#Y/n is either eighteen or nineteen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeeterthek33per · 8 months ago

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Kissin' and Kickin' Charm (Glódís Perla Viggósdóttir x reader)

A/n not requested, but this woman does not get the love she deserves, so I'm making it happen.

Munich is a hell of a lot different than home.

Of course, you expected that, you aren't stupid...

Not entirely anyway.

There's a charm to the city. A much different one than the small Texan town you're used to, but it's a homely charm, if any.

A much broader, explorative city with ins and outs, beautiful buildings, and on the outskirts, something you've come to realise you feel more at home in than the city, areas with wide open flatlands and albeit manmade, forested areas.

It's definitely a big city, with many towns and a lot of diverse structuring.

It's a lot.

But it's your new home.

At least for the next three years, anyway.

You imagine yourself at home in the ranch right now.

Kicking up dirt, green grass and if you're really lucky, mud and puddles. All of that on your horse, Sweets, that you got for your tenth birthday.

In fact, you'd be there right now, at home on the ranch, if it wasn't for one teeny tiny detail.

Soccer.

For whatever reason, that was the sport your child brain picked to become your newest obsession. Except, it never stopped being that way. You lived and breathed it.

It surprised the hell out of your parents.

They'd never imagined their little, quiet, leather boots, horseback riding, ranch loving daughter kicking around a soccer ball.

But that's what you wanted.

And that's what you did in your spare time.

At first, they were adamant you didn't play it. They refused, insisting that if you wanted to get into any sport, it had to be either American football or horse riding.

But after sneaking home a ball to boot around for the umpteenth time, they relented, letting you take it on.

And take it on, you did.

It got to the point where you were severely outclassing the only all boys teams in your tiny town.

Enough so that someone visiting, who happened to have the right associations, scouted you for the youth academy in Houston.

You went up through the academy, which survived despite the rise and fall of the women's league in the US several times.

Eventually, you were contracted for the first time at eighteen.

It was a big deal.

Small town girl makes her first appearance for the big leagues and despite your parents earlier disappointment in your choice of career, they were now prouder than ever watching you take on the world.

Of course, with that growth, came your first call up to the national team at age nineteen.

That little tidbit had your Mama crying harder than the day you were born. She couldn't have been prouder to see you represent your country.

Playing amongst the likes of legends like Tobin Heath, Heather O'Reilly and even Abby Wambach for a short period, you thrived.

The immense pressure was nothing like you'd ever felt, and you loved it.

Even as reserved as you are, you love a good challenge.

With the call-up, the demand to have you increased, and eventually, at the age of twenty-four, you, rather tearfully, said goodbye to the Dash and moved to Portland to join your national teammates, Sonnett and Horan.

You've spent the past four years there, although you aren't the biggest fan of the city life. You loved the soccer fanbase.

The thorns are well loved by the people in the city and some of the greatest players you've known, to date, play for them.

Of course, playing with the greatest players of all time means you yourself catch the attention of overseas scouters.

It's not the first time it's happened.

Every year, you get calls from your manager letting you know about the offers from clubs in countries you'd never dreamed of seeing before.

That being said, you'd always turned them down, not wanting to leave your home country just yet.

Until now, that is.

When the offer from FC Bayern came through, you just knew.

You knew you had to do it, had to take that chance.

"So what do we say, Y/n?"

"... Tell I'm in if they've got a heated pitch and air-conditioning."

Had your manager chuckling at that.

Taking the time to dig into the team a bit, you end having a look at the team list.

You know the names of a few of the players there, but you'd not formally met them yet, only meeting them once or twice on the pitch.'

One name stuck out in particular though.

Of course it did, she's the captain.

Your new captain.

But there's something you admire about the Icelandic woman that immediately grabs at your soul and you end up taking the time to look up her highlights.

The perseverance, the constant drive to do better and to lift up her teammates around her.

The perfect defence with constant push and pull, defensive manoeuvres and just an overall brick wall of a woman.

The perfect captain.

So when you meet her for the first time, you're a little starstruck.

Sure, you'd done your research in advance, but actually meeting the sweetly voiced Nordic woman has you anxious in your boots beyond measure.

----

When Glódís meets the new signing, she's a little thrown off.

She knew you were American, that you were from Texas and that you most likely had a very different upbringing to the lifestyle you lived now, but the immediate southern charm that flows through your natural southern drawl has her a little flustered.

She doesn't expect the charming smile or the way you call her ma'am and warmly shake her hand, expressing, rather sheepishly, your excitement to meet her.

"It's lovely meetin' you, Ma'am. I've heard a lot about everything you've done for this club and your country. It's incredible, actually, not to sound too much like I'm kissin' up here, but really."

Your head ducks a little, cheeks reddening at your own rambling.

It's adorable, she decides.

"You talk me up a lot for someone of her own incredible skill."

Her smile widens at the way your cheeks darken further under her teasing compliment.

"Oh, I mean, that's... it's not everything I want to achieve. It feels like I've had it a little easier than a lot of the ladies I've seen and played with and known personally. I'm just excited to be here and to get to be a part of something this big. With y'all, at that."

"We're glad to have you on board with us, then. I think you'll fit right in here. The girls have been begging me to let them in the door for the past thirty minutes while you were doing the contract signing."

She gestures to the windowed door to the room, which, with a quick glance, you spot the eagerly waiting players, grinning and waving like kids at you.

It makes you feel a little more anxious now.

Such big names in German and international football and here they are, giddily waiting for you to finish your media duties and finally get to meet little old you.

It feels surreal.

When you turn back to the captain, she's already smiling warmly back at you, and after the okay from you and the management in the room, they let them in.

It's almost too much, the way they all excitedly introduce themselves despite in many cases not having to, with the way you get flustered as you know them well already, having maybe, quite possibly also looked the rest of them up in a bit more detail, purely out of nervousness.

Also, the friendliness of it all.

Normally, with new signings at Portland, it always felt super cold and competitive, definitely a lot colder in the introductions, done during training rather than in a room on the campus.

Of course, after a couple of months, the players did warm up to you, but there's always the cold air about the veterans on the team, all of them wary of you and your abilities.

Always the stress of having your position on the team ousted by the new and shiny youngins for so much as running the wrong way.

Here, in Munich, Germany, in the clubs training facility, in a meeting room, your new clubs teammates welcome you with warm open arms, an air of bubbly enthusiasm and many, many hugs rather than the cold and firm handshakes you're used to.

You recognise a few of them, particularly Magdalena, a regular opponent from Sweden and her national teammate Linda, as well as of course, the German players, the English player, Georgia and Jill Baijings, a member of the Dutch National Team you'd faced just months before at the World Cup.

Regardless of the rivalry held at the international level, they're surprisingly warm, quickly dragging you into hugs themselves.

At least, it's surprising for you.

It feels different here.

It is different here.

You find yourself leaning into it more and more, the more you chat with the team.

It goes on for an hour or so before you're dragged away for more media duties.

The girls are rather reluctant to let their new friend go, waving you goodbye with warm smiles, but small pouts as their chuckling captain ushers them from the room, leaving you with one last grin and a wink that sends heat to your cheeks and shivers down your spine.

Well.

You'll be damned.

That just happened.

----

"She's so cute! I love her accent. She's so sweet with the way she talks too."

The gushing from Giulia is quickly resounded by the other's around her.

"Right? The way she kept calling us Ma'am and Miss. It's too sweet. And her accent, it's so smooth."

"Oh my god, I know Americans aren't the most well known for being nice to listen to, but I listen to her talk all day."

"She's really good too, I've seen her highlights."

There's a few small gasps and protests from around the room.

"Oi! Syd! Why haven't you shown us yet?"

"Hold on, let me just -"

"Guys! Seriously, what the hell are you doing? I've been looking for you for ages. Put the phone away, you all have training to do."

The resounding voice in the changeroom comes from a stern looking Glódís. She's normally quite gentle toned with them, but they were taking far too long to get out on the pitch, leaving their captain wondering where the hell half her team was.

"But we want to see how good Y/n is, Syd's got the highlights here."

"No, you can see how good she is when she joins us for training after her medical assessment. Now come on, or you'll be running laps for making the rest of the team wait on you all."

There's groans of disappointment, but to their rather swift credit, they do promptly exit the changeroom and make their way to the pitch where an also stern looking Alexander Straus is waiting for them, the team's manager, followed closely by Glódís, who's small smile contradicts her rolling eyes and annoyed head shaking.

----

When you do join them, you're quickly grabbed by Glódís, the captain having unofficially ruled that any new signings get paired with her first to properly welcome them to the team, and to also get them settled into her captaincy style and to adapt them to the dynamic of the team.

It's a way to get you properly integrated into the very familial like nature of it all.

Glódís seems very much like the mother of the team. All of them best friends but very much like siblings and but a few of the other older women taking the younger one's under their wings as parental figures on their own.

You figure it as a way to keep some semblance of structure amongst the chaos of the team.

The captain, it seems, is at the head of this, ensuring all of them work well together, the team is lifted for their triumphs, and picked back up with every miscalculated cross and shot, and dragged back onto their feet after every tackle or mistimed step.

Training with Glódís is intense, a good kind of intense. You find yourself enjoying the calculated, focused nature of her defensive manoeuvring.

But it's also warm, the occasional chatter between you leaving you both laughing at the other person's jokes and small mishaps as you settle in.

Her giggles are nothing if not contagious, and you can't help the grin that grows more and more the more you spend time with her.

It doesn't go unnoticed by the others, them taking note of the way their normally much more drill oriented captain has relaxed a bit.

Of course, she's friendly, smart, smiley and very much welcoming, but she's never been this laid back during drills, especially not when she's always expecting to set precedents with the new signings.

But this was definitely different to that.

The lingering touches, hip bumps and tone of laughter are different from the ones she's always held with the rest of the team. It's a little lighter, more giggly and full of a tone they themselves hadn't heard from her.

It was startling to see, nearly.

Glódís was... flirting?

Intentional or not, they didn't know, but it was definitely a flirty tone.

Not that you could tell, bless your oblivious self. You had no idea.

You matched the tone of lightness, of course. But you weren't picking up on everything else, thinking she's just naturally like that.

A very friendly captain.

The other girls know otherwise though, and the knowing looks they share later when your cute celebration after managing to meg the brick wall of a captain has her smirking slightly at your adorableness.

One thing she notices is that the more excited you get, the more your accent comes out.

It's adorable, she realises.

----

The second training isn't much different to the first.

You don't pay it much attention outside of friendliness, but Glódís takes a quick liking to you, now having claimed you for all paired warmups and drills.

Occasionally, you get stolen away every once in a while, leaving you feeling very much like the cool kid on the block.

There's something else, though.

It's in the way the Icelander smiles at you. It's in the way she hugs you every time you score in a mini game.

You brush it off, thinking, once again, she's just being friendly.

But it's a thought that sits in the back of your mind anyway.

You feel like it's a glimmer of hope. You're not sure what for or why but it's there.

Maybe it's a sign of a great friendship blooming.

Yeah.

That's what it is.

Ever since that, it's been amazing training with the team.

Your first match is just weeks after signing.

Your first minutes come as a sub for Klara in the sixtieth minute.

And it's not too long after that that you score your first goal for the club against Leipzig.

It's a beauty too.

A long range effort after a foward pass to Pernille is rebounded back to you.

It was an accident really.

You were aiming for the head of Lea but instead it curls a little more than you intend it to and it bends into the upper right corner of the netting, far past the outstretched gloves of the Swiss keeper, Elvira Herzog.

It feels a little silly, but you can't help the blush when you feel your captain hug you super tightly and lift you up in celebration.

"Let's go, that's our girl!"

----

It's been two months with the team and two and a half living in Germany. You've got a small cottage in the outer district of Munich, with enough yard to set up small drills and other various exercises.

There's been plenty of outings for you, finding yourself socialising far more than you used to back in Portland.

You don't hate it, though.

The whole team has been nothing but sweet to you, and it seems they're already attached, each player having dragged you on outings themselves, whether it be individually or with groups of them.

You're not sure why they've taken quite such a liking, but you think it might have something to do with the fact they keep asking questions for you and you alone to answer, or just anything to get you to talk, really.

You don't mind it. Bless 'em.

They're already like family to you.

Tonight is no different when it comes to being dragged to outings and team bonding nights.

Only this time, it's to a club in central Munich, having been allowed a little freedom given they dont a match this weekend. You yourself don't drink much, but some of the other girls do, so they've let loose, of course, under the watch of their captain and a few of the older girls acting as designated drivers.

There's a small nudge to your shoulder where you're leaning against a standing table.

"Hey you."

You'd recognise that sweet voice anywhere, humming as you turn to the suddenly appeared Glódís at your side.

"Well, hello, having fun there, Sweetheart?"

Glódís' lips perk up at your words.

"Always."

She takes a glance at the cup in your hand.

"Not drinking much? You can let loose a bit tonight, I'm letting you guys off the hook for tomorrow's training. Once in a lifetime opportunity L/n."

She winks at you, and you smile at her, amused.

You shake your head when she nods towards your still half full glass of vodka and soda.

"Nah, I want to be able to get up tomorrow, training or not."

She chuckles, nodding in agreement.

"Oh, to be young and dumb enough to drink like that once upon a time."

"Don't say it like that. You're only twenty-eight."

You huff playfully.

"Please, you and I both know neither of us would make it out alive if we-"

She cuts herself off, gesturing to the very rowdy girls taking another round of shots.

"Well... you're not wrong. To being old and susceptible to hangovers."

She giggles, and you hold out your glass towards hers, meeting her in the middle with a small clink and you both take a sip, her eyes never leaving yours.

"Woah there grandma. Not too hard now."

As you go to take another sip.

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you nudge her.

Turning back towards the group, you groan watching them take another round of shots.

"Oh sweet baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph. How the hell are we gettin' them home."

She pats your head with a small chuckle.

"With a lot of herding and the good old divide and conquer, cowgirl."

Then she moves off to go find Pernille and Magda on the other side of the room.

"You know, you and Glódís would be a super adorable couple."

A pair of arms wrap around your neck as a very drunk Sarah hangs onto you for stability, hear head leaning on your shoulder, and your arm moves to hold onto her so she doesn't hit the floor.

"Sarah, little miss, it's really cute that you wanna include me, but you know I don't speak German."

"One, I'm older than you, Two, sucks to be you."

A poke to the cheek following that, as she sticks out her tongue.

"Aren't you taking German classes anyway?"

"Yeah, but doesn't mean I understand the dialect of drunken soccer player yet."

She pouts at you before grumbling and resting her head back on it's spot on your shoulder.

"What I said was, you and Glódís would make a good couple."

Your cheeks immediately flame up, and your whole body tenses, wondering if you even heard the Austrian right.

"What-"

You clear your throat softly.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're already attached at the hip like no other. I've never seen her like this with anyone else. Even her old friend, Karólína."

"She's probably just missin' her then, Sar"

"If you say so."

It's just about mumbled into your shirt and you're beginning to realise that despite the pumping music, she's starting to exhaust pretty quickly with the way she's leaning further and further into you until you have to sit her down in one of the teams half occupied booths where she settles into another teammates arms.

With a small chuckle, you leave her to it, them saying they'd be heading out soon anyways and would take her home.

As you return to your spot at the table, you can't help but think back on what she said.

Despite her inebriation, what she said held weight in your mind.

And it ends with you eyeing up the woman through the small crowd over the lip of your drink.

You catch her looking back several times, each time sheet meets your eye, you think you imagine it, but her eyes crinkle a bit, and her smile gets a little brighter.

----

"You know, if you keep looking at her like that, she might catch onto you there, Glódí."

She knows she's not being subtle, but she can't help the way her eyes drift over to you.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Schülli."

"I think you do."

Glódís bites her lower lip as she watches you set the very drunk Sarah down by Sam and Linda (The Swedish one) before moving back to where you were, carefully watching over the girls on the dance floor.

It seems, with even just a few months with the team, you're already looking out for them like your own.

When you make eye contact with her for the fourth time in ten minutes, she smiles just that little bit more, which you quickly match.

Though, it seems, she doesn't expect the wink you send with it.

She raises a brow at you, ducking under the cover of her glass, hoping the purple hue of the lighting masks her slightly flushed cheeks.

"Wow, she has got you already, hasn't she?"

"Shut up."

The defender quickly turns away from your direction so the striker doesn't have get given any more fuel and gives her an annoyed but small shove to the shoulder, a slight frown marring her features.

"I think you should go for it, Glódí, she clearly has something for you."

"And what if she says no? Then what? Another friendship here ruined?"

Lea pauses for a minute, watching her, as her head ducks and her cheeks flare up at the admission.

"You mean... Ka"

Glódís swiftly nods, shushing the forward.

"Is that why she hasn't-"

She nods again.

The tips of her ears burn in shame under the taller German's gaze.

She hadn't meant to bring it up, but it just slipped out.

Karólína hadn't exactly reacted badly as such, but things between them haven't been the same since then, and with her being on loan now, they really spoken, if at all.

It still hurt, the look in her eyes as she tried her best to let her best friend down gently. Even then, months later, after the international break together, it still hurt.

After that, she'd sworn off dating teammates.

Hence, she hesitates to even think about pursuing anything with you.

She can't help the pang of hope she gets when you smile so brightly at her, though.

The sweet, charming, smooth tone you hold with her.

The way you hold her just a little bit longer and tighter than you do with the others.

But that's what she thought with Karólína, too.

And she was oh so wrong there.

So what's stopping her from being wrong now, right?

"That's why it can't happen, Lea. I'm not going through that again. I can't risk losing her or risk the team possibly being affected by it."

Lea smiles sympathetically at her captain, hand resting on her shoulder with a small squeeze.

It's silent between them for a few moments before the blonde speaks up again.

"Then don't worry about it. Now come on, I think it's time we get this rowdy lot home, it's nearing midnight."

Glódís sighs in appreciation and nods, looking over to the singing and dancing group of players followed by her gaze ultimately drifting over to you once more, returning the familiar warm smile she receives.

----

"Alright, come on, time for you to go to bed, little miss."

There's a small giggle from the drunkenly slurring blonde as you walk her up to her front door, your hands rifling her pockets for her keys.

"You're so cute."

Giulia pokes your cheek with one finger, and you roll your eyes, ignoring the flush creeping up your neck when you hear Glódís' muffled laughter behind you.

You'd turn to give her a glare but you're a bit preoccupied.

"And you are very inebriated."

Finally acquiring the keys from her back pocket, which she giggles again and wiggles her eyebrows at you for, earning herself another eyeroll as you drag her inside finally.

"You sure you got her there?"

The amused chuckle from the doorway makes you groan as she watches your stubborn self herd the blonde woman, currently letting herself lean completely on you, into her bedroom to at least encourage her to bed for the night.

"I am perfectly capable, thank you."

You're sure she doesn't believe that, but you believe it enough yourself to give up and let the now giggling woman help you as she observes on your masterpiece of drunk person wrangling.

Said drunk person now dead weight in your arms whining about not wanting to go to bed yet, to which you just plop her on the mattress finally and despite her protests, she's asleep in seconds.

Turning to Glódís triumphantly, you catch her amused smirk.

"Yeah yeah, real funny. I'd like to see you do that."

She shrugs, shaking her head.

"You're the one that insisted on bringing her in yourself, without help."

Grumbling, you make sure Giulia is fully on the bed before dropping her keys by the door and exiting and locking it on the way out.

Now, the both of you are stood in the darkness outside, with the last of the girls dropped home already, a collaborative effort thanks to Pernille, Magda, both Lindas and Jovana.

It's just you and her, now.

It's a cool winter night, nearing the end of the season but still cold enough that you're half shivering in front of the older woman.

You're both silent, your eyes drifting over her features lit up under the faint glow of the street lamp.

You swear, she gets even prettier every day.

The subtle but sharp line of her jaw, the way her hair almost glows under the moonlight, and the soft pink tint to her cheeks from the cold all have your heart beating a little quicker.

The way her eyes sparkle as they scan yours from across the porch.

The way her lips quirk up slightly under your gaze, brow raising just a bit.

"You okay?"

Her words snap you out of your assessment, and you hum softly, quickly recovering.

"Just a little tired, let's get on home then, Darlin?"

She nods and turns to head towards her car.

It doesn't surprise her when you jog ahead of her to open the driver side door for her, having done it every single time now since leaving the club.

"Such a gentlewoman."

Apparently, she hadn't grown tired of it yet, so that's a start.

It's a soft teasing tone that you poke your tongue out at her at before jumping in the passenger side.

On the drive out to your place outside of the city, her arm rests on the centre console, lined up next to yours as you hum along to the song on the radio, gazing out the window but also occasionally glancing over at her, scanning her side profile.

If she can feel your gaze on her, she doesn't really react.

It remains quiet for most of the drive, with the occasional hum or murmur along with the music.

It's not an awkward silence, but one you both need after tonight's activities.

Every so often, your pinkies brush, and every time they do, there's a small jolt of electricity that shoots up you arm from where they meet.

The moment you're in your own driveway, you bid her a soft and sweet thanks with a gentle nudge and give her a small wink and wave as she pulls way again.

She's thankful you're not there to hear her most likely audible heart beating in her chest the rest of the way home again.

----

Her heart racing at everything you do doesn't stop that night.

In fact, it gets worse.

It feels like everything you do has it beating beyond her rib cage.

It frustrates her, actually.

