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brunchable · 2 months ago

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The Marriage Bet

Pairings: Best Friend Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Themes: A bet. A bit of comedy but mostly fluff and Bucky treating his woman right ;)

Summary: If in three years time both of you were still single, you will marry your best friend, Bucky. That's the bet.

A/N: For those of you who voted for 'Calm Down, Dad Mode' I've added it to this story. This has got to be my favorite fluff FML. Also let me TELL YOU, the cravings in pregnancy and the emotions are real because I lived it lmao. PART 2

Three Years Ago

"You know what we should do?” Bucky said out of the blue, his gaze fixed on you with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. The two of you had been lounging on his couch for hours, talking about everything and nothing. It was a lazy night filled with laughter, shared memories, and the kind of comfortable silence only you and Bucky knew how to savour.

You glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

“If we’re still single in three years… let’s get married,” he announced, as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. His tone was light, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t joking.

You stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge if he was serious. “Bucky, have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, his lips twitching up into that familiar smirk that made your heart skip. “But think about it. No more crappy dates, no more getting your heart broken by idiots who don’t deserve you. Just us. You and me. We already know each other’s worst habits, and we get along. It’d be a good marriage.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You make it sound like we’re signing up for a business merger.”

He laughed at that, the sound deep and genuine. “Maybe. But at least you’d know you’re stuck with someone who’s never going to walk out on you. Someone who’d fight for you.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten, and for a second, you allowed yourself to picture it. A life with Bucky, the two of you navigating the ups and downs together. No more failed relationships, no more loneliness. Just the comfort and security of someone who knew you better than anyone else.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you murmured, still stunned by the idea.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah, I am. So, what do you say?”

You hesitated for just a beat, then broke into a grin. “Deal, Barnes. If we’re still single in three years, I’ll marry your crazy ass.”

He grinned back, his hand shooting out to seal the promise with a firm handshake. But as your fingers clasped around his, the energy between you shifted — playful and yet, inexplicably serious.

“Deal,” he echoed softly, a knowing look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

× × × ×

Present

You leaned against the railing of the rooftop, your eyes skimming over the city lights below as the faint notes of Taylor Swift’s break-up songs filled the air. You and Bucky had been up here for hours, talking and drinking, the night air crisp against your skin.

It had been a rough few months for you — the breakup still felt fresh, the sting of rejection and disappointment lingering. But being here with Bucky made it easier. He had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like everything would be okay, even when it didn’t seem that way.

“Y’know, you’re the best,” you murmured, your words slurred slightly from the champagne. “I mean it, Buck. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled softly, his gaze warm as he watched you. “Good thing you don’t have to find out, huh?”

You nodded, letting out a sigh as you turned back to the view. “Still, I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m destined to be alone or something.”

“That’s not true,” he said quietly, setting his glass down and turning to face you fully. “And you know it.”

You shrugged, glancing over at him. “Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like it. Everyone I’ve ever dated just—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Bucky suddenly shifted, reaching into his pocket. Your eyes widened as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and, without hesitation, flipped it open. The soft light of the rooftop glinted off the 1.5-carat diamond ring nestled inside — simple, elegant, and undeniably breathtaking.

“What’s that?” you asked, your breath catching in your throat.

Bucky arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look. “An engagement ring, Y/N. What else?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a ring!” you sputtered, your mind reeling. “But why—how—what are you doing with it?”

Bucky sighed, muttering under his breath, “For someone so smart, she really can’t see what’s right in front of her.”

You barely had time to process the words before he got up from his sitting position and slowly knelt down on one knee. The movement made your heart jump into your throat, your breath hitching as he looked up at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I want to marry you, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm and sure. “Not because of some bet or joke we made all those years ago, but because… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be the one you come home to. The one who makes you laugh when you’re sad. The one who fights for you.”

You felt your chest tighten as the weight of his words sank in, the sincerity in his voice making it almost impossible to breathe. “Bucky… this is—”

“I know this is crazy,” he continued, cutting you off gently, his gaze never leaving yours. “But when have we ever been normal, huh? I’m not asking you to feel something you don’t or to change anything between us. But I am a man of my word, and I’m keeping the promise we made.”

Your mind raced, memories of that night flashing through your mind — the promise, the shared laughter, the way he’d looked at you back then as if you were the only thing that mattered. And now, here he was, years later, kneeling in front of you with an engagement ring, ready to turn that promise into something real.

He took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he held out the ring, his expression almost pleading. “So… will you marry me? Not because you feel like you have to, but because you want to?”

You stared down at him, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing anchoring you being his blue eyes, filled with nothing but hope and determination.

“Well? Say something, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper now. “Because I’m dying here.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the tears welling in your eyes spilling over as you shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re really going all out, huh?” you teased, “Getting down on one knee and everything… how could I say no to a man with such dedication?”

Bucky blinked, caught off guard, and then let out a soft laugh of his own. “Is that a yes, or are you just stalling to make me sweat more?”

You glanced at the ring, then back at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I guess… if I have to be stuck with someone for the rest of my life… it might as well be you.”

“Yes,” you added quickly, your smile widening as you looked at him with all the warmth and affection you felt. “Of course it’s a yes, you idiot!”

Relief washed over his face, his grin so wide it could’ve lit up the entire rooftop. “You really know how to keep a guy on edge, don’t you?”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” you replied with a laugh, reaching out to brush your fingers against his cheek. “I can’t make it too easy for you.”

His chuckle was deep and genuine, the tension melting from his shoulders as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can be so mean you know that?”

“Mean?” you scoffed, giving him a playful look of disbelief. “You’re proposing to me, remember? I’m just making sure you know exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky shook his head, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Oh, I know. And I’m still all in, even if you make me work for it.”

You grinned, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky didn’t hesitate, his arms coming up to hold you close, his chin resting gently on top of your head. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your chin resting on his chest as your eyes locked with his. The sound of the music drifted softly through the air, wrapping around you both like an embrace.

You could see the tenderness in his gaze, the way his eyes softened as he looked down at you. There was something indescribable in the way he held you, his hands warm and secure against your back, as if he never wanted to let go.

“You know,” you murmured softly, a small smile playing on your lips, “I completely forgot about that bet.”

Bucky’s lips quirked up at the corners as he started to sway gently, rocking you both back and forth in time with the music.

“Yeah? Good thing I haven’t.” he agreed quietly, his voice low and filled with something that made your heart flutter.

You let out a content sigh, closing your eyes for a moment as you swayed together under the soft glow of the rooftop lights, the melody of the song weaving its way into your soul. There was a peace, a sense of rightness in the way his hands rested on your waist, the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

Opening your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, the corners of your lips curving up into a playful smile. “I’m really going to make you regret this, you know.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently against your side as he gazed down at you. “Doubt it. But you’re welcome to try, sweetheart—I mean what else could I possibly not know about you?”

Your smile widened as you looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. “Oh, you’ll find out. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m not full of surprises.”

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“Just remember you asked for it,” you teased, your voice soft as your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt. “You’re the one who’s committing to a lifetime of never quite knowing what I’ll do next.”

“Yeah?” he murmured, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again, a smile playing on his own. “I guess I like keeping things interesting, too.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, and you felt the tension melt away as you both swayed gently to the music. It felt like a new beginning — a promise that whatever came next, you’d be facing it together.

× × × ×

A few months later.

The garden was alive with soft laughter and murmurs as the afternoon sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves. The air was filled with the delicate scent of roses and jasmine, and the gentle rustling of leaves provided the perfect backdrop for the small, intimate gathering of friends.

Bucky stood under the floral archway, his suit somehow both perfectly fitted and slightly askew in that way only Bucky could pull off. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. When you turned the corner, your eyes met his, and you couldn’t help but smile at the exaggerated sigh of relief he let out.

“Thank God you showed up,” he teased, his voice carrying over the gentle breeze. “Thought I’d have to marry Sam instead.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you made your way down the short aisle, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, keep it up, Barnes. He’d leave you at the altar, you know.”

Bucky grinned, his shoulders relaxing as you stepped up to him. “True. He couldn’t handle my morning breath.”

The officiant cleared his throat gently, drawing soft chuckles from your friends. Bucky’s gaze stayed locked on yours, a playful twinkle in his eyes as if you were sharing a private joke no one else could understand.

“You ready for this?” he murmured softly, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, giving him a small nod.

The ceremony was simple and sweet, with your closest friends standing in a loose circle around you, their smiles reflecting the joy and camaraderie that had always defined your relationship with Bucky.

When it came time for the vows, Bucky cleared his throat dramatically, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“I’m not good at this stuff,” he began, waving the paper around, “so I wrote it down. Just so I don’t forget the important parts. Like promising I won’t eat your fries without asking.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head. “So that’s why you’re marrying me? For my fries?”

“Partly,” Bucky said with a wink, earning a few laughs from your friends. “But seriously… I promise to always be your partner in crime. To watch bad movies with you, to be your go-to plus-one for all those events you hate, and to be the one you can call at 3 a.m. when the world feels like too much.”

His voice softened slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I promise to be your best friend, to listen, and to support you. And yeah, to not eat your fries — unless you’re not looking.”

You chuckled, blinking back the unexpected prickle of tears. “Damn, Barnes. Setting the bar high for husband material, aren’t you?”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he replied with a smirk.

When it was your turn, you took a deep breath, glancing down at your own slightly crumpled paper. “Bucky, I promise to keep being your reality check, to make sure you don’t take yourself too seriously. I promise to help you with your crazy woodworking projects, even when you refuse to read the instructions. And I promise to be your partner in all things — the weird, the good, and the unpredictable.”

Bucky’s grin softened into a small, genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I think we’re gonna be pretty good at this whole marriage thing.”

“I think so too,” you murmured back.

The officiant’s voice broke through the quiet moment, his smile warm. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Bucky, you may now—”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, holding up a hand as he turned to you, his expression half-serious, half-teasing. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, surprised. “What?”

“You know,” he said, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “This is technically our first kiss. I want to get it right. So… how do you like it?”

A burst of laughter escaped you, the tension in your shoulders melting away as the sheer Bucky-ness of the question made you grin. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Come on, humor me,” he pressed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Slow? Gentle? Or should I just go for it?”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “Just… kiss me, you goof.”

Bucky grinned, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Alright, Mrs. Barnes,” he said softly, leaning in. “I’ll make it good.”

His grin widened and shifts a little closer to you, Bucky dipped his head and you felt your noses brush. His breath is on your lips, and you quiver a bit at the odd sensation. Without another moment to spare you realise that he's pressing his lips to yours—it was nothing like you’d expected. His hand slipped to the small of your back, drawing you closer, his eyes fully closed. Bucky was concentrating on the kiss, and you realised that your eyes were wide open. Slowly you close them, hiding away your brilliant orbs.

Bucky’s lips are oddly doft in this kiss and it stays slow and sweet. He wrapped his arm around you more, lifting you slightly off your feet. The veil fluttered around you like a soft cocoon, and then everything disappeared as his mouth moved insync with you, his kiss remained slowly, his mouth molding against yours in a way that made your knees weak.

His fingers gently tangled in your hair, his thumb brushing softly along your cheekbone as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

But then he shifted, tilting your head just slightly as he deepened the kiss, his hold around you tightening. It was then that you felt him let go completely — every barrier, every wall he’d kept up around himself crumbling as he poured everything into that kiss.

Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the faint cheers and whistles of your friends—Sam being the most obnoxious—but it all felt like background noise. It was just you and Bucky, wrapped up in this kiss that felt like it had been building up for years. His lips slid over yours with a kind of sweet intensity, a silent confession of everything he hadn’t said — of everything he didn’t know how to say.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you were breathless, hearts pounding in unison. He didn’t let go, his arms still wrapped around you as if you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

A soft cheer went up from your friends—Sam being the most obvious— and Bucky’s grin turned almost smug. “How was that?”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands clutching his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. “Yeah, Buck. I think you got it just right.”

“Good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a long, lingering moment before his smile widened into something boyish and relieved. “Just wanted to make sure.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased gently, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”

Bucky’s laugh was soft, his nose brushing against yours. “Guess I should keep practicing, huh?”

You nodded, your grin matching his. “Yeah. Keep practicing, Barnes.”

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, slower and just as sweet as the first, you knew that this — all of this — was exactly how it was meant to be.

× × × ×

1.5 years later

You were pacing back and forth in the bathroom, your heart hammering in your chest. Every few seconds, your eyes would dart to the three little sticks sitting ominously on the edge of the sink — three white, plastic harbingers of potential chaos.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you whispered frantically to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as if willing the tests to disappear — or at least show some clarity.

How did it come to this? You were supposed to be life partners — partners in crime, best friends — no strings attached, no expectations. Just two people who promised to be there for each other. Sure, you got married, but it was all because of the bet. A way to keep each other from loneliness, you both said. Nothing more, right?

Except somewhere along the line, late-night talks had turned into stolen kisses. Comforting hugs had turned into tangled limbs. And now… this.

“Oh my god, he’s going to flip,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the still-blank screens on the tests. “This isn’t how we were supposed to—”

“Supposed to what?”

You jumped about a foot in the air, letting out a small squeak of surprise as Bucky’s voice filled the bathroom. You whipped around, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as you spotted him leaning casually against the doorframe, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Bucky! Don’t—don’t just sneak up on people like that!” you stammered, instinctively shuffling over to the sink to block his view.

His smirk widened. “I didn’t sneak. You’re just too distracted, sweetheart.” He pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you squeaked, your voice a little too high-pitched.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh-huh. So, you’re just hanging out in the bathroom, talking to yourself?”

“Yes!” you answered quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Yep, just a totally normal conversation with… myself. Very productive.”

He eyed you, suspicion etched all over his face. “Uh-huh. And why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I don’t!” you lied, crossing your arms over your chest as if that could somehow shield you from his scrutiny.

Bucky took another step closer, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. “Then why are you standing like that?”

You moved subtly, trying to casually scoot to the left, but your back hit the edge of the sink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, leaning down slightly to look your directly in the eyes. “What’s behind you, Y/N?”

“Nothing!” you insisted, but your hand twitched involuntarily, knocking into one of the sticks. It clattered onto the counter, bouncing once before rolling to a stop right at Bucky’s feet.

You froze.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to the test, and his entire expression shifted — from curiosity to confusion to wide-eyed realization.

“Wait… is that a—?”

“No!” you yelped, diving forward to snatch up the stick and hide it behind your back. You stood there, breathing heavily, your face flushed with a mix of panic and embarrassment.

Bucky’s gaze slid back to you, his lips quirking into an incredulous smile. “Y/N, are those… pregnancy tests?”

You glanced around desperately, as if you could conjure up some kind of diversion to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Uh… no? Maybe?”

“Sweetheart…” Bucky stepped around your easily, and in one quick motion, he plucked the other two tests off the sink. He held them up, his eyes wide and eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline. “There are three.”

“Yeah, well… you know, the first one could be a fluke, and the second one too, and…” you trailed off, wincing at how ridiculous you sounded.

Bucky blinked, then let out a bark of laughter. “Three tests, huh? You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“Bucky!” you hissed, mortification washing over you. “This isn’t funny!”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, though his lips were still twitching with amusement. “But you’re freaking out over here, hiding them like I wasn’t gonna notice.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!” you lied, folding your arms across your chest again. “I was just… assessing the situation.”

He raised an eyebrow, waving one of the tests in front of your face. “Assessing, huh? And what’s the situation, then?”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “I don’t know, okay? I haven’t looked at them yet!”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Wait, you haven’t looked?” Bucky’s voice was filled with genuine disbelief. “You’ve been pacing around in here, stressing yourself out, and you haven’t even checked?”

“I’m not ready!” you snapped defensively. “I mean… what if they’re positive?”

Bucky’s grin softened into something more genuine, and he stepped forward, gently cupping your cheek. “Then they’re positive.”

Your eyes met his, the sincerity and calmness in his gaze making some of your panic ebb away. “But we’re not even— I mean, this was supposed to be—”

“A bet?” he finished softly, a hint of something unreadable in his eyes. “Yeah. I remember. But bets don’t always go the way you plan.”

You swallowed hard, your heart still hammering wildly. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” he repeated, his expression incredulous. “Why the hell would I be mad? I mean, sure, this is unexpected. But mad?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “C’mon, Y/N. You really think I’d be mad about having a family with you?”

The words made your heart stutter, and you stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Bucky…”

“Let’s just see what they say, alright?” he murmured gently, stepping back and nodding toward the tests. “No more freaking out until we know.”

With trembling hands, you turned each test over, your breath hitching as you looked at the results.

Positive.

Bucky’s grin had barely faded before the reality of the situation seemed to really hit him this time. His gaze drifted back to the three tests lined up on the sink, and you watched as his face slowly drained of colour.

“Bucky?” you asked cautiously, noticing the way his grip on your arm loosened slightly.

He blinked, his eyes darting between you and the tests like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. “So, uh… positive. All three?”

You nodded slowly, worry beginning to creep back in. “Yeah, Buck. All three.”

“Oh… Oh, wow,” he muttered, his eyes widening. “That’s… that’s a lot of positive.”

“Bucky—”

“I mean, I knew one was a lot, but three—positives?” he rambled, swaying slightly on his feet. “That’s… that’s a whole lot of… baby.”

“Bucky, are you okay?” you asked, reaching out to steady him as his face turned even paler.

“I’m—yeah, I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back slightly as his knees buckled.

“Bucky!” you shouted, grabbing for him as he crumpled to the floor in a faint.

You managed to catch his weight just enough to keep him from completely knocking his head on the tiles, though it took every ounce of strength you had to keep him semi-upright.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you huffed, looking down at his unconscious form with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You’re the one who said you’d be fine with this!”

He let out a soft, incoherent groan, his head lolling to the side as you carefully lowered him all the way to the ground and raised his legs above his head for bloodflow.

“Of course you’d faint, you big drama queen,” you muttered, crouching down beside him and lightly patting his cheeks. “Come on, Buck. Wake up. I’m not doing this alone, you hear me?”

After a few more pats and murmured reassurances, his eyelids fluttered open, and he blinked up at you, dazed and confused.

“Y/N?” he mumbled, his voice slurred. “What… what happened?”

“You fainted, you big idiot,” you said, the frustration in your tone softened by the overwhelming relief that he was okay. “Over three little tests.”

Bucky stared at you blankly, then his gaze drifted back to the sink where the tests still sat in a neat row, mocking him with their tiny positive signs.

“Oh… right,” he murmured, his face scrunching up as he tried to process it all again. “So it wasn’t a dream?”

“Nope.” You shook your head, giving him a half-smile. “Definitely not a dream.”

“Damn,” he breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I really fainted, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” you replied, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let you hit your head.”

He chuckled weakly, his gaze still lingering on the tests. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand finding yours and squeezing gently.

“I love you, Y/N, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice soft and a little slurred as he still looked dazed. “Not like a friend, but y’know… like, love love.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden confession. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting you all over again. “Bucky, you’re still out of it.”

“Yeah, probably,” he murmured, blinking up at you with a lopsided grin. “But doesn’t make it any less true.”

Shaking your head, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, your smile softening. “I know, Buck. We’ll talk about that later when you’re not busy fainting over pregnancy tests, okay?”

“’Kay,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping slightly. “But just… so you know.”

“I know,” you repeated gently, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Just rest for a second, and then we’ll figure this all out together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes drifting shut for a moment before he opened them again, looking at you with a sleepy smile. “We’re really gonna be parents, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, your heart swelling with affection. “We really are.”

“Cool,” he murmured, his head lolling back against the bathroom tiles. “Love you, Y/N… love love.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head as you sat beside him, holding his hand. “Love you too, Bucky. Now, no more fainting, okay?”

“No promises,” he mumbled, but his grip tightened around your hand, as if even in his half-conscious state, he didn’t want to let go.

And as you sat there on the bathroom floor, Bucky still looking a little woozy but smiling up at you with that goofy, endearing grin, you couldn’t help but think that maybe — just maybe — everything was going to be just fine.

× × × ×

First Trimester.

The clock on the kitchen wall glowed a soft, accusatory 2:37 a.m. as Bucky shuffled groggily into the dimly lit space, scratching at his head. He was half-asleep, dressed in rumpled sweatpants and a t-shirt that had seen better days, and still trying to figure out why he’d been dragged from his warm bed.

He paused mid-step when he spotted you sitting at the kitchen table, your shoulders hunched, face buried in your hands. He blinked, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation. “Uh, sweetheart… what’s going on?”

Your only response was a pitiful sniffle, followed by another one. Bucky’s brows shot up in alarm, and he quickly moved to your side, crouching down in front of you.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, peering up at you with wide, concerned eyes. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, letting out a small, hiccuping sob. “I… I really wanted… chocolate chip pancakes… with whipped cream and strawberries…”

Bucky blinked again, glancing around the empty kitchen as if he expected a stack of pancakes to magically appear on the counter. “Okay… uh… we don’t have any of that stuff right now, but I can go to the store—”

“Everything’s closed!” you wailed, cutting him off with a fresh wave of tears. “And I really wanted it now!”

The sheer devastation in your voice made Bucky’s heart clench in sympathy — but a very tiny, very unhelpful part of him also found it hilariously absurd. He had fought aliens, Hydra agents, and all manner of nightmares… but he’d never faced down a pregnant wife in the throes of a pancake craving at nearly 3 a.m.

“Oh,” he said lamely, scratching his head again as he tried to think of a solution that didn’t involve breaking into the nearest IHOP. “Okay, um… we can make pancakes without chocolate chips, right?”

“But I don’t want plain pancakes!” you cried, your voice wobbling dangerously. “I want chocolate chip pancakes! And… and I want whipped cream on top, but we don’t have any!”

Bucky swallowed, his panic rising as you continued to cry. He was the Winter Soldier, damn it. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of this. “Okay, alright. Just breathe, okay? How about… uh… what if I make you some toast? I’ll put some Nutella on it? It’s kind of like chocolate.”

“It’s not the same!” you sobbed, burying your face in your hands again. “I want… pancakes…”

Bucky let out a helpless laugh, running a hand down his face as he glanced at the empty fridge like it was somehow betraying him. “Baby, you’re killing me here.”

You sniffled, peeking out from between your fingers with watery eyes. “You don’t understand, Buck. I can taste the pancakes. I can taste the strawberries… I can feel the whipped cream…”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, uh, I can’t pull that out of thin air. But…” He glanced around, his gaze falling on a tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer. “What if I make you a sundae? It’s kinda like a pancake… just cold.”

