#OKAY I MIGHT USE THE SECOND ONE FOR THE FIC AND THE FIRST ONE FOR THE OTHER ROYALTY AU | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

navybrat817 · 2 months ago

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All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

“A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 months ago

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belladonna

in which you have to get your tetanus shot, and spencer is there to hold your hand. and… tease you. just a little bit. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: needles/r has needle phobia, flirty!reader, idiots in love, teasing, not established relationship yet, anxiety, Spencer makes a joke abt his addiction, did I mention IDIOTS IN LOVE a/n: works as a standalone, as do all the bandages fics I believe. anyway hope u like! <3

“Spencer, I don’t think I can do this.”

He sets down his shoddy hospital coffee and grabs your knee to stop your leg from its rapid bouncing, exerting a gentle pressure when you don’t immediately comply.

“Yes, you can. Just breathe, okay? Try to relax. It’s much harder for your brain to remain in fight-or-flight if your body is relaxed.”

“No, it’s—I feel like I can’t breathe right now,” you say, chest constricted in a vice of panic. “I think my heart is beating too fast, I—”

Footsteps approach from the hallway and your head snaps up, cold dread filling every vein in your body—but they continue past your door.

“Oh my god, I’m losing it. I’m going to die here,” you rave, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. The gauze wrapped around your hand presses against your brow and beneath it a cut throbs dully—a cruel reminder of what it is that you’re doing here in the first place.

Spencer gives up on trying to make you stop bouncing your leg, and instead the hand travels to your jaw to find your pulse. His fingers feel cool against your warmed skin, accentuating the constant thrum of your heart. You watch his face anxiously as fifteen seconds go by.

“Your pulse is pretty high,” he admits gravely, returning his hands to his pockets. Your brow knits at his sudden solemnity as you look up at him. “I’m not a medical doctor, but… we might have to take you to the hospital.”

Any trace of worry withers from your face. “Truly hilarious.”

The corner of his mouth turns up a little.

“See? You’re calm enough to make a sarcastic joke at my expense. If you were actually going to die I doubt you would be able to do that.”

“Wanna make a bet?” you snap.

“Definitely not,” he smiles, warm eyes alight and not at all fazed by your attitude. “You’re the last person I’d bet against.”

“Ha,” you say bitterly, eyes darting to the door again. “In that case I might just take my chances with tetanus.”

“I just watched you slice your hand open on a rusty fence, take down a man twice your size, and get ten stitches without flinching. Needles should be afraid of you.”

At least now your face is warming from the compliment and not the anxiety.

“It’s... different. Like, stitches and shots. Shots really fucking freak me out. I don’t know if you could tell. I’m sure I seem really chill about it.”

He nods sagely. “Trypanophobia. It��s among the most common phobias in the world, next to Arachniphobia, Ophidiophobia, Acrophobia, Aerophobia. You have Astraphobia, too, don’t you? Fear of storms?”

“Spencer.”

“I also used to struggle with needles, actually.”

You look back at him, suddenly curious.

“Used to?”

“Yeah, but I pretty much got over it when I got all the vaccines for my clearance at the Academy. Becoming addicted to intravenous drugs helped, too, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” he muses, examining the art on the wall behind you and taking a sip of his coffee.

At that exact moment, the door opens and a very professional, very exhausted-looking nurse hurries in. You hardly even register her because you’re staring at Spencer, trying to figure out if you just heard him right. He’s looking right back at you over the rim of his cup, eyes dancing with what looks like suppressed mirth.

The nurse says something, and you bless her with an ‘uh-huh’, unable to take your eyes off of Spencer.

“I must be hallucinating,” you say.

“What? You’re the only one allowed to make off-color jokes at inappropriate times?”

“I didn’t even know you could make a regular joke, honestly.”

“You ready, dear?” says the nurse, swabbing your upper arm with an alcohol wipe.

“Ah! Spencer!” You yelp, thrusting out your hand for him to take. He quickly sets the cup back down on the window sill and takes your outstretched hand, stepping closer.

“Relax,” he laughs upon seeing how your shoulders have risen to meet your ears. “Don’t look over there. Look at me.” Gently he brushes a loose strand of your hair behind your shoulder, redirecting your focus toward him. At this point you’ve gone catatonic anyway, so you don’t resist, although it doesn’t seem to matter much because you’re basically blacking out. “Literally relax your arm. I'm serious. It will hurt less.”

“Small pinch, darlin’,” the nurse says, and you clench your jaw so hard you’re afraid you might break a tooth, and maybe some tetanus-induced lockjaw wouldn’t actually be so bad, and she’s touching your arm now, and who made that extremely undignified squeaking noise, and— “And you’re done.”

You frown.

“I’m done?”

“You’re done,” the nurse repeats. Logically she has no reason to lie to you about this, but you look over to check anyway because there’s simply no way you’re done just like that. Sure enough, she’s smoothing a band-aid over your shoulder and pulling your sleeve back into place.

You look back at Spencer as if searching for a second opinion, utterly baffled. He carefully frees his poor hand of your bone crushing grip and grabs your discarded FBI jacket from the chair, handing it to you.

“That’s it?” you say, taking the jacket and absent-mindedly folding it on your lap.

“That’s it. You did it.”

“Really? That’s all? I feel like it can’t be that easy. I don’t even think I felt anything,” you ramble, rolling your shoulder around, and finding just a bit of soreness.

“You were so brave,” he nods, stepping closer to wipe something warm and wet away from under your eyes. “Americans can rest easy knowing they’ve got someone like you in the FBI.”

“Shut up. Am I crying?”

He laughs, and the twinkly sound fills you with even more joy than normal. Everything seems a little brighter, a little warmer—probably another adrenaline rush or a result of your brain releasing a trace amount of opioids in response to the pain.

“Just a little bit.”

“You two are FBI?” The nurse says, like she can’t quite believe it.

Before you can tell her that you don’t very much like her tone, Spencer nods.

“Behavioral analysis unit.”

“Oh! You guys catch all those serial killers?”

He nods politely, giving her a flat smile. “That’s the goal, yes.”

“Wow. There’s a meet-cute to tell your children.”

You snort and immediately clap your good hand to your mouth, looking up at Spencer to see how he’ll react. Of course he’s already red and stammering.

“Oh, no—I—maybe I misled you, we’re not, uh… we’re not together. Not like that. We are partners in the, in the sense of our job, not—we’re not romantically involved. Just—co-workers. Friends. We’re, I’d say we’re good friends. I mean, she’s great. She’s very nice, and, well—maybe nice isn’t exactly the right word, but she’s, you know—”

“Spencer,” you interrupt.

“You ready to go?” he says immediately, looking very grateful that someone finally cut him off. Works like a charm, every time.

You stand, and to your surprise, wobble a bit on your feet. Spencer steadies you with a hand to your waist. “Woah,” you mutter, trying not to look too disoriented.

“You need to eat,” he says. “With how anxious you’ve been you probably completely burned through whatever calories were in your system. It’s a parasympathetic nervous system response to adrenaline.”

“I know what it is.” You grab his hand and turn to the nurse, who is looking at the two of you with a bemused, slightly clinical interest. “Um... thanks? Right?”

“Okay,” Spencer says. “We’re leaving now. Come on. Go.”

As he’s herding you out the door, you keep trying to look at him over your shoulder. “Is it weird that I kind of liked it? Does that, like… point to something?”

“Never repeat that,” Spencer says, shaking his head, but you can hear the strain of a hidden smile in his voice.

You smile up at him as the two of you walk down the empty hallway, swinging his hand in yours.

“She thought we were together,” you say, and it’s almost a gloat, though Spencer can’t quite wrap his mind around what that might mean. Instead, he relishes the weight of your hand in his. He doesn’t exactly remember when that became commonplace, but he never takes it for granted. He can’t help the smirk across his face which always lets you know he’s going to say something snarky.

“She just doesn’t understand that you need constant attention or you’ll die.”

Luckily, you’re used to each other. Quips are just one prevalent dialect in your vast love language.

“Yup. I’m a delicate, rare flower.”

Spencer scoffs lightly.

“Yeah. Like deadly nightshade. Or water hemlock.”

“Those ones are pretty, right?”

He squeezes your hand. Imagines telling you that he’s in love with you and has been for a very long time.

Instead, he thinks about dinner.

“Gorgeous. Where do you want to eat, Belladonna?”

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff

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igorluvr · 18 days ago

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‘LOVE AND LATTES

PAIRING: kang dae-ho x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: during the games, dae-ho promised to take you on a proper first date. now that you had both successfully made it out, he was going to keep his promise

CONTENT: fluff, literally the tiniest bit of angst, kinda corny, trauma, kissing on the first date smh, reader is implied to be black

AUTHORS NOTE: tryna get a lot of fics out for u guys bcs almost 400 likes on my first ??? omg yall r so sweet i swearrr, tysmm !!! ngl this might be kinda bad bcs im too tired to read over it …

word count: [2.5k]

IT’S been around 3 days since you got out of those hellish games, and you still can’t seem to process it. There was so much death, you felt guilty for taking the money, but it was your only chance at having a way out.

After surviving and splitting the money with a good handful of people, you found yourself dropped off in a dark alleyway. With only a large duffel bag at your side, you felt lost, unsure of where to go.

Eventually, you made your way to a bus station and caught a ride back to your apartment. It took a while to adjust to being in the real world again, a world where a gun wasn’t being held up to your head every hour of the day.

You remembered how you met the sweetest boy there. Kang Dae-ho. He was everything you could’ve asked for. The perfect man, met at a perfectly terrible time. Your mind flashed back to the end of mingle game.

‘I swear, when we get out of here I’m gonna take you on a real date. No guards, no games, just us two and the future ahead of us, okay?’ Dae-ho promised, cupping your face gently in his hands.

‘I love you with all of my heart, and I wanna see you when this is all over. We can move in with eachother and spend everyday in eachothers arms.’ He rambled with tears in his eyes, ‘I can’t lose you.’

Now in the present day, you wished you’d spend more time with him. You thought back to the last day in the games, when you wrote your number on his hand, hoping it wouldn’t be wiped off by the guards before he got home so you could live out the future you planned.

As the days passed, you lost hope in being able to reunite with your lover. Memories of him flashed through your mind. “Fuck, Dae-ho.” you whispered, “If only I had one more day with you..” and as if on cue, you heard your phone ring.

You stared for a couple seconds, confused as to who it could be. ‘It wouldn’t be Dae-ho, would it?’ With an ounce of hope left in your mind, you hurried and clicked the green answer button.

Silence lingered, then you heard a voice that made your heart explode.

“Hello?” Dae-ho’s wavering voice sounded “Is this you?”

You jumped up in joy, feeling a huge smile stretch across your face.

“Oh my God, Dae-ho!! It’s actually you!!” You exclaimed. “I missed you so much I thought we’d never talk again.”

A relieved sigh came from the other line, followed by a slight laugh. “I missed you more. How have you been? Where are you? Do you want me to come over?” he bombarded

“Okay woah, I can tell you missed me. I’m doing good, well better than I was a couple days ago, I’m at my house, and yes, I would love for you to come” You answered

The line went quiet for a moment, making you wonder if you’d lost the connection. Just as concern started to creep in, Dae-ho spoke again “Do you remember that promise I made before we got out?”

Of course you remember, his words have been playing on repeat in your mind like a record. Your heart skipped a beat as you thought of it actually coming true. You muttered a quick ‘mhm’ for him to continue.

“Tomorrow, meet me at the cafe down the street from that big market. I don’t know where you stay, so if it’s too far tell me and I’ll call you an uber.” he planned, “Dress up, even though I know you’ll look amazing in anything” You felt the butterflies in your stomach form as he carried on about what’ll happen the next day.

