#and i know some can go up to 2k

[belobogindustries]

PHAETHON

[icantalk710]

Wish the party loyalist "stop making Harris look bad bc Trump" people would realize that a) denying reality is exactly what the right does and b) it is on the candidate to win votes by not being a genocide enabling sellout moderate getting endorsed by the fucking Cheneys for her hawkishness on foreign policy while promising little for people at home, not on the voter disillusioned by said issues that the candidate could rectify

[transboyhalo]

.

[six-improbable-things]

Nothing like hitting the discord message character limit by sending your DM ideas for nightmares to give your character. :)

[risingsunresistance]

all the gold skills is SO weird, never thought i'd be anywhere near this. how do i get gold in cactus and netherwart someone please send help despite all my farming fortune i still barely break bronze-

[libraford]

The word 'rural' is in the public consciousness again and every time people start going in about the 'rural values' 'rural way of life' I remember just how subjective that word is.

I have a friend that lives in LA. He considers Columbus, OH to be 'rural.' A population of over 900k. Thriving arts community, tons of culture festivals, every kind of restaurant you can think of, one of the most annoying college campuses ever, several smaller colleges, lots of queer spaces, comic book conventions, huge concerts... rural.

The town I live in considers itself 'rural.' 38k population. Arts festival every year, a small pride celebration, monthly gallery hop, big Halloween festival. Five ice cream shops, three coffee shops, a couple fancy bars, so many grocery stores. Huge library, conservation and sustainability advocates, queer spaces, a hospital, one private college. Rural.

The town we nearly annexed, but lost the deal considers us 'urban' compared to them. Less than 5k. They have a limited hospital, often send their surgeries here. Downtown has hardware store, bars, craft supply store, a couple grocery stores, pizza places. There's some farmland, but much of the square acreage is golf. Mega churches. The houses here are 500k. Most people drive ATVs. They have a handful of festivals in the summer.

A town I would often get sent to to cover their high school sports- a little over 2k. There's a Subway, a Domino's, Family Dollar. Some bars, some corner stores. Some local crafts. All the students grow up knowing each other, most of them stay there. But they have craft fairs and art galleries, still.

Less rural still than the town I go through to get there, population of around 600. Houses, farmland, post office, general store.

Who would still look down upon the town of about 400 that I would go to sometimes- post office. Gas station. Bar. The school is the only big thing there.

And yet still, I have seen towns with population in the double digits that have a church and a post office.

Even just looking at the numbers doesn't lend accuracy to what 'rural' actually looks like. Because this is what it looks like in ohio, but it's different in West Virginia- where your closest neighbor might be a mile down a hill. Or in Montana, where your town might be planned very tightly and your neighbors are very close, but the nearest grocery store is an hour and a half away. These are places I've been, friends that I've talked to. I've never been to Missouri or Alabama or Louisiana- I'm sure they have a unique experience of being 'rural.'

So my point is that when people talk about 'the rural experience' or 'rural values,' they are talking about millions of people across the entire country who all have lived unique lives- and who may not even agree on what 'rural' is.

Think about who is talking, and who is being talked over, and who isn't even being asked to join the conversation.

[rafey-baby]

older!rafe can’t always be mean to his delicate flower, can he?

18+ mdni!

c/w: fluff with a little bit of angst in the beginning, older!rafe feeding sensitive!reader pasta & being v suggestive, slight subspace, smut: oral (f receiving), overstimulation & use of daddy

wc: 2k

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sock-covered feet pad along the hardwood floors when she finally hears the lock of the front door turning. Rafe’s home later than usual— a fact she’s entirely too aware of since she’s been impatiently waiting for him to return ever since he left her this morning without so much as a goodbye.  

Usually, she’d stir awake to him smearing kisses all over her face and mumbling sweetened words about how much he’s going to miss her during his meetings— sometimes even wake her up with his cock prodding at her entrance before fucking her all sleepy and sloppy until she’s a sobbing mess.  

However, she assumes he was still mad at her because she forgot to let him know she was going out for drinks after her lecture before her battery had died. Therefore, she hadn’t received his several calls or the texts filled with concern and only a few hours later, did she remember that she’d never actually sent the message regarding her whereabouts. 

When he came to pick her up after she’d borrowed her friend’s phone in order to reach him, he was clearly displeased; merely muttering out a “ask you to do one thing and you can’t even do that. You know how fuckin’ worried I was?” and crudely telling her to go sleep in the guest room because “daddy doesn’t feel like dealing with your shit tonight”, which had resulted in wet droplets surfacing to her waterline while she kept apologizing over and over again, but to no avail.  

In the morning, she’d woken up to a tear-stained pillowcase and a headache. And when she tiptoed over to the bathroom, she realized that the entire house was desolate; he hadn’t even left a note.  

Therefore, she’s not exactly sure how to approach him, hesitant in her movements before she sees him in front of her in all his glory.  

“Hi,” her voice is quiet, but her forlorn face lights up nonetheless.

Rafe is in the process of mindlessly kicking off his shoes when he looks up; a tired smile tugging at his lips when she practically tumbles into his arms in a greeting. 

“Missed you,” she mumbles against his crisp button up when he rests his big hands on her hips in an attempt to steady her.  

“Missed you too,” he murmurs into her hair. “Got you something,” he reluctantly pulls away in order to present her with a bouquet of pink lilies; her favorites. 

“What’s this for?” her moony eyes stare up at him in bewilderment. 

“Drove past a flower shop…guess they made me think of you,” he admits, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek; confusing her to no end. 

“But I thought—” she utters out, hesitant to take the flowers she feels unworthy of.  

“That I was mad at you?”  

She nods, looking up at him with guilt swimming in her eyes. 

He lets out a sigh. 

“Listen, I was, uh, maybe a little too harsh on you last night, okay? I know how forgetful you can be. Was just worried when you weren’t home and didn’t answer your phone until hours later. Thought something happened, you know?” he explains with a calmness that placates her racing mind as she accepts his gift.  

“I know, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, promise. Texted you today the second I was home, right?”  

“You did,” he confirms as he peels off his suit jacket before sniffing the air. “Smells good, what’re you making?”  

“Oh, I made you dinner,” she says bashfully, almost as if waiting for his approval. 

“You did? All by yourself?” his brows climb his forehead in surprise.  

She nods, a soft smile on her lips before he’s ushering her towards the kitchen and plucking a glass vase from the top shelf for her.

Usually, he’s the one cooking for them since she’s not greatest in the kitchen, always so tired after studying the whole day, she’d probably forget the stove on and cause some sort of a fire due to her absentminded nature. Therefore, he prefers to prepare his girl a nurturing meal whenever he doesn’t have to work late.  

“How was uni today?” he asks as she sets the now flower-filled vase on their dining table. 

“A lot. Was kinda stressed the whole day cause I have so much homework and reading to do, don’t know how I’m supposed to have time for all of it. And then have this group project and the deadline for this essay approaching and…I don’t think my brain works anymore,” she sighs out when she peers down at the steaming bowl of spaghetti Bolognese he places on the counter.  

“Good thing you don’t need to worry that head of yours over anything with me. Let daddy do the thinking for you, yeah?” Rafe’s voice is as smooth as honey, causing her to blink up at him— something cottony dusting over her mind in response to his sugary cadence.  

Strong arms lift her up and place her on the marble countertop before he settles right between her thighs, like a puzzle piece she’s been missing the entire day; tall frame hovering over her even as she’s practically perched on a pedestal.  

Then, he’s picking up the plate in the most casual manner and contently shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth before groaning in satisfaction.  

“Shit, this is amazing,” he praises around the mouthful.  

She mumbles out a flustered thank you, her thoughts all over the place since she thought he’d still be mad, but then suddenly he’s not. In fact, he’s seemingly in a great mood.  

“Did you eat yet?” 

“No, was, um…waiting for you. Didn’t wanna eat alone,” her volume is nearly inaudible.

He stops chewing.  

“Waiting for me, huh?” he rasps out before he’s lifting the fork closer to her mouth.  

She looks up at him, puzzled.  

“Open,” he orders and she has no choice but to obey— let him feed her because truthfully, whenever she’s around him she gets a little dumb; can’t really focus on anything except his low drawl and gemstone eyes.  

“Good, right?” 

She hums her agreement around the bite, barely registering that some of the tomato sauce stains her chin in the process.  

“Always so messy, huh?” he tuts disapprovingly, even if he’s the one holding the fork.  

However, before her mushy brain has the time to even comprehend what he’s doing, he’s laving the flat of his tongue under her mouth; cleaning it up for her.  

“There we go,” he murmurs as he rubs a thumb over the spot for good measure.  

She swallows.  

“Want some water?” he asks and she nods, all of a sudden unable to utter out words.

Then, he’s tipping a glass of ice-cold water to her lips, carefully watching her gulp down the liquid before he decides she’s had enough— withdrawing the cup in order to drink some of it himself.   

He continues feeding her every other bite and making casual conversation, all the while she feels herself softly slipping into a very specific headspace. And before she realizes, he’s placing the empty dish in the sink with a slight clatter; their bellies full and happy.   

She doesn’t think she wants to eat by herself ever again. 

Then, her foggy mind registers him in front of her again as he pulls her closer— warm palms slipping under her top and his thumbs idly smoothing over her tummy while she quietly stares at him with hearts for eyes.

“You put this tiny thing on just for me, hm?” he questions as his eyes drop down to her cleavage; the pale pink lace doing a very poor job of concealing what’s underneath since she’s forgone a bra (and pants), as she usually does whenever she’s merely loitering around their home. 

“Look so pretty in this,” his dreamy voice rumbles as he swipes a thumb over a covered nipple, causing her to let out a faint gasp at the sudden contact. 

“Ray…” she hums out while he keeps rubbing over the squishy part of her body he knows gets her buzzing.

“Hm? You feelin’ floaty already?” he asks with a gentle cadence. And she’s not sure how he always seems to know just the right words to say in order to turn her into clay.  

“Yeah, missed you so much,” her hazy eyes flicker over his face while he simply gazes at her, before he’s smearing his mouth on hers.  