Every time she gets placed on something she needs full focus and attention for, she's been perfect for, but if you're there next to her?

Forget it.

Media duties?

Sitting next to you, she can feel your leg occasionally brush hers, arms brushing on the table every time you set it down from making gestures and whatnot.

Coach speeches during half time?

It's like you're doing it on purpose knowing she can't focus when you're standing behind her, hands resting on her shoulders, warmth radiating against her back with how close you are.

At one point, she's convinced you are doing it on purpose when she looks back and up at you, head tilted to make eye contact with you with a brow kinked up as you look down at her with a small smirk and a wink.

The more it goes, the less she knows how to function around you.

Individual post game interviews?

Even with you just moving around her doing various interviews with different journalists. A small brush of shoulders here, a hand gliding across her lower back as you move past her there.

At this rate, she feels like she's drowning in you and she's not even trying to move away.

Paired up interviews?

It feels like she's at her wits end with this one.

You're brought in together for a two-on-one interview for some football media page she can't remember the name of. There, seated on a couch, you're not even really doing anything. Except for the arm you have over the back of the lounge, resting just behind her head.

You aren't seated so close that you're pressed together. But you are close enough she can smell your perfume and it's making her head spin a little.

Hell, she feels like she should be used to hearing you speak by now, but it still has her feeling like she can't think properly with you around.

How she plans on surviving this, she doesn't know, but all she knows if she doesn't do something, she's going to lose her mind.

----

You know you shouldn't do it.

Really.

There's not even a guarantee she likes you back right?

Still, you can't help teasing her a little.

She doesn't confront you about it, she doesn't tell you to stop and as far as you can tell, she's not uncomfortable.

Your captain has always been verbal about how she's feeling when she's talking to people...

Mostly.

But she never leans away from you, only ever receiving a flushed face or an eye brow in response at most.

You can tell it's flustering her though.

By the way she's so quick to hide her reddened cheeks.

It's in the most adorable way that she rolls her eyes at your teasing comments when she scores a pretty good goal.

Small touches here and there, innocent touches. Nothing more than brushes and occasional times of brushing away grass from her face after particularly rough tackles.

The soft smile and drawl flowing from you asking how she's holding up makes it worth it.

Even though you may not be able to kiss her, her smile? Totally worth it.

----

Glódís feels like she's at her breaking point right about now.

When she's getting distracted during a game, a champions league game at that, that's a major problem.

You're both lined up for offence on a free kick when you're pressed in between her and an opposition player while she pressures the player in front.

It takes one brush of your hands on her waist and she's distracted long enough to miss jumping for the header on time.

Instead, you make it to the header, the ball flying into the back of the net as you take off running in celebration, having broken the deadlock in the final minute of stoppage.

Which turns into celebrations of the win the moment the whistle blows for full time and you're piled on for saving the teams chances at a spot in the quarter final over PSG.

The screams of the home crowd are drowned out as she waits impatiently for the end of her on field media duties.

Being the captain sucked sometimes, but it had to be done.

The moment she's free, she's jogging straight over to you and you're being dragged away off the field before you can even realise what's happening.

You had your own media duties, ones that you were currently shirking right now not being out there.

The moment you realise it's Glódís, the protests you had ready die in your throat, left with minor confusion the further down the obscure hallways she drags you until you're both in a secluded area and you're shoved into a broom closet with the door slammed shut behind both of you.

"What's goin-"

It takes all of a moment for her to grab you by the collar and slam you against the door leaving you a little winded and confused.

"Whatever it is you're doing, needs to stop. You're driving me crazy."

"What are you-"

"Don't play dumb with me, every time you so much as come near me, you brush past me, you so much as stand near me, I can't think and it's like you damn well know it, too."

It suddenly clears up there. You definitely didn't weren't doing it entirely on purpose.

Well, maybe.

Okay, it may have been a little on purpose, but you had no idea she was this affected.

"Look, I can stop if it's making you uncomfortable but Glódís... I... I kind of really like you and..."

----

Oh.

Well that changes things.

You actually like her?

You weren't just teasing her?

----

Before you can say much else, her hands cup your face and her lips are on yours in one movement.

Anticipating the action, your arms are around her in an instant, pulling her as close to you as possible, her body hot against yours despite the almost raging cold out on the pitch.

Her hands are firm on your face not letting you go for even a second, her lips fervent and sure as they move with yours.

It's only when you pull away for air that she finally relaxes into your hold for the first time.

Your hands are pressed into her lower back, hers now pressed into your shoulders as she looks slightly down at you, being just shorter than her by an inch.

The two of you just breathe for a moment, taking the moment in.

"You know. If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to was ask, Sweetheart."

She huffs.

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

There's a small guffaw on your face after that.

"What did I do?"

She almost believes the innocent look on your face.

The small upturn of your lips let's her know otherwise though.

"What didn't you do?"

And she kisses you again, slower and more tender this time, slowly pressing you back into the wall, slotting herself easily between your legs.

With your chest pressed to hers, you can finally feel the way her heart races, and she can finally feel yours, too.

There's always been something about you.

Guess it's just part of your charm.

----

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #glódís viggósdóttir x reader #glódís viggósdóttir imagine #glódís viggósdóttir imagines #glódís perla viggósdóttir x reader #glódís perla viggósdóttir imagine #glódís perla viggósdóttir imagines #fc bayern frauen x reader #fc bayern imagine #fc bayern imagines #woso oneshot #woso oneshots

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mcuamerica · 6 months ago

Text

The Shadowsinger: Twenty-One

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Canon-level violence (blood, gore, fighting, killing, death), mentions of SA, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You continue to compete in the Blood Rite.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen - Twenty

“What are you doing here?” You asked him. “You should’ve completed the Rite years ago…”

“I just qualified for it this winter… (Y/N), we all thought you were dead.” He said and stepped closer to you, making you take a step back. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just saved your life.” He said.

“I was doing just fine by myself.” You replied, grabbing your spear from the ground. “I don’t need help.”

“I’m not here to help you. I just think it might be easier to have an ally out here than not.” He said.

“And you don’t have a little band of brothers here?” You asked.

“All my friends have completed the Rite already.” He said and let out a breath. “We should keep moving.” He said.

You looked at him and held back a scowl as you started to walk. “Took you a while to qualify for this, hmm?” You asked and looked at him.

“I have a mate,” he said. “And I’ve been focused on caring for her since her father clipped her wings when she was young.”

You glanced at him. If he thought he was going to get any sympathy from you... “I don’t speak to our father anymore, either.” He said. “When our brothers didn’t find you, he got more brutal… and I decided I had enough.”

“Good for you,” you ground out. “I’m glad you had the choice of leaving and being able to live a normal life.” You said.

“How did you end up here?” He asked.

“I’m not telling you anything about myself.” You said. “And if you don’t be quiet you’re going to draw attention to us and get us both killed.” You said and continued walking.

“I just want to make Oristian.” He said, keeping pace with you. He was 10 when you left Valorworth. Had he always been this annoying?

“I just want to survive.” You muttered and looked forward, taking a deep breath. “Just stay quiet and stay out of my way. You hunt your own food and water.” You said. “And if I catch even a whiff that you’re going to turn on me, you won’t make it to the mountain.” You said.

“You’re taking the north way? It’s harder.” He said.

You closed your eyes. “I know.” You said through gritted teeth.

“If we-“

“There is no we,” you said and spun on him. That rage that was buried deep down was bubbling to the surface now. “It’s just you. And me. We are not friends. We are not family. If you insist on sticking by me, keep your mouth shut and don’t get me killed.” You said.

He faltered his steps, frowning at your words. “Okay.” He said.

You turned back around and continued to walk, saying those three words again in your mind to calm yourself back down.

Survive. Mountain. Mate.

Being pissed wouldn’t get you anywhere but buried in the ground.

Day 4-5

The fourth day went by quickly. You and Varyn ran into two separate groups that you took out easily. Varyn seemed to know one of them, but didn’t seem too upset when you killed them. You ripped your cloak more and found some flowers to clean your arm wound with water. It was wrapped as tight as possible to keep the elements out. It had stopped bleeding once water hit it.

Varyn still wouldn’t shut up. When you were alone he would tell you about the war camp, about his mate, Wessian, and about your elder brothers. As if you wanted to know anything about his life. The life that you fled from because of your father. You didn’t blame Varyn for it, he was 10 and could barely fly properly. But that didn’t change the fact that your father raised him. Even if Varyn left the second he could.

You were half a day's walk from Ramiel when you got into bigger trouble.

That group of 5 males was back again. You knew you would regret leaving them alive. They surrounded you again. This time, you had even less sleep, less food, and less strength than you did before. But you had Varyn. From the previous day and a half, you knew he could fight.

It didn’t go very well for you. But it went worse for them. The main brunette had left a nasty gash in your right calf. Your lip was busted open and your left eye almost swollen shut from where one of his friends hit your head with a bludgeon. And you were pretty sure another one of them twisted your left wrist even worse than it was before. Varyn was in slightly better shape, his legs were fine but you could tell his ribs were definitely not okay.

You found a stream, filled your canteen and cleaned your wounds. You just hoped that the water was clean enough not to cause infection.

This time you were glad that you killed them.

Day 6

You made it to Ramiel. Your leg was killing you, but you made it to the mountain. Your second priority was finished. You would be titled Oristian with Varyn. But once he saw it, he wanted to keep going. You knew you couldn’t make the climb, but being alone with your leg’s condition worsening wouldn’t be a good choice either. So you chose to follow him.

You told him about your new family. About Cassian, Mor, Amren, Feyre, Rhys… and Azriel. You left out the part of him being your mate. If you focused on it too long, you could swear you could feel the tug. Buried deep deep down from the spells that suppress magic. You knew he could feel it too, if it even snapped for him when it did for you.

You told him that you were a Shadowsinger and a spy for Amarantha, and Rhys took you to his home after you found Sirona, Igna, and Oran dead. You told him how you found a place in the Night Court. And it was your home.

You just had to last one more day, two more nights, and you could go back to your home. To your mate.

You found a cave on the mountain, probably half way up, trusting Varyn enough at this stage to actually sleep. It was a mistake.

Day 7

It was the last day. If you survived till dawn, you would be back home. With Azriel. But when you awoke in the morning, there was something sharp poking the side of your neck.

“We can’t let a female win, can we?” You heard someone say. It was familiar, but you couldn’t place the voice. You opened your eyes, going to struggle but you found yourself restrained. A terrible feeling washed over you as you saw your brother laying on the ground, gasping as he held his stomach. He was bleeding out. A lot. He wouldn’t make it till dawn. He wouldn’t even make it till noon. Not unless you could bind it. And you were pretty sure your leg was infected by the way it felt when the Illyrian restraining you pulled you to your feet. Your head spun, and you figured you had a fever as well from the flush you felt on your cheeks and the chill that ran through your body despite the lack of wind.

“Maybe we’ll clip your wings. Tear them right off of you. And then fuck you until your dead. Or close to it.” You recognized the male. It was Nearsen. He was the one who you fought the day before the qualifying course. “And then, we’ll show your wings to that pretty boy and the Lord Commander. See how they force females upon us then.” He said.

You couldn’t even struggle against the grip of the male holding you. Did they drug you with something? Your head felt a lot heavier than it should for a fever. “You won’t touch me.” You managed to get out, wincing when Nearsen grabbed your top and pulled it towards him, causing it to rip in the process. Luckily, you still had your second layer beneath so he couldn’t see anything. That was when he took a rock and tore threw the rest of your top, exposing the top half of your body.

“Might want to mind your tongue, princess. It won’t make it easier for you if you fight.” He said.

You glanced over to your brother as he slowly bled to death. The only thing in his eyes was horror. Something new snapped inside of you. You couldn’t let another one of your family members die. Not if you were alive and conscious. Even if you denounced the Vash name long ago. You wouldn’t let him die. Not like this. And you sure as hell wouldn't let another male harm you without fighting.

You took a deep breath, groaning when Nearsen pushed in on the festering wound on your leg. You took your chance while his head was down, kneeing him in the groin. You quickly moved your neck before they could jab the small wooden stake in it. You hit a pressure point below their arm, seeing the stake drop. You caught it, immediately bringing it up to stab the male behind you in the neck. You recognized him too. But you didn’t dare think too much about it as you stood up straight, ignoring the pain in your leg. You held the small wooden stake, now dripping with blood.

Nearsen and two other males closed in on you. Both were injured, and one could barely walk straight from the broken leg he had. You went for him next, dodging Nearsen and knocking the injured one out. You did the same to the other male, easily finding that pressure point. Whatever weakness that you woke up to was gone. Anger and determination pulsed through your veins.

Nearsen sneered, going to lunge at you but you simply hit his pressure point, watching as he fell down. You should kill them while they were down. You learned the cost once before. But you were concerned about your brother. You threw your cloak off, running over to him.

“How bad is it?” You asked as you poured the little water you had left on the wound before tying off his injury as tight as you could.

“I’m not bleeding from my mouth yet.” He coughed and you shook your head.

He told you what happened as you helped him up, both of you limping out of the cave into the late morning. How they jumped him and stabbed him before he even saw what was coming. They covered his mouth so he couldn’t warn you too.

You glanced back, cursing yourself for not killing the three males laying in the cave. But you were closer to the top than you thought, still about halfway up the mountain. You were on the easier route of the mountain as well, not the hardest part. You could make it by dawn if you didn’t stop. And if you were correct, the monolith on top of Ramiel would heal your wounds.

So you helped Varyn up, closer and closer to the peak. You had to let go of him, climbing the rocks instead of walking at certain points. Night had fallen, and you could barely see. But as soon as dawn hit, you would be free. You could see the moon setting, getting closer to the peak as it did.

You were doing well until you heard the three males chasing you. You slipped, your hand scraping against the rock. “Go faster.” You yelled to Varyn, who was ahead of you. You bit down on your tongue as you climbed, each wound you had yelled at you to stop. But you had to get up there. You made it to a pass where you didn’t have to climb. Varyn helped you up the best he could and then you both sprinting up the mountain. The moon was almost set. Dawn was nearing. The sun just about to peak over the horizon. You could see the top of Ramiel. You let Varyn climb before you, starting after him.

He waited for you at the top. He wouldn’t touch it without you. You gritted your teeth, pulling yourself up. Your leg was basically dead weight. If you made it back alive, you weren’t sure your leg would survive.

You almost made it to the top. Almost touched that stone as you felt a spear lodge in the top of your left wing. So close to the tendon you could’ve sworn it tore right through it. You let go of the rock you were holding on to, feeling your body give way to your injuries. Your wings fought against the bindings as they tried to free themselves. Tried to keep you from falling. But you were. Tumbling down the mountain. More and more wounds littering your body. Until you landed on the pass where you sprinted. Your arm broke. Every breath hurt. You faintly heard Varyn yell. Your wings twitched at the broken bones, the wooden spear that was lodged in it had pierced all the way through. You were sure the tendon snapped. And just as you saw the sun peek out from the ground, you succumbed to the darkness.

A/N: My note from what I was writing this reads: "heheehehhe cliff hangeerrr (almost literally)…." Stay tuned for Monday!

Comments/Request Here

Series Masterlist

Join the taglist here

Tagging (thank you to everyone who is keeping up with this story! Let me know your thoughts so far!)

@cherry-cin @cleverzonkwombatsludge @nickishadow139 @mybestfriendmademe @atomolvnar @complete-randomness-blog @lilah-asteria @tele86 @mariahoedt @6v6babycheese @secretsthathauntus @krowiathemythologynerd @fightmedraco @he6rtshaker @kayla-rose15 @aelincaddel

@mfri06 @hauntedstudentobservationus @brieflyclassymortal @read-write-sleep-startover @krowiathemythologynerd @chxosangxl @ialwayscryatendings @tanyaherondale @randombibitch @plants-w0rld @etsukomoonbeam @riorgail

@herondale-lightworm

#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #the shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #katie writes

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ageingfangirl2 · 1 year ago

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A Reason To Come Back! Shanks (OPLA) Part 2

Reader is a mermaid who washed up close to death in Luffy's village and made a home for themselves. Shanks comes back and tries to convince y/n to join his crew. Shanks x Female Reader.

Part 1

Y/N

'Then join my crew!' Shanks said in a carefree manner.

That was four months ago, you didn't quite believe Shanks would go through with his promise, so you said yes.

After that first meeting, you went back to the tavern with Shanks to meet the rest of his crew, after stopping at your house to get some dry clothes. Shanks had so many questions about mermaids just like Luffy did and you tried to answer all of them. Maybe Luffy was right about him being a good guy, he gave off the vibe of someone you could trust but wouldn't want to cross.

You were nervous meeting the rest of his crew since pirates were primarily male, but they quickly put you at ease and were amazed at just how much booze you could put away, turns out that was a pro of being a mermaid. One of the newer crew tried to hit on you and it was then you revealed apparently what Shanks suspected when he heard you laugh, and that was your ability to compel. Let's just say the rest of the crew would never let the guy live down the humiliation you put him through.

Before he went to bed Shanks told Luffy of the promise he'd made to you. At first, the boy was upset that you wouldn't be joining his crew but was happy you'd both be pirates one day.

It did feel nice to let loose, laugh and have fun around others. And Shanks kept his eye on you the whole night. Maybe returning to the sea one day might just happen for you. You sketched a rough drawing of the jolly roger you'd seen during your escape, and it turned out Shanks and his crew didn't like that crew already so were all on board to help you.

During those four months, you kept yourself busy, fishing, helping around the village and keeping an eye on Luffy. You also had started putting things aside in case Shanks kept his promise and you had to join his crew which didn't seem that bad.

Today you'd just finished swimming and were returning to your house when you saw a familiar red-haired pirate sitting on your porch.

'SHANKS!' you call out.

SHANKS

I should have known y/n wouldn't be at home. They weren't in town when we arrived so I assumed they were swimming in the cove. Other than Luffy and myself no one else had been to the cove to see her mermaid form, it was her private space.

'SHANKS!' y/n calls out.

I look up to see the red-haired girl walking up the path towards me smiling and dripping wet. It was very unusual to see someone with the same hair colour as myself but y/n explained mermaids either got the colour from their mother or father or could get a mixture of both but y/n got her mother's red hair and tail.

I stand up and embrace y/n, who hugs me back. She was a lot smaller than me, but that didn't mean you should underestimate her, 'I told you I'd come back. You get younger each time I see you.'

y/n blushes at the compliment and playfully shoves me back, 'How old do you think I am Shanks?'

My face drops, this was a trap women liked to set to trip men up, 'err I don't know maybe early twenties.'

y/n grins, 'Such a charmer, we're the same age Shanks, mermaids just age slower and appear more youthful.'

I was shocked by her answer but also relieved. I said the early twenties to not sound awful when y/n could easily pass for eighteen or nineteen. At least we wouldn't have a kid on the crew with us.

'I didn't come to ask your age y/n, I came because I have something for you.'

y/n tilts their head and their eyes widen, 'what do you have for me? How's the arm by the way? Still getting used to only having one?'

Before leaving last time I'd lost my arm rescuing Luffy. I had no regrets and would do it again. It was tough but I was slowly adapting.

'Some days are harder than others but it will take time,' I reply honestly.

I reach behind me and under my cloak pull a wrapped-up piece of black fabric before handing it to y/n. y/n slowly unwraps the fabric and gasps loudly.

'You did it Shanks...this is the jolly roger I saw...thank you...' y/n stumbles over their words, tears pricking their eyes, 'what happened?'

It warmed my heart to see her get happy and emotional staring at the flag belonging to the ship that killed her family, 'they had a lot of enemies, and my crew simply pinned them against each other until they were no more. You're free to return to the sea y/n.'

y/n puts the flag down and throws themselves at me, causing me to grunt at the sudden impact but y/n wasn't that heavy so I was able to catch her as she hugged and clung onto me, 'you kept your end up so I'll keep mine, looks like I'm joining your crew Shanks.'

I laugh and put y/n down, 'Welcome to The Red Hair Pirates. I think you'll fit in nicely.'

It turned out that y/n was already packed, ready for the day to arrive. The rest of the crew and Luffy were waiting at the tavern, so we headed down there with y/n's belongings.

'I'M GOING TO MISS YOU SO MUCH Y/N!' Luffy shouts in y/n's face as soon as we enter the tavern, but y/n simply smiles and ruffles his hair not fazed by the loudness.

'I'm going to miss you more,' y/n replies and squeezes his cheek.

I clear my throat behind them and they both look up at me, 'What about me Luffy, won't you miss me?'

Luffy grins like an idiot, 'Of course, I'll miss you Shanks, you made me want to become a pirate but how many mermaids am I going to meet in my life?'

y/n sniggers, 'and since I'm now a pirate mermaid I guess you're number two in his eyes Shanks or should I say, captain.'

I roll my eyes but embrace the situation. Things were going to be a lot more interesting with y/n on the crew.