As the conversation came to a close and you got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking of any possible scenario that could happen tomorrow, good and bad.

‘What if my hair doesn’t cooperate?’

‘What if he doesn’t like how I look anymore?’

‘What if he’s setting me up?’

All these unlikely events start to run through your mind and it caused you to be overwhelmed with everything happening. When drifting off to sleep, you hope that everything turns out right.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You woke up to a constant ‘ding’ blaring through your room every 10 seconds. Immediately, you pressed the power button on your phone thinking maybe you’d accidentally set an alarm. When it didn’t subside after this, you groggily opened your phone to locate the noise.

There were about 15 notifications from Dae-ho, them all texting you as if you’d died in your sleep or something.

A pool of ‘are you awake?’ and ‘are you okay?’ flooded on your lock screen. Not wanting him to worry any further, you decided to text him back

‘goodmorninggg, i’m up now sorry 😭 im okay, how are you?’ You typed, half asleep.

Immediately, your message was read and the bubbles on the left side of the screen appeared.

‘I’m okay. Why do you sleep so late? You scared me.’ the message read. You hadn’t even realized the time. ‘2:26pm’ the clock read. You always had a bad habit of sleeping in but it had gotten unusually bad after getting back from the games.

You quickly apologized in your message, explaining your situation to which he swiftly understood. As the conversation progressed, you discussed your date. You were the type of person that needed to know every detail before doing something, especially something like this.

The both of you decided to meet there at 7pm, to give you time to get ready, and to dress up—but not too much. To be honest, you weren’t sure if you guys had the same definition of too much but you decided to put it aside for now.

Immediately after you guys finished discussing the details, you rushed to get ready. Even though you had 4 hours, it didn’t seem like nearly enough time to see him.

The closet was your first thought, since you basically lived by the rule of getting dressed first, doing hair, then putting on makeup. You scanned your closet for anything that would impress Dae-ho.

It took about 30 minutes alone to pick out an outfit. You decided on a long black dress you bought for your halloween costume that you never got the chance to wear, due to the pickup for the games occurring the same day. You picked out jewelry and a coat to go with it, since it was the beginning of winter.

After getting dressed, you gathered all your makeup supplies and rushed to the bathroom. Doing your makeup took longer than you wanted it to, but you wanted everything to be perfect since this was the first time you’d see him outside of life-or-death situations.

Every wing of eyeliner had to be just right, your lip gloss needed just the right amount of shine, everything had to reflect how much you cared.

The hair was the part you’d been dreading. You didn’t know if it was the detangling, or getting your part straight, but it gave you a headache just thinking about it.

After stalling for about 20 minutes, you finally built up the strength to start on your hair. Pinterest was your best friend for situations like this. You quickly opened the board labeled “hairstyles” and scrolled through them to find the perfect one.

You’d found this beautiful blown-out hairstyle that would look amazing with your outfit and makeup. Since you knew it would take a long time, you silently braced yourself, this wouldn’t be an easy task. You grabbed the blow dryer, flat iron, heat protectant, and got to work.

In about 2 hours, you had finally finished at 6:50pm. The cafe was about 7 minutes away from you, so you grabbed your stuff and walked out of the door.

The drive there was the worst part. Your stomach was doing somersaults. Even though you’d seen eachother at your literal worsts, it still felt so scary. With all these anxieties flashing through your mind, you managed to push them to the back and keep a confident facade.

As you pulled up, you sent a quick text stating your arrival. You fidgeted with the ends of your dress absentmindedly, spacing out and hoping for the best.

The ding of your phone sent shivers down your spine as a text popped up reading ‘Perfect. Come inside and turn to the left, I’m here.’

You felt like throwing up as you walked up to the entrance of the café. The strong smell of caffeine and pastries hit your nose as you searched for Dae-ho in the warm lights.

Turning left as he instructed, you were met with his beaming face, looking like he’d seen the most beautiful sunrise. His eyes widened in awe, and for a moment, he seemed frozen. The corners of his mouth curled up into an infectious smile, and you felt a rush of warmth, knowing that in this moment, you had completely captivated him.

Almost immediately, he jumped up and gave you an engulfing hug. You didn’t know if it was because you were used to the smell of blood being around him, but he smelled astonishingly good. It was like the best mixture of his natural scent and a very expensive cologne.

As he pulled back slightly, you noticed a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands—delicate white lilies mixed with soft pink roses. “These are for you,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I thought it was only right for our first date.”

His hair was down to his neck, loose and messy, quite different from the bun you were used to seeing him in during the games. The collar of his shirt was casually unbuttoned, too. He looked effortlessly flawless.

“You look… wow. You’re so beautiful,” Dae-ho complimented, sending electric shocks through your veins. A rush of shyness met your face—he really thought of you like that?

“It’s so good to see you,” you said, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and delight. “You look amazing too. I mean, I always thought you were handsome, but just… wow.” You took the bouquet from him, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

His laughter danced through the air, a sound that brought you so much peace and clarity. “I’m just glad I could pull myself together after… well, everything.” His smile faded a bit, and you felt the silent weight of shared trauma hovering between you.

“Let’s not think about that tonight ,” you suggested softly, taking a seat across from him. “We deserve a night where those horrible games are the last of our worries.”

“Agreed,” he said, leaning forward, his gaze intensifying. “Tonight is about us, and starting fresh,together.”

As you scanned the cafe, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and the faint piano covers playing in the background,you felt the tension from earlier gradually melt away. You could see other people laughing, having the time of their lives. It felt surreal to be part of such a normal scene after everything you had both endured.

The waitress came up to your table and you both ordered drinks; he went for a dark roast coffee while you chose for a sweet vanilla latte. “It’s nice to be able to actually enjoy these little things.” you ranted, “After everything, I never even thought we’d get here.”

Dae-ho's eyes sparkled with that familiar warmth. “I’ve thought about this moment every day since I got back,” he admitted. “Dreamt about sitting across from you in a place that feels safe, where we can just be us.”

That sentiment made your heart swell. You immersed yourself in his beautiful sunkissed eyes. “What do you want for us, Dae-ho?” You asked, knowing that his answer could make or break you.

He hesitated for a moment, his expression solemn. “I want to build a life with you, whatever that looks like. It could be road trips everyday and always having new experiences together, or a cozy apartment with a beautiful family and no worries. I want us to share everything, the good, the bad—everything.”

The sincerity behind his words wrapped around your heart like a warm, familiar blanket. “I want that too,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. The connection was electric, sending sweet shivers up your body.

As you sipped your drinks, Dae-ho leaned in closer, a serious look in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about you every single day since we got out. I really missed you.”

“Really? I missed you too,” you replied, voice full of veracity. “It’s been hard without you.”

He took a long pause, as if he was searching for the right words. “I never realized how much I wanted someone like you in my life. Just knowing you were out there somewhere gave me hope.”

You felt your heart pang at his words, you spent all your life searching for a love like this, it felt so good to finally have it. “It was the same for me too. Every time I felt like giving up I had to remind myself of us, and our future.”

A soft smile grew on his face. “I knew we’d find our way back to each other. I just didn’t know how much it would mean to finally be here, like this.”

“Me either,” you said softly. “I was nervous about tonight. I worried that maybe everything would feel different.” You thought back to earlier and how stupid you were for thinking he would see you differently. This is genuinely all you could've asked for.

Dae-ho shook his head with his eyebrows fixed in a furrow. “I was nervous too, but being with you feels right. I could really see us living a perfect life someday”

Your heart swelled with warmth. With him, you felt like you can just be yourself without any fear. He was genuinely your safe space.

“I promise we’ll stay connected. No matter how hard things get, we’ll keep fighting for each other.” You swore, knowing how your past relationships ended and wanting to break the cycle.

“Thank you, really. It means the world to me,” Dae-ho said sincerely, his eyes meeting yours. “I just want us to have a future, no matter how hard it'll be.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “It’s comforting to have someone you know will be there for you, even on the darker days.”

His smile deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded. Just the two of you were in the room—focused on your shared promise. Nothing else mattered in this moment, you were ready to finally create a new beginning.

Silence in the air was broken as he finally spoke up, “I want to build a life where we support each other through any and everything." he grinned. “Even the small moments matter. Like cooking together and trying not to burn the kitchen down.”

You chuckled softly, picturing you both in the kitchen attempting to cook and leaving something in the oven too long. “I can definitely see that happening.”

“And if we accidentally set the place on fire, at least I’ll have an excuse to scoop you up and look all heroic while I rescue you.” he joked, his expression growing more playful

Laughter erupts from you and your eyes sprinkle with joy, causing Dae-ho to lean in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, I really missed your laugh. It makes everything feel so much brighter.”

“Really?” you asked, feeling warmth spread through your chest, “I missed yours too, it’s cute.”

The atmosphere felt light, almost euphoric, as you both relaxed into the comfort of eachother's presence. “Believe it or not, I was really so nervous for tonight,” Dae-ho admitted, his voice softening as he brushes his hair back behind his ear. “I thought I’d forget how to talk to you.”

“Trust me,” you said, voice tender, “I was nervous too. But I realized that after everything, who else could understand us like this?”

“Exactly,” He said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I feel like I can be myself around you, like I’ve never been able to with anyone else. It’s so freeing.”

“Freedom and love. Isn’t that what life’s really all about?” you said, your voice filled with hope and longing. You felt a warmth in your heart as you spoke, realizing that these two things were what you truly cherished.

As the conversation flowed, you exchanged stories, laughter, and memories—you shared dreams and fears, and slowly the nervousness slowly melted away.

“I can’t believe we made it out,” he said, his voice stern. “I can’t stop thinking about the others we lost… what they would’ve did if they made it out too.”

A brief silence enveloped the moment, both of you remembering the friends that didn’t make it, the faces of people who had shared brutal experiences with you.

“I think they’d want us to live, like really live,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand gently. “To make the most of us getting out, we owe it to them.” Dae-ho silently nodded, the thick atmosphere slowly leaving.

As the evening progressed, you lost track of time, so caught up in the warmth of shared smiles and nervous laughter. You could hardly believe this was the same man who stepped up and took initiative at every rough point during the games, willing to sacrifice himself for everyone's safety.

The night ended slowly as Dae-ho walked you outside to your car. The stars twinkled like tiny beacons in the dark sky above. “It feels different tonight, doesn’t it?” you said, glancing up at the stars. “Yeah, it really does,” he replied, his voice soft but full of warmth.

As you strolled along, flowers in hand, you both shared stories from before you met, your voices mixing with the soft hum of the night. Every smile and nervous chuckle made you feel a little lighter. You realized how much you valued this moment, this time together, away from the chaos and pain that had once consumed you both.

You exchanged glances, and you both understood something unspoken between you. “I never thought I could feel this way again,” you said, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. Dae-ho stepped closer, his gaze steady. “Neither did I. But I’m glad we’re here together.”

Finally, you paused beneath a big, ancient tree. Its branches stretched out like arms, swallowing you both in its shadow. Dae-ho turned to you, his eyes beaming in the starlight. His stare locked onto yours, and he took a step closer, face inches from yours.

"I wish this could last forever baby, I love you." he whispered, breath caressing your skin. Then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. You felt a spark of connection, and your heart skipped a beat as you kissed him back, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your spine. The kiss deepened, and everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

As the kiss lingered, time itself seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into a beautiful blur. When you finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, a mix of desperation and love radiating from him. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here" he said softly, his hand still cradling your face. You smiled, knowing that no matter where life took you, this memory would be a cherished part of your story, a promise of what could be.