There’s something hungry, primal in the way he groans against her lips— causing a whimper to escape her throat in response. 

Then, all of a sudden, he’s lifting her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing more than a single paperclip; making her squeak out a sound of surprise when he jokingly smacks her ass while walking out of the room before throwing her on the bed.  

“Let daddy say hi to his favorite girl, yeah?” he coaxes her before he’s prying her thighs apart and nuzzling his face into her cunt through the material of her panties; nose bumping against her clit, making her shift closer to him.

“Missed my pussy so much, you know? Wanted to fuck you nice ’n slow last night but you never came home.”  

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she can’t help but whimper out when his warm tongue licks over the already dampening fabric of her underwear.  

“Yeah? You gon’ make it up to me? Let me eat you ’till I forgive you?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want,” she blabbers, a whine leaving her vocal cords when he plucks the soaked through material to the side and blows on her sensitive cunt.  

“Shit, you’re so wet already,” he says in awe, letting spit drip down his tongue and onto her folds anyway. Then, he’s wrapping his lips around her clit, making her cry out because she can already feel her orgasm lingering underneath the surface. 

“Need to come, can I? Please m’gonna— ” she says, almost in a trance; already so wound up. And the way he’s practically torturing her achy button with his mouth isn’t really helping. 

After he’s hummed his agreement, she’s not able to hold it in any longer— his tongue poking at her opening when the knot in her belly unfolds. She’s shaking, thighs yearning to close, if not for his strong arms holding them open as he groans around her, seemingly lost in a daze with her taste and smell practically suffocating him.

Since he knows how insatiable she tends to be, he refuses to pull away from between her thighs. And two more orgasms later, she’s a whimpering muddle; desperately trying to drag her hips away from his unrelenting hold. However, he’s entirely too strong and she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Ray, s’too much, need a break—” she complains, eyes beginning to turn watery in response to the overwhelming pressure.

However, despite her protests, he doesn’t stop. Instead, he begins to mess with her entirely too sensitive clit with his fingers now— pressing and pulling and making her whine as tears trickle down her cheeks and she tries to fruitlessly wiggle away from him once more.   

“Nah, you’re good. You forgot daddy does the thinking for you now, hm? And he wants you to give him a few more, think you can do that?” he mumbles against her sticky folds, stuffing the tip of his tongue into her weepy hole as an effort to persuade her.

“I don’t know if I can—” 

“Shh, jus’ wanna make you feel nice, you don’t want me to?” he feigns hurt when he lifts up his head, beginning to mouth over the soft skin of her inner thighs to pacify her; his slight stubble tickling her in the process and making her twitch.

“No, I do, I do…”  

“Then quit whinin’ and let me take care of you, hm? Show you how much I love you,” he coaxes her to give in. And when he puts it like that, she thinks it does sound rather romantic…

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[joelsgoldrush]

“give me all of that ultraviolence” | 2k

logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: You give Logan head for the first time.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ implied age gap. dirty talk. kind of inexperienced reader. oral sex (m receiving). face fucking. dom!logan. a tiny bit of degradation. he guides you through the whole experience (shocking!!! i know)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HI PALS!!! yes i'm alive and kicking. yes university is killing me. so recently i’ve been OBSESSED with this man and i needed to write something for him. english is not my first language and i may have made some mistakes (if you encounter any you can tell me, i won't mind it). comments/likes/reblogs would be highly appreciated. i've got sooooo many ideas to write and i'm finally getting my hands on them. i missed you all so fucking much. hope you enjoy this!!!

It’s common knowledge that all humans have needs. Try as you may, there’s a primitive side that you can’t spare yourself from. You, as everybody else, have urges.

“Logan,” you basically mewl his name, five letters that roll off your tongue with little effort. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge you, his kisses growing harsher on the delicate skin of your neck. Threading your fingers through his hair, you decide to try again, speaking a bit louder this time. “Logan, please.”

“What is it, honey?” he says, bitten lips still pressed to your pulse point. As you remain silent, he looks up at you, those big, brown eyes that you love so dearly almost completely dark now. “Do you want to call it a day?”

His question catches you off-guard. You cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, suddenly afraid that he might pull away from you. “No! Not at all. That’s- that’s not what I want at all, actually.”

“What do you want, then? You can tell me,” he kisses you on the lips, softly at first. What starts as nothing more than a sweet kiss turns into a needier one, his hard on poking you through your shorts. “Come on. Tell me, baby. What does my sweet girl want?”

“I want to suck you off, Logan,” you whisper as you latch your mouth onto his, and you can feel how he visibly tenses beneath you. His breath hitches in his throat when you grind your hips. “I really need it.”

From the very beginning of your relationship, you had made things crystal clear: you didn’t have much experience on this territory. For a man his age, he was totally understanding. He knew you had your own times, that for him to take you to bed would take longer. Truth be told, Logan was willing to go to the ends of the world for you. There was no use in forcing anything.

At present, the bulge amid his legs becomes even more noticeable as you get off his lap, playing with his belt. “Can I?” you ask him, amazed at how straightforward you’re being.

Logan stares at you, so far panting, lust glowing in his eyes. “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters as he helps you undress him. His worn out jeans end up pooling around his ankles, and you locate yourself in between his legs. 

You’re on your knees, hands folded in front of you. Suddenly, it hits you, the shame of it all. How badly you want him, how desperate you are to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue. How many nights you’ve dreamt of this moment, unable to stop that unbearable need of touching yourself every time you thought about pleasuring him.

That’s what you truly want. For him to use you.

“What’s wrong, princess? We’ve talked about this a lot of times. You know what to do,” you can’t help but stare at his crotch as you listen to him, and then he raises your chin with his finger, your lips parting unconsciously. You blink slowly at him, eyelashes fluttering together. At last, he seems to understand what you’re trying to tell him, and he raises his eyebrows, that cocky grin of his taking place where it belongs. “You want me to guide you, don’t you? Want me to tell you what to do? Know you like it when I go a bit off the rails.”

You moan at his words, squeezing your eyes shut and nuzzling your cheek up against his palm. Slick gathers in your panties as you push your thighs together. “Please. Tell me what to do.”

“Take it out,” he instructs you, and you do as you’re told. Grabbing him by the base, you pull his cock out of his briefs. He twitches in your hand, and he’s so, so incredibly big. 

You stroke him once, testing the feeling. This you know how to do. You’ve given him hand jobs millions of times, although this one feels particularly different from the others.

He takes hold of your fist, applying a bit of pressure. “I’m sorry, baby. I think you got it all wrong. I’m the one who makes the calls here, okay?” he grunts, his brows knitted, and you only nod, salivating at the sight of his cock already leaking precum at the tip. Logan licks his lips, curling his hand around yours. “You do as I say. Now, stroke me. Nice. And. Slow,” he punctuates each of his words by moving both your hand and his in unison around his length. “That’s it, darling. You just need someone to boss you around from time to time, ain’t I right?”

One thing to know about Logan: he’s so full of himself on a daily basis, but he just gets worse in bed.

“My mouth,” you hover your lips over the head of his cock, all shiny and soft. He has let you go, both of his arms now flexed behind his head, as if he were appreciating how pathetic you must look on your knees, begging for him to allow you to taste him. “Let me.”

“Not yet,” his hips follow your tormenting pace, seeking the warmth that your skin radiates. He grits his teeth, biting his lower lip. You’ve no idea how a man so strong can become putty in your hands like this. “Greedy girl. I’m beginning to think you’ve set me up. Only a slut would get so worked up about having a cock in her mouth. What happened to my innocent girl? Gone with the wind, huh?”

“Please, Lo. I need it so bad,” you are whining, peppering his thighs with kisses. You inhale his musky scent, getting dizzy. “Give it to me. I’ll be good.”

Out of nowhere, Logan grabs a handful of your hair, forcing you to arch your back. He scrutinizes your face, studying your blissed out demeanor. “I don’t doubt that. I’m sure you’ll be good. Otherwise, we’ll keep on trying. We have all night, and you have a good memory, just need to put it to use,” as he taps your lower lip with his tip, you catch him smirking. He repeats that same motion until he has you shivering from the excitement of being stuffed. ”Show me how much you need it. Go easy on it at first, okay? Don’t want you choking beforehand.”

You’re more than happy to comply.

Your tongue darts out to lick at his head, enveloping it between your lips. The salty taste of his precum invades your tastebuds, and you moan as you trace the veins of his cock with the pad of your thumb. “Tastes so good, Lo,” your voice sounds distant, almost unrecognizable to your own ears.

“I know, bub. Such a nice fucking mouth, can’t believe you’ve never done this before. I guess you’re a natural,” shaky fingers place a strand of hair behind your ears, patting your head as if you were a dog in heat. “Do you feel like bobbing your head a little?” he asks you, and you prepare yourself, attaching your mouth to his head once again. “Good. That’s good.”

With that being said, Logan fists your hair once again and shoves your face down, his hard cock tickling your throat. Your whines and his rapid breaths are the only sounds to be heard in your bedroom. He grins as he takes in the sight of you. “Oh, sweetheart. You look so beautiful with your mouth stretched around me,” his index finger taps your cheek and he feels the outline of his own cock. “You know I can smell you, right? You’re fucking soaked, baby. Think you’ll leave a stain on the carpet? You’d clean it off with your tongue, wouldn’t you?”

You have no idea how he’s coming up with these things, but you’re far from annoyed. In fact, you’ve never been this wet. Your underwear must be ruined at this point, and you wish Logan would tell you to touch yourself.

After some minutes of bobbing your head up and down, he pulls you off his cock and you breathe through your mouth for the first time in a while. As you gasp for air, Logan kisses you, tasting himself. He massages the back of your neck, his cock throbbing between the two of you. “You tired?”

