love, desire, and a hunger for more. The intensity of your connection drives you both toward the edge, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. 

His thrusts become harder, deeper, and you cry out, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. Pleasure builds within you, radiating outwards in waves, threatening to consume you entirely.

“I’m close, Spence,” you manage to utter, your voice strained. “I’m so close.”

He increases his pace, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own release. You can feel the tension coil within him, the way he desperately clings onto the edge, on the verge of falling. And then, as if in perfect unison, the dam breaks. The pleasure crashes over you both, engulfing you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. You can’t help but let out a series of desperate whines and moans as you feel the warmth of his release filling you up as he pumps you full of him, coating your walls with his cum. You cling to each other, riding out the waves of your orgasms, the walls of your pussy convulsing around his cock, your bodies trembling with the intensity of it all.

Spencer collapses onto you, his weight pressing you further into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close, basking in the afterglow of your shared intimacy. As your breaths finally steady, he lifts his head and gazes into your eyes, a tender smile playing on his lips.

“That was... beyond words,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “I’ve never felt this connected to someone before.”

You stroke his cheek lovingly, your own smile mirroring his. “Me neither, Spence.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, pouring all his adoration and gratitude into it. 

And as you both lie tangled in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth and intimacy you have just experienced, a feeling of contentment washes over you. It is a feeling you have longed for, a feeling of being truly seen and accepted by another person, and you know that for a long time that longing has been for Spencer and only Spencer. 

“I am so grateful for you, Spence,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. 

Spencer’s eyes softened, his gaze locking with yours. “Thank you for being patient with me. Before meeting you I honestly never thought I could feel so comfortable and safe with anyone.”

Tears well up in your eyes. The depth of emotion in his words touches you deeply. You lean in to capture his lips in a tender kiss, a kiss filled with love and gratitude.

Spencer shifts, gently pulling out of you and sliding to your side. He scoops you into his arms, holding you close to his chest. The rise and fall of his breath against your skin is soothing, creating a sense of comfort and security on a level that you have never felt before.

You curl up against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “I’m so happy there only was one bed,” you whisper, the words spilling from your heart without hesitation. Spencer presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Me too,” he reply, his voice filled with emotion.

Thank you for reading! If you feel like it, please leave a comment or reblog to let me know what you thought ♡

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖

╰┈➤ ❝ dawnbreaker!zayne x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 (backlog)

tags : pwp (with some plot), kinda porn with feelings, ambiguous relationship, that one "dawnbreaker slipping into dr. zayne's life" theory, angst (but…soft???), slight nipple play, needy/desperate sex, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise, use of "my love". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1.8k

an : YELLS OK im like two days late on this… but… BUT !!! a belated birthday gift for my beloveddddd @dawnbreakersgaze !!! <333

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

The Zayne you know has not been the Zayne you know...

You don't fall in love with someone in the span of a few days.

It didn't work that way—love was a fickle emotion; complicated, unpredictable… Terrifying. To approach it meant silent steps. It meant biding your time, holding out your hand, moving forward little by little…

…Ideally.

But love was powerful.

Love did whatever it wanted.

Love could take you in like a storm while you were unprepared; love could crash through your windows and hold you hostage despite your attempts to be gentle with it.

Love could turn the tables.

And sometimes that was what it felt like to be with him.

You wouldn't fall in love with someone in the span of just a few days—but perhaps, this case was a special one.

Your eyes were soft, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. Gentle caresses moved over his skin, and you could see the way he melted under your touch. His own eyes were wide, lips trembling. An inexplicable emotion stirred within the depths of his gaze… And it was always like this.

It was always like this when he looked at you.

As if he could never believe that you were real.

"Zayne," you murmured.

He would swallow thickly, and give the slightest of nods.

"Zayne."

The same name, the same face, the same voice. Yet this Zayne, lying on top of you, caging your body between his arms… he was not the same.