#kang dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #squid game #dae ho x reader #kang daeho #daeho x reader #squid game x reader #kang dae ho fluff #dae ho fluff #squid game fluff #need that

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monzabee · 3 months ago

Text

diet pepsi - ln4 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lando have a rather interesting way of resolving an argument.

Pairing: lando norris x fwb!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: kinda cute ass fighting so fluff??, sex in a car, fingering, penetration, manhandling, no use of protection (wrap it before you tap it!!), cursing, minords dni!!

Request: “okay but what about good old car sex with lando pleaseeee”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, who knew addison rae had the power to make a song that made me write this whole thing under 3 hours?? i certainly did not. secondly, i thought it would be nice to take a little break from the charles-carlos drama, and before i finish the third and final part to that little mini-series, i thought you guys would enjoy a little treat in the meantime! i have to admit writing for lando again was an interesting experience for me, but who knows, maybe i'll do it more often (i have one request that i'm obsessed with so that’s definitely coming your way as well!) also, i have an oscar fic in the works as well, so maybe the sudden change in mclaren also started to affect me lol. a quick psa, i know many people asked me in my last fic, but i do NOT have a taglist and i won’t be making one any time soon either! anywaaays, i hope you guys enjoy this fic, and feedback is welcome as always! thank you to the anon for their request, and good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

“I can’t believe you’re drinking that in my car.” Lando complains, shooting you a sideway glare as you sip your choice of beverage contently.

You tilt the cup slightly in his direction, grinning. “Relax, it’s not like it’s going to explode, nor it is your car.”

“It might as well,” Lando mutters, eyes back on the road. “Knowing your luck, the second I hit a bump, that thing will be all over the place and I’ll have to explain what happened to Zak. Do you even know how much it costs to clean these seats?”

You laugh, swirling the drink in the cup. “You’re being dramatic, it’s not like you are the one to detail the cars you use. It’s fine, I’ve got this under control.”

“Famous last words,” Lando grumbles. His grip tightens on the steering wheel as if he’s preparing for impact.

You glance at him, amused. “Are you always this paranoid about your car, or is it just me?”

“It’s you. Definitely you.” He shoots you another look, this one laced with mock suspicion. “You have a history, you know.”

“Oh, puh-lease,” you drawl, rolling your eyes as you turn your upper body to face him. “Tell me one time I actually made a mess in your car, and I’ll throw away this can right now.”

Lando doesn't hesitate as he answers quickly. “Monaco. Last year. You remember that smoothie incident, right?”

You blink a couple of times, taken aback. “That doesn’t count! That was your fault for speeding around the corner like a maniac. How was I supposed to hold on to it?”

He smirks, clearly enjoying the memory. “Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh? You were the one who insisted on bringing a smoothie into my car five minutes before a race.”

“You didn’t even have to brake so hard,” you mutter, crossing your arms defensively. “I had it under control until you decided to turn it into a F1 race.”

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “Doesn't matter. I still won, throw it away now.”

“That doesn’t count, it was clearly your fault!” You complain, holding the can protectively. “There’s no way I’m tossing this because of your bad driving.”

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “Bad driving? I think I’d take that up with the people who hired me to race professionally.”

“Professionally doesn’t mean you’re not reckless,” you quip, a playful glint in your eyes. “Especially when there’s a smoothie involved.”

“Fine,” he contends, shrugging, “how about that time I made you come too hard, and you leaked onto the seats?”

This manages to shut you down for a moment, with eyes nearly bulging out of your head, you gasp at Lando’s sudden choice of words. “Lando!” You exclaim, reaching over the console to hit him on the arm gently, “That’s vulgar!”

Silently chuckling at your reaction, he reaches over as he places a hand on your upper thigh, his hand tightening as you hold his wrist in warning. “It’s the truth,” he reminds you with a smirk, “don’t go shy on me, now, you were the one to get the seats all messed up because of how wet you were.” If you weren’t blushing before, your face most definitely resembles a tomato now as he continues his stream of consciousness, “Not that I’m complaining, though, I’m pretty sure I came in my pants when I made you cum just from my fingers.”

“You– you did?” The question flies from your mouth before you can stop yourself.

The smile that overtakes the smirk on Lando’s face is almost sweet, and he coos at the innocence of your question as he squeezes your thigh again. “Oh baby,” he coos, “it was the hottest thing ever.”

Your thighs attempt to trap his hand as you inadvertently press them tighter together, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “But it was messy.”

“That was the best part,” Lando confirms, his thumb caressing your skin. “I loved getting to clean you up afterwards, didn’t I? Almost as much as you loved it.”

“Sure.” You mumble, shrugging as you do your best to ignore his burning stare. You’d be worried about the fact that he was supposed to be driving if it was someone else, but considering he’s a F1 driver, you don’t comment on Lando’s lack of his surroundings as he pushes your thighs apart. “What are you doing?” You ask, confused as he moves his fingers further up your skirt.

“You just focus on finishing that drink, okay?” He mumbles as his fingers pull your underwear to the side. “I’m suddenly in the mood for something sweet myself.”

“Lando, I don’t think we should do th–hat.” Your voice waivers towards the end as his fingertips press on your clit, drawing lax circles on the bundle of nerves. “Lando,” you try to warn him, but your voice comes out as a high-pitched whimper.

He shushes you gently as his fingers spread your wetness around your skin, causing you to bite down on your lip to silence yourself. Lando lets his dissent known by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, mumbling, “Don’t silence yourself, let me hear you, baby.” And when you give him what he wants and let out a loud moan as your hips involuntarily buck against his hand. Grinding the palm of his hand against your puffy clit, Lando uses your wetness to slowly push two of his fingers into you, drawing out another moan as you lean your head against the headrest. “My God, baby, look at you. You’re already making a mess on the seats.”

“N-no,” you manage to whine, shaking your head as you give him a pleading but stubborn look, “I’m not making a mess.”

“No?” He asks, mocking the pout that has found its way onto your lips. “Then who is so wet against my hand that it’s dripping, huh?” You're not sure if it’s his words or the way his fingers keep moving in and out of your cunt, but in either case, the overwhelming need of just something more causes you to attempt to put the can in your hand down, when Lando tuts again in warning, “You don’t get to put your drink down until you first come on my fingers.”

After his words set in, you finally come to your senses, suddenly opening your eyes as you give him a shocked look. “Wha–what?” You ask, “What if I spill?”

He shrugs, an innocent smile on his lips as he throws you a glance, “I guess you’ll just have to be careful and not spill it.” The smile on his lips grows as you let out a frustrated sound, and he responds by moving his fingers in a come-hither motion to git the spot, which causes your body to arch into his touch. “Are you going to give me what I want?” He asks, his concentration still on the road as he tries to find a secluded spot to park the car.

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, voice shaky as you focus on not dropping the can in your hand, “I will, Lando, just keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” He asks in a faux-innocent tone, as he goes back to simply continuing the pistoning movement of his fingers. “Like this?” He asks, with a shit eating grin on his face as you whine. “Or, like this?” He asks again, but this time, he repeats the movement of his fingers previously as he hits your g-spot again.

You can’t control the scream that gets released from the back of your throat as your body shakes violently. “That,” you breathe out, your free hand holding onto the seatbelt so tight that you can feel it starting to cramp your hand a little bit, “don’t you dare stop doing that.”

Lando lets out a low chuckle, clearly satisfied with your desperate plea. His fingers continue their relentless pace, teasing and coaxing you closer to the edge. “Oh, I won’t stop,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet commanding. “Not until you give me what I want.”

Your entire body feels like it's on fire, the combination of his skilled fingers and the impossible task of not spilling your drink has you teetering on the edge. The car feels smaller, the world outside irrelevant, as Lando’s attention is focused solely on you. Being so consumed by the way Lando’s fingers move in and out of your cunt, you don’t even know that the car you are in at the moment has been abandoned in the side of a deserted road. You grip the can tighter, your hand trembling as the tension builds in your core. “Lando,” you gasp, a hint of desperation seeping into your voice. “I— I can't—”

He smirks, enjoying your struggle. “You can,” he counters smoothly, leaning slightly closer while keeping one hand on the steering wheel. “You can do it, just let it go, baby.” His thumb presses harder on your clit, drawing another loud moan from your lips.

“Lando, please,” you beg, your voice almost cracking under the weight of your impending release. “I’m going to—”

“Good,” he cuts you off, his smirk widening. “Let go for me, baby. And don't you dare spill that drink."

His words are your undoing. With one final flick of his fingers, you shatter around him, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out your high. Your head falls back against the seat, your hand gripping the can so hard you’re not surprised it bursts under the pressure.

You hear Lando’s satisfied chuckle as he eases his fingers out of you, giving your thigh one last affectionate squeeze. “Good girl,” he murmurs, glancing over at you with a proud smile. “Look at how good you look.” He shamelessly holds his fingers in front of your face, then without missing a beat, he brings his fingers into his mouth. The way he moans is nothing short of sinful, and you watch him with your lips parted as he mumbles around his fingers, “I think you spilled it a little bit.”

“E-Excuse me?” You stutter, looking at Lando with the horrified look on your face. “No, I didn’t!”

Lando raises an eyebrow, his smirk never faltering as he glances down at the mess on the seat. “Oh, but you did,” he teases, licking his lips after savoring the taste of you on his fingers. His eyes gleam with amusement as he points at the spot between your legs. “Not the drink, though… you.”

Your face burns with a mix of embarrassment and desire, your breath still uneven as you try to process what just happened. “That’s not what I—” you stammer, crossing your arms over your chest, but Lando just laughs softly.

“Relax, love. It’s nothing a little cleaning can’t fix.” He leans back in his seat, eyes never leaving you, his hand returning to the steering wheel like what just happened was the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, I’d much rather clean you up later.”

You feel the heat spread through your body again, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel a wave of arousal wash over you. Lando’s confidence, the way he handles you with such ease, is almost intoxicating. But as much as you’re enjoying the moment, a small part of you knows this is ridiculous.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, trying to regain some composure, though your flushed cheeks give you away.

Lando just grins, completely unbothered. “You love it,” he says casually, shooting you another one of those playful sideway glances that makes your heart race. “Admit it. You like when I make you lose control.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to throw a retort his way. But you can’t deny it, not after the way your body reacted to his touch. “You’re lucky you’re good at this,” you finally concede, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s smile softens, just for a moment. “Good at a lot of things,” he says, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. Then he pulls the car to a stop, turning off the engine before leaning toward you, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “And I’m just getting started.”

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut

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ihavemanyhusbands · 2 months ago

Text

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched.

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike.

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone.

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him.

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned.

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it.

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally.

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place.

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him.

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again.

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more.

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have.

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh.

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead.

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating, but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers.

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful.

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth.

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus.

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it.

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs.

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were.

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too.

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more.

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all.

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more.

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,” he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge.

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could.

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine.

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled.

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it.

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards.

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you.

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer.

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you.

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through.

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again.

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest.

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus x fem!reader #lucius verus smut #lucius verus fanfiction #gladiator fanfiction #lucius verus #x reader #minors dni

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gguk-n · 4 months ago

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Daddy Dearest (Oscar Piastri Dad fic)

Summary- Oscar is a girl dad.

There weren't many people who had Oscar wrapped around their little finger, except Amelia Piastri. Almost 2 years old and she could make Oscar dance like a chicken on the drop of a hat.