“No…” You shook your head, another tear rolling down your cheek. “It’s not pancakes…”

Bucky let out a long, dramatic sigh, his hands resting on his knees. “Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. Tomorrow morning, I’m gonna wake up, and I’m going to go get you all the chocolate chips and whipped cream and strawberries you want, alright? I’ll make a pancake buffet.”

“But I want it now,” you murmured miserably, rubbing at your eyes.

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he cooed gently, reaching out to pat your head awkwardly. “But unless you want me to bust into some diner and get myself arrested, I’m gonna need you to hang in there for a few more hours.”

Your lips trembled, and you nodded reluctantly, sniffling again. “I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Bucky smiled softly, his heart melting a little. “Nah. You’re growing a tiny human.” Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he added, “Although, I gotta say, if I can handle your craving meltdowns, I think I deserve some kind of medal. Or at least, like… superhero husband status.”

A small, watery laugh escaped you despite yourself, and Bucky’s smile widened triumphantly.

“There she is,” he murmured, leaning up to press a kiss to your temple. “Look, we can’t have pancakes right now, but how about we get creative? Maybe I can whip something up with what we do have? I’m talking PB&J sandwich sculptures. Or,” he gasped dramatically, “a waffle made out of popcorn!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Popcorn waffles?”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he said with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “This could be a revolutionary invention, Y/N. We could change the breakfast game forever.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, wiping at your tears as Bucky’s ridiculousness slowly chased away the lingering sadness. “You’re such a weirdo, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you married me,” he shot back, a grin spreading across his face. “So who’s the real weirdo?”

“Still you,” you teased softly, shaking your head.

Bucky let out a mock gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Wow, so rude. No respect for the man who’s about to go MacGyver your snack cravings at 3 a.m.”

You smiled despite yourself, reaching out to take his hand. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand gently. “Now, what do you say we get a little creative in this kitchen and see if we can’t make something that’ll make these pancake cravings shut up for a bit?”

“Okay,” you agreed, the warmth of his hand in yours grounding you. “But I’m holding you to that pancake buffet tomorrow morning.”

“Pancake buffet with extra chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries,” he promised with a mock salute. “You’ve got my word.”

And as Bucky scoured the pantry for the weirdest possible combinations — “How do you feel about a peanut butter, banana, and potato chip sandwich?” — you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight of your cravings lightening in the face of his relentless optimism and willingness to do whatever it took to make you smile.

“World’s best husband,” you murmured fondly as he started arranging sandwich slices into a goofy face.

“Damn right,” he replied with a wink, holding up the plate proudly. “And this? This is my masterpiece.”

You took one look at the ridiculous sandwich sculpture — a lopsided smile made from pickle slices and a beard of crumbled crackers — and the tears came flooding back, but this time they were unstoppable.

“Bucky… you’re… you’re the best husband… in the world!” you sobbed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—hold on!” Bucky stammered, his eyes widening in alarm as he quickly set the plate down and moved back to your side. “What… why are you crying? Sweetheart, it’s just a sandwich! A really ugly sandwich, but—”

You let out another wail, shaking your head as more tears spilled over. “No, it’s not that! It’s you! You’re just so—so good, and sweet, and—and I don’t deserve you!”

Bucky froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Wait, what? Where did that come from?” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around as if he expected someone to pop out with a manual for how to handle this. “Hey, you deserve everything, okay? Even pancakes at 3 a.m. if I could make it happen.”

“I just… you’re always trying so hard, and you’re just… you’re amazing,” you whimpered, reaching out to grab his hand like it was a lifeline. “And I’m crying because I can’t have pancakes, and I’m a mess, and you’re making me a weird pickle-beard sandwich…”

Bucky stared at you, completely lost, before he finally let out a helpless, incredulous laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m officially out of my depth here,” he muttered, gently pulling you into his arms and patting your back awkwardly. “But hey, let’s save the compliments for when I’m not half-asleep, yeah?”

You nodded miserably against his chest, your sobs starting to subside as his steady heartbeat grounded you.

“Good, because you’re gonna make me cry if you keep this up,” he joked softly, running a soothing hand through your hair. “And no one wants to see the Winter Soldier ugly-cry over a pancake buffet.”

You let out a watery giggle at that, sniffling as you pulled back to look up at him. “You’re really gonna get me all the pancakes tomorrow?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his smile gentle and reassuring. “Now come on, let’s see if we can make this popcorn waffle thing work. You’ll need to tell our kid one day that their mom ate the weirdest thing ever while pregnant,” Bucky finished with a grin, his hand sliding down to gently cup your cheek as he wiped away the lingering tears with his thumb. “That way, when they give us a hard time as teenagers, I can say, ‘Hey, kid, I made your mom a popcorn waffle at 3 a.m. She bettered have loved me.’”

You laughed again, hiccupping through the tears as you tried to calm yourself. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged, his lips twitching up into a lopsided smile. “Maybe. But you married me, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m a glutton for punishment,” you teased softly, feeling some of the tension start to ease as his thumb continued its gentle, comforting strokes on your cheek.

“Or just smart enough to know when you’ve got a good thing,” he murmured back, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “And I’m gonna keep being that good thing — even when it means making bizarre snacks and wrangling your tears at stupid o’clock in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, smiling up at him as you looped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Bucky.”

His eyes softened, his gaze locking onto yours as he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “I love you too, sweetheart. And we’re gonna figure out this whole craving thing. Even if it means starting a midnight pancake truck or something.”

The image of Bucky in an apron, serving pancakes from a food truck, was so ridiculous that you let out a genuine, hearty laugh. “A pancake truck?”

“Why not?” He smirked, his fingers playing with a lock of your hair. “I’d be the hottest pancake chef around. We’d have a line out the door.”

“Because everyone’s desperate for pancakes at three in the morning?” you asked, still smiling.

“Exactly,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “They’d be calling me the Pancake Soldier instead of the Winter Soldier.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter again, your earlier tears completely forgotten. “I swear, you’re impossible, Bucky Barnes.”

“Impossible and all yours,” he said with a wink, then glanced at the kitchen. “Now, how about we whip up some sort of Frankenstein snack to tide you over until the morning, huh?”

With another sniffle and a smile, you nodded. “Alright. But I’m still holding you to that pancake buffet.”

“Wouldn’t dream of backing out,” he promised, kissing your forehead again before guiding you to a chair. “You sit right here, and let Chef Barnes work his magic.”

You watched as Bucky moved around the kitchen, his clumsy efforts at ‘creative’ snack-making bringing a smile to your face despite the ridiculousness of it all. He muttered under his breath, concocting weird combinations — “What if we crush some pretzels on top?” — and talking to the food like it would reveal some hidden trick.

Eventually, he managed to cobble together another makeshift treat: a peanut butter, banana, and honey sandwich with a few random M&Ms sprinkled on top for good measure. It looked as chaotic as you felt, but the effort and love behind it made your heart swell.

You stared at the messy sandwich, your lips trembling again — but this time with a whole different set of emotions.

“Hey, no more tears,” Bucky said quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m running out of ideas here, babe.”

“I’m not crying,” you sniffed, reaching out to take a bite. “It’s just… you’re really, really sweet, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to give your knee a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your heart feeling lighter than it had all night.

“Good.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched you take another bite. “Now eat up, because come morning, I’m getting up at dawn to get everything we need for that pancake buffet. You’re gonna be the happiest pancake-eating pregnant lady in the world.”

“And you’re gonna be the best pancake-making husband in the world,” you replied with a soft smile, warmth spreading through your chest.

“Damn right,” Bucky murmured, his voice filled with so much affection it made your heart skip a beat.

As you finished the bizarre snack and Bucky continued to ramble on about potential pancake flavors and topping combinations, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful.

Because, bizarre cravings and all, there was no one else you’d rather navigate the chaos with than him — your best friend, your partner, your ridiculous, wonderful Bucky Barnes.

× × × ×

Third Trimester

Bucky’s overprotectiveness had started out in small, endearing ways—like lingering in doorways or making sure you had an extra pillow at night. But as your pregnancy progressed, so did his paranoia, turning him into an almost comical shadow of your once-confident, battle-hardened husband.

It began with the shoelaces.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He practically skidded across the living room to kneel at your feet just as you were about to bend down to tie your sneakers. You straightened up, raising a brow, watching him fumble with the laces like it was a complex puzzle rather than a simple bow.

“Bucky, it’s just tying my shoes. I can do that,” you pointed out gently, but he shook his head fervently.

“Not risking it. What if you lose your balance?” His words were muffled as he double-knotted the laces, his shoulders hunched like he was shielding you from some invisible force.

“I’m not gonna lose my balance,” you murmured, amused. “I’ve been tying my own shoes for decades.”

“There’s a first for everything.” He tightened the bow a little too firmly, making you flinch. He winced in apology and adjusted it again, softer this time, before peering up at you with those intense blue eyes, a mix of worry and resolve. “Humor me, okay?”

You sighed, relenting with a small nod. “Okay. But just so you know, you’re not going to be doing this every single time.”

He grinned—victorious, as if you hadn’t noticed how he conveniently “lost” all your slip-ons just last week.

Then there was the laundry basket incident.

It happened when you were carrying a half-full basket of towels from the dryer. You’d barely made it halfway down the hall when Bucky materialized out of nowhere, intercepting you like you were carrying live explosives.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was all mock-seriousness, but there was genuine concern underlining it as he gently pried the basket from your hands.

“Laundry?” you deadpanned, trying to tug it back, but he held firm.

“Not anymore, you’re not.” He shot you a look that dared you to argue as he held the basket up high, well out of your reach. “You don’t need to be lugging this around.”

“It’s not even heavy!” you protested, exasperation seeping into your tone.

He scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll take it. Just point me to where you want it.”

Grumbling, you pointed down the hallway. “Our bedroom.”

“See?” he said with a self-satisfied smile, striding down the hall like he was conquering new territory. “No big deal.”

You had to fight back an eye roll. “You’re gonna be like this until the baby is born, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” he called over his shoulder, unashamed.

It didn’t stop there, of course. In the kitchen, he’d barely let you near the sink.

One morning, you’d decided to tackle the breakfast dishes—something you could usually manage without too much hassle. But as soon as you set the first dish into the soapy water, Bucky’s hand appeared out of nowhere, lightly shoving you to the side.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, though it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission. “Your belly’s gonna bump into the counter. Let me do it.”

“Bucky—”

“Let. Me. Do it,” he insisted, holding a soapy plate hostage as he gazed at you, lips set in a stubborn line.

With a sigh, you threw your hands up in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not a porcelain doll, okay? I can do dishes just fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, but he was already washing the dishes with focused precision, occasionally glancing at you to make sure you hadn’t slipped or stumbled in the two feet he’d moved you back.

It was both infuriating and endearing, and it made you love him even more—though you’d never admit it when he was acting like a hovering mother hen.

The grocery trips were almost unbearable. He’d insisted on coming along, despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of picking up a few items.

“We need milk,” you pointed out, motioning toward the far end of the aisle.

“Got it,” he said immediately, guiding the cart forward with one hand and slipping his other arm around your waist as if to support your entire body weight.