Your glossy eyes widen. Shaking your head, you go for his balls this time, sucking one of them while toying with the other. Logan buries his hands in your hair for what must be the hundredth time in the night, unable to stop himself. “F-fuck, that’s it. A pretty girl like you just gets what she needs,” he praises you, and you return to his length, taking as many inches as you can without hurting yourself. Tears shimmer in your eyes, yet you can’t bring yourself to care about that detail. You’re far too focused on Logan’s grunts and growls. “Keep that up and I’ll come. You heard me? You’re gonna make me fucking come, bub.”

His words ignite a fire inside you. You use your hands, your mouth, everything that you have to pleasure him. He’s getting closer and closer, thighs shaking when you pay special attention to his tip. Logan responds to each of your movements, and as you feel every coherent thought fly out the window, you try to take him all the way down your throat, breathing through your nose and swallowing around him. He cants his hips up, brutally fucking your mouth. Like a dog without a leash, Logan seems to get lost in the warmth that envelopes his cock, chasing his own release. “You’re such a good girl. My good girl. Nobody will fuck this mouth ever again. I’ll ruin you for any pathetic guy that tries to get in your pants. You’re fucking mine, darling. Oh, f-fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck-”

You’re met with his happy trail once he spills his hot load inside your mouth. He keeps you trapped there, his cock twitching and spamming through the aftershocks of his orgasm. You don’t think twice and swallow what he’s giving you. Some of his cum slips from your lips, falling directly onto the carpet. Even Logan seems surprised when he doesn’t stop coming.

He helps you stand up after a moment, kissing you as soon as he gets the chance. He licks into your mouth, squeezing the flesh of your hips. Logan lifts his eyebrows, relishing how cock-drunk you must look. “I think you nearly killed me. And that’s a lot to say coming from someone who cannot fucking die.”

You plaster a smile on your face, hugging his wide frame. “So, was I okay?”

His jaw goes slack, and he lowers his head to capture your lips in another kiss. “You were fantastic. I could easily get hard again just from thinking about it,” his fingers trace the buttons of your shirt, tugging at the fabric of it. “What if you let me focus on yourself for a while? You’ve already done enough, baby. Let me take care of you,” he rubs his hands on your thighs, reaching for your drenched panties. “Perhaps we could try something else today. That pussy’s begging to be fucked.” 

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[suguann]

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table. 

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path. 

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint. 

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway. 

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard. 

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him. 

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours. 

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.” 

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw. 

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement. 

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets. 

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider. 

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.” 

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit. 

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long. 

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip. 

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair. 

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress. 

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband. 

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam. 

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head. 

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?” 

[kamaluhkhan]

WE DESERVE A SOFT EPILOGUE, MY LOVE.

pairing: vi x firelight!reader word count: 2k summary: after years of thinking her dead, ekko brings vi to the firelight base. you don't really know how to react when the girl you grew up loving is now a woman you know nothing about and still, somehow, feel everything for. warnings: arcane level angst + lesbian yearning. reader is referred to with she/her pronouns. reader has tattoos and a star-shaped birthmark behind her ear (y'all know vi loves a nickname and i thought 'stargirl' was v cute so i had to make it work). fic gets slightly suggestive at the end ;) author's note: happy act iii release day!!! i wrote this instead of working on my thesis oops. in my defense, vi has sparked something in me that i simply cannot ignore. i'm also working on a werewolf! pitfighter!vi x vampire slayer!reader fic (set in the same universe, just with a slight twist) sooo that might be done before part 2 of this fic (which is where the smut happens hehe). anyways, thank you for reading!

inspired by that quote: "i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. we are good people and we've suffered enough" by nikka ursula

even after all these years, vi is still the first one to notice you. 

her eyes widen as she hesitates to pull away from ekko, but you clear your throat to catch both of their attentions.

“i thought we were gonna question her together.”

ekko wipes a stray tear from his cheek and stands up a little straighter. 

“you were taking too long,” he shrugs. “don’t worry — she’s clean.”

you trust ekko’s judgement, but you still can’t reckon with the fact that vi is alive. you’d splashed cold water on your face just before to make sure you weren’t dreaming. 

“i don’t know.” you walk closer until you’re standing arms length from vi. “the vi i knew wouldn’t be caught dead with a topsider, let alone an enforcer.” 

you examine her carefully, and you imagine she’s doing the same to you. vi looks more grown up — stronger and sharper. you’d spent so much time in limbo, not knowing if she were alive or dead. you aren’t sure how to react when the girl you grew up loving is now a woman you know nothing about and still, somehow, feel everything for. 

“i guess the shoddy undercut is a pretty clear give away,” you deadpan.

vi quirks an eyebrow at you. “shoddy, huh? you know, your tattoos look like they were drawn by blindfolded children.”

she smiles, all bright and toothy. the scar on her upper lip stretches, achingly familiar, and you decide there’s nothing you want to do more than to bring her into your arms, to bring her closer, so you do. 

her hair tickles your cheek as you whisper:

“i did those tattoos myself.”

vi chuckles, and you feel it vibrate across her body to yours.

“i know. they’re beautiful.” her index finger traces the star-shaped birthmark behind your ear; you shiver. “i was just messing with you, stargirl.”

vi was the only one who ever called you that, said you made her life brighter or some other sweet nothing that would effortlessly fall from her mouth.

gods, she was the first one who even noticed that birthmark on your skin. 

“i was messing with you, too. the hair — you look hot.”

you feel her heart beating faster against your chest as she smiles into your shoulder.

she’s here.

she’s not some ghost from your past.

she’s really here. 

you’re so overwhelmed by how solid she is against you that you start to pull away, but vi catches your hand before you can fully untangle yourself from her. 

“that’s all i get?” she wonders, licking her lips.

you’re tempted, very tempted, to give her more. maybe you would have, until ekko clears his throat behind you.

“should i….give y’all a moment?” ekko asks. “i’ll go get the piltie.”

you then remember who vi came here with; she might not be working for silco, but you stand by your suspicions at her bringing a topsider to the lanes. 

you slip your hand from hers. you roll your shoulders back as if that would really shake away the hold she’s always had on you.

time has passed. things have changed. neither of you are kids anymore, and you don't have the luxury of indulging in a frivolous crush.

“it's fine, e. let’s show them around.”

“still a night owl, i see.”

vi finds you perched on one of the trees highest branches, surrounded by firelights as you sketch something. you close your sketchbook instantly and place it on the other side of you when vi sits down.

“thought you’d be in bed with that enforcer of yours.” 

“her name’s caitlyn.”

“caitlyn,” you scoff, shaking your head. 

the bitterness you try to hide is all too transparent to vi, who has to bite back a laugh at your pettiness. 

“you say her name like you’re gonna hex her. never pegged you as a jealous ex.”

“technically, we never broke up,” you point out. 

a firelight lands on your hand, and you let it crawl up the lines etched on your skin. 

“if that’s the case, i owe you an apology for cheating on you when i was in prison.”

you frown, but say nothing, your eyes following that same firelight as it illuminates your tattoos. 

“don’t worry, i’m kidding!” vi pauses. “mostly.”

the firelight flies away, and you huff out an annoyed breath. 

“whatever. i don’t care who you’ve fucked, or who you’re fucking. and, you don’t owe me anything. it’s not like we’re anything to each other, anymore.”

vi sucks in a sharp breath — she wouldn’t have expected such harsh words from you.

“is that why you can’t even look at me?” she finally asks.

you’d been strictly business since you first reunited hours ago. you expertly distanced yourself from vi all throughout the tour of the firelights’ base, and throughout dinner, too. 

where’s the girl she’d spend hours goofing around with, who always had a witty response to her sarcastic remarks, who smiled at her in such a way that made her chest glow? where’s the girl who brightened vi’s life when it seemed like the darkness would never leave?

“i don’t know,” you admit. “part of me still can’t believe you’re alive. i know that i should be happy that you are, but i keep thinking about everything i could have done to protect you, and powder —”

“hey. it’s my job to worry about everyone, remember?”

“you weren’t here.”

“i am now.”

she gently moves your chin so that you face her, so that you can see that she’s not going anywhere, at least for tonight. 

which is probably more time than either of you thought you’d ever have together again.

vi notices how your eyes flick down to her lips and back up, and she feels something spark in her chest. but then, you shake your head as though trying to wake up from a dream and turn away once more. 

“that enforcer of yours —”

“she’s not my —”

“whoever she is, she talked about how we all need to heal. i just keep thinking about what you’ve been through, what we’ve all been through…. how it never really stops. healing would be nice, but it’s hard when you have to keep fighting every day. you remember what ekko said, about why we chose this place?” 

of course, she remembers. 

“that if even a seed can survive down here, maybe we could, too.”

 “we. who’s ‘we,’ vi?” you laugh, but there’s no joy behind it. “we’ve gotten used to surviving without each other. maybe it was meant to be that way.”

“that’s not fair.” 

“a lot of things aren’t fair.” you gesture around at the base. “this — this community — took blood, sweat, and tears to build and i just know how easy it would be for someone to destroy it all. which is why we fight, obviously, to protect all this and each other, but i’m scared that we can only do so for so long before we burn out.”

you press your knees to your chest and curl into yourself. vi notices then — the slump of your shoulders, the shadows beneath your eyes, and just how deeply exhausted you must feel, down to your bones. 

you let out a shuddery breath. “is it even all worth it?”

vi swallows the tears building in her throat. you had always been the hopeful one, and it makes vi’s chest ache to think about what you must have endured to lose the brightness that had been woven into your being. 

that's part of what got her through these past few years, and there's no way she's going to let it fade.

“i....i think so,” vi starts, trying to find it within her to be inspirational. “maybe it'll make a difference in the long run, even if we don’t see that now. maybe someone, someday in the future, will be able to not just survive, but live in a better world.”

you raise an eyebrow at her, and vi swears there's a slight smile on your face.

"what?" she asks, her cheeks heating up.

"i'm just...surprised. how is it possible that prison made you less cynical?”

there's a glimmer to your eyes that wasn't there before, something playful, and vi decides to lean into it.

"oh, it wasn't prison," vi says, nudging her shoulder against hers. "see, i ran into this pretty girl from my past and she's this totally badass freedom fighter now, so i think there's some hope in the world."

you snort. "good to know you're still an unbearable flirt."