Oscar had met Amelia's mother and the love of his life, Y/N when they were in high-school. They started dating soon after. The year Oscar was a reserve driver for Alpine; he might not have been busy racing but he was busy with his girlfriend. The whole Alpine-Mclaren fiasco brought us baby Mia. It was a usual Thursday, Y/N had been stressing out about missing her period for the second time this month when she had regular periods since she could remember. A thought passed through her; it had been floating around in her head since last month. What if she was pregnant? Oscar and her had always been safe; but not a single contraceptive was a hundred percent perfect. So, without informing Oscar, she went to the store and bought a few tests. When the first one said positive, she did another and then another. By now Oscar had become aware of his missing girlfriend who was coup-ed up in their bathroom for the past half hour. He was knocking on the door; "babe, is everything okay? You've been in there since you returned" But when no reply came; the knocking became more rapid and worried. "Y/N, are you ok? Please answer. You're stressing me out" he begged. Then the door opened slightly. A tear stained Y/N was peaking her head out. Oscar pushed the door open and hugged her. He was scanning the room as his girlfriend's body shook slightly; that's when he saw it; pregnancy tests. He pulled away to look at her; "Have you been busy taking those pregnancy test?" he asked. "How do you know what they are?" she hiccuped. "I've watched TV growing up" he smiled. She nodded and handed the 3 tests to him. They all read pregnant in bold letters. Oscar was over joyed; "Are we gonna be parents?" he shouted. "You're not angry?" she asked. "Why would I be? I get to have kids with the love of my life. Best thing that could ever happen to me" he stated. For the first time since she got the tests, she smiled. "Aren't we too young though?" she asked. "Yes, but I could take on the world with you by my side" he said kissing her. "You'll be the best dad ever" she told him. "You'll be the best mum ever" he said. The pair stayed in each other's embrace for a long time. Oscar will never admit it but he cried and then went on reddit to research what to do as a first time dad.

Amelia was born the next year when Oscar was busy racing. He wasn't able to be there for the birth of his daughter; he might have called his mother and cried about being a shitty dad from the get-go. But his father later consoled him and told him it would be fine. Oscar flew out the first chance he got to be with his girlfriend who was being taken care of by both their parents. The first time he held Amelia, he had started crying as soon as she opened her big brown eyes and looked at him. She was an exact copy of him when he was a baby, at least that's what his mother said. Y/N had to console him instead of the baby. He was sat there with his arms wrapped around Y/N who held their daughter for a really long time. Y/N had fallen in love with the name Amelia after watching the Princess Diaries growing up and Oscar wasn't about to argue with Y/N about naming their daughter after the Queen of Genovia. That's how she was named "Amelia Opal Piastri"

Oscar kept them hidden from the world after they had mutually decided not to tell anyone except their close friends and family which some how, had now included Lando Norris, much to Oscar's dismay since his daughter from the moment she could speak called Lando her twin; Oscar hated it, he was just dad or daddy when she wanted something but Lando was her best friend and twin. Lando took great joy in having to be able to steal Amelia away. Lando was helping Oscar move since he'd been staying in Monaco longer and moving with a kid wasn't easy. Mia was being very difficult today until she saw her Uncle Lando and jumped out of Oscar's arms running to Lando. "Lan, I mwiss you" she pouted raising her hands as if to signal him to carry her. Lando quickly scooped her in his arms, kissing her cheeks which elicited giggles. She wrapped her arms around Lando's neck and turned to her dad sticking her tongue out making Oscar pout. "Come here, you're my princess" he whined. "NO. I wan Lan" she said and hugged him tighter as Oscar tried to pull her away. "Oscar, behave. We have a lot of work to do. If Lando can watch over her while we unpack, that'll be great." Y/N said kissing her daughter's cheek and giving Lando a hug. Reluctantly Oscar agreed to let Lando play with her while he got the house unpacked.

While the two unpacked, Lando kept their little princess entertained. "Lan, do you vroom vroom fast?" she asked playing with the race cars she had. "Yeah" he nodded. "my daddy, vroom vroom" she paused for a moment to think, "fast more, win, wohooo" she said jumping up when the Oscar car she was playing with won and Lando's car came in second. Obviously, Mia was growing up watching racing; her dad was a F1 racer. Lando laughed when she jumped up; "Uncle Lando won many races too" he said. "My daddy win 2 races" she said looking at her fingers, counting them and holding up 2. She looked proud of herself for holding the correct number of fingers, Lando was proud too.

All that playing had tired her out; she was now laying on Lando's chest mumbling gibberish about how Leo could fly while he patted her to sleep. Oscar came back to find his daughter peacefully asleep. "I hate that she likes you more than me" Oscar stated watching the two. "Who said that?" Lando tried to control his laugh. "You can see right now" Oscar pointed out. "Mate, she loves you so much. All we talked about was how her daddy is so fast and has won 2 races." he added. Oscar smiled, "I'll put her in her room, we just got done with that" he said slowly taking her to her bed.

The house would take a few more months before they would be able to be done completely. Mia was already enjoying her play dates with Leo and Roscoe. Alex and Leo would be over a few times a week since Mia would pester Alex to come over with Leo. Leo loved Mia so much, the two would always be seen rolling around on the floor or running after each other. They never seem to tire out until they did and then they would be cuddling each other in their sleep on the couch. Roscoe was an older dog and he had seen quite a few children, he kept Mia more tame if that was possible. He would look out for her and protect her from harms way. He was very protective of her; it was very adorable to watch.

During the break, Oscar was spending the 3 weeks with his family. Y/N had been taking the bulk of parenting their 2 year old which did make Oscar feel guilty and he would try to give her as much me time when he was around as possible. "It's time for a daddy-daughter date" Oscar cooed at Mia as he carried her to get dressed. "What does my princess wanna eat today?" he asked plopping her on the changing table. "I want dino and fries and juice and white icey and tuddles" she cheered. She couldn't say Vanilla ice cream yet so it was white icey and cuddles were tuddles which Oscar hoped she wouldn't out grow. Oscar changed her into a pink tutu on her request. The two of them sat on the sofa watching Bluey with their dino nuggets, fries and a juice. Once she was done eating, half the fries were in Oscar's mouth but who was counting; he got out the ice cream and this was the one food item she would not share with anyone. The latest episode they were watching finished up and Mia was cuddling her dad. Oscar rubbed circles on her back to help her fall asleep; "I love you my angel" Oscar whispered kissing her head. "I wuv you my daddy" she whispered kissing his chest. She had seen her mum do this a few times and Oscar's heart swelled up watching her imitate her mum.

Oscar and Y/N were busy setting up another room in their house when Mia found Oscar's phone unlocked. No one knew how she got onto Instagram but she did and ended up taking a picture of her face and posting it as a story. Within minutes Oscar and Y/N's phones were blowing up. Y/N saw messages from her friends and family to check Oscar's story; Oscar had already seen what his daughter did. The next race was gonna be so fun trying to explain who that was.

The driver's group chat was going crazy, they couldn't stop laughing about how Mia posted herself. The other drivers joked that she was sick of not being able to attend races so she decided to hard launch herself. McLaren's PR team was making a story up which Oscar shut down quickly. He had been dating Y/N for a long time and had a family with her, he wasn't about spin some shitty tale about it being someone else's daughter. This was the final push that Oscar needed to strike the iron when it was hot. Oscar would propose now; the ring he had bought was burning a hole in his pants for a while now.

oscarpiastri

Liked by landonorris, mclaren and 2,367,458 others tagged y/n.y/l/n

oscarpiastri To a lifetime of forever with the loves of my life💍🧑‍🧑‍🧒

landonorris Mia is so cute in all the pictures, I'm stealing her👀👀 oscarpiastri landonorris NO YOU CAN'T HAVE HER😤😤 alexandrasaintmleux next Leo-Mia playdate when??🥹❤️ y/n.y/l/n alexandrasaintmleux Mia says tomorrow❤️❤️ logansargeant my fav Piastri is growing up so fast😭 Liked by the author mclaren such a beautiful family🧡 y/n.y/l/n mclaren I remember you trying to break it up 😐😐 mclaren y/n.y/l/n I was following orders, I didn't wanna do it🥲🥲 user1 too many things, I can't process it🤯 user2 he has a girlfriend, a daughter and got engaged all in one post🤯😭 user3🤯🤯🤯🤯 user4 Congratulations Oscar!!🧡🧡🧡 lewishamilton Congratulations you two!! ❤️❤️Mia said Roscoe is the ring bearer Liked by y/n.y/l/n charles_leclerc my beautiful granddaughter😭 user5 the Leclerc family is expanding at an alarming rate😱😱 user6 user5 does that make Leo her uncle??🤔 user7 What's her name?? user8 Mia is the cutest name for the cutest baby😍😍 user9 can't wait to watch her become a formula one driver😪 user10 only known her 2 days but if anything happens to her, I’ll kill everyone and then myself user11 the last picture🤤🤤 we might be getting baby no. 2🤭🤣

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imagineshere-forall · 11 months ago

Text

- staying with mom ✰ e. diaz

Summary: the first time Christoper calls you mom

Genre: mostly fluff but smidge of angst/tension

warnings: none

Pairing: eddie diaz x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

Notes: hi hi i tried to use american terms like mall and mom, but i am not american and i say mum, so if you notice any slip ups pls let me know and i will change it. I feel like it would be weird to picture chris saying mum in an american accent so i tried to only used mom Also i have started watched the walking dead and am obsessed so pls feel free to request some fics for the walking dead (i’m halfway through s7)

When you and Eddie started dating, you waited quite a while before meeting Chris as you wanted to be sure in your relationship so as not to unsettle Chris. After about 8 months, you were pretty sure Eddie was it for you, and you eventually met Chris. Within 6 months of meeting Christopher you had pretty much moved in with the boys, and when the lease on your apartment was up for renewal Chris was the one who suggested you move in. That was over a year ago and since then the three of you had been living life as a happy little family.

Today, you had a day off from work but Eddie did not, so you had decided to take Chris out for the day. For weeks, Chris had been saying his shoes were starting to get tight so you had decided you would take him to buy some new shoes and buy him a couple extra treats. It wasn’t often you and Eddie weren’t both at work at the same time, even if you didn’t have the same shift, you often overlapped so Chris would spend time with Carla.

Eddie was at work before you even woke up, so you and Chris had a slow morning before heading to the mall. The car journey was filled with music and laughs, you loved spending time with Chris and you guys always had an amazing time.

Once you got to the mall you found yourself chasing Christoper, the shoe shop was all the way on the other side of the mall so you had decided to do fun shopping first. The first stop was at the ice cream parlor, and then the two of you made your way quickly over to the lego shop. You both bought a lego set, as you planned to watch a movie and build lego together in the afternoon. Once the pair of you had gone to all the shops you wanted to, you slowly walked back to the car, trying to agree on a movie to watch while you were building your legos.

You were nearly at the car, when the ground started to rumble. Small tremors weren;t uncommon living in LA, but this was not that. The slight rumble turned to full blown shaking and the lights in the parking garage started to come loose and smash to the floor. You quickly dropped your bags and grabbed Christopher and headed for the car, it might not have been the smartest idea but in your panic it seemed like the safest option if the garage was to crumble.

Somehow, you managed to get to the car in record time as you were opening the door, you noticed a piece of debris falling and you quickly pushed Chris into the car. Within seconds of you getting Chris safely into the car, the debris had come down, knocking you down in the process. You hit your head on the concrete and briefly lost consciousness, but you quickly came around to the sounds of Chris’s cries.

“I’m here Chris, I’m okay,” you mumbled as you tried to wriggle free. Although, your right leg was trapped under the piece of the parking garage that had knocked you to the floor.

Not long after you regained consciousness, sirens were all you could hear and it became nearly impossible to keep your eyes open, and you were soon consumed by the darkness.

“Cap, get Eddie over here!” You heard being yelled from close by. Squinting at the bright light you started to blink your eyes back open and were met with Buck’s face looking down at you.