Not the same… yet similar, nonetheless. A reflection of the other, you would think. He barely spoke, yet he barely looked away from you. He felt more expressive of his thoughts, but all the same time adamant on keeping them hidden. And no matter how many times you'd seen him, he felt hesitant, unsure, guilty… yet so, so, so full of the very same love that the Zayne you knew would always give.

You'd lost track of how many times this had happened.

They were sporadic, at first—moments fleeting and spaced apart, where you had learned to separate your Zayne and the other Zayne through the smallest mannerisms you'd notice to be different.

You watched the man before you draw in a sharp breath as your hand trailed down his face and over his neck, his collarbone… Such visceral reactions. He looked weak before you; so… broken. Every time he showed himself to you, there was a tense, unspoken sense of longing that hung in the air.

He was not your Zayne.

But he would reach out all the same to mirror your actions, run the pads of his fingers through your hair and down the side of your face… and you would let him.

He was not your Zayne, but he wanted to be. And seeing you in front of him made him feel so fragile. That look in his eyes told you that he could shatter at any possible moment.

"…It's okay."

Love was powerful, you thought.

He was not your Zayne, but he was still Zayne, after all.

You knew so little about him, but he was still Zayne. And if love was so powerful—then it could fix him, too. Couldn't it? Couldn't a little bit of gentleness… Couldn't a little bit of love… for him, as much as him—

Couldn't that help?

"…My love…"

Whenever he spoke, his words were short. It was hardly the matter-of-factness you were used to, hardly the witty quips and dry sarcasm that could parallel. This Zayne's words were short, his voice hoarse, and rough—as if speaking hurt him even more, as if speaking could drive him further into a puddle of guilt that he seemed to have dug himself into.

Your eyes closed.

"Zayne, it's okay," you murmured. "It's okay."

His touch grew bolder, dipping downwards, slowly pulling down the straps of your top, curling around the swell of your breasts.

Your breath hitched.

"Zayne."

He didn't speak again.

Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He didn't kiss you, almost felt as if he was holding his breath— something small, and wet, fell upon your cheek.

Your eyes opened.

Can I have you?

He asked the question silently, stray tears rolling down his face as he looked at you. His hips pressed into yours, and the outline of his erection grinded against you.

Can I have you?

He didn't speak, but his eyes told you everything.

"Yes."

Just this once.

And the whine he let out brought a slight thrill through your body.

It didn't take long before his lips were all over you, kissing you, tasting you, claiming you—down your chest to your abdomen, inhaling the scent of your skin, before proceeding to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses back upwards. All the while, his hands remained steady on either side of your body, both a sure sign of his hesitance as much as the hunger within him that had him trembling above you.

When his eyes met yours once more, he has his mouth hovering over your nipple. Slowly, slowly, he wrapped his lips around it—it was so tender, the way he sucked on it, loving, the way his tongue would swirl as he took as much of your flesh as he could. Heavy breathing mixed in with the sloppy noises of his ministrations, and you were arching into him, begging him, encouraging him.

One more pull at your nipple until it slipped away from his lips with a wet pop, trails of saliva connecting to your bud.

"Pre...tty…" he rasped.

You felt your heart soar; for the first time, he seemed happy.

And this time it was you who didn't speak.

You reached for his hand, leaving his balance to rest momentarily on the other as you trailed it down your body. Further, and further, and further… His hand rest over your mound, gentle petting movements gliding a finger over your folds.

"Mmm…"

As usual, even the softest touch had you melting.

Zayne had always been loving , and tender, and sweet with you…

This Zayne was not your Zayne, but even the careful way he treated your body felt very much like it.

He was not your Zayne. But he was still Zayne.

A mantra you would repeat to yourself.

His movements continued, gathering up your slick and spreading them all over your folds, eyes retained on your face and your expressions.

Are you feeling good? he seemed to ask, and you smiled softly.

"Very good," you whispered.

Look… I'm so wet for you.

Though you didn't say it, you saw the way his eyes traveled down to your cunt, finger raising as if to look in awe at the sticky mess you had made for yourself.