"i thought you loved that about me."

you laugh, a sparkling sound that vi wishes she could carry with her wherever she goes. it’s contagious, too, and vi finds herself giggling along with you. when it dies down, you rest your head on her shoulder, something you did even back when you were only friends.

“i missed you,” she admits. 

“yeah?” your voice is softer than a whisper. 

you lift your head and vi cradles your face in her hands.

vi nods. “so fucking much, and i want to prove it. if you’ll let me. please.”

“vi,” you exhale. she’s so close now that she can feel you breathing against her lips. “i can’t. you’re with that enforcer.”

“we’re not together,” vi assures, bumping her nose against yours. 

she leans in ever so closely to kiss you, but you move away. 

“you’re still with her, though, and you’re leaving in the morning,” you continue. “things are already so….complicated. i just don’t think we should start something we won’t be able to finish.”

with nothing more to say, you gather your sketchbook and pencils. vi’s sure that you’re not going to bed, just off to nestle into another hiding spot for the night, away from her.

maybe you’re still putting up a cold front, protecting yourself because that’s how you've been surviving in this world where the risk of losing everything lingers, and only gets heavier as you grow older.

but, gods, vi really has missed you, the you she remembers so vividly, the you that shone through just moments ago. she knows that glowing heart of yours is hardened by layers of ice, and she’s determined to make them all melt away.

so, vi gets up, heart beating in her throat, and calls after you:

“haven’t we already?” 

you stop in your tracks. you slowly turn around to back at her.

a moment passes, maybe more. the two of you suspended in time. your eyes are telling her a million different things – you’re confused, you’re scared, you’re tempted, you’re tired – and all vi can do is unsuccessfully blink back more tears because it’s true, how your story together never got the happy ending you deserved. 

“please, y/n. if this is our second chance, even just for a night —”

she’s cut off by you crashing your lips against hers.

the two of you were young, really, just girls when you first kissed. it was awkward and messy and though it ignited something in the pit of vi’s stomach, it was nothing compared to this.

she lets you guide her as you please, lets you press your warm body against hers against the trunk of the tree. she lets your lips mold into hers until her lungs are burning. 

your chest is heaving as you pull away slightly; vi bites back a whine, feeling empty. but air isn’t what she needs, she’s sure of it. what she really needs is more of you.

you study her like a work of art, like you're committing her to memory in case she slips away. your thumb wipes away a fallen tear, across the tattoo on her cheek. 

fuck, no one's held vi this tenderly since, well, you.

“you’re so beautiful.”

vi blushes, becoming increasingly flustered. she'd wanted to make this about you, take care of you in all the ways she'd imagined, but the way you're looking at her, touching her....she's not a religious person, but vi thinks she might have stumbled into her own, personal heaven, with you having some divine hold on her, soft and bright and passionate.

you're kissing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone when you repeat: "you're so fucking beautiful."

“yeah, i know. they should build statues of me,” she breathes, closing her eyes and trying to keep upright on weak knees. she squeezes your hips in an attempt to keep herself steady.

you’re the only person vi can recall calling her beautiful. 

sexy? oh, yeah. charming? definitely. hot? often. 

no one else calls her beautiful, though, let alone makes her feel like it the way you do.

“bad at flirting and full of yourself," you tease. "some things really don't change."

by now your lips are travelling lower, and vi doesn't want to miss a second watching you have your way with her. when her eyes flutter open, vi gets a glimpse of something over your shoulder.

“hm, i guess drawings are a good place to start.” 

she gestures with her chin, which she instantly regrets as you pull away to follow her gaze, eyes landing on the sketches of her from your fallen sketchbook.

“you weren’t supposed to see those,” you groan. "they're personal...."

it's cute, how flustered you get after making vi all hot and bothered.

vi smirks. "personal, huh? had some fun picturing me when i was gone? missed me so much you had to draw me back to life?"

"well, no - wait, yes, obviously, i missed you, but --"

vi cuts you off with a searing kiss.

she tugs on one of your belt loops to bring you closer to her. vi presses her thigh between your legs, relishing in how your mouth opens in a perfect gasp. vi takes the opportunity to bite your bottom lip and you whimper.

“don't be embarrassed, baby," vi mumbles against your mouth, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hips. "you know i missed you, too. 'cept i'm not talented like you, so my creative imagination had to carry me through some long nights."

“is that so….” your hand slips underneath her tank top, and you manage to pull a groan from vi by scratching your nails against her stomach. “maybe you can clue me in to what, exactly, you’ve imagined.”

vi grins triumphantly. she places a kiss on your birthmark before whispering in your ear:

“sure thing, stargirl.”

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - Before

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Being in love with Azriel wasn’t hard; you’d been doing it for over 400 years. But things were changing, and soon, you would be changed. 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: This is part of a mini-series but each part can be read on its own/out of order. I know I'm like attacking everyone with this random fic I just started but it's getting my writing muse going and it's exciting!! Enjoy :)

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

“Do you think that’s the best idea, Az?” you promoted, cringing a bit as you hid your face in the racks of clothing along the store’s edge. “I mean, Rhys seemed pretty adamant that you… I don’t know—not pursue her?”

Azriel tsked, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he passed behind you. You turned your wings in. “Rhys doesn’t understand. He only understands the pull of the mating bond and nothing else. But Elain doesn’t want Lucien, I’m sure of it.” 

Something twisted in your gut. “Okay, I believe you. But what if—” 

“Please, y/n, something else now. My failure of a love life must bore you.” 

You bit into your lip as you contemplated ignoring his request. He had done nothing but speak of Elain since you started your outing this evening, but the moment you questioned the feasibility of his plans, the topic was suddenly moot. 

“I was just going to ask,” you broached, turning from the clothes to face the shadowsinger. A necklace display enthralled him. “What if you found your mate? What then?” 

Azriel broke his gaze with the jewels. “That wouldn’t matter. This is different, y/n. You must see that. Three sisters for three brothers. It’s as if it’s a test of fate.” 

“Right,” you nodded, fighting off the urge to throw up or scream. “Destiny, maybe.” 

Azriel’s responding grin did little to soothe you. “Exactly. I knew you would understand. You’ve always understood me.” 

You offered a weak smile, biting the inside of your cheek as he ushered you out of the store with a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

This was getting more and more difficult to tamp down. 

When Azriel first became enamored by Elain, you thought it temporary. He had been chasing after Mor for so long; that wouldn’t be trumped by a woman he just met. And you were used to the way he pined for Mor. It hurt, but it was familiar. 

Azriel never seemed to think he had a real chance with her. 

But with Elain—with Elain, he figured he had a fighting chance. He saw the success of his brothers and felt that this was his chance at happiness. He never looked at you the way he looked at her, and he had had so many opportunities to do so. 

He never spoke of you the way he spoke of her. 

This hurt more than it did with Mor.

But still, Azriel was your family, so you pretended that it didn’t. You sat back and listened as he spoke of his grand plans to court her and sneak past Rhysand. You tried your best to provide good input and smiled when you were supposed to. 

You loved him from afar. 

He loved you differently. 

It wasn’t his fault.

“Did Rhys ever say what he wanted to talk to you about?” Azriel asked after a short stint of silence, the sounds of your steps along the streets of Velaris rhythmic and soothing. 

You blinked and focused your attention back on Azriel. “Oh, um, some mission at the camps I think.” 

“Anything big?” 

“I don’t think so. A little unrest but I think he just wants me to make sure the women are training.” 

“Need me to come?” 

“I would, but I leave tomorrow night. Isn’t that when you—you know…” 

Azriel sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Oh, that’s right.” He tilted his head to the side, weighing his internal conflict. “I could try to move some things around. Elain could—” 

“No, Az, it’s fine,” you interrupted, trying to forget about the times he would restructure his entire schedule to accommodate you. “You have to be diligent with the times you see her. I can see if Cass can come with me.” 

“Are you sure?” he posed, the question twisting his brow. 

You looked up at him, examining each tell on his face. You’d known him so long you were sure you would never forget his face—never scrub your mind of the intricacies that told you of each emotion he felt. 

Many claimed that Azriel was hard to read. As a Spymaster, that was the goal. But you saw through it all. You’d seen him as a boy and you saw him now. 

There was something unfamiliar on his face as you looked at him now. 

“You really like her, don’t you?” The words hurt as they came out. 

Azriel breathed through a smile. 

“I like my chances this time.” He curled his finger beneath your chin in a playful tap. 

That sounded the same. 

~~

“You sure you don’t want me to come, sweetheart?” Cassian asked for the fourth time, the table between you filled with a plethora of distractions that you were all too grateful for. 

You darted your gaze to the side, eager to ensure that Azriel hadn’t heard the loudmouth in front of you. “Yes, Cass. Now quit it. I got it, okay?” 

Cassian sent the pair at the end of the table a perfunctory, almost irritated glance. “It’s a pretty hostile camp you’re headed into. I feel like you should bring backup.” 

“And I feel like you have four other camps to go to today. And a pregnant mate to tend to, no?” 

“Nesta would sooner bash me over the head with her books than let me coddle her. I’ve tried.”

“Well, just… linger around her, I don’t know. Just know that I’m fine and don’t need a babysitter.” 

From the other end of the table, Elain giggled, the sound light and airy. You snuck a glance out of the corner of your eye to find the shadows along the table retreating to the floor. A few had begun to creep towards you, but you shooed them away with a flick of your foot, wanting to keep the conversation away from Azriel’s ears. 

They listened to you—for the most part. 500 years of pestering them made them give a little. 

“Az can’t come?” Cassian asked, his mouth half filled with roasted potato. “He’s not on anything this week.” 

You raised your brow and stared back at the sheepish look the general offered, waiting for him to chew his breakfast before you replied. “He can’t. Spy business.” 

“Spy business.” Cassian deadpanned.

“Uh-huh.” 

Cassian’s skeptical look rivaled your chastising one. “This doesn’t need to go like this and you know that.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Right. I’ve only known you since we were twelve but I’m going to pretend that you aren’t covering for the one person you—” 

“Cassian.” 