You shot him a look. “I can still walk, you know.”

“Of course you can,” he agreed with a grin. “I’m just… helping you waddle.”

“Waddle?” You narrowed your eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “Did you just call me a waddler?”

“Um…” He glanced at you sheepishly, realizing his mistake a second too late. “No?”

“Yeah, nice try.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright, bad choice of words. I’m just keeping pace with you,” he corrected, slowing his stride even more so that the two of you were practically moving in slow motion down the aisle.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of it all. “If we go any slower, we’ll start moving backwards.”

Bucky just chuckled, his arm tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take my chances.”

By the time you reached the milk, you were almost tempted to ask him to sprint the rest of the way just to get it over with. But the truth was, there was something undeniably sweet about having Bucky hover around like this.

“Let me guess,” you teased as you plucked a carton of milk off the shelf. “You want to carry this too?”

“Of course,” he said, already reaching for it, his expression deadly serious.

You held on to the carton just long enough to make him sweat before handing it over. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he replied easily, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

“Smooth,” you muttered, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

With Bucky being his overprotective self, you had no doubt that he’d be like this for the next few months—and likely long after the baby was born. But as much as you complained, deep down, you knew you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

× × × ×

“Bucky, for the last time, it’s just a shoe box,” you emphasise, glancing at your husband as he carefully hoists the empty box off the couch like it’s made of glass.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, eyes darting suspiciously to the plain cardboard. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

“Condition? Bucky, I’m pregnant, not broken.” You cross your arms, watching as he tucks the box under his arm like it’s a rare artefact. The man is a walking, talking fortress of muscle, but right now, his overprotectiveness is reaching absurd levels.

“And nearly at your due date,” he points out, placing the box on the counter with a sigh of relief as if he’s saved you from imminent danger. “I’ve read all the books. I know how this goes.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, yeah? So what’s the worst that could happen if I pick up a shoe box?”

Bucky turns to you with a dead-serious expression.

“It’s not about the weight. It’s about…” he falters, eyes scanning your swollen belly, “…stability. Your centre of gravity is off right now. A box could trip you.”

“A box could trip me?” You arch a brow, incredulous. “Really?”

“Yes!” His tone is insistent, and you have to bite back a laugh. This is the same man who once told a pack of HYDRA agents they were outnumbered—just because it was him and Steve versus a dozen of them. But now, he’s reduced to eyeing an empty cardboard box like it’s a mortal enemy.

Sighing, you sit back on the couch, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Besides, there’s a certain charm in seeing the Winter Soldier so worked up over an inanimate object. You lean back, letting out a small groan as you shift your weight.

Bucky’s been hovering around you all day like a lost puppy, eyes following your every move. The moment you make the slightest sound, his head whips around, concern flickering in his eyes. So when you groan, immediately, he’s by your side, eyes wide, hands hovering over your belly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is it time? Should I get the bag?”

“Calm down, Dad-mode. I’m just stretching.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’ve gotta stop panicking every time I make a sound.”

“Every time you make a sound, it could be something serious!” Bucky exclaims, sounding almost affronted. “Do you know what it’s like hearing you groan and not knowing if it’s ‘I want ice cream’ or ‘I’m about to go into labor’?”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” you tease.

He huffs, muttering something about ‘pregnancy hormones,’ and kneels down in front of you. Strong hands lift your foot gently, and he starts massaging your arch. You sigh, instantly melting under his touch.

“Better?” His voice is softer now, concern etched in every syllable.

“Much better,” you mumble, letting out a little moan as he presses down on a particularly tight knot.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bucky freezes, eyes wide again. “What’s that? Pain?”

“Relax,” you say, though your voice is slightly breathless. “It’s the good kind of pain. Keep going.”

You lean your head back, closing your eyes as Bucky continues the foot massage. The man has hands that could crush stone, but right now, he’s so gentle you almost feel like you’re floating. It’s hard not to feel a little spoiled under his doting care.

But just when you’re getting lost in the bliss of his hands working away the tension, you catch his face out of the corner of your eye. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, and his expression is one of fierce concentration, like he’s facing down a particularly difficult opponent. You stifle a giggle—only Bucky could make a foot massage seem like a high-stakes mission.

“Alright, alright, enough of that,” you say, reaching down to tug on his hand. “If you keep looking at my foot like that, you might set it on fire.”

Bucky blinks up at you, clearly having forgotten where he was. He chuckles, the sound low and almost shy. “Can’t help it. I just… I want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“Bucky, it’s a foot massage, not defusing a bomb.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart swells at his concern. “You’re doing it perfectly.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks, but he lets out a small huff, pretending to be grumpy. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then, without warning, he shifts beside you on the couch, a determined look settling on his face. “Now, hold still.”

Before you can ask what he’s up to, Bucky leans down, pressing his ear gently against your belly. You’re about to ask him if he’s comfortable, but the sheer look of wonder on his face stops you short. His eyes close, and he inhales deeply, as if trying to capture every little movement your baby girl makes.

“Hey, there, sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs softly, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. His fingers splay across your belly, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. “It’s your dad. Just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re being good for your mama.”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight. The fierce Winter Soldier, the man with a list of enemies longer than most people’s grocery lists, reduced to talking softly to your baby girl like she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“She’s probably plotting her escape already,” you joke quietly, and Bucky grins up at you.

“Nah,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s too busy practicing her karate kicks. Isn’t that right, little one?”

Right on cue, a small flutter against your belly answers him, and Bucky’s eyes light up like fireworks. He leans down again, pressing his lips gently against the spot where your baby kicked.

“Whoa, easy there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Save the punches for when you’re out here. We’ve got plenty of training sessions ahead of us.”

You snort, shaking your head at his words. “Bucky, she’s not even born yet, and you’re already planning training sessions?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” he says seriously, but the way he softens his voice when he turns back to your belly is anything but tough. “But don’t worry, we’ll take it easy. I’ll make sure you get to be a kid and have fun first. No one’s gonna mess with you. Not when I’m around.”

He pauses, his eyes misting over for a brief moment, and you know he’s thinking about everything he’s been through—everything he wants to shield your daughter from. Slowly, he rubs his thumb along your belly again, his touch featherlight.

“And you’re gonna love your mama,” Bucky continues softly. “She’s strong, and she’s funny, and—” He glances up at you, his smile turning mischievous. “She’s a little bit stubborn sometimes. But you’re gonna be just like her, I bet.”

“Great,” you mutter, faking a groan. “Two of you plotting against me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bucky promises, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s already imagining all the ways he’ll spoil his little girl.

He shifts again, his head still resting on your belly, and you have to stifle another laugh as he starts a running commentary, complete with exaggerated gestures.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” he whispers conspiratorially to your baby. “When you get here, you’re gonna kick a lot. Cry a lot. But not too much. Your mama needs her sleep. Then, we’ll team up to get you extra dessert when she’s not looking.”

“Bucky!” You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You can’t be plotting behind my back already!”

He grins, looking up at you with mock innocence. “Hey, it’s not my fault if she wants ice cream. Right, sweetheart?”

A few more soft kicks seem to echo his words, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m doomed,” you say, shaking your head fondly.

“No, you’re not,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softening again. He presses one more kiss against your belly before shifting to sit up beside you. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you gently against his side. “You’re gonna be the best mom. And I’m gonna be right here, making sure you both have everything you need.”

You lean into his warmth, smiling as his hand drifts back to your belly, tracing idle patterns.

“I love you,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“And I love you,” he replies, voice deep and steady. He leans down, kissing the top of your head. “Both of you.”

With Bucky holding you close and whispering to your daughter, you feel your heart swell with a contentment so strong it almost aches. It’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are to have this overprotective, sweet man by your side.

Even if he does go overboard sometimes.

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nereidprinc3ss · 26 days ago

Text

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway.

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist.

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes.

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved.

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table.

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops.

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go.

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying.

He bites his lip thoughtfully.

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat.

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone.

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step.

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods.

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently.

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down.

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU.

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass.

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk.

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light.

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful.

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks.

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier.

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it.

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one.

It slowly fades, and you sigh.

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm.

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself.

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there.

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff.

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure.

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone.

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve.

“Oh,” you murmur.

A moment passes.

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat.

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

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

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chirpingchorus · 1 year ago

Text

chirp

(long and silly rant in tags so maybe don't open them if you're scrolling at a leisurely pace)

#chirp #the photos aren't enough...#i say with 25 queued...#inane and sudden desire to become a gifmaker has overtaken me :0 #would probably take a lot more time + effort than what i already do but i imagine most of these photos have been posted before...#so even if i've never seen them around i sometimes feel bad in posting them #i don't really watch many concerts though #whereas i read the interviews just to try and see what inspired the songs. good album recs from the band. so on so forth.#its worth it bc every few years they'll get an interviewer who's a total music theory nut #still love the guy who confronted thom about his use of pedal tones.... and geeked out about the creep progression. he gets me.#not to mention seeing all the people who interviewed them in their early days bring up stuff like pop is dead ten years later just because #and then there's the fun facts like nigel telling them they couldn't eat until they were done with 2 + 2 = 5. mad dog selway.#thom insisting 5 or 6 times so far that hail to the thief is a sexy record... why... but you get the idea #not sure why i'm saying any of this or what the Point of this set of tag ramblings is supposed to be uhh.#maybe i'll make gifs in the future but there are a lot more interviews to go... and lots of old ones i want to look at again...#and even more to chase down if they're not up on citizeninsane. so i might be all rh'd out (impossible) by then.#i'm also not reading the interviews For the photos or ''clout''... it's for the anecdotes. my doc for notes on them is literally the size o #a middle grade novel... Oops ! but yeah the photos are pretty recent. i've been at this since like december on and off.#and who knows maybe i will grow tired of the pictures or they will somehow cease to be entertaining!#or i will get a life and not spend hours a day reading interviews... it's not too bad an addiction. cause i'll be done soon.

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pathologicalreid · 8 days ago

Text

hazardous materials | s.r.

in which Spencer takes care of you after an accident in the lab

margovember

chemist!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: chemical burn, lab safety was ignored, first aid, cute banter, tattoos, chemist!reader, kisses word count: 1.24k a/n: every time i write chemist!reader i get bed chem stuck in my head except i've never heard the full song

“Time?” You asked, using the heel of your shoe to slam the door shut once you made your way through. Haphazardly, you dropped your backpack on the ground in front of the coat closet before rushing toward the bedroom.

Spencer was sitting on the couch, a glass of water on the side table and a book in his lap, he glanced over at you when you stopped at the back of the couch to say hi to him, “Forty minutes.” He reached out for your arm, a careful gesture just because he wasn’t ready for you to be out of his view yet, but his hand caught on your forearm.

You hissed at the contact, pulling your arm back and shaking it out, “Tight grip,” you tried to wave it off, but Spencer wasn’t easily convinced.

“I barely touched you,” he said, snapping his book closed and standing up, following you into the bedroom. “Let me see your arm,” he asked, opening the door when you tried to close it behind you.

Spinning on your heel, you shrugged at him, “Not without a warrant,” you told him. Your eyes burned as you begged yourself not to cry at the pain.

Your boyfriend reached out for you again, this time pulling you in by your belt loops, he herded you into the bathroom, holding onto your hips as he beckoned for you to sit on the countertop. The granite was cold even through your jeans, and Spencer took your discomfort as pain as he pulled your shirt off.