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urbancowboyjoel · 9 months ago

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Bite The Hand Masterlist

Pairing: dark! Joel Miller x f!afab!reader

Read on ao3 here | Bite The Hand Playlist

When Tess fails to come back from a run that likely took a turn for the worse, you and Joel embark on a mission to uncover what exactly happened and, hopefully, bring Tess back to Boston alive. Along the way, you and Joel are met with danger, challenges, and tribulations, coming to discover a deep understanding of each other and something much more than either of you originally anticipated.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI, slow burn: it's going to be a long fic my friends, canon divergence, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is mid 20's & Joel is mid 40's), dead dove: do not eat, canon-typical violence, Joel had PTSD, graphic descriptions of violence, eventual smut, eventual romance, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, boston QZ era, Joel is actually kind of a psycho but in a sexy way, vaginal sex, believe it or not there will be a happy ending, no beta we die like men, tw: death (chapter warnings will be incorporated when needed, and I will lyk if I update the list above)

Please let me know if you think there should be any additional tags or warnings! I try my best to tag appropriately, but sometimes things slip past me. :)

A/N: This will be a long one my friends, be ready for an interesting ride. If you would like notifications on tumblr when I post new parts, follow @urbancowboyjoel-library and turn on notifications. **title inspired by Bite The Hand by boygenius**

Update: As of May 28, 2024, I am working on completing the story before uploading. Please be patient with me! :)

My requests are open! I would love the writing practice as well as to interact with all of you lovely beings. Feel free to drop one in my inbox... click here!

Chapters

Prologue

Bite The Hand: Chapter One

Bite The Hand: Chapter Two

Bite The Hand: Chapter Three

Bite The Hand: Chapter Four

Bite The Hand: Chapter Five

Bite The Hand: Chapter Six

Bite The Hand: Chapter Seven

Bite The Hand: Chapter Eight

Bite The Hand: Chapter Nine

Bite The Hand: Chapter Ten

Bite The Hand: Chapter Eleven

Bite The Hand: Chapter Twelve

Bite The Hand: Chapter Thirteen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Fourteen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Fifteen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Sixteen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Seventeen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Eighteen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Nineteen

Bite The Hand: Chapter Twenty

Knives Out: Chapter Twenty One

Knives Out: Chapter Twenty Two

Knives Out: Chapter Twenty Three

Knives Out: Chapter Twenty Four

Knives Out: Chapter Twenty Five

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Twenty Six

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Twenty Seven

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Twenty Eight

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Twenty Nine

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty One

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Two

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Three

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Four

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Five

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Six

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Seven

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Eight

Salt In The Wound: Chapter Thirty Nine

All I Need: Chapter Forty

All I Need: Chapter Forty One

All I Need: Chapter Forty Two

All I Need: Chapter Forty Three

All I Need: Chapter Forty Four

All I Need: Chapter Forty Five

All I Need: Chapter Forty Six

All I Need: Chapter Forty Seven

All I Need: Chapter Forty Eight

All I Need: Chapter Forty Nine

All I Need: Chapter Fifty

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Two

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Three

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Four

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Five

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Six

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Seven

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Eight

All I Need: Chapter Fifty Nine

All I Need: Chapter Sixty

Epilogue

#urbancowboyjoel #bite the hand #bite the hand masterlist #masterlist #joel miller x reader #joel miller

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

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𝐒𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊

Pairing: FEDRA!Javier Peña x firefly!reader

Genre: slice of life, smut, romance, angst, enemies to reluctant friends to lovers, TLOU AU, minors dni

Summary: Javier, a former member of the Federal Disaster Response Agency in Kansas City, is haunted by the guilt and violence he indirectly caused by not taking action when he should have. After fleeing Kansas City in the aftermath of Kathleen's violent overthrow of FEDRA, you and Javier seek refuge in an abandoned train in the middle of a forest.

As you and Javier turn the train into a living space and learn to navigate the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world, you gradually overcome your differences and form an unlikely bond. But when your pasts catch up with you, you must confront the demons that haunt you and make a choice that could mean the difference between life and death. Will you choose to protect each other and find a way to build a new life together, or will the ghosts of your pasts tear you apart?

word count: 8.4k

chapter summary: you and javier go for a swim.

warnings: canon typical violence, no y/n, mentions of blood, nightmares, brief mentions of reader suffering from anxiety attacks pre outbreak, PTSD, more references to the main hbo tlou plot specifically episode 5, overall wholesome and full of fluff, mention of body hair, piv, vaginal fingering, dirty talking, biting, mild edging, one small mention of him threading his fingers through your hair but nothing else specified

a/n: it's all about communication, baby. It's a long one so get your warm drink of choice and settle in!

Semaphore - A signaling system used on railroads to communicate between trains and stations, typically using a system of flags or lights.

The cell was always so fucking cold.

Javier hated being here, staring at the gray walls and reading that damn FEDRA sign over and over again all day long. He couldn’t help himself; it was right there within his eyesight. He wished it wasn't, that he could just rip it off and throw it in the corner.

YOUR RIGHTS WHILE IN DETENTION

YOU ARE ENTITLED TO:

LAWYER

MEDICAL ATTENTION

FAMILY VISIT

FOOD

CLOTHING

Just a huge load of fucking bullshit. If you’re in here, you’re in here for one reason only: to give up names. Either that, or you never see the sight of daylight again. He took a sharp breath. With that, the man sitting across from him on the bench stiffened. A drop of water continuously dripped from the ceiling. Every time the sound echoed, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Javier preferred to be alone during interrogations.

A young man stood next to him. Unlike Javier, who was leaning against the cage, he stood fully upright and alert, rifle in hand. He glared daggers at the man sitting helplessly; his cheek was cut, and his right eye bruised. Javier wanted to place a hand on Adam’s shoulder and tell him to calm down, to let him know that this broken man was no threat to them. But he couldn't do that, not when he had to keep his mask on.

“What’s your name?” Javier asked the man, he scoffed in return.

“You already know my name.”

Javier sighed once again, and Adam narrowed his eyes. The newcomers were always like this: eager to put others in their place, eager for violence. FEDRA didn't teach them anything else, just how to take orders and to see the world in black and white. But that was another bullshit lie. Javier had told Carillo a million times that he didn't want anyone paired with him. Murphy was enough. However, like many things, his request was ignored.

There was just something starkly painful about seeing a nineteen- or eighteen year old so eager to kill.

I want to hear it from you," Javier spoke calmly as he pushed himself away from the fence and took a step closer. The man cowered back. "If you tell me what I want to hear, we won't hurt you.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a meek whisper of a name: Martin. Javier swallowed, realizing that this man would probably give away all the information they asked for, if he had the information to give.

“Alright, Martin," Javier said, taking slow steps and kneeling in front of him. Adam was right behind him, standing and being as menacing as ever. "I need you to tell me who is a part of this..." Javier made air quotes with his fingers, causing Martin to flinch. "...'Resistance'."

“I don’t know anythin’ about that.”

"Are you sure?" Javier asked with a raised eyebrow. "Not even a whisper?"

Javier heard Adam puffing up his chest and almost rolled his eyes. But he didn't look away; he kept his gaze fixed on Martin. He liked using silence as a tactic. He just stared, watching the other man sweat. It was clear to him that Martin was protecting someone. Javier could tell by the way Martin's tongue poked inwardly from one cheek to another; he was having trouble meeting Javier's gaze.

“You won’t be getting out of here,” he said, keeping his voice even. “If you don’t tell me who’s leading it.”

"I can't," he murmured, looking down at Javier's knees. "I won't."

Shit. This wasn't good.

Adam shifted from one leg to another, fidgeting with his rifle. A chill settled at the base of Javier's spine.

"Fucking answer the question," Adam spat, pointing the rifle. "Or we'll blow your head off. Ungrateful shit."

The worst part of all this was that Javier couldn't stop Adam if he were to do something. Stopping him meant blowing his cover and revealing that he cared about these so-called "traitors." Javier hissed between clenched teeth and nearly gave Martin a pleading look.

Javier averted his gaze at the last second. And with a heave, he stood up, towering over the man.

“Are you sure you’re not going to give us the name?” he asked one last time. “Any name.”

Martin shook his head.

Javier wakes with a jolt. He hears something akin to a whimper. A cry. He slowly rises from his bed, his eyes moving toward the curtain that stretches in the middle of the car, making two sections. Their setup isn’t perfect yet, but the curtain accompanied by the beds gave a sense of home and belonging. He attempts to rub the sleep away from his eyes, his mind was still in a deep sleep, a fog slowing his thoughts and reason.

Another whimper follows, and Javier's thighs quiver as he stands up. He reaches for the curtain, slowly pulling it aside.

There you are, crying in your sleep. Half of your face is tucked into the dirty pillow as your body contorts in the most unnatural ways. Javier's eyes follow the curves of your body: one knee nearly touching your chest while your other leg is straight like a stick, tense. Sweat makes your shirt cling to your skin. Moonlight trickles in from the freshly cleaned windows, giving you an almost ethereal glow.

Javier steps closer. This isn't the first time you've had a nightmare. And he's certain that you've also been awoken from sleep by his own night terrors. You probably wouldn’t believe him, but he hates seeing you like this. He can’t help but blame himself. He wonders how many more people were suffering due to the system he’s been a part of for so long.

He takes a gentle seat on the bed, bringing your head to his lap, he makes himself comfortable. Again, this isn’t the first time he’d done this.

Your whimpers and crying slowly subside, drifting into soft sniffles. Your tear streaks dry as you nuzzle your cheek into his thigh. He’s happy to see that this still works. You loosely wrap your arms around him, tugging him closer. Javier obliges shifting nearer.

In a moment of impulse, he finds himself reaching out for the blanket that you had kicked away in your frenzied attempt to escape your nightmares. The seasonal shift worries him. They’re not ready for the cruel temperature drop yet.

Javier pulls the blanket and you seem to melt at the warmth, your body becoming pliant over his lap. He adores seeing you like this. Your face softens, the tension that had hardened it dissolving.

Javier wants to hold you like this when you’re awake too. He thinks that you’d enjoy it, he never received any complaints about it before. His thumb moves down your cheek, he feels the scars he can’t see, and soon the pad of his thumb moves to your neck, your pulse thrumming under his touch.

A deep inhale expands his lungs, he leans back. His head hits the glass with a thud. Javier licks his lips, his fingers start to twitch. He wants to smoke.

By some miracle, he hadn’t touched a single cigarette all day, but that was only because he was going to be running out soon. What the hell was he supposed to do then? Chew on a straw? Like a cowboy?

He smiles at his own joke, his palm resting on your shoulder. He’s glad he’s not afraid of this. The apocalypse has made him a brave man. You’re probably more afraid of this attraction than he is. He can see it in your eyes; you hold his gaze for a beat too long, your hands lingering on his skin as if searching for something. He can’t help the boost of ego he gets from how you behave. He smiles every time he catches you but you miss it, turning your head away in a fit of panic.

A soft snore parts your lips and you bury your face deeper into his legs. Javier swallows, a thick knot in his throat as he feels his dick twitching under his zipper.

He lets out another deep sigh. It’s going to be a long night.

You find Javier outside, leaning against the train with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Holding your head, and still feeling a bit groggy, you join him. But instead of staying upright, you drop to the dirt, crossing your legs as you rest your back against the cool metal.

“You saw a nightmare last night,” he says nonchalantly.

“Did I?” you ask, looking between the fence chain. “Sorry.”

Your crinkle your nose when you inhale smoke instead of oxygen. Javier notices and tucks the hand holding the death stick between his waist and the train. It’s a chilly morning and you hug your coat tight around you.

“I didn’t say that for you to apologize. I was trying to ask if you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really get that from what you said.” you answer, with a smile you rest the crown of your head against his knee. He stiffens, but other than that says nothing. “I don’t know. I don’t really remember what I saw if I’m being honest. Probably just a shit ton of death.”

“That good old apocalypse classic.” Javier nods, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “Can’t live without it.”

“So what’s the plan for today?”

He shifts his weight from one foot to another, he slightly slides them forward, burying the soles further into the grass. Much similar to yours, the tips of his boots are worn out around the corners. It would be great to find some new ones. But wearing—taking someone else's boots isn’t easy. As if there isn’t enough death going around, you had to be reminded of it in every uncomfortable step.

“I was thinking we go for a swim.”

“A swim?”

Javier laughs at the sound of your shock. His leg presses into your shoulder and you enjoy the heat, a small smile of your own blossoming. He crouches over, balancing himself by leaning against you. Your gaze is fixed ahead. If you look at him, you fear he might see right through you. He’s too observant not to hear your heartbeat.

“Blue River isn’t that far off from where we are,” he explains. “Winter’s coming, it would be good to get clean thoroughly. And we should at least try to stock up on water too. I know rain and snow is an option but still, it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Guess not,” you murmur, looking up to the sky.

“You have something against swimming? It’ll be fun. And, most importantly, distracting.”

Your eyes widen, and your pulse skyrockets. He thought about this plan. He heard you crying in your sleep, woke up, went outside, and thought about something to do to cheer you up. You don’t remember the last time someone offered you their thoughtfulness. On your birthday, the third year you’d joined the fireflies, Amy had brought you a twinkie with a burning stick stabbed into it. And that was it. No one actually thought about your feelings.

God, you missed it.

It’s like a hug. A caress from the wind. The sun on your skin. It feels like breathing again. There’s no weight on your chest, because he’s helping you lift it. Someone fucking cares. A giggle bubbles up from your chest. Tears sting your eyes. Your head falls back against the train with a thud and you breathe out; fuck. You’re ridiculous. But Javier doesn’t seem to care. He’s just looking at you with those big brown puppy dog eyes, brows pinched in the middle.

Heat coils in your stomach, searing, burning up your insides.

“What do you suggest we swim in? Our underwear?” you tease without much thought.

You don’t expect to see the mischief in his eyes, the hints of arousal splattered over dark irises like stars in the night sky. You swallow. He must’ve sensed it because he leans in, slowly, lips only an inch away from your parted ones. Javier takes a deep inhale, those same eyes you love, and hate, drop to your lips.

You shudder.

“Whatever the rebel is comfortable in,” he murmurs, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “If you don’t want your panties getting wet, might be better to take them off.”

The drop of his voice. The heat of his breath. Emotions spin wildly in your head, forcing you to be the one to take the metaphorical step back. Which is just you turning your head back to the fence. It doesn’t do much. You can still feel his breath fanning your cheek. It’s hard to hide the hitch of your breath, your chest rises up with the inhale you take, and, fuck, you just know he’s looking at your breasts. His gaze like a branding iron.

“I think I’ll keep my panties on, thank you very much,” you manage to choke out, the tremble of your voice too noticeable to ignore. “But, hey, if you want to flash the clickers out there be my guest, handsome.”

“Handsome?”

Shitshitshit.

You practically jump as you get up, and head inside the train. You hear him laugh, something dark and possessive lingering underneath.

“Let’s just go!” you call out. “I don’t want to be outside the fence when the sun goes down.”

Sex has been something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about for a long time.

But now, as you’re standing under a giant oak tree, your shirt on the ground and pants unbuttoned, you’re reminded of how enticing the mere thought of sex can be. Javier’s already in the water, head bobbing up and down with the waves with his hair slicked back. Before he went in, you got a good look at him—before the outbreak, you might’ve been shyer about it. Maybe you would’ve turned your gaze away with heated cheeks. You still had the latter going on, but you most certainly didn’t shy away with your obvious ogling.

You might be dead the next day. No need to turn your sight away from something beautiful.

And Javier is just that. The epitome of beauty.

Javier stripping in front of you will forever be engraved in your mind; he shrugged off his plaided shirt and kicked off his pants, only leaving him in a black undershirt and his boxers. He was surprisingly lean and muscular, he wasn’t a big man, but he wasn’t quite the opposite either. You were surprised to see him jumping into the water with his undershirt, you tucked the question for a later conversation.

He swims closer to you, resting his elbows above the soil. His gaze blatantly exploring your newly exposed skin.

“So you ever plan on getting in, perla? Or are you planning on stealing my clothes and leaving me here?”

A snort bubbles from the back of your throat. “You poor thing. That happened to you?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pushes himself back enough so the back of his head is submerged in running water. “Just get in.”

Finally, with a burst of unfounded courage, you kick off your boots and pants. The chill of the forest embraces your skin. With a pleasant tingle buzzing in your muscles, you walk ankle-deep into the water. You try not to think about your old bra, or your underwear that is scattered with small holes. You especially don’t think about the small hairs dusted above your legs and other patches of skin.

You swallow. The knot in your throat makes it difficult.

You wade further into the river, the cool water embracing your skin, as you turn to him with a hint of uncertainty in your voice. 'Perla?' you ask, and he responds with a fluid motion, gliding effortlessly above the water, following you.

“It means pearl.” he answers, not giving much explanation.

You drop yourself into the water, your head submerged along with your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you feel the water rushing around you. The river sings to you in a beautiful hum. Javier is moving somewhere in the water, you can sense his presence. You want to open your eyes, but sadly that is one of the skills you can’t seem to force yourself to gain. You wonder if the water is muddy or crystal clear. You like to think it’s the latter.

You rise to the surface and take in a deep breath of fresh air. You wipe your eyes with the heels of your palm, ringing the excess water from your brows and lashes.

“I know what perla means,” you murmur, blinking at him. “I was trying to ask why you called me that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really get that from what you said.” he grins, his answer a reminder of this morning. “To answer your question, I don’t really have a satisfying one. I just like pearls and it just came out. I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”

Moving your feet, you move upright to face him. Water drops trickle down his sunkissed skin, rolling down his cheeks and down to his neck. Momentarily your eyes drop to his lips, only for you to pull them back up again. Meeting his gaze, you move closer, the heat of his skin plausible despite the cool water running between you two.

“No, I like it.” you answer, you swear your heart nearly stops. “I was just curious.”

You’re not sure if it’s the water or him, but he’s closer. Your pebbled nipples graze against his chest. You suck in a sharp breath.

“When I was a kid, I didn’t have the toughest stomach. I would get sick from almost everything,” he explains. It’s hard to focus on his words when he’s so close. “My abuela— let her soul rest in peace— had these crazy remedies. She would use crushed pearls and mix it with honey or ginger, to make a weird paste thing. Then she would make me eat it. It tasted like shit but supposedly it was supposed to make my nausea go away.”

“Did it?” you ask. Your eyes are wide with innocent, child-like, curiosity. Javier is a natural storyteller. It’s hard not to get sucked into the cadence of his voice.

He shakes his head, laughing. You feel his breath on your cheeks and you lean in. Only a trickle of water moves between you two now.

“It did not, obviously. But I believe it did. I still do. And no matter how bad it tasted and how much I complained…I still took my chances.”

“So you decided to name me after a remedy that doesn’t work?”

“No. I named you after a remedy that I believe works. And I’ll take it, every time.”

In the quiet moment between blinks, the world seems to pause. Your eyelids, like two curtains, draw gently closed and then part again. His words heavy in the clear air. It's a fleeting moment, barely noticeable, and that’s when it happens.

You feel his lips, warm and wet pressing against your mouth. It’s such a simple motion. A tender closeness. Nothing more, nothing less. You don’t even taste his tongue and he’s already pulling back. With a moment of panic, you chase him, capturing his lips once more in a more heated kiss.

That’s when you feel his hands on your waist, pulling you closer underwater, your bodies swimming in unison. He inhales you. And you him. You don’t remember the last time you kissed someone or the last time you thought about it. You groan as his tongue cheats between your lips, your own hands white-knuckled as you hold onto his shoulders.

Javier’s hands grab at your ass, kneading the soft flesh and tracing the crease between them with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, he’s towering over you, pushing himself further above the waterline as he claims your lips again and again, sucking the air from your lungs and garnering you breathless.

It's not you or him, not really, but rather the river that pushes you apart. A wave rises up, and crashes down. Water rushes into your mouth and nose, filling your lungs with a bitter, icy taste. You're forced back, coughing and gasping for air, as the wave pulls you away from each other.

You move to the riverside, grasping at the slippery rocks. You wait for your breathing to return to normal. Javier’s hands are on your back in an instant, soothing you before they slip in front to rest on your stomach. His chest is flush against your back. You take a shaky inhale and let out a deep breath.

“Are you alright?” he asks and you can barely hear him from the blood rush in your ears.

“I’m fine.” you gasp. “You—You kissed me. Why?”

You’re happy he can’t see your face. The question sounds so juvenile, so unimportant. What did it matter why he kissed you? He did and that was that, and you liked it.

“Instinct. Felt like you needed a kiss.”

You choke out a burst of laughter. Your eyes sting from, what you hope, the water of the river. “Asshole. Don’t try to make it seem like it was for my benefit.”

“I’m willing to say it was for both our benefits.”

“So, it was a one time thing then?”

“Not if you don’t want it to be.”

You turn around and his arms cage you in. You’re smiling. And it’s not the smile you make when you’re awkward, or angry, or sad—it’s genuine. You’re heart feels light and if the beat of it wasn’t steady, you would’ve thought it disappeared. It feels foreign.

Javier rolls his hips, the outline of his cock leaving little to the imagination. It sends electricity up your spine, blinding, and mind-numbing. He’s grinning at you in a way a confident man does when he knows what he’s doing. His face dips into the hallow of your neck. Small, ticklish kisses are left upon your burning skin. With a shudder, your hands tug at the hem of his undershirt.

“Why do you still have this on?” you whine, smiling against his lips. “Can I take it off?”

He tenses under your palms and you stop. His lips are above your pulse, which makes it hard to differentiate the line between right and wrong. Your fingertips buzz with the need to touch and take. His tongue sneaks from between his lips and licks a line up the column, nipping at your jaw.

“Would it kill the mood if I said no?”