“I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

“Why would she be getting hurt?” Azriel spoke up, his head finally turned from his near-permanent gaze on Elain. 

“I wouldn’t,” you cut in, speaking over the beginning of Cassian’s sentence. “You know how Cassian is, always worrying too much.”

“Is there something to worry about?” Elain asked, looking between the members of the table, her question sweet and ironic coming from her mouth. 

“No—” 

“Yes.” 

“No, there isn’t” you gritted out, throwing Cassian a look. The smile you sent to Elain took effort. “I’m just going on a routine mission, but you know how Illyrians are—overprotective to a fault.” 

Elain nodded and blushed with a soft gleam in her eye, and, Gods, you were reminded why you’d stopped eating breakfast at the House. You bit the inside of your cheek to fight the swell in your throat. 

“I thought Cassian was going to go with you,” Azriel questioned. “You said he could.” 

Cauldron, you really should have taken breakfast in your room. 

You tore your gaze from Elain’s shy expression and blinked at Azriel. He was sat up straighter, brows shot upwards in an accusatory fashion that made you feel that you were in trouble. When you took a moment to respond, he tilted his chin forward, ready to catch you in a lie. 

And you were an awful liar. 

When you were thirty, Azriel had to teach you how to lie to help stave away the men that came with emerging adulthood. That had been mortifying for many reasons, but mainly because he was having you lie about being his mate. Your feelings had become complicated around that time and Azriel did not seem to share the sentiment. 

But you could lie about this with ease. You had become a practiced liar over the years—when it came to hiding your feelings. 

“I-I got an update from Rhys. He said the camp is more settled. I’m only going to watch from afar. They won’t even know I’m there.” 

A lie—a fat lie. But Azriel should be happy. He should pursue Elain as he wanted. You shouldn't get in the way. You needed to get away from them, actually. 

You needed the space. 

You felt Cassian’s disappointed stare on the side of your face but ignored the hole it was burning into your skin. 

“He didn’t inform me of that,” Azriel muttered. He looked to Elain—sweet Elain with her soft eyes and gentle features—and contemplated his night once again. “I think I should come with you. Reports could be conflicting or fabricated.” 

And the way Elain deflated made you press your lips together in a line. Azriel sent her an apologetic, downturned smile and you gathered that he was apologizing for you. You would always be an apology for him, a responsibility. 

Your foot had been shaking under the table without you noticing it, but the moment Azriel’s eyes wandered to Elain, the motion abruptly stopped. You gathered your resolve, sent Cassian another warning glance, and looked back to the man who never saw you. 

“I don’t want you to come, Azriel. I’m bringing Lucien.” 

A low blow, but not one that was uncalled for. 

It had the effect you were hoping for, with both Azriel and Elain sending shocked expressions your way, the former affronted and the latter looking lost. 

“Lucien?” Azriel parroted. 

“Yes,”  you confirmed, taking a causal sip from the cup before you. “Rhys thought it would be good for him to see more than just Velaris and the mortal lands. I’m picking him up before I leave.” 

“And you think he would protect you if the Illyrians went rouge?” Azriel’s tone was bordering on aggressive, his question pointed towards Cassian. 

“The Illyrians are always rouge, Az. That’s kind of the point of all this,” you joked, but the joke didn’t land.

Tension at the table remained. Cassian wasn’t saying anything, his arms crossed and his eyes locked on yours. Your foot started shaking again. Elain, of all people, was the first one to speak. 

“Lucien would protect her,” she nodded, pushing her food around her plate. “He would. He’s… a good male.” 

That altered Azriel’s train of thought very evidently if one were able to pick apart the soft widening of his eyes and the slight twitch of his mouth. All things you caught so easily. 

All things that led him to agree that you should go with Lucien. All tells that made him refocus his attention on Elain and ignore the shallow breaths you let out when you lied.

Because you would be fine with Lucien. Maybe if you went with Lucien, one of Azriel’s suspected obstacles would be removed. Maybe Lucien would start to want you the same way he wanted Elain. 

Only, Lucien wasn’t going with you, and there would never be a time that a conversation like this would happen again. 

A different obstacle, for a different time. 

[moonlight-prose]

THE GRAVE OF LUST

a/n: this is a very random idea i had of logan not necessarily being able to go at it as he used to. which like yes i love the thought of getting my back snapped by a more energetic logan. this version of him has my heart in ways i'll never be able to explain. it's short but enjoy! divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: when his body doesn't work as it used to and the weary bones that poison his soul begin to ache, you take the lead in a dance you know well.

OR giving old man logan sloppy head that he'll think about in the grave and after.

word count: 2k

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, weary old man logan, domestic vibes, oral (m receiving), spit kink, cumplay, dirty talk, he may be older but he's filthier, unedited + not betad but we live and die by the fucking pen.

He doesn't touch you quickly anymore. His hands don't shove clothes off your curves and grasp your flesh with a growl of impatience. No, he no longer holds the stamina of a younger him who could spend hours between your thighs. His bones are weary, old phantom wounds ache where they shouldn't, and he feels himself step closer to his grave with each day that passes.

His hands move at a steady pace, tugging the fabric of your nightgown up inch by inch. Sleep lingers at the edge of his mind. The knowledge that he'll have to get up early with the sun still hidden from the sky. Yet you'll be here asleep—dreaming of his calloused palms on your soft skin. How he burned himself into your ribs with a kiss.

"C'mere," he mumbled, eyes narrowed and lips parted with a deep withered breath. "Let me touch you."

Denial would be a false tale on your tongue. Depriving yourself of him wasn't an option anymore. When times like this were found few and far between and his touch became a lingering memory in the back of your mind.

You couldn't remember the last time you tasted him. The last time he sunk into your wet heat with a solid groan—the muscles of his back screaming as he held his body above yours.

Age was cruel to a man who used to be so virile. He could recall the hours he took to worship your body—mold you beneath the warmth of his palms. But doing that more often wasn't something he was capable of. He still longed for you. The sounds you made, the way your face twisted in pleasure as you came on his cock, fingers, face. He craved it some nights. He felt it eat him alive.

Tonight was no different.

"How?" you breathed, eyes wide and pleading.

You were so fucking sweet he didn't even have to convince you of this. So ready to let him bring you to that peak of bliss. He could smell the heady scent of your pussy—the way it called to him with shouts of need. And if he was a younger man...he'd have you pinned beneath him. He'd hammer his hips into yours until bruises formed beneath the skin—down into the very muscles of your legs.

His graying hair and weathered face did nothing to stop the lust that poured into your face. Your eyes still drooped, mouth open and chest heaving. And Logan was a fortunate fucking man that you were still here.

So unlike his younger self, he let you take the lead.

"Can I touch you?" you asked so nicely. He groaned at the sound of it, jutting his chin down in a nod as you grasped the button of his jeans.

Any other night you'd let him take you. Give into his languid touches until you came wherever he wanted you to come. This was a rarity the longer you spent bound together by the strings of fate.

Logan fucking loved it. He ached for it on days spent away from you—time he'd never get back. But when he'd find his way home and curl his body around yours, he found that sleep was a better option. You'd heartily agree. If it wasn't for the pounding ache between your thighs each time you caught his eye. Each chance you got to see the thick arms and sun kissed skin that lay beneath his white button downs.

"Been dreamin' about this." His voice echoed with a rasp you'd grown to love. One that screamed exhaustion, yet licked a line of heat up your spine. "Such pretty fuckin' lips."

His thumb dug into the curve of your bottom lip, pulling at it until your mouth popped open. Allowing his finger to press against your tongue—saliva building at the thought of getting him in your mouth. Of him using your throat to get himself off.

You didn't even care if you finished. You just wanted to feel him.

"You're my good girl right?" A moan spilled past your spread lips, eyes fluttering when his pants slipped down and cock came free. "Yeah you are."

"Logan," you sighed. He dragged your spit across your cheek; thumb and forefinger gripped your chin to tilt your head close enough to kiss him. Only to hold you there.

"Keep 'em open baby."

The feel of his length throbbing so close to your chest—precum dotting the tip—drove you mad. You wanted him closer. Wanted to feel the bruising ache at the back of your throat as he pushed too far. Your fingers wrapped around him gently, causing him to hiss at your cold touch. The reminder to take it slow, savor him, rang in your ears. Yet the way he looked at you with a feral hunger you felt in your heart shoved those thoughts to the side.

Within his life there's only been a handful of moments he wished he could go back to. Nearly all of them were with you on nights such as this. When the moon hung low in the sky and dawn felt eons away. If he was lucky he wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow, he'd get to wake up naked by your side and bury himself in your pretty cunt.

Logan was rarely lucky.

His spit landed on your tongue, splattering against the corner of your mouth. He led your mouth down with a firm grip until you hovered directly over his cock. The dark red at the tip made you clench around nothing—the ache spreading to the base of your stomach. Screaming for you to take it. Put your mouth on him and make him finish down your throat.

"There we go," he murmured, watching his spit and yours fall from your mouth—landing directly on his twitching cock. "Pretty ain't it."

"Yeah," you gasped, nails digging into the v of his hips. "Can I taste you? Please."

The deep echo of his laugh shot through your body like a bullet. You could feel it burrow deep within, spreading across each nerve ending and vein. Being so close to what you wanted felt like torture, but with Logan you knew it would be worth it in the end. He never left you wanting.

"'Course honey." His hand cupped the back of your neck, leading you with a soft touch. "It's yours."

Yours. Yours. Yours.

With a moan, you wrapped your lips around the head of him—tongue sliding through the slit. A ragged groan tore from his chest, his eyes boring a hole into the side of your face. The knowledge that he was so far gone for you left a pleasant thrill of warmth to grow in your stomach. This strong, capable man would bend at his knees simply to see you smile.

He was your devotee and you'd become his goddess.

"Fuckin' perfect." His words were a spit of need, fingers digging down into your skin with each flick of your tongue.

You merely held him there. In your mouth with spit coating the hand wrapped around the base of him. His taste flooded your mouth, each drop a nectar you would never have enough of. And he let you have your fill. He lay still on the bed, his breaths coupled with moans as you took your time.