You grunted, frowning while he pulled your long sleeve over your head and dropped it in the laundry hamper, “It’s cold,” you grumbled, slouching as Spencer inspected the wound on your forearm. It looked a lot worse now than it had when you left the lab, the burned skin starting to develop a yellowish hue. “I have somewhere to be tonight, you know,” you reminded him.

This would be your second outing with the BAU ladies since you were first introduced to them a few months ago, Garcia had arranged tango lessons, and Emily was meant to be your dance partner. “What did you burn yourself with?” He holds your arm timidly, pinching your wrist between his index and his thumb and eyeing the burn with growing concern.

“Uh,” you hummed, bracing yourself for what is bound to be abject disappointment, “Nitric acid.”

Spencer set your arm down, resting it burnt side up on your thigh while he buried his face in his hands, “Baby,” he said from behind his palms.

When he said it in that tone, it was easily your least favorite nickname. “I didn’t think it was concentrated enough to burn,” you tried to defend yourself, looking down at the obvious mistake you had made. “It must have been mislabeled and no one caught it,” you told him, trying to shrug it off.

Dropping his hands, Spencer resorted to crossing his arms in front of his chest, “A lot of chemicals have been getting mislabeled lately.” It was an accusation, but not toward you, though you tended to be more lenient on lab safety than most of your colleagues.

“I…” You faltered, flexing your fingers and feeling the skin on your arm pull, “Yes, but—”

Spencer shook his head, “No, you have to talk to her.”

The her in question was your grad student, Leslie, who had made a similar mistake with hydrochloric acid last month, also leading to a chemical burn on your arm. You frowned at Spencer, making your expression as pleading as possible in hopes that he’d drop it.

“This can’t keep happening,” Spencer said, “I know you don’t want to make her feel guilty, but maybe she should. Maybe that’s how she learns.”

You furrowed your brows at him, “It wasn’t her fault.” You felt defensive over your lab assistant, knowing that she had asked you to be her thesis advisor made you feel the need to protect her.

He pressed his lips in a thin white line, “It was,” he corrected. “If you don’t say something, I’ll send an email to your boss.”

“Spencer,” you said, shoulders slumped in disappointment and the faint feeling of betrayal.

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer gingerly took your arm back in his hands, “I know that’s your thing around the lab, not wanting to cause trouble. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, but I need you to take care of yourself, and you can’t do that if you keep being so flippant about these ‘accidents.’”

You knew what he was doing, turning it into something you could do for him instead of something you’d do for yourself. “I’ll talk to her on Monday, and I’ll redo the UV spectroscopy on the nitric acid,” you surrendered, giving yourself the weekend to figure out how to broach the topic.

He set your arm down again, opening the cabinets in the bathroom and shuffling through miscellaneous belongings. Between the two of you, you had quite a remarkable collection of first aid, the basket that Spencer pulled off the shelf was intimidating, “Here, hold your arm over the sink,” he instructed, guiding you gently so he could rinse the burn with saline. “Does that hurt?”

“it’s just cold,” you answered, watching him make sure any debris was flushed from the wound.

His head bobbed, setting down the saline container and moving to coat the wound with a panthenol cream, “Were you wearing your hazardous materials pin?”

Your face warmed at his question. The one time you’d been the root cause of a spill, your boss responded by gifting you an enamel pin with the hazardous materials pin, “I was.”

“Maybe it needs to be bigger,” he proposed, filtering through the bin of first aid supplies and hunting for something specific, reading the labels on everything before he put it on the burn.

The corner of your mouth quirked up when you noticed he was trying to lighten the mood, “Or have lights on it,” you offered, imagining a border of LEDs around the pin.

Spencer hummed, finding silver sulphadiazine to cover the wound with, “Now, there’s an idea.”

You laughed breathily, “I could get it tattooed,” you waggled your eyebrows at him. “It would make a nice tramp stamp,” you told him, watching his gentle fingers apply dressings to your wound, securing them as carefully as he can so your skin doesn’t get irritated.

“But then I’d be the only one to see it,” he countered playfully, inspecting his handiwork.

Conceding, you nodded, “Unless the people in the lab get comfortable with a lot of things really fast.”

Softly, Spencer leaned forward and kissed you, “I want to keep an eye on this tonight,” he whispered against your lips. “If it doesn’t get better by the morning I’m taking you to urgent care,” he told you, kissing you again before gathering the first aid wrappings and putting them in the trash can.

He stepped out for a moment, returning with an old Princeton t-shirt of yours. You gingerly pulled it over your head, making sure not to bump your fresh bandages as you did so, “But what about my dance lessons?”

You hopped off of the countertop to be met by Spencer standing right in front of you, his hands placed gently on your waist before he whispered, “I can teach you to tango perfectly fine in the living room.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #chemist!reader #margovember

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sturnioz · 5 months ago

Text

⌗︙— giving chris a strip tease ! authors note. ok so this was supposed to be a short drabble but it ended up being 1.1k words.. :/ the fuck (also no part two for this for the time being !!)

"what the hell are you doin'?" chris laughs lightly as you push at his shoulders, forcing him to sit down at the edge of your bed, instead of greeting him with a kiss when he walks through the door after spending a few hours with his brothers.

although he had fun, he wanted nothing more than to come to your place and spend the rest of his day with you in your arms, so he's surprised by your abrupt actions — rather than your usual welcoming kiss.

the smile still lingers on his lips as he curiously watches you walk to your desk, pick up your phone, and scroll for a few seconds before tapping the screen. suddenly, a familiar song starts playing from the portable speaker he had left at your place a few days prior.

chris finds himself humming along, and he drums his fingers against his thighs and nods his head to the beat. but all of his movements come to a slow halt when he sees you pull at the silk robe you're wearing, revealing his favourite set of lingerie beneath. he swallows thickly, his mouth going dry at the sight.

"holy shit..." chris exhales deeply, blinking at you in shock as he struggles to tear his eyes away from your body. "what are you—what are you doin'?"

"nothing," you quip with a teasing smile, allowing your body to move to the rhythm of the music. you watch as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, struggling to use his words.

chris goes to stand up from the bed, but you shake your head, telling him to remain seated. he huffs in response but does as he's told, his hands curling into tight fists on his thighs as he watches you intently.

he eyes you like a hawk, taking in your languid movements with deep breaths. his cock hardens in his jeans and he shifts uncomfortably on the bed, wanting nothing more than to free himself as his fingers graze over his belt buckle, but he stops once again when you give him a look of warning.

chris laughs in annoyance, "are you, like, fuckin' around with me right now?"

you don't answer. instead your fingers reach behind you to unclasp your bra, letting the straps slide down your shoulders before it pools to the floor, your breasts on display.

chris groans, his tongue prodding at his cheek as he tilts his head back with an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. he then looks back at you, biting down hard on his bottom lip while shaking his head.

you feel a sense of proudness and excitement seeing him so worked up over your mini performance.

you turn your back to him, swaying your hips side to side as your hook your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, and you slide them down your legs, revealing yourself bare to your boyfriend.

your lips stretch into a smile when you hear him curse behind you, and you peer your head over your shoulder to see his eyes staring at your ass, his fists twitching to touch you.

you turn back around to face him, and you slowly walk over to him. he leans back, his lips curling into a grin and his eyes shining as you crawl onto his lap and sit yourself down on his thighs.

he looks up at you, his hands coming around to slide over your hips before caressing your ass, pulling you against him but you tut with a shake of your head.

"stop trying to touch me." you tell him, tone light and teasing despite meaning it.

"i want to fuckin' touch you," chris shoots back, craning his neck to ghost his lips over yours to kiss you, but he huffs in disappointment when you pull away from him again. "i have my girl sittin' naked on top of me and i'm supposed to not to touch her? that's fuckin' crazy."

"just be patient."

"i don't have patience."

you roll your eyes, but you take a hold of his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. you litter a few, gentle kisses across his knuckles before pressing his fingers to your lips.

his eyes widen slightly when you push his index and middle finger past your lips and into the warmth of your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers while keeping your gaze locked on his.

"hah—fuck," chris pants, laying his fingers flat against your tongue, shuddering when he feels you start to suck. "why are you doin' this to me, ma?"

pulling his spit covered fingers from your lips, you smile at him sweetly, "i'm putting on a show for you."

chris goes to tell you that this is definitely some sort of torture, that all he wants to do is flip you around and have you beneath him to fuck you instead. but his mouth drops open in shock when you slowly take his hand down your body and press his wet fingers to your cunt, hearing you moan so prettily as you ease them inside of you.

chris watches in silence as you fuck yourself on his fingers as if it were his cock, and he resists the urge to move — to rip himself out of your grip and hold you down as he fingers you until your legs give out.

but he's in a trance, watching you do everything yourself, hearing the moans and whines spilling from your lips that he wishes he could kiss.

"oh my god," chris murmurs when he feels your spongy walls clench around him as his fingers brush against the spot that has your body tensing above him. "a'ight. you gotta let me do somethin', ma."

you shake your head, breathless as you answer. "no."

"will you just—" chris cuts himself off with an exhale. he closes his eyes. "please? just let me fuckin' do somethin'. let me kiss you or—"

chris grunts when one harsh movement of your hips grinding on his fingers causes you to rub again his cock, making his eyes shoot open at the pleasure that trickles down his spine.

"you're gonna make me cum in my—shit, ma—"

"you sound so pretty when you beg," you hum softly, breath hitching at the back of your throat as you thrust his fingers deeper inside you, unable to control yourself as your head dips forward, resting your forehead to his.

"i'll beg all you want if you let me do somethin'," chris whispers quietly to you, panting due to the friction against his cock. "i'll beg for you all night, okay? just... just let me make you feel good too. let me touch you."

#©sturnioz #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets smut

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piinksdoll · 2 months ago

Text

→ [Bed Chem | Spencer Reid]

Pairing~ Spencer Reid x Singer!Reader

Genre~ fluff, very suggestive

Word Count~ 2.2k

Warnings~ sexual innuendos, spencer being an awkward cutie

a/n~ very fluffy and cute but also VERY suggestive, and I know some of the lyrics down match up with spence so pls dont hate me also I just used a photo of sab so dont hate me it was just to visualize!!! also NOT PROOFREAD!!!! also I added links to visualize for me people who are visual-izers lol k have fun!

part 1!! part 2!!

(Narrator POV)

Penelope had gathered everyone in her apartment for her usual get-together, but this time, she seemed particularly excited about something. She wouldn’t stop grinning, and none of the team could get a straight answer about what they were about to listen to. Spencer would rather be at home with you, since days that you're in Virginia are scarce, but you insisted he hang out with his friends. He sat in Penelope’s apartment excited for the night to be over so he could return home to you.

“Come on, Babygirl, spill it,” Derek said, giving her an exasperated look. “What’s this surprise? Is it a podcast? Audiobook? Something crime-related?”

“Oh, it's so much better than that!” Penelope said with a mischievous look in her eye. “It’s music! A new artist I’m obsessed with. Her name is Y/n Y/l/n and she's so amazing you’re going to love her! We’re listening to her new album Short n’ Sweet, she only has a performance out for Bed Chem so we’re going to start off with that!”