“Chris, is Chris okay?” you forced out, your throat was hoarse and felt as though you had woken from a deep sleep. You could feel yourself being rolled onto a stretcher, presumably to move you to an ambulance, or at least a safer area.

“Chris was with you?” Buck panicked.

“I think I got him in the car,” you coughed, “Check him first.”

A couple minutes later you heard a car door be forced open, and then Buck’s shouts.

“Chris!” Eddie’s shouts were so loud. He had arrived onto the scene and saw Buck carrying Chris over some rubble away from the car. You turned your head slowly and saw Eddie embrace his son tightly.

“Where’s Y/N?” Eddie suddenly asked. The panic in his voice was palpable.

“Over here,” You heard Buck’s voice get louder as he led Eddie to you. Eddie placed Chris down next to your stretcher and cradled your face.

“Baby, are you okay?” he questioned, whilst scanning your body for any obvious injuries.

“My leg got crushed but I’m fine. How is Chris? Is Chris okay?” you spoke so fast.

“I’m fine,” you heard Chris speak. You could have cried with relief upon hearing his voice. You had seen Eddie carry him, but hearing him speak and confirming he was okay made you so happy.

“Now, let get you taken to hospital, Buck can you take Chris to Athena and get her to call Carla please,” Eddie said as he began to wheel you out of the area. You saw Buck begin to usher Chris towards Athena who you could see a while away directing people.

“No.”

You and Eddie both stopped and looked at Chris who was avoiding Buck and walking towards the two of you.

“Chris, bud, y/n is okay. Your dad is just making sure she gets her leg checked out,” Buck tried to convince Chris.

“No,” Chris shook off Buck’s arms and carried on walking in your direction. Eddie sighed, letting go of your stretcher and turning to Chris before squatting down to his level while holding onto him.

“Chris, I need to take y/n to get checked out. Can you please go with Buck?” Eddie begged.

“No.” Chris was being stubborn.

“Chris please,” Eddie was starting to get desperate.

“I want to stay with mom.” Chris yelled.

You, Buck and Eddie all went still. Suddenly, the atmosphere had changed. Chris had never called you mom before. The three of you all looked at each other in shock unsure what to say or do next.

“Come here Chris,” you beckoned the boy, before helping him to sit on one side of the stretcher after you had collapsed the arms, “You can stay with me.”

Eddie was still looking at you in shock, starting to feel love swell in his chest. The idea that Chris saw you as a mother figure made him so happy.

“Chris, it looks like your dad is frozen,” you laughed whilst looping one of your arms around the boy. You had managed to get him in a place where he wasn’t near your leg which was causing excruciating pain.

This brought Eddie out of his shock and he walked over to the two of you.

“I love you both so much,” he breathed as he leant to kiss both of your foreheads, “Let’s go get mom all checked out.”

#911 x reader #911 imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz fluff #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #evan buckley x reader #911 fic #eddie diaz x you #eddie diaz one shot #eddie diaz angst #buckley diaz family #911

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moonlight-prose · 5 months ago

Note

I saw that prompt list you reblogged and so if you’re looking for logan ideas i really liked:

10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them

Love your fics btw too!!! 💜💜

hunger

a/n: oh my brain went to mush at this one. like actively i've lost brain cells and am currently scrounging to find more. this is basically me being a horny bitch for this man. (possibly cause i'm ovulating). but that's okay. we're all here to do the exact same thing!

summary: things are set into motion the second logan opens your drawer. suddenly you find yourself the center of a show with only one audience member.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, hints at oral (f receiving), cigar smoking, voyeurism, dirty talk, he's so filthy i blushed writing this.

Accidental was far from the word he'd use to describe the current situation. He'd rather say it was intentional. At least that's what it felt like when you sent him to your drawer for a pair of clean boxers you stole from him in the first few weeks of dating. Logan was used to the act. Finding his flannels strewn throughout your closet—his leather jacket draped across the foot of your bed like a fancy throw blanket.

He felt it before he saw it. The soft silicone feel of something small—an uninteresting object he normally would have overlooked. He pushed it out of the way at first, mistaking it entirely for the little portable charger you usually keep by the bed.

Only for it to roll to the side, the button hitting the drawer. A loud buzz drew his attention close within seconds. His hand grasping the small vibrator and flicking it off with a smirk. A look he wore when the choice to fuck you into the mattress solidified in his mind.

"Hey what's taking so long?" You stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel—water droplets streaming off your naked body, forming a small puddle on the hardwood floors of your shared bedroom.

He close his fist around the small device when he stood, holding the clothes you were waiting for. Logan watched you smile, reach for his hand, and stop short as his other palm opened—revealing the black little toy you only kept for emergencies.

For nights when he was called on a mission that might land them in deep waters for days on end. You never minded—it was part of the job after all—but telling Logan that you fucked yourself in your spare time to ease the thoughts of him that plagues you...wasn't an easy conversation to have. Yet there it was. Staring directly at you; taunting you with the knowledge that he found it before you could locate a better hiding spot.

"Got somethin' to tell me bub?"

Your mouth dried at the sight of his grin—nostrils flaring as your scent sharpened in the air. Thicker than before; the tell tale sign that you weren't angry or irritated. But interested in where he might take this.

Before you could snatch it from his hands, he tossed the clothes back into the still open drawer. His smile on deepening at the sight of your swallow—the steady thrum of your heart now a quick flutter under your chest. There was no hiding how you felt with him. Not when he was so in tune with your body it nearly scared you.

He could smell the pool of slick that began to form in between your clenched thighs. The sharp breath you sucked in giving him enough confirmation to keep going. You wanted this—him. And though he could never understand why, he rarely questioned it.

So he nodded towards the bed, dragging the chair you kept at your desk over to sit a foot away from where you were perched. Your hand still clutching the towel and eyes stuck on the vibrator in his hold.

Logan lowered himself with a sigh—legs spread and body relaxed as your eyes trailed down his stomach to the thick expanse of his thighs. Last night you were perched on one, reduced to a whiny moaning mess as he dragged you along the rough denim. Watching you work yourself into a high that left you immobile.

His head tilted, gaze dragging down your body, tongue swiping out to wet his bottom lip. "You aren't gonna need the towel bub," he rasped.

"I don't know what we're doing."

"Don't you trust me?" You nodded quicker than you expected. "Then drop it and spread those pretty legs for your old man."

A soft whimper barely legible above your gasp echoed in the room. Logan heard it as if you pressed it directly to his ear. You scooted back on the bed, the towel now forgotten and dropped to the floor. He shifted at the sight of your feet pushed against the soft comforter, your cunt on full display for him to view.

"There we go," he murmured.

Your hand slipped down, sliding through your slick for barely a second before he was clicking his tongue. "That's not what I want."

"B-but you said-"

"I said spread 'em. Not touch your pretty little clit."

"Logan," you breathed, fighting the pull that demanded you find some sort of relief. Even if that came in the form of your own touch.

He merely lounged in the chair, smiling at how you battled with yourself in order to be good for him. Oh how he loved the sight of your brows pulled together—need eating away at the very core of your body. If he was a better man he'd let you choose what to do.

He'd follow your lead.

But that remained something he never excelled at.

"Don't worry. She'll get the attention she needs." He leaned over you, placing the familiar device between your breasts—a kiss quickly snuck against your nipple that peaked under the wet heat of his mouth. "I'm real interested in how you use this sweetheart. Show me?"

The breath escaped you with a punch to your stomach as he settled back in his previous spot. You glanced at him—heat spilling beneath your cheeks—and felt a wave of slick drip down to the bed at the sight of him pulling a cigar free. He cut the end off, stuck it between his teeth, and flicked the lighter on with practiced ease.

This was a show and he remained the only audience member.

"Go on," he mumbled, smoke unfurling past his lips. "Be a good girl."

With a shaky breath, you gingerly picked up the vibrator and turned it on. This was second nature to you now. Laying in bed with your legs spread as you listened to the buzzing sound that would bring you your desired orgasm. You'd been here before. You would no doubt be here again.

Only this time Logan paid attention to every minuscule movement. He clung to the way you slid your hand down and pressed the end of it to the very top of your clit. Almost as if you were the best fucking program he had the privilege to watch.

Instead of the rush of sweaty embarrassment you almost expected. You were greeted with a boost of pride at the sound of his harsh groan. The chair creaking under his weight as he shuffled to find some relief for his growing cock.

"How's it feel bub?" he breathed, inhaling another drag from his cigar.

You sighed, high pitched and needy. "Good."

"Yeah?" He shifted again when you slid the vibrator through the lips of your cunt, a moan spilling past your parted lips. "Fuck. You normally take your time with it?"

Nodding, you dragged it back up to your clit, teasing yourself with small circles. "F-Feels better like this."

That familiar tug in your gut began to grow the longer you held it against yourself, building quicker than before. You knew it was on account of him watching you. Licking his lips and white knuckling his cigar to keep from sliding his tongue through your slick. You had half a mind to beg him. To see if you could get him to break.

The minute you slipped it down further and plunged it into your tight walls was enough for him. He snapped with a feral grunt. His hands working the belt buckle of his jeans—a whisper of his zipper being tugged down—before his cock sprang free. The tip red and shiny with precum.

You moaned at the sight, legs trembling as you pumped the vibrator clumsily into your cunt. "Touch yourself," you gasped, stomach going taut. "Please. Need to see you baby."

"Fuck sweetheart. Gonna make me cum like a fuckin' teenager." He spit loudly into his palm, slicking up his cock with a heady moan.

"P-Pretty," you slurred.

"Look whose talkin'," he huffed. The cigar now clamped between his teeth.

The intensity of his gaze only grew when you replaced the device with two of your fingers. Rapidly working them in tandem with the buzzing on your swollen clit. Sparks shot down your spine, heat clamping tight around your stomach. What time you thought remained now worked its way to an eviscerating crescendo.

"Your creamin' around your fingers bub," he grunted, the wet slap of his hand blending with the echo of your cunt. "Want to lick you clean after this."

Your walls fluttered, heart leaping to your throat. "Can I suck your cock?"

A ragged moan filled the empty spaces that lay between. "Can't say no to you."

"Logan," you mewled. "'M gonna-"

He snarled, abruptly sitting forward, hand still working his cock in rapid strokes. "C'mon. Cum for me. Give me a show."

The string holding you together broke in two, flooding your body with bliss and turning your vision blurry. His name was a broken cry torn from your throat—hips canting up into your touch as you pushed the vibrator harder against your clit. Until the pleasure began to seep into pain. A whimper echoed in the room when you pulled away, legs falling to dangle off the bed—body now entirely spent.

The soft press of his lips against your knee jolted you slightly; the nerves under your skin still sensitive. He dropped to the floor, eyes latched onto the way your entrance fluttered, cum now forming a mess between your thighs.

"Made such a pretty mess for me bub."

You sighed, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "You like it?"

Wet open mouth kisses trailed along your inner thigh, his nose pressed to the curls above your center. "I fuckin' love it," he sighed, inhaling your heady scent with a groan.

"It's yours."

You gasped when his tongue slid along your cunt, thumbs spreading you to reach every fucking inch. "Yes it is." He pressed a kiss to each lip, sucking them into his mouth as if he was kissing you. "All fuckin' mine."

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #my writing

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physalian · 7 months ago

Text

How to make your writing sound less stiff part 2

Part 1

Again, just suggestions that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice, as I sit here doing my own edits for a WIP.

1. Crutch words

Specifically when you have your narrator taking an action instead of just… writing that action. Examples:

Character wonders/imagines/thinks/realizes

Character sees/smells/feels

Now not all of these need to be cut. There’s a difference between:

Elias stops. He realizes they’re going in the wrong direction.