Slipping him a bit deeper, you felt his thighs shift beneath you—a shuddered sigh echoing the small bedroom. You'd barely begun and yet he felt the high of dizziness begin to pull at his mind. Effectively killing whatever sleep called out to him.

"Take a little more for me." He sounded gone. Your lips spread into a smile, bobbing your head and swallowing a bit more with each small thrust. "Fuck yeah. Just like that."

He pushed at the back of your throat, your jaw strained under the width of him. Tears spilled from the corner of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And he caught them with his thumb, mixing the salt with what spit of his still remained along your skin. Tilting your head slightly, you felt him slip down your throat—your nose finding the graying curls at his base.

The loud growl that ripped through his body was all the reward you needed. He was on the fucking edge. Barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth. And he knew you could tell. His thighs jolted—stomach tensing—and when your hand slipped down to tug at his balls, thumb finding the spot between, he lost it.

Snarling your name, he thrust his hips up into your mouth and felt you choke on him. Your throat constricted perfectly with each cant of his hips down into you. He gave you the opportunity to push him off—get some air down your lungs. You let him keep going—eyes fixed on the way his face screwed up in pleasure. His teeth bared and throat extended.

Another push of your thumb sent him flying over the edge with a shout. The salty tang of him filled your mouth, spilling down your throat with rope after rope of cum. And you swallowed it all despite the searing burn that spread along your esophagus. You took every fucking drop of him and allowed some to remain on your tongue.

To prove that you could take whatever he wanted to give.

"I fuckin' love you," he breathed, cupping your jaw and grinning when you stuck out your tongue—a pool of his spend dripping down your chin.

His fingers scooped it out of your mouth before you could swallow. "Up." He slapped your ass, moving you up and into his lap. "Your turn."

"I’m okay."

The glare he gave you burned its way to your lungs. "Good girls get rewarded." His fingers dipped down beneath your nightgown—pleased to find you bare—and spread his cum along the lips of your pussy. "Don't you want your reward bub?"

"Yes," you whimpered, gripping at his hair. "I do."

"Then take it."

Refusing was no longer an option when the bliss you'd been searching for finally flared to life in your body. His fingers plunged into you, curling and seeking the spot he always found with ease. And with a sharp gasp—your hand yanking at his hair—he knew he'd found it. He smiled at the sight of you. Head back and eyes shut as you fucked yourself on his hand.

"Tell me," he said. Gripping your chin, his lips met yours in a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. He could taste himself in your mouth. His chest rumbled with a soft sigh.

"I love you." The base of his hand ground into your clit, fingers pounding up quicker—faster. And your words pitched high with each thrust.

"I know you do." He kissed your throat, the heat of your body rubbing against his made his cock twitch in interest again. "Love you too baby."

"Fuck!" The coil in your stomach began to unravel rapidly, your body shattering into pieces you'd never find again. And he clutched you tightly to his chest. He watched in rapture at the sight of you shaking, hips bucking against his hand in quick thrusts. "Logan."

Pride bloomed in his chest. "You're perfect."

You collapsed onto his bare chest, spent and exhausted. The final tendrils of pleasure began to ebb out of your body, suddenly replaced by the comfort of him there. You pressed your lips to the center of his chest, teeth dragging along the scarred skin. And he basked in your attention—his hand trailing down your spine to knead the flesh of your ass.

"We should do that more often," you teased, lips finding his in a soft kiss.

He huffed, his eyes falling shut. "I'm too old for that."

"Believe it or not, but you're sexier older."

"Yeah?" He stirred against your stomach. "You like me old and gray?"

"Absolutely."

He smirked, pushing you up his body with slow movements. "Prove it."

[obsesssedblerd]

HI BBY HRU MAKE SURE TO DRINK WATER TODAY AND GET A GOOD NIGHTS REST YOU DESERFE IT XOXO

if there’s too many asks going on feel free to skip over mine but I was thinking 5 + Nanami? Xoxo

prompt #5: “Your ex never got you off?” 

pairing: kento nanami x f! reader

[18+ content below, MDNI]

contains: smut, cunninglingus, vaginal fingering, reader receiving oral for the first time

wc: 2k

likes, reblogs and comments appreciated <3 

a/n: seven of you requested this pairing omg.

— — — — — — 

Kento Nanami stares at you incredulously, and it reminds you of the way he looks at Satoru Gojo and Yuuji Itadori whenever they say something that’s a bit more on the sillier side. You look away, but you feel his fingers angle your jaw so your eyes are meeting his honey brown ones once more. 

“Your ex… never got you off.” He repeats your words back to you slowly. 

“I know it sounds crazy, since we dated for a while, but yeah.” You laugh nervously. You bring the champagne glass to your lips, then tip your head back, allowing the chilly liquid to slide down your throat. “He tried, and it couldn’t work. He mentioned something about how some women just can’t cum, so we both assumed that it’s the case for me. I remember—” 

Kento puts a finger to your lips, and you stop talking. He’s still staring, but this time, you can see the calculating—the plotting in his eyes. “Respectfully,” he says, his voice low. “Your ex is an idiot. I’m confident that he hardly tried at all.” 

You raise an eyebrow, and you shift yourself in the couch cushions to sit straighter. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, he was just…” You sigh as you trail off, unable to find anything polite to say about your ex-boyfriend. It was impossible, since he cheated on you. “I don’t know. Anyway, he definitely tried. Numerous positions, but nothing. It’s just something I’m unable to do.” 

He finishes the rest of his champagne before placing the empty glass on the living room table. He props an arm up on the back of the couch, then uses it to support his head. He’s still staring, still thinking. With his glasses and tie off, and the first few buttons of his blue dress shirt undone, your coworker looks even more handsome in this comfortable state. 

Kento inhales, then releases his breath. Slowly, he unclasps the expensive watch from his wrist and looks down at it. He remains like that for about fifteen seconds before you ask him, “What are you doing?” 

“Going to test something.”

“Test something like…?” You urge him to finish. 

He gently places the watch on the table next to the empty glass, then offers to take your empty glass as well. He leans towards you, and your heart pounds when his hand delicately strokes your cheek. The faint scent of his cologne fills your nose. His face nears yours, your eyes flicker to his mouth before fluttering shut. 

“Do you trust me?” He whispers against your lips, and you nod once before you feel his lips on yours. The kiss is gentle at first, but after wanting him for so long, you immediately grow hungry for more. You find yourself climbing on top of his lap, and he guides you there without breaking the passionate kiss, his large hands settling comfortably on your hips. 

You sigh blissfully into his mouth, and you feel your body heat up. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you savor every second and every feeling that this moment brings you. Months of keeping each other safe on missions, soft stares as you trade students for training and quiet conversations over coffee in the breakroom before meetings have all led to this. 

When he gently breaks away from you, both of you are slightly out of breath. His gaze settles hungrily on your low-cut top, and his fingers skim the hem of it. “May I?” He asks quietly. 

“Yes.” 

Kento isn’t fast; no, after craving you for many months, he has zero desire to rush any of this. His thumb brushes against the skin underneath your shirt briefly, then he grasps the hem of it, and pulls upward until it’s completely off of you, leaving you in your bra. Suddenly shy, you look away. You don’t know why you’re nervous; you’ve had sex before. You know what happens during sex. 

However, you don’t know how Kento Nanami operates. His kisses alone tell you that he’s nothing like your ex-boyfriend in the bedroom. 

“Hey.” 

His voice pulls you out of your mind, and you look back at him. He gives you a dizzyingly charming smile, his cheeks slightly flushed from champagne and want. “You’re beautiful.” He brings you closer and pecks your lips a few more times, then moves to your neck. “I’d like to taste you,” he whispers, and your breath hitches as he kisses the delicate skin beneath your ear. “Is that alright?”

You swallow thickly, and you manage to find some of your words. “Taste? I-I’ve never- No one has ever done that.” 

Kento hums as he pulls away, the corner of his mouth slightly lifting. “Your ex never went down on you?” 

You gently shake your head, and he exhales. “Disappointing, but not surprising.” One of his fingers fidget with one of the belt loops on your jeans, seeking permission. When you grant it with a single nod, he whispers to you once more. “Lie back for me.” 

He waits for you to lay down on the couch, and then climbs above you, caging you between his strong arms. He kisses you again, then begins to move lower, allowing his lips to explore your body, goosebumps on your flesh as they do. He carefully pushes your bra upward, and your head spins slightly when you feel his mouth wrap around one of your nipples. Large hands cup your tits as he sucks, massaging and gently squeezing. You release a sound that is something between a moan and a sigh, and Kento loves it. 

He takes his time, sliding lower and lower until he’s finally on his knees before you, fingers unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them down your legs. Heat rises to your face, and you look towards the couch cushion, too shy to see his reaction when he finds out just how wet you are. You know that there’s a damp spot on your panties. Your knees are pushed apart, revealing the most sensitive part of you. His fingers hook your lacy panties, then peels them down your thighs and calves, leaving you bare for him. “God,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. You look down at him again, and arousal pools in your stomach at the utter hunger in his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he sighs again, and you exhale shakily when he kisses a particularly sensitive part of your inner thigh. “So, so beautiful.” 

Over the next few minutes, you learn that Kento Nanami is a teaser. His lips are everywhere except your aching pussy, which you’re certain is dripping messily onto the couch. You’ve never felt this wet, so needy to the point you’re whining out his name, spreading your legs just a bit more for him. “Please,” you whisper. 

His thumb slides around the outer lips of your pussy, applying just enough pressure to tease your clit—where he knows you’re aching the most. So soft, he thinks to himself. Soft and very wet. There’s no way her ex is so stupid—so selfish that he’d pass up the opportunity to taste her. 

“Patience, sweetheart,” he quietly tells you, like a teacher softly instructing his student. “There’s no need to rush this. I promise, I’ll give you what you need.”