The fact that she had chosen your album had made Spencer uncharacteristically nervous, and now that Penelope was about to press play on a song about him, his unease was starting to become visible. Spencer stiffened beside Derek, his fingers nervously twitching at his sides. He knew this album very well. Penelope pressed play, and the first beats of ‘Bed Chem’ by you started filling the room. The sultry intro immediately set the tone, and Spencer swallowed hard. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. Of all the songs.

I was in a sheer dress the day that we met

We were both in a rush, we talked for a sec

Your friend hit me up so we could connect

And what are the odds? You sent me a text…

Emily raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh, this sounds fun.” JJ nodded along, smiling. “It’s catchy.” But it wasn’t long before the lyrics kicked in, and as Spencer listened to the opening lyrics he recalled how you two met:

Flashback

(Y/n POV)

“Listen, I know I have all these things to do but I just need time ok? The album needs something, I am not at all ready for it to come out. It's literally all just sad, and there needs to be something else apart from it. Nat, please just a few more months and you can release it no matter what- oh my, i'm so sorry that was totally my fault!” I exclaimed seeing coffee spill all over the coat of the stranger in front of me. My phone fell on the ground between us landing under the books that had slipped from his hand. I look up and am met with big brown eyes that look like chocolate I can just melt in.

The stranger in front of me gasped slightly, looking down at his now coffee-stained coat. "No, no, it's okay!" he reassured me, his voice soft but flustered as he knelt down to gather his fallen books. I crouched quickly, reaching for my phone that had landed just beneath one of his thick textbooks.

“I’m really sorry,” I said again, glancing up at him once again as our hands brushed while reaching for the same book. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I was struck by how gentle his expression was, despite the mess I had made.

He smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that made my heart skip a beat. "Really, it's fine," he said, handing me the phone. "Accidents happen." I let out a small, relieved laugh, grateful he wasn’t upset. “I’ll buy you a new coat or at least pay for the dry cleaning. Seriously, I’m-”

“You don’t have to do that,” he interrupted, standing up and shaking his head. “It’s just coffee. I can clean it up.” I straightened, still feeling embarrassed. “At least let me buy you a coffee. You know, to replace the one I spilled.” I offered, hoping to make up for my clumsiness. He looked at me for a moment, considering it, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Alright. But only if you’ll let me grab a seat and hear why you’re so stressed out.” He motioned towards the phone I had been mid-conversation with when we collided. I blinked, surprised by his easy going nature. "Deal," I said, smiling cheekily up at him “But, uh... I didn’t catch your name.” He extended a hand. "Spencer. Spencer Reid."

I shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch as I introduced myself. “Nice to meet you, Spencer. I'm Y/n.”

Flashback Over

And now the next thing I know, I'm like

Manifest that you're oversized

I digress, got me scrollin' like

Out of breath, got me goin' like

Who's the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent? Like

Ooh, maybe it's all in my head

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

Spencer’s stomach dropped as the next set of lyrics filled the room. Penelope was still humming along, enjoying the vibe of the song, completely oblivious to the growing nervousness inside of him.“‘Manifest that you're oversized... Out of breath, got me goin' like...’” Penelope sang along under her breath. She glanced over at Spencer and caught him staring at the floor, his body stiff.

“Oh, this one’s so good! It’s got that flirty energy.” Derek laughed. “It’s catchy, for sure. I wonder who the song is about though?” He grinned, “Bet the dude is feelin’ pretty lucky.” Spencer's breath hitched as the chorus started

How you pick me up, pull me down, turn me 'round, oh, it just makes sense

How you talk so sweet when you're doin' bad things, that's bed (bed) chem (chem)

How you're lookin' at me, yeah, I know what that means and I'm obsessed

Are you free next week? I'd bet we'd have really good

Spencer’s mind was racing as the sound of your voice fills the room. He knew everyone was at ease and him being stiff and sweating was putting a spotlight on him. Emily let out a low chuckle as the suggestive lyrics played. “This girl is something else. I don’t know who she’s singing about, but they must be good.” She raised an eyebrow, half-joking, but Spencer could feel his heart racing.

Come right on me I mean, camaraderie

Said you're not in my timezone, but you wanna be

Where art thou? Why not uponeth me?

See it in my mind, let's fulfil the prophecy Ooh (ah)

He takes in a sharp breath at the racy lyrics. His pulse quickened, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The team continued to listen, oblivious to the internal panic flooding his body. Each line felt more like a spotlight aimed directly at him. Derek let out a low whistle, eyebrows raising at the suggestive turn in the song. “Damn. This song is getting real interesting.” He laughed at Spencer’s uncomfortable state, completely unaware of the significance behind it.

JJ chuckled, swaying her head to the beat. “I love how bold she is! Whoever this song is about… they are very lucky.” Spencer’s hands gripped the edge of his seat, his face heating up. He could feel Emily’s eyes subtly watching him from across the room. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure this.

Who's the cute guy with the wide, brown eyes and the big bad, mmm, like?

Ooh (ah) I know it sound a bit redundant

But I bet we'd have really good bed chem

As the song ended Spencer let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in, thankful that the song was over. “What's up, pretty boy? Couldn't handle a pretty girl singing bout bad things?” Derek teased him, throwing an arm around his shoulders, his grin wide. As he was about to respond his phone rang, Spencer’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest when his phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up with your name and contact photo, one of you smiling brightly. The entire team froze, their eyes slowly shifting from the phone to Spencer, then back to the phone.

Derek’s grin widened even more, his teasing now taking on a new level. “Well, well, well… Look who it is.” he said, still keeping his arm draped over Spencer’s shoulder. “Is this the mystery girl you've been so secretive about these past few months?” Penelope's eyes widened in excitement. “Oh my gosh, Spencer! Are you going to answer? You have to answer.” JJ leaned in closer, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “This explains a lot, actually,” she said, glancing from Spencer to the phone, Emily finished her sentence. “Especially that song.” Spencer shook his head trying to hide his blush as he answered the phone.

“Hey Y/n”

‘Hey lover, you havin fun?’

“Yeah, uh, the night took an interesting turn…”

‘Oh? How so?’

“Yeah, uh so Penelope invited us over and turns out it was a listening party… for your album…”

‘Oh- that hilarious oh my’

“Yeah and they just heard Bed Chem and they saw you called me…”

‘Oh my- HAHA thats so funny whattt’

“Yeah, they wanna meet you now.”

‘Well good because I've been wanting to meet them! Can you finally introduce us?’

“Alright well I guess it’s time. You're my person, I want you to meet my family.”

‘Well I can't wait. What about you invite them to my concert next weekend in DC and we can go to dinner afterwards?’

“Sounds perfect, like you, I'll see you at home I love you.”

‘Love you too. See ya lover’

Spencer returned to the group after hanging up, slipping his phone into his pocket. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but the warmth from your call still lingered on his face. As he sat down, the team was waiting for him, grins plastered across their faces, eyes twinkling with mischief. Derek was the first to break the silence, leaning in with a smirk. “So, pretty boy, you and Y/n Y/l/n, huh? Sounds like she’s got you all wrapped up in that album.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the others, who were clearly holding back their laughter. “I didn’t know we were having a listening party,” he mumbled, trying to divert the attention. “Didn’t know? Or didn’t plan on being exposed?” Emily teased, raising an eyebrow. Penelope gasped dramatically, clutching her heart. “I mean, Spencer Reid as a muse for a song about that? Honestly, I’m living for this.” Spencer’s face flushed deep red. “It’s not exactly like that-”

“Oh, come on, Spence!” JJ finally chimed in, laughing. “Even you have to admit it’s a little funny.” Spencer looked down at his hands, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Okay... maybe it’s a little funny.” The team erupted into laughter, the tension in the air easing as they continued to tease him, but in a much lighter, more affectionate way. “You really had us going there, man,” Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect you two.”

Spencer sighed, still smiling despite the embarrassment. “I didn’t expect it either... but, you know, I’m really lucky to have her.”

“And clearly, she’s lucky to have you, too,” Emily added, her teasing softening into something more sincere. “You two make a great pair.” Spencer looked up at her, grateful for her words. “Thanks, Emily.”

“She uh, invited all of you to her concert next week and dinner afterwards so you guys can finally meet.” A mix of excitement and nervousness in his voice. “She's been asking for a while but I've been nervous but she's really important to me. I really love her, you guys, and youre my family. It's time for you guys to meet.” He nodded sincerely.

Penelope was the first to speak, “Oh my god, yes please I wasn’t able to get tickets that amazing! And I cannot wait to meet her!” Her voice was laced with excitement. JJ smiled brightly, nudging Spencer’s shoulder playfully. “Look at you! Having a secret girlfriend. I love it. I’m so happy for you, Spencer!” Emily beamed, her gaze softening. “You two sound like a perfect match. I can’t wait to meet her. It’s about time you brought someone special around.” Derek raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin forming on his lips. “So, what are you saying, Reid? Are you going to introduce us to your girlfriend or what? Does she have any friends for me?” Spencer rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I am not setting you up, but I know you’ll love her. She’s the sweetest person ever. Just be nice, okay?”

“I can’t make any promises,” Derek joked, chuckling. “Seriously, though,” Emily said, her tone turning more sincere. “We’re really happy for you, Spence. It’s great to see you so happy.” He nodded, his heart swelling with affection for you and gratitude for his friends. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”

The conversation continued, filled with excitement and anticipation for the upcoming concert. As the banter resumed, Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling of joy bubbling within him. He knew that sharing this part of his life with his team was important, and he couldn’t wait for you to meet the people who meant so much to him. Later that evening, as he headed home, he found himself smiling at the thought of seeing you. He couldn't wait to show you how much he cared about you and how much he wanted you to be a part of his world.

#spencer reid x singer!reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #piinksdoll

531 notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 2 months ago

Text

Nasty

Summary: You and Logan deal with the aftermath of your mission.

Word Count: 5.4k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: i thought i'd put part 2 at out at the same time just 'cause. enjoy this pure smut!

(and yes, both titles are ariana grande songs, sue me)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet names, porn no plot, oral sex (m and f receiving), swearing, unprotected sex, creampie, not proofread

Part 1

The mission at the gala and the following one where the X-Men saved the mutants from the trafficking ring went on without a hitch.

But there was one thing you and Logan weren’t the greatest at. Talking about feelings.

You’re very aware that emotions are your specialty, being able to feel how everyone else feels, but you usually despise your own.

Despite the kiss incident at the gala, you and Logan acted normal around each other. The flirty comments to each other didn’t stop, not in the slightest.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in your hands, watching Logan rummage through the fridge.

“So, doll, you gonna keep ignoring the elephant in the room, or should I spell it out?” Logan’s voice was gruff, but there was that smirk on his face, the one he gave you whenever he knew he was pushing your buttons.

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your coffee slowly, playing it off. “What elephant? There’s just you and your terrible food choices.”

Logan chuckled, grabbing a leftover sandwich and leaning against the counter across from you. “Oh, you know damn well what elephant I’m talking about. You gonna pretend nothing happened?”

“I’m not pretending anything, Logan,” you replied, eyes narrowing slightly. “We kissed. So what? It’s not like it means anything.”

He raised an eyebrow, biting into his sandwich, clearly not buying it. “Is that what you’re telling yourself, Psionix?” he asked, using your code name like it was some kind of challenge.