You retract your hands and your fingers smooth over the fabric, tugging it down. Your lips part with a soft whimper, arousal gushing between your legs and fading into the water. It wouldn’t kill the mood, no, not when you’re so worked up. But it does make you think. Maybe this isn’t the perfect way to go about this, whatever perfect means in this day and age. There’s still so much you don’t know about him. Your feelings are a whirlwind, threatening to throw you up into the sky and leave you to crash down into the earth.

Your meek sounds of pleasure subside. Javier senses your hesitation. He peels himself unwillingly from your neck and stares fixes you with a leveled gaze.

“You want to get out?”

Entranced, you nod. Your heart beats in your throat, uncomfortable and larger than life itself.

“Yeah,” you answer, a beat above a whisper. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Understood.”

There’s a deep stillness in his eyes. With a dry mouth, all you can do is parrot his answer back to him.

“Understood.”

“What do you miss the most?”

The grass beneath you is soft and cool against your skin, the wind blows warm. A blessing considering the growing cold. The earth is comfortable against your back, a welcomed reprieve from the warmth of the sun above. You feel the trickle of water, your skin damp and pliant from the droplets that still cling to you.

The sun's gentle warmth kisses your skin, the light filtered through rustling leaves. The branches dance and tease, occasionally catching your gaze and tugging you away from the clouds overhead. You can’t help but smile. A memory reminiscent of the days you would do absolutely nothing.

Javier's body lies perpendicular to yours, his face only a breath away. You feel the warmth radiating from his skin, his gaze looking up to the sky, and you wonder what the clouds remind him of. The sun caresses his skin, drying the water droplets that cling to him, much like it does to you.

“What do I miss,” he hums, thoughtful, eyes fluttering shut. “Having a purpose, I guess.”

“A purpose?”

A breathy chuckle escapes his lips. “It’s a bit silly I know, but before FEDRA, I was working in the DEA. My life was always hectic, but at least back then I could argue I was doing good. I was helping people. I liked thinking that I had a noble purpose in life. No matter what happened.”

You turn your head to look at him, taking in his profile against the backdrop of the sky. He slowly opens his eyes, fixes them to the sky. A deep exhale leaves his lungs.

“But now that I think about it, what I did wasn’t really noble back then either. I wish I spent more time with my family. It wouldn’t have been exciting, and I’d probably be bored out of my mind helping dad in the ranch, but at least I would’ve been happier.”

You push your hand towards him and shudder at the way his knuckles brush against yours. Your fingers intertwine, his rough callouses fitting perfectly between the spaces of yours.

“What I’m hearing is you were an adrenaline junkie.”

Your smile widens into a grin when he snorts.

“Perhaps I was.” he muses. “What about you? What do you miss?”

“I’m afraid my answer is less philosophical than yours,” What did you miss? You haven’t really thought about it, until now. Family and friends feel like an obvious answer. But you always felt lonely, even before the outbreak. You suffered from weird attacks you never got diagnosed, and when you attempted to explain them by calling them “something like a panic attack” you were always shut down, being told that if it was a panic attack, it would be far more serious.

So, naturally, you closed up. Simmered in the heavy weight on your chest, crying with your hand between your legs, hoping someone one day would show up and close up the gap that you felt. You were so lonely. But that person never came along, and then the world ended.

“Cooking.” you answer, gauging his reaction. He squeezes your hand, thumb moving in circles on your skin. “Well, baking to be precise. I loved baking. Coffee—god, music, I miss music.”

“Music,” he agrees. “I miss that too. Maybe if we find a guitar or something…”

“You know how to play?” you perk up, a grin ready to take form.

His laughter comes at the same time as the wind. The blends seamlessly with the rustling of leaves and the gentle sway of branches. It vibrates in your bones, as though his laughter is a part of the very fabric of nature itself.

“No, but I can learn. Some noise is better than none.”

“Yeah,” you answer, seamlessly. “It is.”

Javier was being followed. He walked past the broken-down toy shop, his steps now faster. He could feel the gaze that watched his every step. It was the crack of the morning, which was the only time he and Micheal could meet. Everything was becoming a mess of badly executed plans with feeling motifs. Every nerve felt like a live wire. It was hard sneaking around. Especially when you lived in a time where even the walls had eyes.

“Peña!”

Javier jumped and turned, gun pointing at whoever was behind him. He saw the sight of familiar green eyes, then let out a breath.

“Adam?” putting his gun back, he cocked an eyebrow. “What the hell are you following me for?”

“I wasn’t following you,” he answered, almost offended. “I was looking for you. Murph brought in a lead we might be able to use and Carillo wanted me to let you know.”

Javier nodded, ignoring the younger man’s curiosity-filled gaze. When they started to move, much to his annoyance, Adam began to voice out his rather loud thoughts.

“What are you doing here anyway? You weren’t posted here, you were meant to patrol the east side.”

“Felt like a walk,” he grunted. “And I don’t answer to you, pendejo.”

Javier and Adam walked in silence as they made their way toward the Fedra headquarters. The old building was barely holding up, with paint peeling off the walls and cracks running through the ceiling. The air inside was stale and smelled of musty old books, a reminder of the once-functioning library that the Fedra headquarters used to be.

They were greeted by Carillo and Murphy, who led them to the interrogation room. A string of curses raised all the way up to the tip of his tongue. On the other side of the glass, a man was sitting down, someone he recognize very vaguely. The man was young-ish, with curly black hair and a mustache supported by a messily shaved beard. His leg bobbed up and down nervously as he waited.

Carillo grinned as he gestured towards the glass. "This is Henry. Apparently, he's willing to give us information in exchange for medicine for his younger brother."

“Is that so,” Javier answered, his gaze never leaving Henry. “And what information might that be?”

The room was small and cramped, with peeling wallpaper and a flickering lightbulb. Javier noticed a small crack in the wall that seemed to grow wider with each passing moment. He couldn't help but feel a sense of unease in this dilapidated building, with its creaking floors and musty air.

“The leader of the resistance. He’s going to help us catch him.”

The corner of Javier’s lips twitched as he forced a smile. He could barely contain the heave of his chest, the fast-paced breaths he so desperately wanted to let out.

His mind raced. Everything was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

Your eyes are wide open, your body stiff and alert.

It’s been a while since you and Javier decided to go to bed. Moonlight filtered through the windows, long shadows of leaves moving across the ceiling of the train. You breathe slowly; one breath in, a long breath out. You hear him. He’s mumbling something in his sleep, moving, thrashing over his bed, the springs squeaking under his weight.

On nights like this, you try to ignore it. But it’s different this time. Memories of earlier today flood your mind; him kissing you in the river, his length pressed against the softness of your stomach, his lust-blown pupils. Then there was the moment where you laid on the grass, talking for hours with your fingers interlaced until you had to leave. You don’t have it in you to abandon him. For him to fend off the nightmares alone.

Just hearing the sounds he makes…so full of pain, raw and emotional— there’s no way you can go back to sleep.

Heading to his side of the car, you silently watch him. Again, he’s wearing his black undershirt and a pair of boxers. He’s laying on his stomach, one leg outstretched and one curled to the side. One hand is on the pillow whilst the other is balled into a tight fist, touching his lips. A choked whimper comes from the back of his throat.

“Javier,” you call out, taking a step forward. “Javier wake up.”

He doesn’t. So you try again. This time you reach out, the heat of your palm pressing into the slope of his shoulder. Honestly, you should’ve known better than to touch someone who’s buried deep in a nightmare. Especially in this day and age.

“Jav—”

Your reaction is close to none when you find yourself thrown to the bed, a sharp blade at your neck, drawing the smallest amount of blood. You breathe steadily. His fingers have your wrist in an iron grip, and the look in his eyes— deranged, still wet from the mirages of his past. The physical outburst isn’t enough to phase you, but the look in his eyes surely is.

“It’s me,” you whisper, careful not to touch him. His jaw is locked, nostrils flaring with heavy breaths. “You were seeing a nightmare. It’s okay. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just you and me—Perla, remember?”

“Perla,” he repeats slowly, lips remaining parted as he stares down at you. “Mi Perla.”

The silence stretches between you two. Both of your heartbeats echo loud between the metal walls. Blood continues to trickle down your neck, staining the worn out sheets. His eyes drop to the wound, the small cut, and as if scorched, he throws the knife. It crashes to the floor with a loud clatter. The sound makes you jerk, a moment of fear evident enough for him to see.

“Sorry.” he blurts out. “Fuck—shit—I…I didn’t mean to. Force of habit.” he shakes his head, his entire body trembling. “Are you okay? I didn’t—Why did you—”

You raise your hand and his mumbling fades away. Your fingers hover an inch away from his face, you can almost feel the heat, the sweat that gathered in his pores. You give him a pleading look.

“Can I?” Can I touch you?

He chokes out, “Yes.” Please do.

You rest your hand against his cheek. Just as you expected, his skin is damp. Your thumb rests right under his eye and you caress the soft skin. You’re surprised that he leans into your touch, seeking more of the comfort you promise to provide. You close your eyes and sigh. You allow your hand to slide to his neck, smoothing out the nooks and crannies in his shoulder.

Javier groans as he dips down, you feel his lips on your neck, tongue darting to clean the blood. A whimper escapes you when he tenderly kisses the wound, his mouth moving slowly, gradually. Like he’s kissing your mouth. Heat coils in your stomach. Arousal pools between your legs. You play with the short hairs that are mussed against the back of his neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, breathless.

He shakes his head, his voice stern. “No.”

So you don’t.

Javier crashes into you, breathing you in. It’s desperate, needy, and fearful. In fear of what—you’re not sure, but you have some guesses.

You throw away your shirt and in a fit, you kick off your sweatpants. Even those brief moments of being a part are too much for you to handle, you drink him in like you would a fine wine. Your lips crashing into his again and again.

You moan into his mouth and he swallows them all. Sucking your tongue between his teeth, he nips the soft muscle and squeezes your hips, grinding himself against your clothed sex. Your fingers trace the fabric of his shirt, tugging, but not attempting to remove it. He licks your bottom lip before breaking away from you, he sits back on his knees.

“Sorry,” he says. “You must think I’m trying to be all mysterious. I swear I’m not.”

“I wasn’t thinking that. You don’t have to remove it if you don’t want to,” your eyes drop to his crotch, a grin tugging at your lips as you witness the bulge. You drag your foot up his thigh. He shudders. “All we need is down here.”

“Aren’t you charming,” his tongue thoughtfully moves over his bottom lip. You sigh as you remember how it felt against your own. “Just promise me you won’t ask any questions. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it.”

You make a cross over your heart and raise your hand, he chuckles.

“Alright then.”

You’re ashamed to admit it, but you’re acting a bit like you’re in heat. He slowly peels the fabric off and your hands immediately find a spot on his waist. Your mouth waters at the exposed skin. You smooth your palms over his stomach, your lips pursing to leave kiss after kiss over his torso.

You notice it as you start leaning over. Your eyes drawn to the massive white scar that runs from Javier’s heart all the way down to his Adonis belt. It stands out starkly against his tanned skin. Your breath catches in your throat. The veins in your temples throb loudly in your ears. With a dry mouth, you look up to him and he sees the questions in your eyes.

“You promised.”

Fuck, you did but you’re regretting it now.

You’re used to small scars, a bullet wound, or two. Everyone has them, including you. But you’ve never seen a scar this big. It’s death carved into his skin. Your mind races and he fixes you a steady gaze. This cut wasn’t from Kathleen and the resistance, so it must’ve happened before that. But what on earth would leave a scar so big? And how the hell did he survive it?

Your cheeks feeling unbearably warm, you finally tear your gaze away. You feel his fingers thread through your hair, and they slowly move down to your shoulder, an ache for skin on skin contact.

You dip down, press your lips above the end of his scar, you feel the dip of his adonis through your mouth. Javier inhales deeply and sharply. Ignoring the heaving of his chest, you dart your tongue out and lick a steady line, following the traces of the closed wound. His nails bite into your scalp, his hips stutter forward, the outline of his cock caught against the curve of your shoulder.

Words die on your tongue. You want to say something, you’re just not sure what. If you apologized, expressed grief for his past, he would think of it as pity. If you asked about it, he’d say you’ve broken your promise.

So you thank him instead.

Javier enjoys that. He pushes his hands between the crease of your underarms and pulls you up, kissing you breathless. He squeezes the meat of your ass and pins you against him. You whine into his mouth. With a grin, he bites your bottom lip and tugs it between his teeth.

“I want to taste you.”

“Fuck, Javi,” your eyes roll back and you shudder. Your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your pussy, and it pains you that you’re shaking your head. “As much as I want that…I need your cock.”

Javier cups your mound, fingers digging into your clothed folds. You gasp when the rough fabric brushes against your clit. You brace yourself by holding his shoulder and pressing your lips into his neck.

“You’re so wet, shit, baby.” he groans as he grinds his hips, you whimper. “How are you this worked up already? When was the last time you’ve been with someone?”

Your sudden hesitation to answer earns you an understanding gaze from him. Javier pulls back slightly, the movements of his fingers more gentle.

“It’s been long,” you whisper and look away.

“How long?”

“None after the outbreak and even before that...two years.”

He snorts and you fix him a not so serious glare.

“Don’t pity me. It’s not all bad. I learned how to get rather creative when masturbating.”

“I’m sure you have,” he answers, staring at your darkly. “Can’t wait to see it.”

Javier drags his nose up your neck, you’re positive he can hear how excited you are. Like your heart is about to stop.

“Say it again,” he grunts. “Tell me how bad you want my cock.”

You sigh. “So bad.”

“Mi Perla…I thought you learned how to get creative.”

He sinks his teeth into your neck and you cry out, your entire body quivering as he holds you upright. He’s quick to lap at the teeth marks, lowering his head, he pushes you back so he can swirl his tongue over your peaked nipple. Arousal gushes between your legs. Your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, fuck me Javier. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life. I want you to fill me up with that big cock of yours, fucking me into submission—”

The last addition stumbled out of your lips, stunning you into sudden silence. You awkwardly stare up at the ceiling, shadows of trees moving and mocking you. Heat spreads under your skin. You don’t realize how tense you are until Javier nips the swell of your breasts, bringing you back to him. His fingers pull at your chin and you find yourself looking into his big brown eyes.

Your eyes drop to the curve of his lips, and you stop breathing.

“Fuck you into submission hmm?” he taunts, his pupils blown wide. “Looks like the little firefly is tired of being a hardened criminal.”

“Shuddup,” you pout, averting your gaze. “Don’t read much into it. I said it in the heat of the moment.”

“Sure you did, sweetheart.”

Javier hooks his fingers into your thighs and suddenly you’re falling back down, the old bed creaking with protest. Before you can say anything, his weight presses into you like a heavy blanket. You moan at the heat, the feel of his skin against yours. His lips latch onto a nipple and you spread your legs wide for him, the soft ache in your thighs making your cunt drip.

“Let’s see if you’re ready to take my big cock,” he rasps, fingers moving to slide your sticky panties to the side. “You want my fingers, baby?”

You nod and he clicks his tongue with disapproval.

“If you want me to fuck you into submission, you gotta use your words.”

You finally snap.

“God, yes. I want your fingers. How many times am I going to have to say it? I want you, Javier. I’m going to explode if you don’t fuck me soon.”

He grins at your frustration. Two thick fingers slide up between your wet folds, circling your clit. You gasp, teary eyes fluttering shut. His lips touch one, then the other. Then you feel him on your cheeks, nose, neck. You tremble.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Two of his fingers sink into your heat without warning, your head falls back with a moan, your legs tight around his frame. Shit, it feels good. Of course he’s good at fingering, god forbid Javier Peña is bad at anything. Your breathing becomes fast paced, your heart beating a mile in your chest. Scissoring his fingers, Javier nips at your chin. Heat coils tight in your stomach. You whimper his name, not knowing what else to do. One part of you is afraid. If you’re feeling this unbridled with just his fingers, what the hell is going to happen to you when he gives you his cock?

Your fear goes unnoticed by him. He curls his fingers, applies pressure right where you need him. His eyes follow your every expression. You can feel it. Licking your lips, you raise your hips to meet the thrust of his fingers, Javier hums his approval and fucks them deeper. His knuckles brush your aching clit and you scream out, your fingers grabbing his wrist.

“Too much?” he asks, but his tone lacks any actual remorse. He sounds pleased.

Asshole.

“Javi,” your breath hitches and you push yourself off the bed, pressing your lips right where his scar starts. Above his heart. “I need you.”

The growl Javier lets out reverberates through his chest, sending tremors through the air and into your bones. It’s a visceral sound, primal and raw. Your lips follow the outline of his jaw. He acts like a beast, nuzzling towards your lips and grinding his molars together.

He pulls out his fingers, a whine ripping from your throat at the sudden emptiness. His mouth brushes the shell of your ear.

“Good thing about being in an abandoned train,” he says, warm breath fanning your damp skin. You shiver. “You can be as loud as you want to.”

Javier’s hand comes up to your chest and he pushes you back down. Your breath catches in your throat as he looks down at his cock and spits. He wraps a hand around himself, meeting your gaze as he strokes his cock. You hold your breath as he comes closer, every nerve alive and burning. The head of his cock sinks into your heat, and you both let out a long, breathless moan.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” you groan, head falling back. “Fuck, that feels good. Holy shit–”

“It does,” he hums, capturing your lips and speaking between moments of exchanged breaths. “And this is only the tip, querida.”

With every inch being buried, you feel your body sinking further into the bed. You feel like lead. Pleasure skims your skin. With shallow thrusts, he works you open, stretching you wide. He nips at your collarbone, the sensitive skin tucked between his teeth, he pushes further until he’s flushed against you.

You’re shaking, your hips frantically trembling and jerking. Javier waits for you to adjust to his size. He’s incredibly deep. So deep that saliva floods your mouth, a bit of spit trailing down the corner of your lips as you cry out. He flexes his cock, and more slick trickles down your thighs. Your hands frantically pull him closer, as if he wasn’t already flushed against your chest, but he obliges, allowing his weight to fully cave down on you.

“I’m here,” he mutters. You don’t expect the sudden sting of tears filling your lash line. “We’re both alive. We’re both okay.”

Your walls flutter around him, and he lets out a sharp breath. Meeting his gaze, you blink.

A sudden guilt consumes you. You should be the one consoling him. He’s the one that was woken up from a nightmare. It should be you saying those things. Not the other way around. But Javier doesn’t seem to mind. He squeezes your hip and pushes himself upright.

“Can I move?”

“Please.”

He slowly rolls his hips, watching his cock disappear into your quivering cunt with heavy lids, a white ring at the thick base. When your hands aimlessly attempt to grab at him, he takes a hold of your wrists, using your arms as a leash.

“Messy girl,” he huffs, grinding deeper into you. Your eyes roll back. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You’re so fucking wet for me, I love it.”

A fire builds in your core, slick sounds flooding the small space. Pulling out almost all the way, Javier slams back into you, emptying the air from your lungs. His pace becomes more frantic and desperate with every thrust. Your arms ache as he yanks your body to meet the flush of his hips. The wry hairs at the base of his cock sending jolts up your body, your clit aching from the rough drag of it. You cry out his name, over and over, repeating it like a chant. His cock throbs at the squeak of your voice. Javier buries himself completely inside, grinding himself impossibly deep, stroking the sensitive spot inside.

You’re not going to last, and if the shallow stuttering of his hips is any indication, Javier isn’t going to last either. You dig your nails into your sweaty palms. His fingers still tight around your throbbing wrists.

“Kiss me,” you beg with a choked moan.

And he does. Breathlessly. Again and again. The lack of oxygen makes your head spin. His lips are so soft, so tender. He licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue. He lets go of your wrists and cups your breasts, rolling the peaked flesh with his thumbs. Your orgasm crests over you like a tide, your chest stammers, your breath catching in your throat. Your muscles go stiff, and then relax again. His cock twitches as you gush around him, slick pouring between your legs and wetting the mattress underneath.

With clenched teeth, your body arches into him and you bear your neck. He bites into the offered flesh, blossoms of pain making your walls clench around him. Javier moans, laps at your salty skin, groaning, his hips jerk—deeper and deeper—until he becomes still.

Your entire body is lit aflame as he spills into you. Instinctively, your hands cover your face, soft whimpers seeping into the heat of your palms. His cock pulses, and your muscles tense as you milk him for every last drop, your cunt clenching and fluttering around him.

Javier smooths his lips over your knuckles, kissing the back of your hands as you slowly come down from your high. Breathing heavily, you allow your arms to go limp and fall. His eyes flit between your lips and eyes, he dips down to claim your mouth in a less draining kiss.

“That was great,” he breathes into your mouth. “How are you feeling, perla?”

“Like a hundred bucks,” you answer, grinning. “I forgot how good sex can be.”

Your smile falters when he pulls out. Now that the heat of your orgasm is fading, you’re not sure what to do. Your body feels nice and limp, and god, you do not want to move.

His seed trickles down your folds and you let out a soft gasp, your pussy fluttering. Javier seems to enjoy that, he grins and spreads your legs.

“Bonita.” he purrs, dipping his thumb into the mess. Your head falls. “I’ll get you cleaned up in the morning.”

“I’ll take care of it,” you answer, making a show of getting up. Javier frowns and wraps his fingers around your ankle, it’s not a tight grip, he’s just holding you. Your gaze drops. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You can sleep here,” he drags the pads of his fingers up your legs and you shudder. “With me.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Believe me,” he says, voice dipping. “This is no bother.”