Once he’s certain that no parts of your delicate thighs are unkissed, his lips inch towards your core. His tongue licks slow, vertical stripes. “Ohhhhh,” you gasp, every thought draining from your mind as your head falls back against the cushions. “Oh, my g-god, Kento…” He’d just begun, but you easily decide that his firm tongue against your pussy is the most incredible thing you’ve ever felt in your life. 

Kento releases a deep groan, obsessed with the way you taste and the sounds you make. His tongue expertly swipes across your folds, teasing you for just a little while longer before he finally gives your clit some attention. You jolt when you feel his lips wrap around your clit and suck a few times, and his hands firmly hold your thighs open so you don’t squirm away from him. 

“You can grab my hair if you need to,” he says when he notices your hands palming at the couch cushions. Once your hands grasp his blonde strands, Kento goes back to eating your pussy like a man starved. Your moans are far louder now, any nervousness you felt earlier now completely faded away. You buck your hips when he slides two fingers into your sopping wet core, his tongue still rolling against your clit. 

When he sees how your breath is beginning to shorten, how your abdomen gently clenches and how your thighs twitch, he pulls away for a moment to look up at you. “Where my thumb is now,” he starts, using a thumb to rub your swollen clit, “did he spend enough time touching here until you’re trembling like this?” 

You meet his eyes, then shake your head. “No.” 

“Then he didn’t try.”

Inside of your pussy, his fingers curl upward and you nearly shriek when he begins to massage a weak spot within you, pleasure zipping through you with every movement. “And here?” He asks you again, his fingers unrelenting. “Did he ever find this spot of yours and touch it the way I am now? Even when he fucked you?” 

When you struggle to answer, he adds a bit more pressure, and your back arches off of the cushion. “Ahh! N-No, he didn’t!” 

“Then he didn’t try.” He reiterates a bit sharper. “Still believe he’s not an idiot?” 

You shake your head, and his rough palms spread you open a bit wider. “I want you to relax for me. When you feel it, and you’ll know what it feels like, don’t tense up. Breathe through it,” he tells you, the bass in his voice vibrating against your thigh before he tenderly kisses it.

You nod, and his mouth is on you once more, licking, sucking, devouring you. His fingers continuously stroke that weak spot, and the combination has you breathing hard. Your hands grip his hair tighter, and you buck your hips against his face, instinctively chasing something you’ve never had before—a release of the pressure building in your body.

Nearly there, Kento thinks to himself. 

You gasp and attempt to slither away, suddenly nervous about the intensity about the impending orgasm, but he grips you tight to keep you still. “Oh my goddd,” you whine, and he feels you begin to tighten on his fingers.

That’s it. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you try to do what he told you earlier and focus on your breathing. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, K-Kento…!” You cry out his name in warning, and he hums against your clit, encouraging you. 

Cum for me. 

When you climax, you feel like you drown in pleasure. You sob in relief as you grind against Kento’s face, and he licks and fingerfucks you all the way through it, savoring the sweetness of the juices that flow from your pussy. Once you’re finished and your body relaxes, he lifts his head from between your legs, his chin glistening with the evidence of your orgasm. 

He reaches for his watch that he placed on the table, his eyes glimmering with approval as he checks the time. “Twenty-two minutes.” 

“H-Huh?” You ask, trying to focus even though your mind still spins. 

“From the first time I kissed you until now, it took twenty-two minutes to make you cum,” he says, leaning forward to place a kiss on your navel. “Your ex spent so much time in your presence and in your bed, but he couldn’t put aside twenty-two minutes to make you feel good. Truly a selfish idiot. As you can see, you can orgasm,” he says quietly, then brings himself back up to you, your faces nearly touching. “You just needed a competent partner.” 

He kisses you again, and you moan as you taste yourself on his lips. Your hands begin fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, eager to have and feel more of him. “Want more,” you sigh in between kisses. “Want you.” 

“Good,” Kento smiles as he assists you in unbuttoning his shirt. “Because I’m dying to see how fast I can get you to cum on my cock.” 

[auroralwriting]

wait for your love

spencer reid x fem!liaison!reader

after joining the bau eight months ago, you and spencer quickly became close. too close, to be just friends, that is.

word count: 2k

warnings: comfort and fluff, no use of y/n, mutual pining, (un)reciprocated feelings, spencer's love-blind, he only likes your touch, vague hints at spencer's autism, playful flirting

Spencer Reid was all you'd ever wanted. He was a sweet, smart, charming, a gentleman. He understood your thoughts and feelings. He made time for you, and actually, the two of you spent a great deal of time together on a daily basis. It was rare you'd go more than two days without seeing the resident genius.

You were even the rare exception to his physical touch boundaries-- he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Holding your hand or interlocking your pinkies was a common form of touch you shared. Hugs, cuddling, and sharing beds wasn't uncommon, either. Usually on cases, you roomed together, even if you had separate rooms. You were Spencer Reid's solace, even more so-- simply his person.

The only issue? He was just your best friend.

For as close as the two of you were, no, you weren't dating. No, you had no clue how he felt about you. Sometimes it felt like he reciprocated your feelings, but then he'd go and call you something like his best friend. So, maybe he didn't reciprocate the feelings. But that was fine, you were still in his life and he was in yours. That was all that mattered, right?

You barreled into Spencer's hotel room the moment he opened the door from your rapid knocks.

Spencer watched as you flopped face-first on his bed with a chuckle, "Hello to you, too." He walked over to where you laid, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Can you guys please profile this douche any quicker?" You groaned into his pillow, the whine of your voice making Spencer smile. "I'm seriously done with the press on this one. I cannot take another call from stupid Heather Young."

"Who's Heather Young?" Spencer asked as you flipped yourself over quickly, sitting up to face him.

Begrudgingly, you pointed to the small TV that sat in front of his bed. "She's some nosey, obsessive, and pestering news reporter who wants the full coverage story on this case." You sighed. Heather Young truly was testing every limit you had. Her phone calls boarded on stalker, at least one an hour, if not more. You'd tried to block her number, but she found another phone to use. "She won't leave me alone. I swear, Spence, every hour this woman calls!"

Spencer knew all too well the struggles of being a liaison, and this was one of them. Dealing with obnoxious reporters and pestering questions would frustrate him to no end. That's why he admired you so much, for your tolerance and patience.

Your phone rang, and you groaned, turning back over and letting yourself fall face-first back into Spencer’s pillow. He chuckled, grabbing your phone and shutting it off so you wouldn’t receive any more calls for the night. “See? Problem solved,”

“Until six a.m when she calls me trying to get an inside scoop,” your muffled voice whined.

“You’re so grumpy,” Spencer chuckled, leaning on his arm beside you. “Come on, don’t let some stupid news reporter get you like this.”

Maybe if you'd looked closer, harder, you would've noticed the adoration in the genius's eyes. However, you just rolled your eyes and scoffed at his words. "M not grumpy,"

Spencer chuckled, poking your side teasingly. "You definitely are," He chuckled at the way you squeaked, shooting upward at the ticklish sensation.

"Spence!"

"If I were to look up the definition for grumpy, your name would be its definition." Spencer continued to softly poke at your ribs and sides, causing giggles to spew from your lips like an endless waterfall. It was music to Spencer's ears.

"Spencer!" You tried to whine, but it came out as laughter instead.

After a minute or so of his relentless attack, Spencer eased. "See? Not so grumpy anymore. I just know the grumpy cure."

"Tickling me is not a cure," You argued, crossing your arms as you sat criss-crossed in front of him. When Spencer went to reach forward, you sucked in a breath, "Okay, okay! Consider me cured!"

Spencer just chuckled at your words. "Admit it, you were grumpy. I could tell based on the way you threw yourself onto my bed." Spencer joked. He wasn't wrong. His hand, instead of poking, found its way to your side, but it gently caressed you in a sweet motion.

With another roll of your eyes, you smiled, letting Spencer know wordlessly he was right. His touch was soft and comforting. Spencer's touch, no matter how it's given, was the cure.

The moment was broken when your phone buzzed, a text from JJ lighting up your screen. For a moment, ignoring it was a highly considerable option, until you realized you were still on a case, and it could be important.

"Who's that?" Spencer asked, looking over your shoulder as you grabbed your phone from his bedside table.

"JJ," You simply stated.

Where are you? The text read.

With Spence, need anything?

Why can't you ever stay in your own rooms, SMH!! Wanted to see if you're ready to give the profile tomorrow?

You chuckled at her text, As ready as I'll ever be

KK, I won't bother you two lovebirds anymore! Enjoy Spencer time!!!

Spencer grinned at the texts. "You don't think she's going to read into that, do you?"

"She already does," You shrugged, setting your phone back down. "The whole team always asks, 'When are you and Spencer getting together?,' 'When are you finally gonna date?,' blah, blah, blah."

With an eyebrow now raised, Spencer felt himself become surprised at your response. While he speculated there was some sort of, well, suspicion about the two of you, he was never on the receiving end of any of it. Apparently, that's because you were. "How many people have asked about us? Just the team?"

"Just them," You paused, considering his question. "Wait, you don't know about this?"

Spencer became more confused at your tone, "No, I don't."

"They think we're madly in love or something," you chuckled, trying to hide your true feelings, "talking about our future little genius-liaison babies."

The genius's mind became scattered, flooded with images of the two of you that his mind created in a moments notice. Children, marriage, love. It felt so surreal picturing you, yet so right. "Did you ever deny it?"

"For the first few months," You confirmed with a solid nod. "I just don't really entertain it anymore. I don't see them stopping anytime soon."

Spencer nodded, clearing his throat. "You haven't let them think it's true though, right?"

"Why?" You asked, his words confusing you. "Is there some sort of problem being with me?"

You felt defensive at his words. Maybe this was his way of telling you the feelings aren't reciprocated. Maybe, all along, you were playing the fool. This stupid, silly little mistake of a crush was mere moments from destroying your closest friendship. You wished you could swallow this whole conversation down like bad medicine and pretend it never happened.

Spencer paused for a moment, your question making his heart drop. "Why would you ask me that?" He softly asked.

"Just--" You sighed, turning over to lay on your side that faced away from him. As much as this sucked, you couldn't see yourself leaving him, either. "forget about it, Spence."