You hated when he called you that in moments like this. It was like he was reminding you that you could feel his emotions, that you knew there was something more bubbling under the surface. Something you were avoiding.

“Yeah, well, maybe I am,” you shot back, setting your mug down with a little more force than intended.

Logan didn’t back down. “You’re a terrible liar, doll. Always have been.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “What do you want me to say, Logan? That I haven’t thought about it? That it didn’t make things... complicated?”

“Complicated, huh?” Logan pushed himself off the counter, his tone teasing but with a serious edge. He walked towards you, closing the distance between you both. “That what you’re afraid of? A little complication?”

You could feel his emotions swirling—interest, concern, a bit of hesitation—but also something more. Something deeper. It wasn’t like Logan to open up, and you weren’t exactly thrilled about digging into your own feelings either.

“What if I am?” you shot back, eyes meeting his. “What if things get... messy?”

Logan’s gaze softened just a bit, though that smug smirk didn’t leave his lips. “Messy’s my specialty, doll. And you can handle messy. You’ve been handling me all this time.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was truth in his words. Despite all the walls both of you had, there was something there. Something neither of you wanted to talk about, but neither of you could avoid.

“And what about you?” you countered, taking a step closer, not backing down. “You gonna pretend like nothing’s going on? Like you’re not... feeling something?”

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, his jaw tightening. “I don’t pretend about much, especially not with you,” he said, his voice low.

There was a tension in the air now, thicker than usual, and you could feel your heart beating a little faster. You hated how easily he got under your skin, but at the same time, you didn’t want him to stop.

“So what do we do, Logan? Keep flirting, keep dancing around it? Or do we—”

Before you could finish, Logan stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near growl. “We could stop dancing around it anytime, doll. You know that.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a second, the weight of his words hitting you harder than expected. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t teasing anymore. This was serious. And suddenly, you realized just how much you were standing at the edge of something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But Logan... Logan wasn’t the kind to wait around. Not when he wanted something.

“You ready to stop pretending?” His voice was rough, but there was that familiar glint in his eye.

For a moment, you considered stepping back, saying something sarcastic to deflect, to keep things light like you always did. But you couldn’t.

So, against your better judgment you repeated what you did at the gala. Your hands found Logan’s jaw, the coarse texture of his beard grazing your fingers as you pulled him into a kiss. His lips met yours with a fierceness that made your head spin. It wasn’t soft or tentative like the last time; it was hard, demanding, like he was done with all the talking, the flirting. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him, the heat between your bodies immediate, burning through your clothes.

You gasped against his mouth as he pressed you back against the counter, the edge digging into your lower back, but you didn’t care. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours, hungry, searching. You could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his hands moved up your sides, possessive. He didn’t ask for permission. He just took, and fuck, you liked that.

Logan broke the kiss, his lips moving down your neck, nipping at your skin. You tilted your head back, giving him access, your breath coming out in quick, shallow bursts. “Logan—”

“Shut up,” he growled against your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. One hand slid up to cup your breast through your shirt, fingers squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp. You could feel him pressing against you, hard and insistent, leaving no room for guessing what he wanted.

You arched into him, the heat pooling low in your stomach, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. “I’m not pretending anymore,” you whispered, your voice shaky but firm.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Good. Neither am I.”

With a rough shove, you sent Logan backward, his body landing hard on the kitchen chair. The scrape of wood against the floor echoed through the room, but neither of you cared. Your thighs straddled his, grinding down as your mouths crashed together in a frenzy of heat, teeth clashing, tongues desperate for more.

Logan’s hands were on you immediately, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that sent a jolt of arousal through you. You tugged at his hair, breaking the kiss only long enough to catch a ragged breath. His cock pressed thick and hard against you through his jeans, and you felt it pulse as you rolled your hips over him, teasing.

His growl was low, primal, his hands sliding under your shirt, rough fingers kneading the flesh of your sides. You could feel him straining for control, his jaw clenched as he tried not to rip your clothes off right there.

Without another word, you slid off him and dropped to your knees between his legs. Logan’s eyes darkened as you reached for his belt, yanking it open with a sharp tug, the clink of metal punctuating the thick silence. He leaned back, his smirk dangerous as he watched you, those animal eyes locked onto every move you made.

The zipper came down next, your fingers brushing against his thick length straining against the fabric. Logan didn’t flinch, didn’t break eye contact, but the tension in his body said enough. He wanted this as much as you did.

“Fuck, doll, you gonna make me wait?” His voice was low, rough, like he was barely holding it together.

You didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, you pulled him free, his cock springing out, thick and hard in your hand. You stroked him once, slowly, enjoying the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers dug into the arms of the chair.

Then you wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth, slow at first, letting your tongue swirl around the tip, tasting him. Logan’s hand immediately found the back of your head, not pushing, just holding you there, like he needed to feel your mouth on him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips shifting slightly as you took him deeper. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you slid down, inch by inch, feeling his cock throb against your tongue. Logan’s grip tightened in your hair, his breathing ragged.

You set a rhythm, bobbing your head, your hand stroking what you couldn’t take in. Logan’s grunts and curses filled the air, and you felt a surge of satisfaction knowing how much you were getting to him. His thighs tensed, muscles coiled with that barely-contained need.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice strained. “You always did have a smart mouth.”

You hummed around him in response, the vibration making him twitch in your mouth. His control was slipping, and you could feel it in the way his hand tightened in your hair, the way his hips started to thrust, small, sharp movements as he fought the urge to fuck your throat.

You pulled off with a slick pop, your lips swollen, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his cock. Logan’s eyes were wild, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths as he stared down at you, his hand still tangled in your hair.

“Up,” he growled, the command rough but filled with need.

You didn’t hesitate, standing quickly as Logan’s hands gripped your waist, pulling you up into his arms. His lips were on yours again, hard and demanding, as he lifted you effortlessly. Before you knew it, you were stumbling through the kitchen, your back slamming into the hallway wall as he kissed you like he was starved for it.

“Bedroom,” he growled against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire.

You barely made it to the bed. Logan was on you before you hit the mattress, his body pinning yours as he ripped your shirt over your head, his teeth nipping at your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he could reach. His hands were everywhere, possessive, greedy, as he shoved your pants down, his fingers teasing your soaked panties.

“Fuck, doll,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re already so fucking wet.”

His fingers grazed over your panties, feeling the dampness soaking through. With a low growl, he hooked his fingers into the fabric and yanked them down in one swift motion, tossing them aside. His gaze burned as he stared at your pussy, glistening and ready for him.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, spreading your legs wider with his hands, positioning himself between your thighs. “You’ve been teasing me long enough.” His rough hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he leaned down, his breath fanning over your swollen clit, teasing you with the promise of what was coming.

You bit your lip, trying to keep some semblance of control, but when his tongue flicked out, just barely brushing your clit, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your throat. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. “Fuck, Logan,” you groaned, your hips bucking slightly, desperate for more.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. With a growl, his mouth was on you, tongue lashing over your clit in slow, deliberate strokes, each one sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You could feel the heat building in your core, your body responding to every flick of his tongue, every wet slide against your most sensitive spot.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he muttered between licks, his voice vibrating against your clit, making your back arch off the bed. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his mouth working you over like he was starving for it, like he couldn’t get enough. And fuck, neither could you.

Your moans filled the room, breathless and ragged, each one louder than the last as his tongue worked you closer to the edge. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard enough to make your toes curl. You could feel the pressure building, feel yourself getting closer and closer to that breaking point.

“Logan,” you gasped, your hips grinding against his face, chasing that release. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

His tongue worked you relentlessly, flicking and lapping at your clit, his growls vibrating through your body, driving you mad with every stroke. Logan didn’t let up, sucking your clit into his mouth with just the right amount of pressure, sending sparks down your spine. His stubble scratched your inner thighs, the burn only adding to the pleasure as he devoured you, like he couldn’t get enough.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me come," you panted, fingers gripping his hair tight, pushing him deeper against you. Your thighs trembled, and Logan groaned, his tongue sliding lower, licking through your folds, teasing your entrance before diving back up to swirl around your swollen clit.

He growled low in his throat, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he held you in place, forcing you to ride his face. His tongue was relentless, flicking back and forth over your clit, each pass sending a shockwave through your core. Your breath hitched, a gasp escaping your lips as the pressure built inside you, everything coiling tighter and tighter.

"Logan... fuck, I’m gonna—"

He didn’t let you finish, sucking hard on your clit, his tongue swirling faster, pushing you over the edge. Your body jerked, hips bucking against his mouth as the orgasm tore through you, a strangled cry escaping your throat.

"Ahhh, fuck... fuck, Logan!"

Your whole body tensed, thighs squeezing around his head as you came, the pleasure ripping through you in waves. Logan didn’t stop, his mouth working you through the orgasm, licking and sucking every drop as you trembled above him, breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Jesus," you muttered, trying to catch your breath, your legs shaking uncontrollably. Logan chuckled darkly, his hands squeezing your hips as he kissed up your thigh, his lips slick with your arousal.

"Told ya," Logan growled, voice thick with the weight of his hunger. He wiped the slick wetness of your release from his lips with the back of his hand, his eyes hooded and dark, locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered in the world. That wolfish grin flashed across his face, knowing damn well he’d had you shuddering beneath him like that.

He was still on his knees between your legs, his body a wall of muscle as he prowled closer, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, the other trailing up the inside of your thigh. His fingers grazed over your soaked folds, and you jolted, still sensitive from his mouth. He smirked at the way you twitched, unable to hide the raw arousal that had never truly ebbed.

"You're a fucking tease, doll." His voice was low, gravelly, lips brushing your ear as his fingers danced between your legs again, slipping over your entrance, teasing just enough to make you squirm.

You gasped, fingers curling into the sheets beneath you as he toyed with you, his fingers sliding against your soaked pussy but never giving you what you wanted. "Maybe I just know what you like," you whispered, breathless, grinning up at him through half-lidded eyes.

Logan growled low in his throat, leaning in to bite at your neck, sharp and possessive. "That so?" His fingers slid inside you then, two thick digits curling deep, stretching you in ways that had you biting back a moan.

"Fuck, Logan…" Your hips rolled against his hand, chasing that delicious friction, your body already wound tight again.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes smoldering as he watched your face twist in pleasure. "That’s it, doll. Show me how bad you want it." His thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles that made your back arch off the bed, your breath catching in your throat.

You reached up, hooking your fingers into his belt loops, yanking him closer. "Fuck me," you demanded, voice raw, needy. You couldn’t take it anymore, the teasing, the way he kept pushing you higher without giving you the release you craved.

His grin widened, dangerous and dark. "Patience." But you felt the way he shifted his hips, the weight of his cock straining against his jeans.

"Fuck patience." You reached between you, hand bold as you cupped him through the denim, squeezing just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. His cock jumped in your hand, hard and ready. "I want you inside me, Logan."

That was all it took to snap his restraint. He let out a rough curse and pulled back just enough to shed his clothes, his jeans hitting the floor with a heavy thud. You watched every movement, eyes riveted to the thick length of him, pulsing and ready, the head glistening with pre-cum. He was so fucking hard it made your mouth water.

"Turn over," he growled, voice thick with command, as he yanked you up from the bed. You obeyed without hesitation, flipping onto your stomach, pushing your ass up for him, wanting to feel that heavy weight slide into you, to be filled so completely you’d forget everything but him.