And

Elias takes far too long to realize that it’s not horribly dark wherever they are

Crutch words are words that don’t add anything to the sentence and the sentence can carry on with the exact same meaning even if you delete it. Thus:

Elias stops. They’re going in the wrong direction.

I need a word in the second example, whether it’s realizes, understands, or notices, unless I rework the entire sentence. The “realization” is implied by the hard cut to the next sentence in the first example.

2. Creating your own “author voice”

Unless the tone of the scene demands otherwise, my writing style is very conversational. I have a lot of sentence fragments to reflect my characters’ scatterbrained thoughts. I let them be sarcastic and sassy within the narration. I leave in instances of “just” (another crutch word) when I think it helps the sentence. Example:

…but it’s just another cave to Elias.

Deleting the “just” wouldn’t hit as hard or read as dismissive and resigned.

I may be writing in 3rd person limited, but I still let the personalities of my characters flavor everything from the syntax to metaphor choices. It’s up to you how you want to write your “voice”.

I’ll let dialogue cut off narration, like:

Not that he wouldn’t. However, “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

Sure it’s ~grammatically incorrect~ but you get more leeway in fiction. This isn’t an essay written in MLA or APA format. It’s okay to break a few rules, they’re more like guidelines anyway.

3. Metaphor, allegory, and simile

There is a time and a place to abandon this and shoot straight because oftentimes you might not realize you’re using these at all. It’s the difference between:

Blinding sunlight reflects off the window sill

And

Sunlight bounces like high-beams off the window sill

It’s up to you and what best fits the scene.

Sometimes there’s more power in not being poetic, just bluntly explicit. Situations like describing a character’s battle wounds (whatever kind of battle they might be from, whether it be war or abuse) don’t need flowery prose and if your manuscript is metaphor-heavy, suddenly dropping them in a serious situation will help with the mood and tonal shift, even if your readers can’t quite pick up on why immediately.

Whatever the case is, pick a metaphor that fits the narrator. If my narrator is comparing a shade of red to something, pick a comparison that makes sense.

Red like the clouds at sunset might make sense for a character that would appreciate sunsets. It’s romantic but not sensual, it’s warm and comforting.

Red like lipstick stains on a wine glass hints at a very different image and tone.

Metaphor can also either water down the impact of something, or make it so much worse so pay attention to what you want your reader to feel when they read it. Are you trying to shield them from the horror or dig it in deep?

4. Paragraph formatting

Nothing sticks out on a page quite like a line of narrative all by itself. Abusing this tactic will lessen its effect so save single sentence paragraphs for lines you want to hammer your audiences with. Lines like romantic revelations, or shocking twists, or characters giving up, giving in. Or just a badass line that deserves a whole paragraph to itself.

I do it all the time just like this.

Your writing style might not feature a bunch of chunky paragraphs to emphasize smaller lines of text (or if you’re writing a fic on A03, the size of the screen makes many paragraphs one line), but if yours does, slapping a zinger between two beefy paragraphs helps with immersion.

5. Polysyndeton and Asyndeton

Not gibberish! These, like single-sentence paragraphs, mix up the usual flow of the narrative that are lists of concepts with or without conjunctions.

Asyndeton: We came. We saw. We conquered. It was cold, grey, lifeless.

Polysyndeton: And the birds are out and the sun is shining and it might rain later but right now I am going to enjoy the blue sky and the puffy white clouds like cotton balls. They stand and they clap and they sing.

Both are for emphasis. Asyndeton tends to be "colder" and more blunt, because the sentence is blunt. Polysyntedon tends to be more exciting, overwhelming.

We came and we saw and we conquered.

The original is rather grim. This version is almost uplifting, like it's celebrating as opposed to taunting, depending on how you look at it.

—

All of these are highly situational, but if you’re stuck, maybe try some out and see what happens.

*italicized quotes are from ENNS, the rest I made up on the spot save for the Veni Vidi Vici.

#writing #writing advice #writing resources #writing a book #writing tips #writing tools #writeblr #for beginners #sentence structure #book formatting #literary devices

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mayanneaa · 2 months ago

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hits different - ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ.

PAIRING : jj maybank x ex!reader

SUMMARY : jj broke up with you two months ago, but this one party makes him truly realize what he’s done.

WARNING(S) : swearing, jealous and super drunk jj, a little angst, fluff, minimal use of y/n (like once), might have some grammar errors, english is not my first language

A/N : first fic on here heheh obv inspired by 'hits different' by taylor swift. i recommend listening to it while reading :) dividers by @roseraris !! not proofread dont kill me

WC : 1.7k

masterlist.

After a fourth beer, the party got too loud and the lights too bright. Normally, in a moment like this, he would run to you, wrap his arms around you, and inhale your sweet, calming scent. Just as he’s about to do it, the realization hits him like one of the waves nearby.

You aren’t together anymore.

He sharply inhales and looks around. His vision is softly spinning, but it’s no problem for him. JJ spots you in a second. With another boy.

You two are just talking. You don’t even know this guy, he came up to you to ask about something so random it got lost in your chat long ago. You give him one of those kind smiles, and JJ feels his fists clench. “Fuck.”

The music changes. As if he wasn’t already miserable, the speakers let out the first notes of your song. The one he first kissed you to. The one you two always played, alone at the chateau dancing on the back porch.

The memories flood his mind, and he can’t take it anymore. Jj feels his heartbeat loud in his ears, and he wants to leave. To go to any of the pogues, or, even better, drive away in the Twinkie. But his eyes cannot move from your face, and his legs just don’t work.

It baffles him. Not once in his life, he couldn’t move on. But this time, with you, it's different. It hits different.

You finally catch him. The guy is still talking to you, but your attention is on the other side of the beach. Before you can interrupt, you see John B. coming up to JJ. He tells him something, grabs his arm, and leads his best friend somewhere. You feel your heart sink. “Are you okay?” you hear the guy ask, making you turn your head.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” you quickly say, leaving him alone. You have to find JJ.

“Dude, stop this shit right now,” John B.’s holding the steering wheel, making his way to the Chateau. JJ's taken the passenger seat, shoulders slumped, and he runs his hand through the blonde strands.

"Yeah, easy for you to talk." he snarls, "You and Sarah are all happy together, you don't know how it's like-"

"I don't know because I don't just randomly break up with my girl over a bad day I had." John B. cuts him off and lets out a deep sigh. "JJ, you should talk to her. Everyone's done. You are constantly miserable."

JJ doesn't say anything. The words hit him like a slap, unnecessarily hurtful. Outside the window he sees the familiar place - they are at the Chateau.

"Get some rest, okay?" John B opens the door and helps JJ get in the house. "Call me in case something happens."

The blonde nods his head and plops on the couch, legs stretched out. Minutes pass, and he finds himself whispering your name, over and over again, as if he's scared he'll forget it.

His mind still replays that cold May night.

You two agreed to meet at the dock. The wind softly overflowed your face as you were waiting for him. When he finally came, you felt something was wrong. His usual smile was gone, and he didn't even look at you. You hugged yourself in your hoodie, "JJ? Is everything alright?"

He let out a shaky breath, leaning over the railings. "I think we should break up."

You blinked in surprise, your heart feeling heavy. "What?"

Your voice sounded smaller than you intended. You reached out for his hand, your own shaking.

"It will be better for both of us." JJ dismissively said, swallowing hard. A shiver ran down his body, and his throat tightened, but he brushed it off.

You felt so much hitting you. Tears burned under your eyelids, and anger started to bubble up. Did you do something? Or maybe he just decided you weren't good enough for him anymore?

"No," you whispered at first, but your voice was growing louder, "You don't get to just... just decide on my behalf!"

The moonlight fell on his face, and you tried to find any answers in his eyes. He stiffened, shaking his head before he repeated, "It will be better if we end it now."

You opened your mouth, but not a word came out. The tears threatening to fall finally flooded your face, a quiet scoff escaping your lips. "I can't believe this. This is how much it meant for you?"

You were met with silence. The atmosphere on the dock could be cut with a knife, and you couldn't just stand here. Before you registered it, your legs led you down, far from your boy- well... ex-boyfriend. JJ's eyes followed your every step. He wanted to run after you, to wrap you in his arms and never let you go. But he didn't.

It wasn't just a one-day whim he had. It stuck with him ever since you two decided to make it official. It grew with every late night you spent not on something you like, but on cleaning him up after another fight. You didn’t say anything—but he knew. He knew that sooner or later, it will be too much. He will be too much to handle.

The sweetest girl walking on the earth, a literal angel and him. A failure, a Pogue whose fate it was to end up just like his father—always drunk, always angry.

His heart ached at this thought. You had so many opportunities, and if you decided to let it go because of him, he would never forgive himself.

Breaking up before he got even more attached was for the better. It had to be. Right?

JJ doesn’t know how long he’s been lying like this. His breathing is now steady and slow, and he has to remind himself to breath in again.

He closes his eyes, but can’t escape you. The memories come fast—not giving him much time for defense.

Your face. Always in the sun, glowing as if you were a goddess. The lips glossed from the cherries you’ve been eating. Your eyes, the creases forming in the corners almost constantly from smiling.

Your touch. All these quick brushes, the way you traced your soft fingertips over his forearm every time you sat nearby. The long, tight hugs during which JJ’s hands wrapped your waist, him hungrily inhaling your perfume.

His breath hitches. Is it truly the best this way?

Before he can answer, the quiet crack of a key opens the door. He darts up and immediately regrets it, as the whole room starts spinning.

“JJ?” he hears a soft whisper, and his heart skips a beat.

The warm lights of the Chateau reveal your face. He feels the heat rising to his cheeks, “What are you doing here?”

His voice is quiet, almost as if he’s scared you’ll disappear. You step closer, with a cautiousness that kills something inside him. He avoids your gaze, staring at the suddenly interesting floor.

“You’re not doing great, huh?” you say, but there’s no mockery or anger in your voice. There’s just… worry.

JJ turns around on his heels and sits down on couch, fearing that if he stands for a minute longer, he might just fall. He runs a hand through his hair, a habit that intensified over the two months.

“Stop it, Y/N.” he finally replies looking at you for the first time. The light reflects of his watery eyes, and his voice breaks when he continues, “Go back to the party and your new stupid little boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you fussing over me talking to a guy after you broke up with me?”

JJ shakes his head, looking at the floor again, “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore, I guess. You really should go—”

“Why did you end this?”

The question feels like an arrow through his heart. You’re standing with your hands crossed, not planning on going anywhere. “Why, J? We were happy. Did I do something…?”

“It wasn’t you.” In the response, he hears a snort.

Your gaze is heavy, with your eyebrows arched up. “Classic. Then what was it, JJ?” The tone of your voice is pushing, and you don’t even try to control it, “What happened that you decided to just leave me?”

“I was scared!” he snaps before he can think of anything better to say. “How do you imagine it? You… you can’t suffer with me forever. It’ll break you one day and—”

“JJ.”

The way you say his name pulls him out of the spiral. It slips off your tongue smoothly, just like it used to. You grip his arm, and JJ forgets what he was even talking about.

“You don’t get to make this decision without talking to me. Did you ever asked me how I feel about this?”

A blush creeps up on his cheeks, and whether you want it or not, the corners of your lips rise.

He tries to make any sense, the tears dangerously close to falling. “I mean— You deserve someone better. Someone who will keep you safe and… I’m not that person. And I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

You sigh. “Maybe. But I don’t want anyone better, baby. I want you. That’s my decision.”

With these words, with what you called him, his walls crash. You pull him closer, your bodies touching and he can’t take it anymore. JJ lets out a muffled sob into the crook of your neck, gripping you like he’s never letting you go.