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x fem!reader #narcos fic #narcos x reader #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #fedra!javier #firefly reader!#tlou au

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wooahaeproductions · 6 months ago

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Haru Haru (svt smau)-eighteen: Girlfriend?

Summary: Your friend, Soonyoung confesses to you in some form all the time despite knowing you don’t like him like that. But what happens when suddenly someone becomes interested in him and he eventually stops confessing to you?

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi) x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: smau, college au, fluff, angst, and comedy

Word count: 423

Warnings (for the chapter): a nervous tiger?, ultimatums

Rating (for the chapter): PG-13

Soonyoung's POV:

Soonyoung wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans as he approached the boba shop. He was nervous. He had no clue how to ask someone to be his girlfriend. Either way, he was planning to have one by the end of this date. He hoped so anyway.

She saw him through the window from the table she was sitting at and waved animatedly. Soonyoung waved back with a shy smile as walked in the shop. Making his way to the table, it looked like she had already gotten his drink along with hers.

He sat down across from her and she slid the drink over to him. “Yogurt flavored with boba, your usual,” she said, and Soonyoung wondered when she learned what his favorite was. He wasn’t all that surprised though, since it seemed she always knew his favorite things. It was very girlfriend-like.

The next few minutes were filled with general conversation between the two of them. If practice was going well and if she passed the math exam she was studying hard for. Soonyoung took a deep breath, about to launch into the big question but his phone let out a text message tone. Your text tone.

He thought about ignoring it. He was about to ask another person to be his girlfriend. Another message from you came in and he contemplated. A third message came in and he concluded that he should check his phone. You wouldn’t be reaching out to him now and definitely not that many messages within a short amount of time.

“I think I need to check this,” Soonyoung said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and abandoning all thoughts of the previous question he was going to ask.

“Oh, okay,” she responded, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Oh,” Soonyoung typed and more tones sounded as he received responses. “OH!” His exclamations grew louder. He looked up at the girl and said, “I’m so sorry but I need to go help my friend,”

“Is it Y/N?” She asked. Soonyoung nodded in confirmation. “Soonyoung, if you go to them…we are done. I’ve tried to compete with her in your heart and I just can’t.”

He grimaced. While he had every intention of asking her to be his girlfriend and he was trying to get over Y/N, he just hadn’t completely yet. Y/N was still his friend and he needed to go to them. “I’m-I’m sorry,” Soonyoung said, defeated. Then he rushed out of the boba shop to help his friend, leaving the girl by herself.

Y/N’s POV:

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER NINETEEN

A/N: oop 🥴

Taglist: @wongyuseokie @horanghater @lvlystars @hamji-hae @gyuwoncheol @moonkyeom @isabellah29 @hoichi02 @thepoopdokyeomtouched @aaniag @nishloves @sana-is-ms-rmty @itsokaytobedumb00 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @lone-lone-ranger @v0-0iddd @itsdnguyenxoxo @shiningdk @mxnhoeuwu

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#seventeen smau #kvanity #svthub #kbookshelf #svt fluff #svt angst #kwon soonyoung #svt hoshi #svt soonyoung #svt comedy

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satorkiees · 10 months ago

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✮⋆ TWILIGHT ZONE : satoru gojo ✮ ⋆ ˚｡

ˋ⁀➷ in which you get a note pertaining your death sent to you by none other than satoru gojo. chaos ensues.

cw: 2.8k words, strangers to (eventual) lovers

prev < part 1 > next

Death was on your doorstep. Literally.

In your hands, a creased brown envelope clung to an equally tattered piece of paper which had embarked on a journey to land outside of your door. The message was clear. Ominous, even. Written with a fading black ballpoint pen that seemed to have exhausted its ink by the end of its extreme warning.

“BY THE EIGHTH OF FEBRUARY. YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DO NOT HEED MY WARNING. IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU EITHER A) FIND A NEW JOB OR B) LEAVE THE COUNTRY. PLEASE CONTACT THIS NUMBER ASAP - 0XX XXX XXXX”

Surveying your surroundings for any prying eyes, you found no one but a cold draft of air tumbling by you. With a sigh, you retrieved your worn out phone from your pocket and dialled the number. What could possibly go wrong?

RING.

“Hello?” you said hesitantly.

“Heyyyy.” A voice, far too chirpy for the gravity of the situation, rang out from your phone. “I’m glad you called, Y/N. I’m Satoru Gojo and I’ll be your makeshift bodyguard for the next 2 weeks.” He paused whilst words failed you. ”Well, I guess I’ll see you soon!”

Over the past couple of days, you had learnt a lot about Satoru Gojo but perhaps the strangest of all was his nonchalance.

An hour or two after your call, your doorbell rang. Standing before you was a man, about six feet tall, with an allure that masked the ominous message (you assumed) he sent. His boyish smile and circular black sunglasses (despite it being the dead of winter) contradicted the gravity of the situation perfectly matched the aura of the voice you heard. He appeared slightly older than you, maybe eighteen or nineteen, as a youthful aura exuded off of him.

“Can I come in?”

Silently, you allowed him in. Satoru took a few glances around your cramped apartment, his mouth opening as if to mention it but deciding to keep it shut.

“So, could you please explain to me what’s going on?” You asked, anxiety laced in your voice.

Seating himself on your worn couch, he began to unravel the unsettling truth. “A curse is after you, like big-time. If they can successfully remove your soul from your body, it’ll be game over for both you, me and the sorcerer world!” He sighed dramatically, motioning a ‘kaboom’ effect with his hands for added effect. Frankly, eighty percent of his mysterious revelation had not quite registered and you weren’t sure it ever would.

Swiftly, the night began to fall as darkness crept into your apartment. Stumbling over some old book piles, you switched on your lamp allowing a warm yellow light to fill the room. Turning your back to Gojo, you lit up another two candles allowing a lavender scent to creep into your senses. Despite its supposed calming properties, the lavender scent only confused you even more wearing your patience thinner. You blew out the candle light.

Despite your silence, Gojo persisted. “Not that I couldn’t handle it - the curses, I mean - but it’d make it significantly harder if you were dead so we’ve got to work together, alright? Alright!” He concluded, clapping his hands with an unbridled sense of finality. Gojo carried himself in a way that made what he said seem somewhat normal, as if his laid back shoulders and casual slouch into your second hand couch was enough to convince you that curses, or monsters even, existed in the first place.

Twitching, your eyes and head began to hurt; the overload of information from this somewhat cute guy made you feel like you were in some sort of absurdist dream. Laughter began to erupt out of you. Satoru’s face twitched in confusion as he furrowed his eyebrows. Sighing, you began trying to find the right words to say.

“Get out.” was what you landed on. Finally, mustering up the courage to face him.

“What?” His chirpy tone had dwindled and instead, was replaced with full panic. His eyes widened. ”Didn’t you read the letter or hear anything I just said?” Exasperation evident within his tone as he got off the couch and approached you.

“Satoru, look.” You did your best to meet his eyes but eventually turned towards the door. “I can’t help you. Even if I could and if what you’re saying is real then what am I supposed to do against some soul-snatching curse?”

As if on cue, your lamplight dimmed even more, leaving a low light to fill the room. Fiddling with the papers at your door, which were compiled of all your uni-work and and your part time internship responsibilities, all seemingly useless when your life was doomed to end in a couple of days. A sense of dread washed over you, your headache worsened. Gojo approached you like you were some sort of timid animal about to flee at any moment. His playful aura dissipated leaving a much more serious, grounding one. Pursing your lips together, you stopped fiddling with your work and met his eyes properly for the first time.

Satoru Gojo stood before you, someone who was essentially a stranger but looked at you with such a fire in his eyes that you couldn’t help but believe what he was saying was true. The way the lowlight framed his face and made his features glow with such an intensity was something you couldn’t ignore.

“You don’t have to do anything, honest. Leave it to me. I just need you to accept my help, that’s it.” He said with his hands on his heart. Turning around to face him once more, his blue eyes that contained a particular sense of wonder, locked with yours silently pleading.

Looking away, you opened your door. “Please. Go.”

As he left, he looked at you once more, disappointment etched into every crevice on his face.

The lack of his presence left you with an uneasy feeling of dread. Strangely, he had convinced you he was telling the truth even if he was a little unconventional with his methods of persuasion. Though you wanted to believe what he was saying wasn’t true, as you mindlessly went through your night routine, a constant thought plagued your mind.

Is this it?

Waking up to the frigid stillness of your winter room, you shivered. A draft of wind swept through, tempting you to linger in the warmth of your bed. Reluctantly, you switched on your lamp, allowing light to seep into your room disbanding the darkness entrenched in the crevices of your room. Suddenly, memories of the past 24 hours flooded back into your brain as you did your best to trudge through your extensive morning routine. Doing it as you normally would - brushing your teeth, showering, getting dressed, doing a mandatory morning clean of your apartment. However, during that last step, you found something that solidified the surreal events of the previous night.

In a state of delusion, you had hoped that everything had been an elaborate dream, one that had simply been a byproduct of your numerous stress-inducing responsibilities. But you were sorely mistaken. Satoru Gojo’s glasses laid there on your couch, snugly wedged in where he was seated last night, evident from the deflated dent in your couch. Gently, you picked them up, surveying the accessory. They were in relatively good condition, seemingly worn a lot due to the slight oxidation around the frames; the lenses without a prescription either as you held them closer to your eyes. Because of your background, you weren’t too versed in designer brands, however seeing a ‘Cartier’ logo etched into the sides of these glasses was enough to send a second set of shivers down your spine. While you hadn’t formulated many theories surrounding Gojo’s mysterious persona, involvement with the mafia was one of your top three contenders, and these glasses (without any sort of case or protection) had bumped that theory up to number one.

Despite the fatigue creeping into your body, you decided to attend your classes with Gojo’s glasses tucked into the safety of your backpack’s front pocket. Even if the impending doom of your life ending loomed around a month away, doesn’t mean your classes (and internship) weren’t still there waiting for you.

As usual, your professors droned on endlessly. prompting you to wonder why you chose this course in the first place. Swiftly, you packed your things to leave, but as you made your exit, you saw something. Fleeting, a shadow outside the glass of your school’s hallway caught your eye, accompanied by a draft of wind that tried to shuffle past you. Blinking, you tried to discern if anything was there only to be met with a headache that intensified with each attempt. Clutching your backpack close, you ignored the discomfort. Making it towards your study room - a safe haven - for you to be able to catch up with the work you’d missed.

Upon entering, a familiar white haired man slouched over the desk, seemingly lost in the most peaceful of slumbers. Before you could say anything, he sprang to life, stretching with exaggerated movements and delivered with a comically large yawn. Unsure of what to do, you waited for him to speak.

“Hey.” He said with an annoying sense of normalcy, a playful aura radiating from his face, now adorned with a new pair of Cartier glasses. He peered up at you, prompting your response.

“Are you, like the mafia or something?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes at him. “Because that would explain why you’re here now.”

He chuckled, his laughter surprisingly pleasant. Though, it was unsurprising that someone like him was also blessed with a nice laugh too. You scoff. “What’s so funny about that?” you retorted, growing annoyed at his mirth whilst your life (supposedly) hung in the balance.

“Nothing,” he calmed down, wiping an imaginary tear away. You rolled your eyes as he quietened down a bit, positioning his glasses through his hair so he could look at you clearly. Your face began to grow hot with his eyes staring right at you. He continues. “Just my friend Shoko, has this running bit about me being a mafia boss. You remind me of her a bit.” Silently, you prayed for anyone who could tolerate someone as erratic as Gojo.

“I’m not part of the mafia, however curses and all of that jazz are the real deal and I do really need your help.” Satoru said with the same fervent sincerity as the night before. You looked away, unpacking your bag with the contents of this term’s work cluttering the table. A variety of thoughts ran through your head. Convinced that this mysterious man had been telling the truth, you felt another chilling sensation, unsure if it stemmed from the monsters he spoke of or the stress of your impending demise.

Quietly, you retrieved Gojo’s glasses from your front pocket and slid them across to him. “You should really put these in a case or something.” His raised eyebrow met with your growing anxiety. The prospect of leaving everything behind to deal with something new was albeit - terrifying, but if you did nothing, you wouldn’t be able to feel anything at all.

“But, won’t we-”

Not a second later, the wall caved in. Debris and smoke filling the room, rapidly. Gojo grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the now-destroyed room, leaving all your assignments crushed underneath the weight of falling concrete. A single glance back revealed other students fleeing the scene. With screams echoing down the hall, a familiar draft of wind swirled down the corridor after you.

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” you yelled, your legs burning as you were being dragged at an (inhumanely) high speed. Gojo doing his best to manoeuvre his way through the bustling students, who were bewildered at your rapid pace.

“They’re here.” Out of breath, all retorts had escaped your mind, fight or flight in full swing. With every corridor you left behind, a new chorus of cries echo in your wake. “I could sense him--the curse–but I couldn’t see him. He’s good!" He rattled on but you were certain it was mostly for himself. Exhilaration clearly pulsing through his veins whilst anxiety was beginning to freeze yours.

“WHAT?” Nothing made sense. It felt insane, as if this was the dreaded sequel of your absurdist nightmare.

“THE WIND.” He shouted in reply as if that answered anything. A new set of screams followed as you tumbled down the stairs. He continued. “STOP ASKING SO MANY QUESTIONS AND ACCEPT MY HELP.”

“WELL, I WAS ABOUT TO BEFORE WE ALMOST DIED!”

“REALLY?” For the first time in a while, he took a good look at you, a smile evident on his face even despite death feeling very near to the both of you. An ultimately foolish decision, as Satoru almost ran straight into a wall.

“LOOK WHERE YOU’RE GOING, SATORU.” You called out, doing your utmost to keep up with him.

“YES, MAAM!” He turned around, turning up the speed with a newfound sense of motivation. If you stopped running for just a moment, you were sure your legs would fall off.

Nearing a corner, something materialised in front of you. Gojo looked at the mist forming then looked you dead in the eyes. “Accept my help. Please.”

“Okay, alright! I need your help.”

Everything went black.

Time stood still for what seemed like an eternity. Nothing could be seen but you were feeling everything, everywhere, all at once. Death was your first thought but with Gojo holding onto you, you knew you were still alive.

Then, onslaughts of colour flooded back into your vision. A different form of headache made you feel like you were about to puke out the whole galaxy. However, Gojo did. Even God couldn’t make puking seem graceful. There was enough anxiety to fill up every cell in your body and realising, you were both back in your apartment, you began to panic even more. Deciding to focus on one thing at a time, you stumbled over towards the kitchen and got a glass of water for the both of you. Placing his down, you sat next to him.

Eagerly, you waited for him to say anything, anything at all to make sense of the past 15 minutes. He looked pale, sickly; whatever he had just done had evidently taken a lot more out of him than he’d expected.

Gojo began to monologue, slowly, about his findings and how he got to you in the first place.

a/n - dun dun dunnnn. i'm not sure why i was so nervous to post this but i had a ton of fun writing this. please reblog/like if you enjoyed it. part 2 will be out soon :)

#satorkiees #gojo satoru #gojo saturo x reader #gojo saturo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojō x reader #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu gojo

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year ago

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HERE, KITTY, KITTY (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnilingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Back from my cruise with an update! I should be finished this fic soon cuz I have about three chapters left. Imma cry. Thank you again for the love! P.S. Never go on a cruise in the summertime. That boat was CROWDED AF -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

**********

TWENTY.

When you step into the bar one warm Wednesday night, you don’t feel like having a cocktail after midnight at all.

But since Nemuri said she’d pay even though your favorite bar has happy hour after midnight during the weekends and you decided to take off on Thursday, you came.

What else do you have to do besides pretend like you have chores to do so you can avoid visiting Aizawa and those intrusive, negative thoughts that call you a liar, a bitch, and a horrible person?

You dress accordingly, tossing on a simple sundress and some blocked heels. The bar is surprisingly crowded despite it being a weeknight and the activity is buzzing.

You find Nemuri sitting at the Cherrywood bar immediately, dressed in a low-cut purple blouse and cut-off shorts that you’re sure will get her a couple of numbers tonight. She smiles when you wordlessly come up and sit on the empty stool next to her.

“It’s about time you showed up,” she greets, crossing her dainty legs over each other.

She already has her little cocktail with an umbrella in it. You’re not feeling too much like drinking tonight, so you order something with as little alcohol as possible.

“Just a cranberry seltzer for me,” you say to the bartender. He nods, moving to get your drink together.

“Soooo what’s been going on?” Nemuri asks, not even letting the awkward silence stew for a moment. “I haven’t seen much of you since that night.”

“You mean the night where I found out you and Mic have been talkin’ about me behind my back and made me feel like the worst person alive?” you mutter, tapping your nails against the cherrywood bar. “Yeah, it has been a while.”

“A while” is actually an entire week. You haven’t spoken much to either Nemuri or Mic since the night they caught you sneaking out of your dorm to meet Aizawa on his mission. You’ve avoided them at work, opting to eat lunch elsewhere, and make sure you take your bathroom breaks during times you know they have classes.

You don’t like it, but you are too damn stubborn and afraid to be the first one to throw in the towel. To you, they still had no right to discuss you behind your back or make you feel worse than you already did. None of them know you were with Aizawa the night he was attacked by Toyoma.

In fact, nobody knows except for Aizawa.

“Y/N,” Nemuri sighs, “you know we didn’t mean it like that, but we had to confront you! We were just worried about you and your relationship with Aizawa.” All you do is scoff to yourself, still hurt with disappointment and betrayal.

But you don’t want to talk about that. You need to know about Aizawa, and Nemuri promised she’d give you the rundown on how things are going with him if you agreed to meet her tonight.

“How’s he doing?” you timidly ask as the bartender lowers your cocktail down. You feel like you should’ve ordered two, now realizing how difficult this conversation will be.

“You know, you could always just visit him at the hospital to get your answers,” she says, raising an eyebrow at you. “According to Mic, he’s been asking about you.”

She slings an arm over the bar, giving you the softest, most gentle eyes you’ve ever seen on a person. And that hurts you to your core. You don’t need her gentleness or her sympathy. You don’t need any of this. It only makes you feel even more guilty than you already do.

Other than Nemuri and Mic, you’ve been avoiding visiting Aizawa in the hospital for over a week as well. You sent flowers the day after Toyoma attacked him and was successfully arrested, so you’d hope that they were received well. Mic never told you if they were, but then again, you haven’t been speaking to him either.

So many times you’ve thought of just biting the bullet and visiting Aizawa after work on or on the weekends, but sometimes has always stopped you from making that move: guilt.

That horrible, churning, gnawing feeling of guilt that has been keeping you up at night, constantly seeing Aizawa losing consciousness on the floor of his dorm and Toyota’s bloodied, slashed face.

You feel incredibly responsible for Toyoma’s attack that night. If you had focused and hadn’t lost focus, you wouldn’t have been vulnerable enough for Toyoma to have pushed you off the roof.

You would’ve gotten him. You could’ve knocked him out as soon as you sat next to him in the theatre. But instead, you got too excited and overzealous. You wanted to prove yourself to him, Aizawa, and yourself that you were a worthy fighter and instead, you nearly cost yourself and Aizawa your lives.

You hope the apology you wrote on the flowers sufficed, but you know that’s stupidity and wishful thinking. Knowing Aizawa, he’d want you to say it to his face.

But to witness him all bruised up in a hospital bed and knowing it’s because of you, it’s far too much for you to take. So you’ve busied yourself with work, chores, and nights out at Night Claw, kicking ass and taking names. You desperately want to be out there now, strutting the streets in your boots and distracting yourself from your emotions, instead of sitting here, facing them.

“Nemuri, please,” you sigh, pinching your sinuses.

Nemuri doesn’t push it, but she doesn’t look happy with your refusal either. “He’s doing great,” she unenthusiastically responds, but your heart leaps with joy regardless.

“So far, he’s been there for a week and has been showing signs of improvement. He’s moving with no trouble and the bruises have begun to heal. If he continues to show improvement, he should be out by next week with antibiotics for his ribcage and medicine to apply to his scalp.”

Relief overcomes you, causing you to take your first sip of your cocktail. “That’s great,” you exhale. “That’s…really great.”

You stare at your drink while Nemuri stares at you, burning a hole in the side of your face. “Are you ready to tell me what happened now?” she asks. "Mic and the others still think you were in Aizawa’s dorm sleeping with him when the villain came barging through.”

Other than Nemuri and Mic being left in the dark about that night, nobody knows at all what occurred or why you were in Aizawa’s room before his door was broken in. The running gag around campus is that you were sleeping with Aizawa that night, snuggled up in his room when Toyoma came sneaking in.

You take a sip of your cocktail for liquid courage, knowing you can’t keep your friend in the dark for too long.

“That’s because I was,” you bluntly reply.

Nemuri’s eyes widen at you. “N-Not like that!” you stammer, flushing under the bar lights. “I was in my cat form visiting him that night. I had gone with Aizawa as backup on his mission to catch Toyoma, but then he escaped. As soon as we got in the dorm, I could tell something was wrong…that’s when I saw him.”

You had felt it as soon as Aizawa walked in. It was way too quiet for one and for two, your fur started standing on end as if your body knew something was wrong before you did.

As soon as you sensed something coming from Aizawa’s dorm wall, you knew you had to warn him. Your cat-like behavior took over you and all you could do was hiss and yowl until the threat finally showed itself.