"…Beautiful."

He spoke again.

And this time, there was little to no hesitation left in his actions before he was in you, cock nestled so warmly, so perfectly, so deeply into your core.

The intrusion had you drawing in a sharp breath no matter how used to his size you would think you'd gotten, but before you could react, he had pulled you into a tight, almost possessive embrace.

"Please," he choked. You could feel his tears wetting your skin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. "Please… just this once… Just for the last time, just… Please…"

You clenched your walls around him, legs wrapping around his waist.

Slowly, you brought your hands up to stroke his hair.

"Zayne," you murmured. "You're still Zayne, right?"

"… Not—"

"Mine. I know. You're the Zayne in his dreams. Aren't you?"

You felt him nuzzle into your neck with a certain desperation, a whimper tearing from his throat.

It was answer enough.

Yet you moved your hips, grinding against him, urging him to claim you more, claim you deeper.

"It's okay," you repeated, softly, "you can move."

Zayne was still Zayne. You had made the choice from the start.

You wouldn't fall in love with someone in the span of just a few days—but it had taken only a few couple of meetings, barely lasting hours, barely lasting minutes.

Zayne was still Zayne.

You would love everything of him.

Your hips continued to move, bucking upwards onto his, cherishing the groans he would make into your skin. It was you who set the pace—a silent voice of permission, of pleading…

And he followed suit.

"My love…"

He began to thrust.

"…My love…"

Harder, faster.

"My love."

You gasped as he pulled away from you, panting harshly, driving his length in and out of you—desperate. Desperate.

"M- mm—!" you moaned out, arching your back. "Zayne… Zayne!"

"Can I… Can I?" he groaned above you, eyes shut in pleasure. He didn't stop—didn't want to stop. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin proved every bit of desire he had for you, if the image above you was not proof enough. "Please, my love…"

You held him tightly.

"Yes," you gasped. "Take me… You can have all of me, fill me up, cum inside, please—"

You mewled at a particularly sharp thrust, and your legs tightened around his waist. He was throbbing, his movements jerking erratically as you spoke your words.

"Fill… f-fill?" his eyes were wide, but he continued.

It gave you joy to know you were affecting him like this.

It's exactly the same…

"Yes, Zayne. You can give it to me. Please, please, I need it… Need it inside…" You begged, and clawed at his back, and moved to his thrusts the best that you could. "Inside, inside—!"

Please, please, please.

He whimpered as you tightened around him, urging him to spill, urging you to stuff you full like you wanted him to. His breathing became ragged, eyes nearly glazing over with pleasure at the mere thought of it.

He could claim you like this.

Even if it's not the real him, even if he's not doing this as himself—

You could see all manner of thoughts flash in his eyes as his gaze became hungrier. More desperate. More… resolved.

"I'll f-fill you up," he grunted. "Pump you… s-s-so full of me… All of me— My love, my love, my love—"

You cried out as he buried himself all the way into you, your hips colliding as hot, thick ropes of his cum painted your insides. Your body shuddered, slick trickling out of you and dripping down onto the sheets. You felt warm all felt; almost sore, your cunt pulsing around him as you tried to steady your breaths.

He collapsed against you, pulling you in for a kiss.

"If I can have you…" he breathed, "even just once… even just once, I… I'm happy…"

I'm happy.

Your eyes shone as you cradled his face, daring to place a small flurry of kisses over his cheek.

I'm happy.

This was all you wanted.

Love was powerful, you thought. And of you loved him—if you loved all of him, then everything would be okay. You wanted to believe that.

Perhaps in a fit overwhelmed by your acceptance, he gasped, and you felt him roll his hips in place—

You didn't stop him.

He could do this as many times as he needed, as much as he was here with you.

an : actually crying bc im hoping i did him justice why is zayne always so hard to write omlll

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @rafayelsgf @spotted-salamander @love-and-deepstrays @oharasmommymilkers00 @rafslvr @keioxo @theanbitchless

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