Your fingers find their way up to his hair, running through the golden strands as he’s shaking.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry. So sorry—”

“Shhh,” You draw small circles on his back, and his breath slows down after some time. “We will talk about it tomorrow, ’kay? You’re super drunk right now.”

“Promise you won’t leave.” JJ sniffles, the tip of his nose pink. You giggle, but he pulls away to look at you, a serious expression on his face. “I’m not joking! Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. Please.”

You gently squeeze his shaking hand and can’t help but smile. “I promise.”

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thedenerts · 2 months ago

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The baby is coming!

X-ORIGINS LOGAN X FEM!READER

Summary: your water broke when logan was out with his lumberjacking work

Tags: reader is preggo 9 months, logan and reader are married, reader is 27 and logan is 33, newborn's a baby boy, childbirth, labor

Word Count: 2.8k+

Notes: Hello! Donut here! Here to give you my second fan fic on wolverine (again). I was not expecting the first one that i had made a smut on got that many attention. I've noticed that some of the readers there doesn't like the way i describe y/n on it and i deeply apologize for it. I simply didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings on that as i DID NOT KNOW that the word was a slur.

SMUT LOGAN FAN FIC HERE: https://www.tumblr.com/thedenerts/766686508900139008/love-isnt-red-its-blue?source=share

Extra notes: Trollers or the people that had a problem of me putting mdni on the first pic, i had my rights to put it as to not cause uncomfortable situations.

The early morning sunlight seeped through the wooden slats of the bedroom window, painting the room in soft, warm hues. Logan stirred beneath the thick quilt, his eyes still heavy with sleep. Stretching his arms out, his large hand brushing against the empty space beside him. He glanced over to find you lying on your side, your rounded belly rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. You swollen feet peeked out from beneath the blanket, a silent reminder of the life they had created together.

Leaning in, Logan gently kissed your forehead “Mornin’ darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with love. Your eyes fluttered open, a soft smile playing on your lips as you spoke. “Morning, Hun,” you whispered, your hand reaching out to rest on his cheek. The baby in your swollen belly kicked again and you winced slightly, “Seems like little man is eager to join us, huh?”

Logan chuckled, his hand sliding over the mound of your stomach. “Well, guess we know where he got that feisty attitude from. He’s got his father’s impatience, that’s for sure,” he teased, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. Your smile grew wider as you watched your husband get out of bed, his muscular frame moving with the ease of a man accustomed to hard work. You then slowly sat up on your bed, your own body protesting with a gentle groan. The baby’s kicks had become more frequent and stronger over the past few days…*a sign that your little miracle was almost there*.

Both Logan and you got up from the bed to start their day, excited to know that the baby might come today. The two of you ate breakfast together before eventually Logan went off to work for the day. Another day another job as a father who is a strong, handsome and a protective, loving husband.

“Logan, maybe you should stay home today…” you suggested, your eyes filled with concern. “I just have this feeling…” Logan paused in the act of pulling on his boost, looking over his shoulder at you. “You’ll be fine, love. It’s not your first time.” He tried to keep his voice light, but the truth was; he was just as nervous. He had promised to be there when your son is about to be born and he didn’t want to let you down.

“I know.” you nodded with your hand resting on your stomach protectively “But something just feels different-“.

Logan stood, walking over to you with his axe slung over his shoulder and the keys jingling in his hand. He bent down and kissed you again, the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin. “I’ll keep my phone close, I promise.” he said firmly. “Call me if anything happens alright?”

You nodded, trying to push your anxiety aside. “O-okay…” you managed, your voice quivering slightly. Logan squeezed your hand reassuringly before heading out the door, the sound of his boots echoing through the quiet house as he made his way to the garage. You watched Logan from the window in the house behind the curtain, before he could even enter the car, he gave you a flying kiss and nodded. Then entering back into the car and drove off to his workplace.

Alone in the house, you went about your morning chores with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The baby’s room was already prepared, the crib filled with plush toys and blankets, and how the nursery walls were painted a soothing shade of blue. Oh, you still remember that day when Logan founds out that you were pregnant to a baby boy. A baby boy! You chuckled to yourself as you move around the house. Your belly felt heavier with each step around the house. The occasional kick from within reminded you of the impending arrival, bringing smile to your face despite the fears.

The morning passed quickly filled with the mundane but yet comforting tasks of laundry and cooking. As noon approached, you decided to make lunch for both you and Logan; expecting him back shortly. You then reached into the fridge, the cool air providing a momentary relief from the heat outside when suddenly you felt a sharp pain and a powerful kick from the baby. Your hand flew to your stomach as your eyes widening in shock. This wasn’t just a kick; it was different…more *intense*.

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to stand up straight, your knees buckling slightly. Another wave of pain hits you and you gripped the counter for support then accidentally knocking over a glass of water. The shattering sound echoed through the house, the cool liquid pooling at your feet. Panic began to set in as you realized that water had broken. The baby was coming…the baby is coming! And Logan was still out at work.

With trembling hands, you reached for your phone on the kitchen counter. Your mind racing with thoughts of what you needed to do next. You quickly dialled Logan’s number, your heart pounding in your chest with each unanswered ring. “Pick up…pick up…” you whispered then squeezed your eyes in desperation.

“Hello?” Logan’s gruff voice finally came through the line, the sound of chainsaws and distant shouts of his co-workers in the background.

“Logan!” as your voice was strained with urgency. “My water broke! The baby’s coming!”

On the other end of the line, Logan’s heart skipped a beat. The cacophony of the lumberyard fading away as he processed your words. “Shit.” He breathed, his eyes wide with panic “I’m coming home. Now.” He hung up without waiting for a response, sprinting away towards his El Camino car that was parked at the edge of the worksite. Leaving behind his work duties, unlocking his car and enters inside and the car roared when he turns the engine on. Immediately step on the gas. He growled to himself wishing he could just be there in a split second.

Back home you leaned heavily on the counter, your free hand clutching your swollen belly. The pain was coming in waves now, more intense and closer together. Taking deep breaths as you were trying to calm yourself and your baby. Your eyes flickering towards the clock on the wall. With each minute felt was like an eternity as you waited for Logan to come home. The roar of the Chevrolet’s engine grew louder when it approached the house.

Logan’s boots thudded against the porch, and the door flew open. His eyes searched the room, finding you standing in the kitchen, a puddle of water around your feet. “Oh, God…darlin’…” he murmured, his own fear palpable. He rushed to you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, supporting your weight.

“We gotta go, now.” He said, his voice steady despite his racing heart. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep from crying out as another contraction hit. Logan helped you to the car, his eyes never leaving yours as he opened the passenger door and gently helped you inside. He could see the pain etched on your face, the sweat beading on your forehead and it only served to fuel his urgency. Logan quickly runs to the driver seat not caring about locking the house door as he started the engine again. Pressed hard on the gas.

The drive to the hospital was a blur of speed limits broken and red lights ignored. Logan’s mind raced with thoughts of what could go wrong, his knuckled white on the steering wheel. Your hand was clutched tightly in his, your nails digging into his skin with each contraction but he didn’t flinch. He focused on the road ahead, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror every few seconds to ensure no one was following too closely.

“Hold on, darlin. Just breathe,” he murmured to you. His voice tight with anxiety “We’re almost there just hang on.”

Your eyes were squeezed shut, teeth gritted against the pain. Each bump in the road sent a jolt through your body but you knew you had to be strong for the baby. You and Logan’s baby. “Okay,” you panted, the grip on Logan’s hand was like a vice.

Logan’s jaw was set, his eyes never leaving the road ahead as he drove with a speed that was both necessary and terrifying. He knew every inch of these backroads like the back of his hand, but this today, they seemed endless. The hospital was just outskirts of town, but the distance felt insurmountable.

“How are you holding up?” he asked you, his voice tight with concern. You look at Logan, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. “Not a perfect timing to ask if I’m ok or not, Hun!” you managed to say, though the pain was written all over your face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. We are almost there,” his eyes never left the road ahead as he sped through the deserted streets, the engine of his 1965 Chevrolet El Camino roaring like a beast.

You nodded with your eyes clenched shut, breaths coming in short, rapid gasps as you tried to focus through the pain. Each contraction was more intense than the last, the pressure building like an unrelenting storm inside you. “I can do this.” You murmured to yourself, your knuckles white on the armrest.

Logan’s heart was racing but he kept his face calm, his eyes never leaving the road. “You’re so strong,” he said with his voice thick with emotion. “Our little boy is going to be so lucky to have you as his mama.”

You managed a small smile, your breath hitching as another wave of pain washed over you. “And he’ll have a pretty cool dad too,” you said, squeezing his hand. Logan could see the hospital just up ahead, he stepped on the gas making it go even faster as they approached the hospital to the emergency gate.

As you together arrived at the hospital with a screech of tires, Logan throwing the car into park and jumping out to rush around to your side. He opened the door and helped you out, his arm around your waist as you took tentative steps towards the emergency entrance. The sliding doors parted with a whoosh, revealing a flurry of activity inside.

“We need help! My wife! She’s in labor!” Logan shouted over the din, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. Nurses looked up and their faces were a mix of concern and urgency as they quickly approached the both of you.

You leaned heavily on Logan as they moved through the emergency room, the pain in your eyes stark. A nurse leads you both to a nearby gurney, instructing Logan to help you onto it. He lifted you gently, his movements a stark contrast to the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The cold metal, a reminder of the gravity of the situation, but you managed a grateful smile as you lay down, your hand gripping Logan’s.

The medical staffs swarmed around you both, a flurry of blue scrubs and concerned faces. A doctor then appeared, his eyes flicking between your medical file and the monitors now attached to you. “How far apart are your contractions? Mrs Howlett?” he asked calmly.

Your breathing was ragged. “They’re close…Too close,” you gasped out replying to the doctor.

The doctor nodded and his expression were calm but focused. “We’re going to get you prepped for delivery,” as he said, turning to give the orders to the nurses.

Logan’s heart felt like it was in his throat as he watched the medical team work around his wife. He felt useless, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He could feel his adamantium claws itching its way out. He wanted to do something, anything…to ease your pain.

“You can come with us,” one of the nurses said gently, noticing his distress. “But you need to stay calm for her alright?”

Logan nodded, swallowing hard. He followed them into the elevator, the doors closing with a metallic clang that seemed to echo in the quiet space. The ride to the delivery room felt like an eternity, each moment stretching out as they ascended floor by floor.

Inside; the room was a whirlwind of activity. The doctor was speaking in hushed tones to the nurses, who moved swiftly and efficiently around the bed, preppy in for you. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of fear and excitement that clung into Logan’s skin. He took his place by your side, his hand in yours and tried to offer comfort as the contractions grew more intense.

“Breathe, darlin’.” He murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just breathe.”

Your eyes flew open, the pain a living, pulsing entity in the room. You nodded, your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you tried to focus on Logan’s voice, his warm, strong presence beside you. The contractions were coming faster now, each one stealing your breath and leaving you gasping for more.

“I’m right here,” Logan said, his voice a lifetime in chaos. “You’re doing so well, darlin’.”

Your grip on his hand tightened as you pushed, the doctor’s calm instructions a soothing rhythm in the background. Your body was a symphony of pain and power, each push; a crescendo that brought you both closer to meeting your beloved newborn son. Logan watched in awe, his love for you swelling with each contraction.

“Almost there,” the doctor said, his eyes never yours. “You’re doing it.”

Logan leaned in closer, his eyes on the doctor’s face as he felt his wife’s hand tighten around his. The room was a blur of activity, but all he could focus was the woman he loved, fighting through the most intense moment of her life. The pain on your face was matched only by the determination in your eyes, and he knew that you were going to give it everything you had.