“Aizawa locked Eri and me in her room,” you solemnly continue, "but I managed to squeeze underneath the door. When I saw Aizawa on the floor bleeding and Toyoma holding that knife…”

You press a hand to your forehead, trying to erase those horrible images. “I blacked out after that,” you confess, alluding to when you attacked Toyoma. “All I had in my mind was to save Shouta.”

The amount of fear and rage that poured inside of your tiny feline body when you saw Toyoma hovering over Aizawa is indescribable. At that moment, you wanted Toyoma to bleed. You wanted him gone.

You’re just glad you managed to stop Toyoma at the knick of time. Your stubbornness and quick thinking of sneaking under Eri’s door to help possibly saved Aizawa and Eri.

“And that, you did,” Nemuri soothingly says, putting a hand on your knee. “When we saw Toyoma, he looked like he came straight out of a horror movie–blood dripping down his face; skin hanging off his cheeks…”

She shudders at the mental image. “You really fucked him up, girl. You should feel proud of yourself. You saved Shouta’s life that night.”

Though you know it, deep down, you don’t feel it. There is still a part of you telling you that you could’ve done better; that you could’ve protected Aizawa from a simple scratch, but you didn’t. That only makes the guilt grow more until you’re sinking deeper into the deep, dark hole that your insecurities and self-doubts have built for you.

Nemuri does her best to pull you out of it now. “Y/N, why don’t you just stop it and go see him?” she suggests, looking sick of your shit. “You’re punishing yourself when in reality, all you need to do is tell him the truth!”

You take a sip of your cocktail for more liquid courage before slamming it down against the cherrywood bar. It isn’t loud enough to grab any unwanted attention, but it’s enough to startle Nemuri.

“You think I don’t know that?” you hiss. “I've been tryna get up the nerve to go see Shouta and tell him everything for over a week now, but as I told you before, this isn’t easy for me. I don't give a fuck about if he wants to see me anymore, but if I tell him everything, I’ll break his and Eri’s hearts. They don’t need that right now.”

You turn away from your friend as tears of frustration begin to rise to the surface. Why can’t your life just be a Disney movie or something? Why does everything have to be so damn complicated?

“Is this what you brought me out here for?” you cooly ask, ignoring Nemuri’s pained expression. “To be the voice of reason? Well, it ain’t working. I’ll visit Shouta when I’m ready and I’ll tell him the truth when I’m sure he’s healed. He doesn’t need any more BS in his life right now.”

Nemuri’s plump lips tighten into a thin line as you down the rest of your cocktail. You don’t look at her as you pull $10 out of your purse and place it on the bar.

“I’m gonna go,” you deadpan. “Thanks for the drink.” You then turn and storm away from your seat, never stopping despite the angel on your shoulder screaming at you to go back.

“Y/N, wait!” Nemuri calls but you don't turn around.

You won’t be swayed in your decision or argued against. You don’t care what she or anyone thinks. You understand what is right, but you refuse to do it right now while Aizawa is recovering from his injuries and the trauma he faced that night. You will tell him everything when the time is right.

‘I promise,’ you think as you venture into the warm night, but even that sounds like a lie.

Even to yourself.

#shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #here kitty kitty #bnha smut #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #black writers #aizawa x black!reader #shouta aizawa x black!reader

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duxearlier · 2 years ago

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MIXED FEELINGS

Neito Monoma x Reader

Synopsis: y/n l/n an ordinary college student who is trying their best to just graduate. Though even if they were quite known around the campus there are still some people who disliked them. One being no other than Neito Monoma. So what happens when they get paired up on a project and he changes y/n's life completely?

warning: swearing, bullying, abuse, drinking, suggestive themes, teasing.

genre: collage au, social media au, no quirks, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff.

taglist: closed

|| hello! Well this is it! The last chapter of mixed feelings. Thank you guys so much for the support on this smau and I hope you enjoy it! I already have a idea for the next smau so it shouldn't take too long for me to start posting it. I might or might not be working on fanfiction either. If there is anything specific you want me to write, let me know! Either a character for a smau or just fanfic ideas and stuff. I'm happy to give you guys more content!! Anyways, I won't take too much of your time and I hope you enjoy the last chapter! Have a good day/afternoon/night! ||

CHAPTER NINETEEN || UNEXPECTED ENDING

<chapter eighteen || materlist

▪︎___________°••>>>*<<<••°___________▪︎

taglist: @legolashaught @touyatodorokislut @otomegame-oneshots @dokxxhvhdklkkjjhhgggdj @blue-violin @speadrunner @jamesiies

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lightlycareless · 3 years ago

Text

First, it hurts—; Masterpost

Summary:

Naoya Zen’in x Fem!Reader

While arranged marriages are not uncommon in the jujutsu community, it was strange to receive a proposal from none other than the Zen’in’s, nonetheless your clan accepted and before you knew it, you were married off to Naoya.

Your new purpose was clear: to serve and submit, to be seen and not heard. To forget any sense of individuality in favor of obeying your husband.

Will this marriage ever flourish into something else? Will it change…for better or for worse?

Status:

Active ❤ but on hiatus!

Schedule:

Bi-Weekly, Sundays.

Warnings:

Arranged marriage. Misogyny. Explicit sexual content. Violence. Minors, DO NOT INTERACT.

Chapters:

chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter eight. chapter nine. chapter ten. chapter eleven. chapter twelve. chapter thirteen. chapter fourteen. chapter fifteen. chapter sixteen. chapter seventeen. chapter eighteen. chapter nineteen. chapter twenty. chapter twenty-one. chapter twenty-two. chapter twenty-three (part one). chapter twenty-three (part two). chapter twenty-four (part one). chapter twenty-four (part two) chapter twenty-five (part one). chapter twenty-five (part two). chapter twenty-six. chapter twenty seven. chapter twenty-eight. chapter twenty-nine. chapter thirty. chapter thirty-one. chapter thirty-two. chapter thirty-three. chapter thirty-four. chapter thirty-five. chapter thirty-six. chapter thirty-seven. chapter thirty-eight. chapter thirty-nine. chapter forty. chapter forty-one. // on-going

Behind the scenes. — Notes or thought process behind each chapter. (Not all chapters included)

Chapter twenty-one. chapter twenty-two. chapter twenty-three. chapter twenty-four. chapter twenty-five. chapter twenty-six. chapter twenty-seven. chapter twenty-eight. chapter twenty-nine. chapter thirty. chapter thirty-one. chapter thirty-two. chapter thirty-three. chapter thirty-four. chapter thirty-six. chapter thirty-seven. chapter thirty-nine.

Side stories — Small scenarios happening either during the main story, or before.

Hinata takes Satoru horse riding. Y/N's first kiss. When Hitomi met Naohiko. Naoya's and Y/N's honeymoon. The wedding from Naoya's POV. Reacting to Naoya's scar (AU) What if Y/N was a peasant? (AU)

#naoya zen'in x reader #naoya zenin x you #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #jjk fic #jjk imagines #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk naoya

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ynscrazylife · 3 years ago

Note

Howdy, I just finished Hawkeye and feeling lots of painful Yelena feelings. So, I come to my fav writer with a request of please doing a Yelena younger sister story, like after black widow, where Yelena takes them in after the red room and it’s just like training, lil missions, protective Yelena sisterly fluff. Pls I’m fragile :,)

To Find a Home

Summary: Y/N finds a home in the place she least expected — with someone she least expected.

Authors Note: Thank you for requesting! Hearing that I’m your favorite writer made my day!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @/natashowlet

“Oh my god,” Yelena muttered under her breath, accompanied by a short, cut-off gasp. Her elder sister Natasha, who had been engaged in a conversation with their adoptive parents next to her, followed her gaze.

She was focused on a Widow who could be no older than a teenager — eighteen or nineteen at most. The other Widows, all adults, towered over her. But the teenager didn’t seem to notice it, engaging in conversations, discussing where to go next now that they were freed. A couple would stay with Antonia, others would help with freeing the Widows across the world, and the rest would reunite with their families again.

One look at the teenager and the sisters could tell she had no where to go — no idea of where to go. It was etched in her face, the way she jerkily nodded each time she was told of another Widow’s plans. How they could just about hear her stumbling over her words when she was talking to them. The way her eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration when she thought that no one was paying attention.

Natasha spared a glance at her younger sister and saw a similar trouble playing on her face. With a smile tugging at her lips, she urged Yelena on. “Go to her.”

Yelena looked over, playing confused until the facade fell. That’s what she had wanted to do the second she saw how young the girl was — a teenager! Left to deal with this mess on her own. Natasha’s approval was all she needed, a look of determination set in before she made her way over, unsure, really, of what to say.

“Hey, what are you going to do now? Do you have anyplace to go?” Yelena found herself asking in a sterner, perhaps harsher, way than she intended. The woman internally cringed, but Y/N didn’t seem too bothered, more so jumpy at being directly talked to, if anything.

“Um, uh . . .” Y/N began, struggling to think of a convincing lie despite all her Red Room training. With one look at Yelena’s pressing gaze, she cracked. “I don’t know. I don’t have anywhere to go. I could try to go with one of the other Widows?” she admitted, looking down.

Yelena straightened her posture, standing up taller (if that was even possible). “How about you tag along with me?” She offered, and immediately thanked whatever God out there that this time, her words were gentle.

Y/N’s eyes widened, not expecting this. She glanced around, thinking quickly. Her first instinct was to deny, as she did not want to be a burden, but the older woman seemed genuine . . . What did she have to lose by saying yes?

“Um, sure. That would be great,” she found herself saying.

A smile bloomed onto Yelena’s face. “I’m Yelena Belova, what is your name?” She asked.

Y/N found herself smiling. “I’m Y/N.”

— — — — — — — — —

“You’re getting better,” Yelena observed as she rebounded from one of the hits Y/N landed. She ducked as a fist swung over her head, using it to her advantage by kicking Y/N’s feet, which caused her to stumble back onto the mat.

“I take that back, clumsy,” Yelena added teasingly, watching her protégée fall back. She stepped forward, offering her a hand up.

Y/N mocked a glare at Yelena, taking her hand. Her features soon morphed into a cheeky smile, though, when she yanked the blonde forward, and used her legs to propel Yelena over her shoulder. Hearing her land with a thud, Y/N rolled to be on her knees, pulling Yelena forward by the arm and looming over her, upside down.

“Can I go on a mission with you now?” She asked, panting slightly from being out of breath. Yelena smiled up at her, before tapping the mat, signaling a truth.

Y/N sat back and took a couple of deep breaths as Yelena sat up, turning around to be face-to-face with her.

“You can go on a mission—” Yelena began to say, but was cut off by Y/N’s squeal and how she threw herself at the Russian, throwing her arms around her. Yelena allowed herself a chuckle, hugging back lightly, before continuing. “—But it’s a small one. And we’ll have back-up.”

Y/N reeled back, still smiling but a little disappointment clear on her face. “But Yelena, I’m just as trained as you are!” She pointed out, trying not to sound too bratty.

Yelena just smiled. “I know but . . . Okay, I worry, alright? I don’t want anything to happen to you,” she admitted, looking down. Despite knowing she could show “weakness” — even though this wasn’t weakness — her past experiences caused her to hesitate.

Once she heard Y/N giggle, that negativity washed away. Y/N stood up and stepped off the mat. She glanced back at Yelena, who was still sitting down. “Well, what are you waiting for? We gotta get ready?” Y/N called.

— — — — — — — — —

“Yelena, watch out!” Y/N warned, forced to use her hand that wasn’t holding the cure to block the Widow’s punch from connecting with Yelena’s face.

Yelena cursed under her breath, blinking when she realized she had zoned out, too preoccupied on making sure Y/N hadn’t been hurt to prevent herself from being hurt. The Widow kicked Y/N in the ribs, causing her to fall. She could of blocked her fall, but was too busy making sure she didn’t drop the cure.

Yelena immediately jumped into action: the second she saw the person she viewed as a younger sister go down, she was pulling the Widow back and holding her in place. “Now, Y/N,” Yelena encouraged, struggling a bit as the Widow valiantly fought against her grip.

Y/N quickly recovered and practically threw the cure in the Widow’s face, only letting herself relax when she saw the red dust and their back-up - two other Widows - rush in to help the third. Y/N groaned, reeling back from the injuries she had sustained throughout the fight, and cradling her hurt ribs with her hand.

“Y/N?” Y/N glanced up when Yelena came into her line of vision overhead, her worry clear from the frown that her lips were drawn into.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled, sitting up. Yelena crouched down and gently pulled her up by her arms, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders. When the blonde began to help her walk (which she really didn’t need), Y/N insisted, “I’m fine, Lena.”

“Your ribs are probably bruised. Just let me take care of you, okay?” Yelena said, leading them out to her car. Y/N couldn’t keep the goofy smile off her face, having picked up Yelena’s signature hint of frustration in her voice. Even though her ribs hurt like hell, it was nice to be on the receiving end of care and love.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Yelena commented absentmindedly as she got into the drivers seat, after making sure you were comfortable in the passenger side.

Y/N blinked, sitting up as Yelena turned on the car. She glanced at her in the mirror. “Home?” She questioned, her smile growing into a grin with a tug at her lips.

Yelena met her gaze. “Yeah,” she said, confused at first. “Home. My home is your home . . . You know that, right?” She pulled the car back out of its parking spot.

Y/N shifted, letting her head lean against the window as she watched the streets zoom by. “I mean, I know it, I just . . . Hadn’t connected the dots, I guess. It’s nice, though. Having a home again,” she mumbled softly.

Yelena chuckled. “Of course. Besides, you did the dishes this morning before training, right? You wouldn’t do that if it wasn’t your home,” she added.

Y/N struggled to keep her laughter at bay, opting to bite her lip instead. She had forgotten that she had offered to do the dishes the previous day and did, in fact, not do them before training.

By her silence, Yelena quickly realized that and scoffed jokingly, lightly hitting her arm.

“Hey! Don’t wound the injured one!” Y/N complained, and they both dissolved into harmonizing laughter.

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgraph @celestialbarnes @kathryndimitrescu @snipyloulou @big-galaxy-chaos @cc13723things @ycfwmalise14 @unexpected-character @passionswift @drayshadow @amaryllis23

MCU Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @summerlovingbaby @ineffablebean @okkulta @procrastinatingsapphictrash @prettysbliss @caseyfish-blog @sarahp-stan @thewidowsghost @basiclesbianbitch @mycosmicparadise @kidswhofightmonsters @xtraordinaryfangrl @peggycarter-steverogers @username23345 @ima-gi--na-tion @yori-nakajima @hi-i-1 @mmmmokdok @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @mads-weasley @tenaciousperfectionunknown @afraid-to-be-me @lilclownx @acertainredhead @natromanoffxox @lilymurphy03 @thanossexual @avengersz-biotch @kozumekoi @mjaudrey @un-name-d @leyannrae @buckyandstevesbitch @kuzomekou-blog @nylevea @suckerfornatstits @bentleywolf29 @Snowdrop1026 @bunnyweasley23 @ss @pianogirl2121 @@beth-gallagher22 @pleasantbearscissorstoad @marvelwomen-simp

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messers-moony · 3 years ago

Text

Tattoos | S.B

Paring: Young!Sirius Black X Fem!Reader

Summary: Sirius becomes obsessed with tattoos and his girlfriend draws on him as a way to love him but on his nineteenth birthday his wish gets granted.

Tattoos. Godric, Sirius Black was obsessed with them. From the moment he saw them in a muggle magazine from his girlfriend, he became obsessed with the intricate black ink markings. His girlfriend - Y/n, a muggle-born - had introduced him to them. Sirius had been lounging around in her dorm when he found a pile of magazines.

Boredom was nothing new to him. With nothing else to do, he grabbed one and began to flip through the pages until he spotted them—a page with a man covered in black and colorful ink. Y/n walked back into the room to see Sirius utterly entranced in the page, reading every line. Eventually, Sirius looked up to see his girlfriend - wet hair - after taking a shower staring at him with amusement.

“Whatcha got there, Siri?”

Sirius shrugged, “Not sure what this is, but these are cool!”

“That’s called a magazine, Sirius, and what are cool?” Y/n replied, sitting beside him, and Sirius pointed at the black ink, “Those are called tattoos.”

“How do they work?”

“Well, there’s this place in the muggle world we call tattoo shops, and these people have tattoo guns.” Y/n began, “The tattoo guns are essentially needles dipped in ink. The needle embeds the ink into your skin, making it permanent.”

“But you have to be eighteen before you can get one.” Y/n added.

Sirius went back to looking at the magazine. Y/n was able to remember something she brought from home. Slipping away from Sirius, she dug through her trunk to find a pack of sharpies she had brought from home. Not for this purpose, but for drawing. One sharpie would hurt. Y/n sat down beside Sirius and uncapped the marker, beginning to draw on his skin while he watched.

“What’re you doing?” Sirius questioned, and Y/n didn’t respond until she finished, “Drawing on your hand.”

Y/n capped the marker again after finishing; Sirius stared at it, “Is it permanent?”

“No, it’ll wash off eventually.” Y/n answered as Sirius stared in wonder, “Wicked….” He muttered.

She chuckled. It became a reoccurring thing. During class or mealtimes at the Great Hall, Y/n would draw on his hand or arm. Sirius didn’t mind. The feeling of the cool black ink against his skin was soothing. Eventually, they washed off, but Y/n would recover it with something new. Sometimes she drew plants, planets, constellations or wrote messages.

Sirius was particularly fond of the message she wrote in his palm once, “You’re loved.”

It made his heart skip a beat every time he looked at it. His cheeks would flush a peony pink, and he’d smile like a complete idiot. Eventually, she kept doing it with different messages. Y/n learned something about him from doing this. Sirius’ love language was words of affirmation. After being told countless times, he was ‘useless’ or ‘unloveable,’ it became a safety net for him to look at his palm.

One time in the Great Hall, Y/n wrote along his wrist, Y/n’s boyfriend. Sirius found it possessive and cute. Y/n was showing that she was proud to be his, proud to be Sirius’ girl. She wasn’t afraid to show it either. After years of being hidden in the back, it made Sirius’ stomach warm. How could she do this was just a little bit of ink? Sirius didn’t know, but Merlin he was grateful.

When Sirius and Y/n settled down after graduation in their flat, it was just settling down in September. James and Lily had lived not too far away. Remus decided to own a bookstore in Diagon Alley, where he lived on the second story. It took months before the couple ultimately settled. Every box unpacked and in the right place. But it was perfect timing.

November, the month of Sirius’ birthday, and Y/n had the perfect gift. That morning he woke up with breakfast prepared. His girlfriend in his shirt and leggings. She was trying to finish whatever breakfast was on the stove. Sirius wrapped his arms around her waist, placing his head in the crook of her neck.

“Mornin’ love.” Sirius murmured, “Morning, Siri.”

Y/n turned after turning off the stove, placing a kiss on his lips, “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, come sit. I have a day planned.” Y/n ordered, and he followed orders, “Of course you do.” Sirius replied, smiling.

Both of them ate breakfast and got dressed in appropriate clothes. Y/n had apparated them to London, only a few blocks away from where she wanted to take him. Sirius grasped her hand tightly in the cold weather. As they got closer, Y/n began to give hints.

“So, you remember how I used to draw on your hand and arms during class, right?” Y/n questioned, “Yes.” Sirius answered suspiciously.

“Well, you’ve always been fond of a particular constellation I drew on your hand. Do you remember which one?”

“Leo.”

“Yep! So are you ready to get it permanently on your hand?” Y/n asked hesitantly, and Sirius lit up, “That’d be awesome.”

Y/n pulled him out to the front of the shop, “Well, today’s your lucky day.”

Sirius stared in amazement at the shop front. It looked so surreal. Sirius never thought he’d be allowed in muggle London. He’d only been a couple of times since graduating, but now he was going to get his first tattoo. Something he aspired since that day in his fifth year. He pulled Y/n into a passionate kiss.

“Thank you.”

His smile was so soft, “Anything for you.”

He chuckled softly, and Y/n pulled him inside. The tattoo didn’t take long, and Sirius didn’t seem to mind the pain all that much. But every once in and awhile, he did squeeze Y/n’s hand with his right. The tattoo or drawing that Y/n did was a symbolization for his little brother.

Regulus was a star in the Leo constellation. It was the star Sirius’ younger brother was named after. They never held a super close bond throughout Hogwarts, but Regulus was always a soft spot for Sirius. He would go to the ends of the earth and back for his little brother. Y/n was hesitant to draw it at first and was shocked when Sirius wanted her to keep redrawing it.

“It’s a reminder of my little brother and the memories we shared before he got brainwashed.” Sirius always said.

They left the tattoo shop, and Sirius stared at the black ink now permanently placed on the back of his left hand. Y/n looked at him hesitantly while Sirius stared at it. Tears were ebbing at the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t be more thankful for a kind and loving girlfriend. One that stood by his side through everything. His hard days, his good days, through all the ups and downs.

Sirius took her in for a hug, “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“I think I do.” Y/n replied, “And yet it’ll never compare to how much you mean to me.”

“You’ll never know how much it means to me that you’ve stayed with me for this long. That you’ve been with me through so much hardship. That you’re still here despite everything, you’ve been told.” Y/n explained, pulling back to look at his glassy eyes, “That you’ve made it this far.”

Y/n put a piece of hair behind his ear and wiped his tears, “It means the world to me that you made it to nineteen years old.”