Logan grabbed your hips, dragging you back against him. "Fuck, look at that pussy. So fucking wet for me, doll," he muttered, voice rough with desire. He ran the head of his cock through your folds, slicking himself with your arousal, teasing you again until you whimpered, pushing back against him.

"Please," you panted, desperate now, needing him to just take you already. "I need it, Logan."

He didn’t need to hear another word. With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you wide around his thick cock, the feeling so intense it knocked the air from your lungs. You cried out, fingers clawing at the sheets, body taut as you tried to adjust to the sheer size of him.

“Fuck…” you gasped, your voice rough, the word a breathy moan as Logan began to move inside you. The stretch burned at first, but the way his cock filled you, the thickness pressing deep, made your entire body hum with raw, throbbing need.

Logan growled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, primal. “Tight as fuck, doll,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips like a vice, fingers digging into your flesh as he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust slamming into you, pushing you up the bed.

Every thrust had you keening, the pleasure dizzying, your mind blanking to everything except the way Logan filled you, stretched you, claimed you. "Logan… fuck, yes…" you moaned, hips bucking back to meet him, desperate to take him even deeper.

"Goddamn, you feel so fucking good," he groaned, voice gravelly, dark with lust. His pace quickened, his cock driving into you harder, each thrust sending jolts of electricity through your core, setting you on fire. He was relentless, the heat of him searing, his breath hot against the back of your neck as he leaned over you, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

You pushed back against him, arching your back to take him even deeper. "More," you gasped, voice hoarse with need. "Fuck, Logan, don't stop."

He didn't. If anything, his thrusts became rougher, more demanding, his cock pounding into you with a force that made you cry out, the sound a raw, guttural moan. His grip tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto him with every stroke, driving himself deeper into your soaked, aching pussy.

“Fuck, doll, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he growled, voice rough with need as his hips snapped forward, each thrust deep and brutal, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “You love this, don’t you? Love being fucked like this.”

“Y-yes,” you gasped, pushing back harder, your body desperate for more, for everything he could give you. “Fuck, yes, Logan!”

He let out a dark chuckle, low and hungry, and leaned over you, his mouth brushing your ear. “Good girl.” His breath was hot, his voice a growl as he pounded into you, hips slamming against your ass. “Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

You whimpered, the sound high-pitched and breathless, your body trembling beneath him, every nerve ending on fire. His cock stretched you to the limit, each deep, hard thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, driving you higher and higher, the pressure building, coiling tight in your belly.

“Logan… I’m—” The words barely made it past your lips before you felt yourself shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, the pleasure so intense it knocked the breath from your lungs. You screamed his name, your pussy clenching tight around him, squeezing him so hard it drew a rough groan from his throat.

Logan didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his thrusts hard and unrelenting as he fucked you through your orgasm, driving you higher, deeper into that blissful haze. “Fuck,” he growled, voice hoarse as he felt you clench around him, your walls milking his cock, your body trembling beneath him. “You’re so fucking tight, doll… squeezing me so goddamn hard…”

Logan’s eyes were practically feral, his grip on your hips ironclad as he flipped you onto your back. You barely had time to catch your breath before his body was on top of yours again, pressing you into the mattress. The weight of him was heavy, grounding, but it did nothing to dim the heat burning between your legs.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and demanding, teeth nipping at your lower lip until you opened for him, letting him devour you like he had your pussy moments ago. His hand found your breast, squeezing hard, tweaking your nipple until you gasped against his mouth. You were slick with sweat, still trembling from the orgasm that had just ripped through you, but you wanted more.

“Logan…” You moaned his name, your legs falling open in invitation, your body still aching with need. The feeling of his cock, still hard and throbbing against your thigh, had you arching into him, desperate for him to fill you again.

He smirked down at you, one hand sliding down your side, brushing over your still-sensitive clit, making you twitch and gasp. “So eager, doll,” he growled, his fingers teasing your entrance, gathering the slickness there. “Didn’t get enough already?”

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” you shot back, your voice breathless but sharp, your hands grabbing at his biceps, pulling him closer. “About time you deliver.”

That earned you a low, dangerous laugh from him, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re a fucking tease,” he muttered, his fingers sliding inside you, curling in just the right way to make your back arch off the bed. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

You gasped, rolling your hips against his hand, already close again. “Fuck, Logan…”

He growled, his fingers pulling out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching. You barely had a chance to whimper before he was between your legs again, the head of his cock sliding through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You were wet, dripping, your pussy still clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.

“You ready for this, doll?” Logan’s voice was low, gravelly, as he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock teasing you, just barely pressing inside. You could feel the heat of him, the thickness that was about to stretch you again, and it made your head spin.

“Yes,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Please, Logan, fuck me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you, stretching you wide around his thick cock. You cried out, the feeling overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure as your body adjusted to him. He didn’t stop, didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. He pulled back, only to slam into you again, each thrust deep, hard, and unrelenting.

“Fuck, Logan…” Your voice was hoarse, your body trembling beneath him as he set a punishing pace. He was so deep inside you, filling you completely, and every time he thrust, it sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, making you cry out, moan, beg for more.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” Logan groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he fucked you into the mattress. His eyes were dark, burning with lust as he watched your face twist in pleasure, your mouth open, gasping for breath. “So fucking good.”

“Logan… oh god, yes…” You were babbling now, barely able to form coherent words as he pounded into you, each thrust driving you higher, closer to that edge again. Your nails dug into his skin, your hips bucking against him, desperate to take him even deeper.

Logan's lips curled into that feral grin, sweat dripping down his temples as he watched you lose yourself beneath him. "Fuckin' beautiful," he growled, hips snapping forward, burying himself balls-deep inside her. "Takin' me so damn good, doll. That sweet little cunt of yours—" His voice was hoarse, breath ragged as he kept pounding into you, the slap of skin against skin filling the room.

Your hands shot up to his shoulders, dragging him down until his chest was pressed to your, needing to feel him, all of him. "God, Logan… I can feel everything…" she whispered, voice broken with need. Your psionics were kicking in, amplifying the intensity between them, feeling his hunger, his desire, like it was your own. You could barely think, your mind a whirlwind of lust and pleasure.

"Yeah?" Logan's voice rumbled against your ear, low and dangerous, and he drove into you harder, grinding his cock against your G-spot. "You feel that, huh?" His lips brushed your neck, teeth grazing your skin just before he bit down, marking you. The rough scrape of his beard against your sensitive skin only sent you spiraling deeper into the haze of pleasure.

You whimpered, legs trembling as you wrapped them around his waist, heels digging into his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. "Logan, fuck!" You could barely get the words out, your body on fire, every nerve lit up with need. Your pussy clenched tight around him, slick and hot, as his cock pounded relentlessly into you.

He growled in response, one hand moving under your head as he yanked your head back so he could look into your eyes. "Look at me, doll," he ordered, his voice a rough command. "Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you."

The weight of him pressed you deeper into the mattress as his hips drove forward, cock burying into your slick heat, every inch of him making you feel like you were about to split apart, but in the best way. Your lips parted in a sharp gasp, your body jerking from the intensity. “Logan—fuck,” you groaned, legs trembling as you tightened them around his waist, dragging him even closer. His cock filled you, stretching you so perfectly that you couldn’t help but whimper, the sound ragged, desperate.

His lips curled into a smirk as he watched you struggle to catch your breath, watched you squirm beneath him, utterly wrecked and begging for more. “You feel that, huh?” His voice was a low, dangerous rasp. “Feel how deep I’m inside you? Every inch of my cock stretching this pussy of yours?” He leaned down, his teeth grazing your ear, sending a fresh jolt of electricity through your already sensitized body.

You were barely coherent, your nails digging into his shoulders, desperate to hang on as Logan’s rhythm grew faster, rougher. “Fuck, Logan,” you gasped, hips bucking up to meet his every brutal thrust. His cock slammed into you, hitting that sweet spot deep inside that had you seeing stars, your back arching off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry.

Logan grunted, his grip on your hair easing just enough to let you move your head, but he didn’t let you escape the intensity of his gaze. He wanted to see you fall apart for him, wanted to watch you lose control, knowing he was the one doing it to you. “That’s it, doll,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. “Fucking take it. Let me feel how much you want this.”

You whimpered, biting your lip as you struggled to form words. “I—I need more…” Your voice was raw, shaky, but still laced with that bold edge that had always kept Logan coming back, that constant push and pull between you. You could feel the heat building again, that tight coil in your belly about to snap, and you needed more—needed him to take you higher, harder, faster.

Logan growled, a sound so deep and feral it sent shivers down your spine. “Greedy little thing,” he muttered, pulling out just enough to leave you aching, empty, before slamming back into you. “I’ll give you more.”

You cried out, fingers gripping his biceps as your entire body rocked from the force of his thrusts. Every inch of your skin was on fire, every nerve ending lit up, all of it focused on where his cock was buried deep inside you, pounding relentlessly. “Fuck, Logan!” Your voice was a ragged moan, the words half-gasped as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yeah, you love this,” he growled, hips snapping forward with each brutal thrust, your body jolting beneath him. “You love being fucked like this, don’t you? Love how hard I’m fucking you?” His breath was hot against your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Yes! Fuck, yes, Logan—don’t stop,” you begged, your hips bucking up to meet his, desperate to feel every inch of him as he filled you, stretched you. Your walls clenched around him, slick and hot, your body already trembling with the buildup of another orgasm. “I’m so fucking close…”

Logan’s grin was dark, dangerous, his eyes locked on yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl,” he growled, his voice a rough command that made your entire body shudder. “Come for me, doll. Let me feel you come around my cock.”

His words were all it took. That tight coil in your belly snapped, sending you crashing over the edge. Your body convulsed, every muscle tightening as the orgasm tore through you, the pleasure so intense you couldn’t even scream. Your pussy clenched hard around his cock, milking him, pulling him deeper as you rode the waves of pleasure.

Logan groaned, his hips slamming into you harder, faster, driving you through your orgasm, prolonging every pulse of pleasure. “Fuck, Y/N…” His voice was hoarse, thick with need as he felt you tighten around him, your body trembling beneath him. His rhythm stuttered, his thrusts growing more erratic, more desperate.

You were still gasping for breath, your body still trembling from the aftershocks, but you weren’t done yet. Not even close. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, pulling him even closer, feeling his cock pulse inside you. “Come for me, Logan,” you whispered, your voice low, seductive. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

That was it. Logan let out a rough curse, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust into you one last time, his cock buried deep inside you. You felt him pulse, felt the heat of his release flood into you, and it sent another shiver of pleasure down your spine. He groaned your name, his body going rigid as he emptied himself into you, his breath hot against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both of you still catching your breath, still tangled in each other. You could feel the slick heat of your combined releases dripping between your thighs, but you didn’t care. You just lay there, wrapped up in Logan’s heat, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

“Jesus,” you finally muttered, your voice hoarse, breathless. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

Logan chuckled, low and rough, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Told ya, doll. I don’t do half-measures.” He lifted his head, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips as he looked down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “But you didn’t either, did you?”

You grinned, still breathless, still riding the high of what had just happened. “Guess not.”

tags: @freythecrazyfae, @its-in-the-woods

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