“One more push,” the doctor urged, his voice firm and steady. “You’ve got this.”

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, nodded, drawing on the strength you knew he had in abundance. With a final, guttural scream, you pushed with every ounce of energy you had left. Logan felt his heart thunder in his chest, his eyes never leaving yours.

And then, amidst the beeps of the monitors and the rustling of the hospital gowns, they heard it; a tiny, squawking cry. The doctor held up your newborn baby boy, a mess of blood and vernix, but the most beautiful sight Logan had ever seen. His eyes filled with tears as he watched the nurse quickly clean him and wrap him in a warm blanket.

The doctor passed the baby to you, who took him into your own arms with a tremble. His tiny face screwed up in a wail, his little fists flailing. “He’s perfect,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the effort. Logan leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss onto his newborn son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, lil’ bub.” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at you, who was now holding the child they had created. Both Logan and your hearts swelling with love and fear and wonder.

You looks at Logan and chuckles tiredly while holding your baby. “Are you going to name him then? Lil’ Bub might not be the best when he grows up, Hun.” You said with a tired smile.

Logan’s eyes never left the baby as he thought for a moment before saying, “How about Jimmy, Jimmy Howlett? A nickname given by you if I remember correct, darlin’.” (i know I suck at naming, shut up and I took the word Jimmy from dofp ifykyk)

Your eyes filled with tears as you nodded. “Jimmy,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the baby’s cries. “Jimmy Howlett…it fits him.”

The nurse took the baby for a quick check-up while Logan helped you adjusting your position in the bed. He gently brushed the hair from your forehead, his eyes filled with admiration and love. “You did it, baby. You’re amazing,” he said, his voice cracking.

You managed a wearily smile, your eyes glaze with the exhaustion of labor. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” you murmured as your gaze drifting to the bundle of joy in the nurse’s arms. Logan felt a fierce pride swell within him, his eyes never leaving his son.

The nurse finished her checks and brought little Jimmy back to the both of you, placing him gently in his mother’s arms. His cries had quieted to soft whimpers, his tiny body seeking warmth and comfort. Logan watched as your expression softened, your entire being seemingly focused on the new life you held.

Logan leans down beside with his arm over your head and the other smoothly and gently caressing his son’s head. Not wanting to make him cry even more. “I’m here too buddy,” he whispers to Jimmy, his voice gentle rumble… ”I’m your daddy.”

There you go folks! I hope you enjoy reading this and if you have anything just ask me anything. Might do request soon in the near future (who knows, might be hugh next?) <3 (dividers by @chachachannah)

#wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #x men origins wolverine #xmen origins #logan howlett x reader #hugh jackman #dad logan

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lavenderspence · 7 months ago

Text

Missing the happy hormone | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: emotional reader, period mention, fluff

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Apparently Spencer Reid could make anything better - even the emotional disaster of being on your period

A/N: First, huge thank you to the cutie that sent in this request, you literally caught me while on my period so this was born. Also, here’s to my inability to write short fics, this is your only warning that i can make and will make anything long, lol. Also, my titles suck omg. And shoutout to my crazy bestie for making me a Mamma Mia girly, she rocks.

But also, happy one month to this blog! When I carved out this little space for myself a month ago I wasn’t really sure how I’d feel being back here and writing again, but so far it’s been a treat. A huge thank you for all of your support and love and thank you to my mutuals and everyone that interacted with my blog. 💕 Here’s to many more months to come!

Request: spencer x fem!reader on her period/ovulating and shes in tears all the time?? Im ovulating and have been crying for hours and keep calling my mom lmaoo he’d been so lovely and sweet I know it I can feel it in my bones

masterlist

It was a slow day at the BAU. The most exciting thing in the 6 hours Spencer had spent at work was Rossi’s invitation to dinner the following weekend.

Paperwork had piled high after their last 2 cases, so every team member was hunched over their desk, writing and revising reports. It was a never-ending cycle - finish a report, close the file, open a new one, and start all over again.

His eyes had started getting tired after four and a half hours, his hand had started cramping and he was down two pens so far, yet there was still a prominent pile on his desk.

He suspected Morgan and Emily might have pushed a file or two from theirs onto his load, seeing as he was getting done the fastest. Regardless, every few hours JJ was bringing even more to pile on top of everything that wasn’t finished, so buried in paperwork they stayed - no matter how fast he wrote or read, or how used to the load he was.

He was just thinking about getting up to prepare a fresh pot of coffee so he could function properly for a few more hours when his phone started ringing. He felt around the pockets of his suit jacket, where it sat draped on his chair, and then pulled it free.

His display showed an incoming call, a picture of you as he hugged you, hands around your middle and face almost buried into your neck, a soft smile gracing both your faces. A scenery rich with reds, browns, and yellows stood behind you, the beauty of fall was nothing short of spectacular.

The picture you’d taken last year when the team spent a weekend at Rossi’s cabin in the woods, surrounded by the beauty of landscapes and leaves, nature for miles.

He accepted the call right away, a small smile on his face.

“Hey sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, if a little raspy from misuse. He hadn’t talked much in the last few hours - just a distracted short answer here or a hum there. He was happy you were calling, though, welcoming the reprieve from the most recent report.

It was silent for a few seconds, and he wondered absentmindedly if maybe you hadn’t called him on accident, and then there came a tiny little sniffle from your side.

“Sweetheart?” He prompted, “Are you there? What’s going on?” Worry was starting to creep into the base of his spine, but he still remained calm and kept his voice gentle.

“I’m here. Hi.” Another small sniffle, “All’s good. Just…I was just wondering how much longer you’d be gone.” Your voice was small,like you thought you might upset him by asking, and a little crackly, like you yourself were upset about something.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he checked the time quickly - 3:57 pm.

“Probably about two more hours, there’s a lot of paperwork we need to go through.” His eyes met Emily’s as she sent him a curious, questioning look.

“Oh, okay.” The resignation was clear in your voice, “I’ll see you later then.” The call ended abruptly, and it took him a second to catch up.

He couldn’t help but feel like not everything was as good as you claimed it was. For one, you rarely called to ask when he’d be home - you knew his work could span into the late hours, or even stretch for days. You let him update you on any changes in his work schedule.

In your interactions, your voice was usually upbeat and teasing - especially on the phone. Your kindness was always evident in your voice, as was your mood. You were a sunshine person, if he ever met one, that’s probably why you and Penelope formed such a close bond upon meeting.

There was something that nagged him - a change in your mood he could pick up on just by your voice - too low, too small, and the cracks that he could now identify as he replayed your conversation in his head. You were keeping yourself from crying out, and yet there was nothing more apparent than the tears in your voice. And that made him worry.

“Reid, are you okay?” Emily’s voice snapped him from the hard stare he’d been giving his phone in the last several minutes since the call ended.

“I…I don’t know.” His eye twitched, and he cleared his throat before he tried and failed to articulate exactly what was happening - he himself had a hard time understanding. One thing he knew was that he needed to get home. “I..um, I need to go. Can you, please?” He asked, gusting at the remaining three files on his desk before he pulled his suit jacket on and grabbed his satchel.

Morgan and Emily shared a mildly concerned look before they both nodded their heads, “Yeah, go. Text to let us know if everything is okay.” Morgan reminded him before he exited the bullpen with a fast step and tried to keep calm.

He was aware the situation wasn’t anything that he needed to be incredibly worried over - if something was really wrong, he knew you would have let him know. Yet, he couldn’t help the way his heart constricted by the sound of your voice, or the overwhelming desire to come home and gently hold you, see what could have caused this behavior.

You were curled up on the couch, watching as Donna helped Sophie get ready for her wedding, the gentle melody of “Slipping through my fingers” filling the empty apartment. Your eyes were watering, to the point that everything was starting to get blurry. A shaky exhale left your lips.

Today has simply been a rollercoaster. Kissing Spencer goodbye this morning was the highlight of the day. What followed was nothing short of an emotional disaster.

You’d teared up during breakfast, images of picking berries with Spencer flying through your mind. The desire to make it a reality was strong.

Following that had come the overwhelming urge to bawl your eyes out, for no apparent reason whatsoever. Just cry and cry until you had it all emptied out and you could take a deep breath and continue with your day. So, cry you did, and then you’d finished with your chores for the day.

Apparently letting it all out and emptying your tear supply hadn’t happened. Seeing as around 3:30 you’d started missing your boyfriend so much, the need to hear his voice had won out, so you’d called him. You felt the need to have him home to hold you because this month’s visit from mother flow was making you feel like a crybaby.

But then there was disappointment at the notion that you needed to wait close to 3 hours before that could happen. So you quickly ended the call before he could pick up on the tone of your voice, and then you shed a few tears.

Now here you were, rewatching Mamma Mia because you really needed a pick me up, and once again, eyes shining as the tears started falling. At this point, it was a losing battle, so you let them fall, humming to the song with a broken voice.

That’s exactly how Spencer found you, not a minute later. His keys were in his hand, the satchel on his shoulder, and he was just a little bit out of breath.

The moment his eyes met you, they softened as he dropped everything and sat down next to you. His hand reached up and he cradled the side of your face, wiping your tears away.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper.

“Look at Donna painting Sophie’s nails, it’s...” You hiccuped, another wave of tears washing over you. “And you’re home, why are you home?” Your question was met with a furrow in his brow, as his thumbs continued wiping underneath your eyes.

“You called.” He answered simply.

“But you said-” He stopped you before you could finish your sentence.

“I did, yes. But you sounded off and sad, so. Want to tell me what’s going on?” He prompted you gently as he pushed your hair back and pulled you into his lap after, feeling like you needed the physical contact.

You weren’t ashamed to admit it, per se, but you were ashamed that your hormones had caused him to leave work and race home to be with you.

“It’s my period,” you mumbled, hands wrapping around his neck as you hid your face in his chest, too tired to prevent your eyes from watering again. “It’s been going on all day. Randomly, I’d just get so emotional, and the tears would start. I was missing you so much too, and then hearing the song, bam, tears again. I’m so done with this Spence.” You sounded barely coherent, with your face pushed as close to him as possible.

It all made sense now, you’d been cranky a few days ago, and then you’d told him last night your cramps were unbearable, so he knew you were on your period, but right now he felt like an idiot for not figuring it out himself.

“It’s okay, everything is fine. The drop in estrogen and progesterone, following your ovulation triggered this. This in turn reduced the production of serotonin, your happy hormone. So, we just need to boost it a bit.” He whispered into your ear as you played with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“How?” You sighed into his chest, almost being able to pick up on the sound of his heartbeat.

He got deep in thought for a few seconds as you breathed in his scent, and a sense of calmness slowly overtook you now that he was home and holding you. One of his hands was running soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand, fingers interlocked.

“How about we take a trip to the store and get you some snacks? We’ll pick up dinner on the way home and then I'll hold you some more and you'll pick a movie for us to watch.” He suggested, kissing the crown of your head once, twice, and many more times until you gave him an answer.

“Yeah, yeah, I think that would help, but just having you here has done wonders.” You finally laid your head against his chest, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiled, and so did you. Having him here really had helped immensely, and when had it not? He was your other half, your rock, and even when your emotions ran rampant or you were feeling down, just his presence, his touch, and his understanding were enough to make it all okay.

Later in the evening, Penelope sent you a photo of Sergio sleep-hugging a little plushy you’d gotten him, and the waterworks started all over again. Luckily, Spencer was there, wiping your tears and kissing your head, saying a thousand things without actually speaking a word.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Requests are open for both Spencer and Hotch if you want to send any!

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic

1K notes · View notes

mariasont · 3 days ago

Note

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart? There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him.

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are.

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it.

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back.

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

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#aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #hotchner #hotch #criminal minds smut

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