She leaned her forehead on his. Of course, there were hard times. Sirius had awful days where getting out of bed seemed to take every bit of strength. Days where he felt like giving up - where giving up seemed like the only way out. But Y/n was there. Y/n was there to keep him afloat. To give him a reason not to give up.

James, Remus, and Peter would always be there too, but no one was like her. Y/n knew how to be there for him after any scenario, whereas James would panic. Remus would overthink, and Peter would be scared. On those days, the dorm would be just them, laying together on Sirius’ twin mattress. His head on her chest while she rubbed his back. Skipping classes to take care of him.

“I love you….” Sirius muttered against her lips.

Y/n smiled, “I love you much more.”

“Impossible.”

Sirius leaned forward and kissed her lips softly. They were cold from the winter weather and soft like marshmallows they had eaten earlier in their hot chocolate. She even tasted of the beverage, and it brought a flush to his cheeks and warmth to his stomach. The kiss was soft, gentle, and passionate. When they pulled apart, she kept their foreheads together.

“Happy birthday Siri.”

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queensoybean0724 · 3 years ago

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Succession Chapter 26 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 26

Characters: Karl Heisenberg/female reader

Rating: NC-17 for language and sex (girl on top, breast play, unprotected sex *wrap it up, kids*, creampie)

Word Count: ~1500

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary. While flying to collect your inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village. This is a work of fiction. Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter 26

“Why were you on that plane, Y/N?” Heisenberg asked.

“What?” you murmured sleepily, lifting a hand to rub one of your eyes. You were on the brink of unconsciousness when his question woke you up.

The candles that he placed around the room for your birthday were dying out one by one, the room getting darker and darker. After two hours of him getting you off with his mouth, with some rest time in between, he finally relented and the two of you relaxed on the bed. Heisenberg had the pillows propped behind him, leaning back against the iron railings of the headboard. His legs were spread and you were lying between them, your back to his front. The two of you were both naked with sheets and blankets giving you warmth.

“The plane,” he repeated, his fingers coasting up and down your arms, his chin nuzzling into your hair, “why were you on the plane? You said you were on a flight to Moldova…what is waiting for you there?”

“I was claiming an inheritance,” you answered softly, “there was a distant relative…my great uncle, apparently. He was my grandmother’s long lost brother. He died…didn’t have any family. A lawyer called and said I was the only remaining person in his lineage, so the money he had went to me…”

“Wow…” Heisenberg said, pressing his lips to your hair, “...your grandmother never told you about him? Did your parents know?”

“If my mother did, she never told me,” you answered, “both of my parents are dead as are my grandparents…”

Heisenberg was quiet for a moment. His hands stilled on your body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. You simply hummed and nodded, your fingers rubbing back and forth across your thighs. One final question lingered in Heisenberg’s mind. He didn’t know the exact appropriate way to ask it, but he needed to know the answer. It was eating away at him ever since he first admitted his feelings to himself and to you.

“So when all of this is over,” he began, “when I finish building my army, when I take down Miranda…and you’re safe…will you collect your inheritance and return home?”

You turned your head to look back at Heisenberg, the rest of your body moving as well. You sat up and looked into his eyes. His hands left your body, resting on either side of him on the bed. He waited for your response. The look in his eyes was something you hadn’t seen in them before. He was vulnerable and unprotected emotionally. He wanted your honesty, but feared it as well.

“There’s nothing for me back home,” you answered, “everyone is gone. I don’t have any close friends and no family. I was actually going to bring this up eventually, but when I get my inheritance…that is, unless they think I’m dead and the government has taken it already…I want to come back and be with you…if you want me here…”

Heisenberg’s eyes stayed locked on yours as his hands lifted to cup your face. One thumb caressed your cheek as the other slid back and forth over your lower lip. “Your home is here now…with me. I’m your family…just as you are my family. We’re both alone in the world, pussycat. We have been wandering aimlessly through this life…but now we found each other. For the longest time, I didn’t give a fuck about anything and anyone. Miranda…the other siblings…I tolerated them, but I didn’t care about any of them. I’ve kept to myself most of my life. When you came along, it’s like you cracked my soul open and crawled inside. You held a piece of me that I didn’t know was missing. You’re here with me now, and I’m never letting you go…”

Emotion swelled in your throat and you teared up listening to Heisenberg. You never considered yourself a sappy, dopey romantic, but every word he spoke was exactly what you had longed to hear. Loneliness had become such a constant that you had forgotten how much it hurt. But with Heisenberg, you were happier than you had ever been. He was as much a part of you as you were of him.

You moved to straddle his lap as he pressed his lips to yours. His hands cupped your head as your fingers tangled in his hair. The two of you moaned softly as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Feeling his tongue delve deep and slide against yours turned you on immensely. Heisenberg chuckled low in his throat as your lips closed around his tongue, sucking softly.

“You turn me on so fucking much,” he growled, his hands moving to your hips. You smiled as his fingers gripped your flesh. He pushed his hips upwards and you felt his cock stirring beneath you. Wetness slipped from your entrance as Heisenberg leaned forward and sucked on your neck.

“Oh, fuck…” you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed. His teeth grazed over your skin as he continued his assault. Your hips moved back and forth on top of him, feeling his prick get harder and harder. His hands moved up your back and pulled you close. Your skin pressed to his as the two of you gyrated against each other on the bed.

“I can’t get enough of you, pussycat,” Heisenberg grunted, his tongue licking over the area where his mouth once sat, “this amazing body…your soft skin…your tight cunt…oh fuck, Y/N…”

You reached between your bodies and moved his cock to your pussy, slowly pushing the tip inside. Before Heisenberg had a chance to react, you sunk your hips down.

As every inch of him disappeared inside of you, Heisenberg fell back against the pillows and let out a strangled curse. You smiled and started to bounce your hips, your skin slapping rhythmically against his.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N…oh god dammit, you’re gonna kill me, you know that?” he moaned, moving his hands back to your hips. He held on tight as you pressed your hands to his chest, bracing yourself as you rode his dick.

“Do you like it when I take charge like this?” you asked, biting your lower lip. A sly smile spread on Heisenberg’s face as his body rolled and arched under yours.

“Doll face, you can do whatever you want to me,” he laughed, “use my cock, ride my face, shove my head down between your legs…fucking put me wherever you want me…oh my fucking god, you are incredible…”

You tossed your head back and went from bouncing over his length to grinding on top. Your sensitive clit rubbed back and forth over the skin of his groin. You settled down further, desperate for more friction. Heisenberg’s fingers dug deeper into your hips. Your fingers clawed at his pecs. It was a high you wanted to chase until you toppled over the edge.

Heisenberg wrapped his arms around you and pressed his face between your breasts. He held on tight as you began bouncing again. Your face nuzzled his long hair as his mouth traveled from one breast to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling.

“Fuck! Your skin tastes amazing! Oh god, baby, I would lick every inch of your skin…” he moaned, gripping your breasts in his hands.

“Karl…oh fuck, Karl…you feel so fucking good…” you screamed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

As the two of you gyrated and trembled against each other, you clenched your pussy walls around his cock as firmly as you could. You held on tightly. You felt desperate for every inch of him…his cock and his body. Despite being pressed so close, you still felt so far away. Heisenberg felt the exact same way. He held your body, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“I love you, Y/N…” he groaned, “...you’re mine…and I’m yours…I’m never letting you go…never…”

Your heart ached as your orgasm began racing towards the finish line. You pulsed your walls around his dick, swiveling your hips and rotating one direction and another. Heisenberg’s hot breath panted against your neck as he got closer and closer to cumming.

“Don’t stop, Y/N…keep going…oh fuck, I wanna cum in you again…cum on my cock, pussycat…cum on my fucking cock!” he moaned.

“Karl!” you shouted, lifting your face towards the ceiling, “I love you…I love you…oh god, I’m cumming….I’m cumming!!!!”

Heisenberg held you tightly as he shot his cum inside of you, his roaring grunts muffled into your skin. Your body quivered and quaked as you held him against you, cumming in waves around him.

He fell back amongst the pillows, pulling you with him. He pressed your face against his chest, smoothing his hands along your hair. “You’re so fucking beautiful…oh fuck…so fucking gorgeous,” Heisenberg panted, struggling to catch his breath. You nuzzled his chest with your nose. His cock continued to twitch inside of you. Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Don’t ever leave me, Karl…” you pleaded, “I need you…I love you…”

“Never,” he promised, “I meant what I said…it’s you and me…nobody else…”

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil village fanfic #resident evil viii #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg smut #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg fanfic #daddy heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #house heisenberg #succession fanfic #succession heisenberg fanfic

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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

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The Years

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: *SMUT* So you embarrass yourself in front of Derek and Spencer, the details of the case are mentioned and are a little intense, and smut. Like, rough, Spencer smut because there is nothing you can say that could convince me that Spencer Reid is a bottom. And swearing.

A/N: AH THE ENDING PROBABLY SUCKS BUT I TRIED REALLY HARD I PROMISE. Also, this is ridiculously long and not all of it is smut. For a hot second this WAS an OC story but I thought you guys would enjoy a self-insert more so I changed it. LOTS AND LOTS OF THANKS TO MY FAV FIC WRITER AND NEW TUMBLR FRIENDS, @reidmorefanfics and @pomsephone Y’all are the best. Also, remember to shower me in reblogs, comments, asks, messages, likes, and anything else you can think of to boost my ego. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!!

___

“Actually, that reminds me of a joke that I know.” At the front of the crowded lecture hall, a young Dr. Spencer Reid looks over at his partner eagerly, a smile already splitting his lips apart. Derek Morgan, however, looks over at his partner with a mixture of fear and secondhand embarrassment.

“Reid, I don’t think-” Morgan tries to save him, he really does, but Reid tucks his hair behind his ears and ignores him by starting the joke.

“Einstein, Heisenberg, Newton, and Pascal are playing hide and seek. Einstein covers his eyes and begins counting. While Heisenberg and Pascal run off and hide, Newton takes out some chalk and marks a square on the ground with a side length of exactly 1 meter, then sits down inside the square. When Einstein is finished counting and sees Newton sitting on the ground, he yells, "Ha, I've found you, Newton!". Newton however replies, "No you haven't! You've found Pascal!’”

A short, surprised laugh joins Spencer’s small chuckles, dragging his eyes to the location the sound had come from. Derek looks too, completely taken aback that anyone other than Reid had actually understood the joke. Yet, lo and behold, a young girl sitting in the front row with her cheeks stoplight red and her hand nervously covering her mouth.

Proudly, Spencer nods for Morgan to end the talk, his chest a little puffed out and a smug smile twitching at his lips. They wrap things up quickly, eager to grab some food after leaving campus and before heading back to the BAU.

When Spencer turns to gather his things, grabbing his bag, he notices the soft shuffle of feet against the hardwood flooring of the stage. A pair of black converse peek into his peripheral vision, attached to a pair of long legs that make Spencer blush for noticing at all. Lifting his eyes further, he meets the shy gaze of the only person who had laughed at his joke. It came as no surprise when he sees that your tee shirt had a picture of a cat with the words ‘Wanted: Dead and Alive’ in block lettering.

“Dr. Reid,” Your left hand comes up to push a stray lock of hair away from your face, a single gold band wrapped around your left index finger, “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I just, uhm, I had a couple questions?”

Looping the strap of his bag over his head and letting the familiar weight of it settle against his hip before he responds, Spencer ignores the way Derek looks at him by pretending he isn’t there at all.

“Of course,” Spencer meets your eyes, which are a beautiful shade of (y/e/c). “I like the shirt by the way. I’m not usually much of a t-shirt person, but I might wear one like that.” You laugh, shifting on your feet and twisting the ring on your finger.

“Thank you, I got it as a Christmas present. Along with ten billion other nerdy t-shirts. But uhm, I was curious how old you were when you joined the FBI?” Morgan holds his tongue, pretending to shuffle papers around and not pay attention to the poor girl’s crush.

“I was twenty-two. I finished two of my doctorates the year prior.”

“I thought you had to be twenty-three? I’ve always wanted to join the FBI as soon as I could but I thought I had a little more time. That’s what I read anyways. I could be wrong, you would know more than I do.” You looked down at your shoes, kicking the toe of one converse into the wood, your hair falling forward over your shoulders.

“No, you’re right. I had an age waiver. You’re eighteen? Nineteen? You’ve still got some time to prepare.”

“I’m seventeen, actually.” Your lips skewed to the side, the confession barely above a whisper as you continued to stare at your feet. Spencer blanched, unable to contain his surprise. He was quick to school his features, though, when you finally looked back at him.

“You’re seventeen and you understood his joke?” Morgan couldn’t help but cut in now, stepping away from the table he’d been pushing papers around on and toward the two younger people left in the room.

“A pascal is a unit of measurement equal to one Newton per square meter. By sitting in a square meter, Newton was being one newton per square meter. Which is, again, equal to a pascal. So he was Pascal.” A smile had worked it’s way past the nerves that jumped around your body. You weren’t very used to talking to young, attractive, intelligent doctors who worked for the FBI.

“Although, even if I hadn’t understood the science behind the joke I might have still laughed. You see, there is this thing called the Halo Effect, which is basically a cognitive bias you might develop based on your initial impression of someone that can change how you feel about their specific traits. Essentially, one example would be that someone you find attractive may seem funnier or more intelligent simply because you find them attractive.”

It takes all of a second for your face to turn beat red as you realizes your nervous ramblings have made you reveal the silly crush you had started to develop on the young doctor. Derek’s lips purse in amusement when he sees the similar shade of red that has colored his partner’s cheeks.

“Not that I’m saying I find you attractive,” Your heart stops cold in your chest and you are quick to retract the statement. “Not to say you’re ugly either, because that’s not what I’m trying to say at all. Just that my first impression of you as a nice and attr- I mean, intelligent man could have very well made my amusement slightly biased because I was more willing to like you based solely on my first impression of you. Which was that you are very nice and, and intelligent.”

It takes all the willpower in the world for you not to throw yourself down the stairwell later that day, the embarrassment having barely faded even hours later. The two men had been quick to assure you they knew you weren’t saying you had a crush on Dr. Reid, but they were obviously just trying to protect your feelings. They wouldn’t be FBI Profilers if they couldn’t tell you had a crush on him. The conversation was pretty much over after that, you being suddenly desperate to make an escape and Dr. Reid just as eager to leave the campus grounds.

The whole team teased him about his teenage fan for months after it happened, Derek had been quick to let everyone know when they came back. Reid had tried to hide from them by scrunching down into his seat and covering his face with a book, but it hadn’t helped him at all.

Eventually though, both you and Spencer were able to move on from the embarrassing moment, though neither of you forgot it. Those moments where you’re all alone and the most embarrassing moments of your life come to creep up and embarrass you all over again? The memory always came back during those moments.

The team, however, seemed to forget about it, Gideon and Elle leaving and Rossi and Prentiss replacing them as the years faded the memory for them.

It wasn’t until JJ took her new position at the Pentagon and Ashley left after her brief consultation on the case in New Mexico that the memory came back to truly haunt you both.

The whole team had heard whispers of a ‘probationary agent’ that would be stepping in to assist wherever needed. Hotch was good at keeping quiet and avoiding questions on the matter, somehow keeping Penelope just as much out of the loop as the rest of the team.

No one was even sure when the new agent was supposed to be coming until the glass doors to the BAU opened and in stepped a young woman with (y/h/c) hair and (y/e/c) eyes. Derek squinted his eyes, your face tickling the back of his memory in a way that annoyed him. Spencer tensed, his eidetic memory quick to remind him of the seventeen year old girl that had basically confessed she thought he was cute, and then called him ‘not ugly’ to try and cover her tracks.

“Agent (Y/L/N), nice to finally meet you.” Hotch said, holding the door open as you nodded your thanks and slipped inside his office with a box in your arms.

“That must be the probationary agent.” Prentiss directed the comment at Reid, oblivious to the resurfaced embarrassment that boiled his cheeks to that same shade of red he’d been in that lecture hall seven years ago. He kept his book up in front of his face while he tried to cool his cheeks, looking over the top of the binding and into Hotch’s window.

You’re sitting ram-rod straight in the seat in front of Hotch’s desk that is closest to the door, your box of things clutched tightly in your white-knuckled hands. Your hair is still the same length, swaying at your shoulders. You’ve switched the Schrödinger’s cat shirt for a deep velvet red dress shirt with the sleeves rolled at your elbows.

But even with the obvious nerves displayed in your current body language, it’s easy to see you aren’t the same stuttering seventeen year old Reid remembers. You holds steady eye contact with Hotch, nodding and fluidly responding in such a way that the usually stoic unit chief actually breaks into a grin that dimples his cheeks. When he stretches over his desk for a handshake, your left hand comes up and grips Hotch’s firmly.

“I’m glad it’s a girl, it was starting to feel a little too testosteronie around here with JJ gone.” Garcia had made her way into the bullpen, a cup of tea balanced in her bejeweled fingers as she, and the rest of the team, size up the girl heading for Hotch’s door.

“I don’t think ‘testosteronie’ is a word, baby girl.” Derek teases, trying to ignore the nagging feelings that he knows this girl from somewhere. Maybe they’d met on a case? But no, that doesn’t feel right.

“It is now, Derek. Don’t argue with me or I’ll have to punish you.” She brings the lip of her cup up, sipping at the lukewarm tea still inside and patting Morgan’s cheek with her free hand. Hotch’s door finally opens again and you step out after Aaron.

A hush falls over the room, all eyes trained to the newest and now youngest member of the team.

“We’ll do introductions on the plane, for now I need everyone in the conference room for a case.” Hotch is quick to make eye contact with everyone, his gaze stern and demanding.

Spencer is the last one into the room, practically dragging his feet to one of the chairs around the circle table. Thankfully, you were sitting across the table. Somehow you haven’t seemed to notice him.

“Yesterday Dawes County police found the body of Julia Hastings along a hiking trail in Kladon. This is the second body they have found in the area in two weeks, the first belonging to Heather Greenaway. Both victims are in their early to mid twenties. Hands and feet bound, buried face down. Each victim was struck once in the back of the head, making cause of death blunt force trauma.”

From your spot at the table, you glance up with narrowed eyes as you open the file you’d been given at the beginning of the meeting.

“Where did they disappear from?” Reid asks, a connection forming in his brain as each picture and detail flies up from Garcia’s tablet and onto the projected pictures before them.

“Night clubs around the area, they were working on the night they each went missing. Both girls were bartenders, had been working at their new jobs a week before they were kidnapped.”

“Justin Millers had the same M.O., kidnapping new female bartenders fitting this exact victimology and holding them hostage for a course of five days, beating and raping them before eventually hitting them on the back of the head with a tire iron.” You don’t look up from the file as you speak, flipping through the pictures and quickly noticing the small odd similarities in the victims between this case and Millers’ case.

“Millers has been locked away for a year and a half.” Derek pointed out, using the opportunity to stare at the face of the girl he was sure he knew but still couldn’t place. When you look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminds him of Reid and your head tilted just a little to the side, he can feel his brain grab onto the memory just before it slips back through his fingers.

“I’d guess a copycat. Something seems different, I just can’t put my finger on it.” Your gaze slides over the table, looking at faces to get a gauge of their opinions on you. When you make eye contact with Reid, your eyes widen just a little before you duck your head. You should have known he was still here at the BAU, you’d only hoped he’d went to another unit out of desperation for this job.

“We’ll look into that theory, for now I just want a profile as if this unsub is working from his own killing preferences. We’ll discuss more on the way there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands, flipping the cover over the top of his iPad before making his way out of the room. Go bags are grabbed, certain persons avoid bumping into other certain persons, and then the eight hour plane ride to Kladon, Nebraska begins.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Emily tests the name on her lips, having chosen to move by the younger girl after the fourty five minute theory discussion that started the plane ride.

“You can call me (Y/N/N), that’s what my best friend calls me.” You had popped the first two buttons open of your dress shirt and slipped your shoes off to tuck your feet underneath you. Tucked between your thigh and the arm of the seat is a book with a Greek title, in your hands is the open case file.

“Just your best friend?” Rossi asks from across the way, just as curious about the new girl as the rest of them, but a little better at hiding it.

“She’s really my only friend.” You shrug, but not in such a way that you seem bothered by the fact. You reach up to push a strand of hair behind your ear. Reid notices the gold ring that still circles your left index finger, light coming from the window glinting off the metal when you move. It’s the only jewelry you wears.

“A bit of a loner?” Derek joins the conversation, moving up the aisle of the jet with a cup of something hot cradled in his hands. He takes the seat directly in front of you, blowing at the liquid in his cup.

“I was more focused on getting through school than making friends. Emma just happened to be the only person who wouldn’t let me shake her.” There’s a smile on your lips as you talk about your best friend, your eyes soft.

“What did you go to college for?” Derek is fishing, looking for something to tell him where he knows you from. It amuses Reid, who has sequestered himself into a corner a little further away from you than everyone else.

“I have a masters in philosophy, with a focus in Ancient Greek philosophy. I have a bachelor’s in Greek, which is the only other living language I can speak and read outside of English, and I have two doctorates; one in Classic Studies and one in Criminology.” Rossi whistles, shaking his head and leaning back into his seat to express what everyone else is feeling.

“You young people just keep getting smarter and smarter. You know how many doctorates I had at your age? None. You know how many I have now?” You look at him with genuine curiosity, drinking in all the information you can about the people around you like it was a class you were taking to survive.

“None.” The laugh that bubbles from your lips is infectious and carefree, it pulls Reid’s attention away from his book and it drags Hotch from the constant state of worry that he mentally paces in. Emily, Derek, and Rossi all exchange looks before their own laughter fills the air. It’s nice.

The feeling reminds you of that scene in Mary Poppins where Dick Van Dyke and Ed Wynn laugh themselves into the ceiling. So light and carefree that it could lift them into the sky.

“Why all the attention on the Greek?” Prentiss manages when the laughter subsides, reaching down for the book the young doctor has tucked away. Η φόνισσα, it reads with a black and white picture of arms twisted to the side of the bookcover. You make no move to grab for it, letting the other woman flip through the pages.

“My father was a Greek Philosophy professor before he died, I suppose it’s my way of trying to stay close to him.” Prentiss looks up from the pages, a look of sympathy in her eyes.

“And your mother?” The change in your entire demeanor is like cold water on the conversation, freezing the group in their spots. You reach for the book, tucking it back into the space between your thigh and the seat.

“I don’t know.” It’s the only blatant lie you’ve told since they started talking to you, averting your eyes and shifting in your seat. No one presses the topic, giving the new girl the space you need.

You take the case file with you when you go to make a cup of coffee in the small kitchenette situated in the back of the plane. Reid is already back there, pouring a steady stream of sugar into the otherwise black liquid.

“Dr. Reid.” You nod your head in greeting, avoiding his eyes by setting your folder on the counter and pretending to read it. You’ve been going over every detail of the case for so long that you’ve memorized everything there is to know. There are notes and theories scribbled into the margins and little sticky notes with questions scattered around the papers.

“It helps to step away for a little bit, that way when we land you come back to it with fresh eyes.” The utensils drawer clicks shut as Reid grabs a spoon to stir his coffee, risking the chance to finally look at you.

You’re twisting the ring on your finger and chewing the inside of your cheek. Without your shoes on, the top of your head comes to his shoulders.

When you look up at him, (y/e/c) eyes thoughtful and just as curious as the day they met, Reid can’t fight the urge that draws his gaze to your lips. The skin there is so very soft looking, surprising him when the thought of kissing them hits him like a train.

He clears his throat, focusing all of his attention on the coffee cup in front of him. The sugar is completely stirred in at this point, but he kind of wants to stay in the hopes that you’ll strike up a conversation.

“But everyone is different so you don’t have to listen to me, just do whatever helps you.” His shoulders lift in a shrug and he’s glad that nobody is there to see him interact with this girl. They would know how he felt before he could even come to terms with it himself.

As quickly as you are there, you leave. Completely flustered and unsure how to go about navigating a relationship that’s foundation was an unintentional love confession. Maybe, you thought as you leaned into your seat and closed your eyes, if I just ignore him then everything will be fine.

By the time the jet touched down in Nebraska, you had fallen into a dead sleep with your book sitting open in your lap. Emily was the one to reach out and gently shake your shoulder, the smile on her face gentle and motherly. Still blinking away sleep, you quickly scrambled to grab your bag and book before rushing for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, the shoe laces on one of your shoes hadn’t been completely tied. Add that to the speed in which you were trying to separate yourself from Reid, and you managed to trip over your feet and right into the person you were trying to avoid.

Your bag hit the ground, the book following suit as a warm hand grabbed you by your upper arm and pulled. When you collided with someone’s chest, you didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Reid smelled like old books, laundry detergent, and cinnamon.

“Your shoe is untied.” He said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You didn’t look up, afraid the heat in your cheeks would give you away. You looked down instead, noticing the way your feet were inside the breadth of his stance. One shoe’s laces laid precariously around your foot as if mocking you. Quickly, you took a step away and almost tripped again on your bag. You caught yourself on one of the seats, holding a hand out to keep Reid from grabbing you again.

“Thank you, I’m okay. Really.” You didn’t meet his eyes, every lewd thought you’d had during that stupid lecture about his lips and hands and hair came rushing back at you with every glance. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could see each fantasy written on your face like a lusty, ten-cent romance novel.

Morgan, having stopped to watch the two doctors in your clearly flustered states, suddenly felt it click in his brain. Sure, you were older and not as squirrelly as he remembered, but the way you were looking at his partner was nearly the exact same as you had seven years ago.

Feeling smug for finally figuring it out, he walked up to Spencer with his bag thrown over his shoulder, stopping beside him as they both watched you rush for the exit.

“Can you imagine someone having a crush on you for seven years? Oh, wait.” Bending down to grab his bag, Spencer shook his head in such a way that a few loose curls tangled on his eyelashes. A simple sweep of his hand across his face helped to push it away.

“It took you long enough to figure it out.” Spencer took the lead, dreading the car ride with Derek to the medical examiners. He had been hoping his older partner wouldn’t remember who you were, at least, until the case was solved.

“Oh ho ho, don’t think you can avoid this conversation with insults, pretty boy.” Morgan was hot on his tail, and that was exactly where he stayed for the next three days that the team was in Nebraska.

The killer was, in fact, a massive fan of the infamous Justin Millers. It was just a matter of pinpointing which of the crazy fanatics he was, which might have been easier if the local populace was more open to talking to law enforcement.

It was by a brilliant stroke of luck, or rather misfortune, that the team realized sending you undercover would help on many different levels. Not only did you fit the victimology, (all they needed to do was get you a ‘job’ at one of the local bars) but you would also be able to get information from the civilians that were unwilling to talk to the FBI.

Four days into your undercover mission, you found yourself wiping down the counter after closing. The band was packing up their equipment on stage and your boss had already left. Laily, the only other bartender here tonight, was flirting with the drummer while you closed things up behind the counter.

As was customary, the members of your team had taken turns following you around everyday just in case anything happened. Today just so happened to be Spencer’s turn, you’d managed to slip him into the back room before all the customers had left for the night. It was the only reason you gave Laily the okay when she asked if you would be cool closing by yourself tonight.

“I can’t believe after five years of college, I’m back to bartending.” You grumbled, shouldering the backroom door open with a box full of beer in your hands. Spencer jumped up from the crate he’d been leaning against, holding the back of the door open so you could get in a little easier.

“You were a bartender before?” He asked curiously, trying to ignore the way the low-cut black uniform shirt you were wearing fit against your figure and twisted his insides. Factor in the tight jeans that hung on your hips and the sheen of sweat on your skin from the hot summer night and he could barely focus, let alone protect you from any possible threats.

“The years between my college graduation and my joining the FBI, yeah. I could have done something different, I guess, but I wanted to have a normal young adult job before I spent the rest of my life chasing serial killers and such.” You turned to face him, actually meeting his eyes for the first time this week.

Unlike you, he was wearing his FBI Kevlar. The navy blue tie that he wore was tucked into the top of it, the baby blue sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up around his elbows. You, yourself, were having an awful time trying to keep from getting all kinds of flustered just looking at him.

The young profiler you remember was all wiry and clean cut, the man in front of you is more scraggly. His hair curls around his jawline and his forearms are far more attractive than anybody’s forearms ought to be.

His parents were just showing off, casually bringing a child into the world that looks like that.

“I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He blurted, surprising himself. You could tell by the way his brows dipped down and he took a step back immediately after saying it. Even his cheeks were a little pink.

“What happened between us was like seven years ago and all you did was tell me you had a crush on me. And then take it back. I just don’t want it to affect our work relationship because everyone already likes you a lot and I want to get the chance to like you as well.” For someone who always seems so very shy and awkward, his eyes look directly into yours, narrowing just a little. His tongue pokes out from between his lips and turns all of your bones to jelly underneath you.

He just ages like fine wine and you know that, should you be offered a permanent position at the BAU, that you would have to spend the rest of your working days keeping yourself in check while the man in front of you continued to evolve into a more gorgeous version of himself every year. The Spencer you remember had felt like peak Spencer, now this Spencer felt like peak Spencer, but who is to say that five years from now, when he decides to grow a little stubble and style his hair differently, that he wouldn’t somehow get even more attractive?

You open your mouth to come up with some bullshit answer that you didn’t really mean in order to smooth things over, when the door opens again. Spencer, standing directly infront of said door, looks not unlike a deer caught in the headlights of a truck barreling right at him going way too fast on a backroad.

Time crawls at an unusual pace, the door slowly creaking open and Laily’s voice filtering in the opening. Why did he have to wear that stupid vest? Surely the FBI has bullet proof vests you could wear under your clothing. The only idea you could come up with was, honestly, not a very good one. But it was the only one you had.

Practically launching yourself across the room, you catch Spencer’s lips against your own like the world depends on it. Using your own hands, you position Spencer’s arms around you with one hand on the back of your head and the other grabbing underneath your leg that hooks around his waist. The vest uncomfortably digs into your chest with how close your bodies are against one another, your arms now thrown around his neck, but if he keeps kissing you like this then you’ll be inclined to ignore it.

Just seconds ago he had been begging you to have a normal relationship despite your silly ‘past’ crush, now his tongue was fighting for dominance in your mouth. The irony was not lost on you.

“Oh.” Laily gasps a little when she sees you in such a compromising position. The lights from the bar illuminating every detail so that she could see the way Spencer’s fingers desperately tangled in the strands of your hair or how the muscles in his forearm strained as he hungrily pulled your body even closer than before.

The blush on your cheeks and neck are real when you pull your lips away, fire erupting in the pit of your stomach when Spencer catches your bottom lip in between his teeth for just a second. The look in his eyes is devilish when you tilt your head over your shoulder to meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry Laily, this is my boyfriend, Lance. I just- I heard about all those girls that have been going missing and I asked if he would drive me home.” The look in your coworkers eyes is all you need to know that this does not look like just a ride home. Although, it very well could have led to a ride somewhere if she had been just a handful of minutes slower.

“Nice to meet you, Lance. Gwen, I’ll see you tomorrow. Just,” the mischievous twinkle in her eyes does not go unnoticed by the two doctors in the room still tangled around each other, “maybe clock out before things get anymore heated.” She teases, the tone of her voice suggesting that you will be hearing more of this tomorrow.

“Bye, Laily!” The door clicks shut behind her, followed by the chuckles and giggles of Laily and the band as they leave for the night. You relax into Spencer’s arms, moving as if to pull out of them before they tense around you.

“We should be safe now.” You whisper, looking up into his eyes that burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in them before. That damn tongue sweeps across those perfect lips again, drawing your attention and reminding you that you now know what they feel like locked with yours.

“I think I hear somebody coming.” He whispers back, aware that you can both hear the soft bang of the front door closing and locking shut from the outside. Since the killings, the door was always locked if employees were still inside, as a safety precaution. Nobody else was coming in tonight unless they had a key.

Your lips meet his anyways, too tired to pretend that the heat between you wasn’t there. If this was the excuse he needed to kiss you, then you were all the more willing to give it to him. His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, causing them to open against his mouth and deepen the kiss.

Both of his wide hands splay against your hips, curling into the soft skin there and pulling you toward him with such force that you nearly trip. The hard edges of his Kevlar vest dig into your ribs and collarbone, the rough material scratching against your exposed skin as you push yourself up on your toes. When he breaks from the kiss, both of you gasping for air not from the length of it by from the passion, it is not to end your tryst.

His lips find the pulse at your neck, sucking a bruise at the soft skin there and pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“Won’t- Won’t Morgan and Prentiss get worried,” your brain feels like the motherboard of a computer that Spencer has taken into his hands and slammed into a countertop, you can’t think when his teeth nip a love bite to the hickey he’s made on your neck, “if we, uhm, we take too long?”

If you thought the Spencer you met seven years ago was different from the Spencer you knew now, it was only because you’d never seen his bright hazel brown eyes darken with lust from beneath those impossibly long golden lashes. He was a completely different person as he unstrapped himself from the Kevlar, laying it on the floor with a solid thunk before gathering you back into his arms.

“They’ll be okay,” He said in between kisses trailed along your jawline. His movements are confident as he dips a hand down the front of your jeans and into your underwear. Your arms tighten around him, pulling your face into the crook of his neck when his fingers find the already wet entrance to your sex. His answering growl does nothing to keep you from coming undone as he presses the pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves there. “I’m guessing it won’t be long before I have you in the palm of my hands, anyways.”

You rock your hips into him, your eyes fluttering shut with a gasp when he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. His other arm is wrapped around the center of your back, holding you to him because lord knows you can’t be trusted on your own two feet at a moment like this.

“Is this why you planned on ignoring me? Because you wouldn’t be able to handle it if I didn’t give you this?” You whimper a response, too focused on the relentless pace he has set with his fingers to come up with anything coherent. Everything about the moment is raw and animalistic, every fantasy you’d had about him during the fifty minute lecture did not even begin to touch on the feeling of his hand actually inside of you.

“Spencer, please.” You whined, dropping your arms from his shoulders and gripping onto his biceps like it will keep your soul from leaving your body. Yet, as heavenly as this felt, and as much as it exceeded your fantasies, you wanted more. Every part of you craved the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, sticky with sweat and feverish to the touch.

On a tight time constraint, Spencer doesn’t make you beg anymore than that. Instead, he delights in the way you cry out when he pulls his hand out of your pants and up to his lips. Your own lips part with a tiny popping sound when you watch him put those same fingers into his mouth with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Strip.” He commands, licking the taste of you off his lips and leisurely working at the knot of his tie. You don’t waste a second in crossing your arms over your body to pull the black material over your head and drop it at your feet. Next to come off is your shoes, clattering across the wooden floor when you kick them to the side.

By the time you make it to your pants, Spencer has only undone a quarter of the navy blue buttons on his shirt.

“I need you now, Spencer.” The buttons slip through your fingers, your hands shaking with excitement more than nerves. Although, the nerves are definitely apart of it. Never in a million years did you think you would be here; in the backroom of a bar in Nebraska, with Spencer Reid doing salacious things to you. While on your first case with the BAU, nontheless.

Doing a complete one-eighty, his hands come up to cover your own just before the last button comes undone. His touch is gentle and prompts you to look up into his coffee colored eyes. The light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling is no good, and yet somehow he manages to look like a piece of artwork painted by the most skilled hand known to mankind.

“We don’t have to do this here. We don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to.” You squint your eyes up at him, using your fingernail to pop the last button through the hole on the other side of the shirt. When you let go, the pieces fall away from his chest like he’s caught in slow motion on a Calvin Klein commercial.

“I said I needed you now, not later.” In response, he scoops you into his arms and wraps your legs around his hips. The electricity that pops and crackles between you is nearly visible in the dimly lit room, the fabric of your bra skimming against his collarbone when you breath.

The little whines and whimpers that fall from your lips are driving Spencer crazy, forcing him to push through the door and lower you to a shorter countertop meant for making drinks. Tonight it would be used for other, more wicked things.

“Someone’s a bit excited.” You breathed. There was no way you could take a full breath in a moment like this. Everything was so heated and yet nothing was really happening.

“Shut the fuck up.” And then he was kissing you, his lips warm against your own. Despite the fact that you didn’t think it was possible, he pulled you closer. You knitted your fingers into his curls and gave them a slight tug. God, you loved these curls.

He began sucking a heated trail down your throat, quite possibly leaving a pathway of hickeys. You would be putting makeup over them for at least thirty minutes before you left your hotel room tomorrow, but for now they were heavenly fire against your skin.

Spencer took away his lips long enough to strip from his remaining clothes and throw them over his shoulder. When he stood in front of you looking like a Roman god, bared to no one but yourself, it made you feel like the luckiest person alive.

“I’m so in love with your body.” He groaned just before his lips found your breast, sucking on your nipple. Your head fell back and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fumbled for a moment, patting around the countertop before your brain turned on long enough to get your hand between your legs and down to his naked erection.

He moaned into your breast as you began to move your hand. He let go of your boob and went straight back up to your mouth. His whole body was tensed up but his lips were soft as they parted against against your lips. The whole world felt like it was on fire, and his every touch was another lick of flames.

You move your hand faster, enjoying every groan and grunt and moan that finds it’s way out of his mouth and into yours. He’s already close to orgasm, you can tell by the way he breaks from the kiss, your foreheads pressed together and your breath stirring in the small space between your faces. His grip is tight when he grabs your wrist to make you stop.

“No.” Every nerve and thought and feeling was consumed by you and everything else short-circuited. Spencer couldn’t get the words out of his mouth to properly express what he wanted, it wasn’t often that the young genius was rendered speechless.

But you knew, you knew that he wanted to be inside of you. You knew that because you wanted him inside of you just as much, if not more, than he did. You shift your hips around on the counter, getting closer to the edge as you widen your legs.

“I’m on the pill.” You whisper, watching the sudden realization that he hadn’t come prepared widen his eyes for just a small fraction of a second. Just as quickly, the fear turns into that devlish grin you weren’t aware someone so beautifully shy and awkward could possess.

“Thank you, Pincus, Sanger, and McCormick.” You barely have time to question the comment, although later you’ll realize he’s probably talking about three of the minds behind the invention of the birth control pill. No longer taking his time, Spencer positions himself right at your entrance before running the tip of his cock along your wet folds.

“Fuck!” He slams into you, running his entire length into your body, hitting depths you didn’t even realize had never been touched until he was thrusting against them. It sends a wave of pleasure through every cell in your body as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him like you’re running out of oxygen.

He holds onto your hips as he repeatedly rams his hips into yours. He has buried his face into the crook of your neck, letting every curse and moan muffle into your skin. The glasses under the counter jangle with every merciless thrust inside you. The sharp bite of his nails digging into your hips makes you hiss, but it’s more from pleasure than pain.

There’s no dirty talking anymore. Every ounce of pretend you both go through while around one another is shed like seconds skins, leaving two people so hungry for each other that it had been too much to bare.

Your fingers are twisted around the short curls at the nape of his neck and your teeth are biting into the solid muscle at his shoulder. The bar always had whiffs of sex and sweat in the air that mixed with the smell of alcohol and perfume, but now it was the strongest scent in the room.

Even as your orgasm starts to build in your belly, you want more. You want to hold him so close that your brain wouldn’t be able to distinguish where you ended and he began. Letting go of his shoulder, your head lolls back and your own nails draw long lines of red down his neck.

“Spencer!” His name leaves your lips in a mix of a sob and a moan, the ecstasy of just his touch alone driving you higher and higher. The sting of his nails leave your hips, one hand reaching to the place where your connected and the other coming up to grip your jaw in his hand.

His thumb rubs against the little button of pleasure that causes your legs to start to tingle like they’ve been asleep for too long. All the while, he ruthless pace doesn’t falter. Sweat sticks a few of his curls to his temples, providing a beautiful glowing effect across the smooth planes and angles of his shoulders and collarbones.

He leans forward to catch your lips in a kiss that ends much too quickly for your taste, but you can feel the rapid exhalation of his breaths as it fans across your cheek.

“Come.” Usually a man of so many words, you had always assumed it would be the same in his sex life. Maybe it was true in most cases, but right now his desire to see you succumb to the pleasure of him inside of you outweighs the need to taunt and tease you with words.

Meeting his eyes, getting off on the smug look that twists his lips as much as you are getting off on his dick actually inside of you, you let yourself fall into the sweet release of your orgasm. Spencer doesn’t stop as you come around him, instead he quickens the pace as his own release works its way to the edge.

Your legs are still shaking when he buries himself into you with one final thrust, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. He chases the sting of his teeth away with the softness of the kiss that follows, loosing himself in the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Neither of you move, although he ends the kiss to gasp for air with your foreheads once again pressed against each other. His eyes are closed, the dark pink on his cheeks and neck making him look so much younger than he was. You keep your eyes open, trying to drink in every second and commit it to your memory the way it would forever be in his.

When he steps away, leaving you feeling much more empty than you’d felt in a really long time, the cocktail of your orgasms spill down the inside of your thighs. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you slip off the counter with your arm wrapped around your bared breasts.

The air seems too cold, the bar too quiet, and your mind was too loud with insecurities as you tried to steady yourself on wobbly knees. Nevertheless, you attempt to make a beeline for the backroom door. If you go and put your clothes back on then maybe you could go back to pretending like he doesn’t exist and everything will be fine.

That is until one of those solidly handsome arms come out to stop you in your pursuit of denial.

He’s still naked, standing next to you like a statue carved by the hands of Michaelangelo himself. Although, you aren’t sure the renissance artist would sculpt nail marks into his skin, the signs of your heated escapade only darkening with time. You can only imagine what your own neck looks like, several spots of sensitive skin still overly stimulated from his wandering mouth.

From your vantage point, you can see his swollen lips open to say something, probably that this had been a mistake, when his phone rings from the pair of pants he’d so carelessly thrown to the floor earlier. A small frown mars his angelic features, the side of his mouth twitching with aggravation.

His lips on yours are a surprise you weren’t expecting, despite the sexual encounter you’d just had. This kiss speaks more words than he could ever possibly say, easing all the post-coital dysphoria that comes with the sudden fall from the high you’d been on. It’s gentle and warm, the hand on your arm squeezes reassuredly before he breaks away with one last peck to your forehead. It nearly tears your beating heart out of your chest.

“Come to my hotel room later.” And then he bends down to snag the phone from his pants with an aggravated growl, turning away from you as he lies through his teeth to a worried Prentiss on the other end.

In the backroom, having shimmied back into your pants and going to put your shirt back over your head, you fingers find your lips. They’re just a little swollen, exactly like his, but you wonder if he can still feel that final kiss against them the way that you could.

Oh boy, were you in trouble.

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