You were upset now, that much was apparent. Spencer couldn't tell if it was about the team, or his response. He wasn't good at talking to girls, let alone about romance. Spencer softly laid on his side, wrapping his arm around your middle and trying to gently pull you into him.

"Spence, it's really fine, just--" You knew this play. You knew he was going to give you the softest affection to try and get you to open up.

"It's not fine, you're upset." Spencer observed, a gentle firmness behind his voice. He hated it when you closed in on yourself.

Adamant about not moving, Spencer realized his efforts were useless; you weren't going to budge. So, he scooted closer until front was pressed against your back, practically spooning you. When your body went rigid against his, Spencer felt disappointment seep into his heart. You always melted into him. Ever so softly, Spencer let his free hand come up and begin to massage your scalp, slowly playing with your hair ever so often.

Like memory, your body began to relax into his, just the way he wanted it to. Of course, it was against your better judgement, but soft moments with Spencer Reid was what you lived for.

Spencer smiled against your shoulder, his efforts weren't so fruitless after all. "You're so stubborn," Spencer mumbled into your shoulder.

"M not stubborn," you muttered in reply, heat rising to your cheeks at his words.

"Yes, you are." Spencer said, giving you a small squeeze. It made you giggle in reply, making Spencer's heart thump loudly in his chest. Could you hear it, too? "You never answered me before,"

You hummed, "Hmm?"

Spencer said your name slowly, a growl of a warning. He needed to fix whatever happened. There was no way he was going to let you stay upset at him.

"I asked you that because.." you hesitated. "I don't know. would there be a problem being with me?"

At your soft words, Spencer realized what had happened. He'd been a fool and insulted you. How could he ever do such a thing? "Of course there wouldn't be a problem being with you," he breathed softly into your ear.

"Then.." you paused, "then why aren't we, I don't know, together?" You rolled over to face him. "I mean, we do this," Your hands waved in the air, motioning to your current position with the genius. "We're always together. We even sleep over! Even the team asks me why we aren't together and--"

Spencer felt shock flood his system at your confession. Did this mean what he thought it meant? Was he reading this right?

"Just, why? Is it me?"

Taking a deep breath, Spencer choked down his fears. "I've been.. scared."

"Scared?" Your desperation morphed into one of curiosity and confusion at his words.

"Scared," Spencer confirmed softly. "I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know if you even wanted this.. us,"

Humor slowly filled the situation. Maybe you'd both been fools, but not in the way you'd originally thought. "Do you really think I cuddle with all my best friends?"

Spencer raised a brow at your words. Yeah, he felt unbelievably stupid. How could he not have seen it before? "No, I suppose not." He meekly replied, a small smile growing on his lips. "Does that mean you-you really want to be my girlfriend?"

A chuckle escaped your lips, "Spencer Reid, you ought to know better than to assume. Don't you know what that makes you?"

He smiled in return, rephrasing his question. "You want to be my girlfriend."

"I do," you smiled.

"I want to be your boyfriend," Spencer replied with a now wide grin on his face.

You felt your heart skip a beat, "I want that, too."

"Do you want to be my girlfriend?" Spencer asked, the question feeling like one of a middle-school boy. Nothing else felt right to say, though. Nothing felt as sweet and innocent as this moment did.

A finger patted your chin as you faked deep thought. "I don't know, it's a lot to consider."

Spencer let out a small laugh, propping himself up. He moved over top of you, his weight now on his forearms as you stared up at him. "Oh, really now?"

"Yeah, being tied down is a lot, you know?"

He leaned down closer to you, so close you could feel the tip of his nose grazing your own. "Tied down," he chuckled with amusement.

"That begs your question; should I be your girlfriend?"

"I say yes," Spencer said, his lips mere centimeters from your own.

Staring down at his lips, you whisper, "I say yes, too."

Like a moment of explosion, your lips meshed perfectly with Spencer's. It felt like everything you'd dreamt of thus far. Poor Spencer, he was in absolute bliss. He felt like he'd been waiting this day his whole life and another. It was magic, heaven, and unbridled passion.

"Stay here tonight?" Spencer whispered as he pulled back, lips tingling with the feeling of you.

"Always," you smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

[lubdubology]

Soft Edges

SYNOPSIS: Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader (Although minus the quick blip mention about the Void, you could imagine any Logan you'd like)

WC: 2K

WARNINGS: sexually suggestive innuendos; non-explicit descriptions of nakedness; playful banter; kissing; mild swearing; feeeeeelings; honestly, just tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I haven't written anything four hundred and eighty years seven years and I'm honestly kind of nervous about this. I thought my writing muse was long dead and buried. But here it is, seemingly revived. The idea for this story kind of just fell out of my head when I should have been napping while my toddler napped. The story won out. I hope you like it! <3

You wake with a jolt to the sound of Logan’s alarm blaring from his phone. From beside you comes Logan’s low, “Ah, fuck,” before silence reclaims the room. 

It’s early, the first rays of morning light just barely peeking above the horizon. You roll over and peer over your pillow to find Logan pulling on a pair of jeans. 

“I thought you were off today,” you mumble sleepily, laying your head back down and admiring the way his muscles move as he slips a shirt over his shoulders. 

He looks back at you with a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, continuing to dress. “Picked up an extra shift at the yard.”

Since returning from the Void, Logan had picked up a smattering of odd jobs to earn money. A couple of months working at a quarry. A per diem for a local contracting company. Currently a lumber yard thirty minutes outside of town. Despite notoriety for helping save the entirety of existence, some employers still had qualms about hiring someone from another universe. Not that he cared. You think he was just happy being useful. 

You reach for him and pull him down for a kiss. You can feel the curve of his smile against your lips and it’s these soft moments about him you love the most. “Do you even know how to relax?” you ask, snuggling back down against the rumpled sheets. 

“I relax,” he replies, standing up to grab his boots at the end of the bed. 

You can’t help the snort that escapes from you. “Name one thing you to do relax,” you counter, watching through half lidded eyes as he sits back down on the bed to lace up his boots. 

Logan pretends to think about it and then smirks. “You.”

He chuckles as you whip his pillow at him, your aim off as it sails harmlessly past his head and onto the floor. You hide your smile as he looks down at you, his eyes warm but still tired. “Relaxing really ain’t my style, sweetheart.” 

“You deserve it though,” you say, stifling a yawn. 

Logan looks down at you for a moment, his smirk fading as something softer settles in his expression, but he doesn’t respond to your statement. He stands and shrugs on his jacket, straightening out the collar before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

You watch him leave and as you settle down to steal a couple more hours of sleep, you hatch a plan to show him just how nice relaxing can be. 

+++

You hum to yourself as you cook, the aroma of roasted potatoes and chicken filling the apartment. You’re just about to start on the green beans when you hear the jingle of Logan’s keys in the lock and the door swings open with a heavy creak. 

“In here, babe!” you call from the kitchen. 

“I could smell this all the way downstairs,” he comments, tossing his keys on the counter. “What’s this for?”

Logan wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his frame, nuzzling his nose where your neck and shoulder meet. With a smile, you reach back and lightly scratch your nails through the scruff along his jaw. He smells like sawdust and smoke as you press a light kiss to his cheek. 

You savor these moments with him. When you’d first met him, he was distant and wary, years of trauma causing him to be guarded. He warmed up slowly, his touches lingering longer and his words spilling more freely. But now, moments like this—where he’s soft and affectionate—have become more frequent. Logan craves touch and you are more than willing to reciprocate. 

“I thought you could use a nice dinner,” you say, your hand still tracing the line of his jaw. “Long day?”

Logan lets out a low grunt in response, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “One of those days where every idiot with a hammer thinks he can DIY,” he mutters, his breath warm against your skin. 

You smile and give his head an affectionate pat. “Well, you’re home now and I’ve got everything handled here. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Sure you don’t need help?”

“You try and help me, and I’ll beat you with this spoon,” you tease. 

Logan laughs and raises his eyebrow. “Promise?”

You smirk, giving him a playful nudge to the ribs with your elbow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind of smile that softens all his sharp edges. He gives your waist a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his fingers lingering just a beat longer. “Alright, alright,” he says holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll just go wash up.” 

As Logan retreats to the bathroom, you hear the rustle of him changing out of his work clothes and the thud of his boots as he tosses them to the floor. You finish dinner, resuming your quiet humming as you set the table. You finish plating everything when Logan emerges, work clothes changed for a fresh t-shirt and jeans. 

“Come eat, Lo.”

He joins you at the table and gives you an appreciative look as he sits down. “This smells incredible.”

You sit across from, watching as he takes the first bite, a prickle of anxiety setting along your spine as you wait for his reaction. A low groan of pleasure rumbles in his throat. “Fuck, this is good.”

A grin spreads across your face as he takes several more bites like a man starved. “I experimented with the cast iron skillet,” you comment as you watch him. “Looks like it was a solid impulse purchase.”

The two of you settle into a comfortable rhythm, enjoying the meal and sharing small pieces of conversation. Logan helps himself to seconds and as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with a napkin and sets his gaze on you. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, his voice low and warm. 

“I wanted to,” you reply simply. “And, like I told you this morning, you deserve it. Let me help you relax, Logan.”

There’s a pause, his expression softening as your words settle over him. You know he’s not one to ask for much and you can tell his savoring this moment. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” His voice is gruff but there’s a tenderness there that makes your chest ache. 

“A good something?”

He smiles. “The best somethin’.”

You finish dinner, swatting him away when he offers to help clean up and banishing him to the living room. Dishwasher loaded and leftovers put away, you join him on the couch. “Care to indulge me once more?”

He quirks his eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

+++

Logan stares at you dubiously as you lead him to the bathroom and gesture towards the tub. You flash him a grin as a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth. “It’s just a bath, Logan.”

He eyes the tub as if he’s waiting for it to swallow him whole. He crosses his arms across his chest. “I don’t do baths,” he mutters. 

You roll your eyes and place your hand on his chest, gently pushing him further into the bathroom. “Yeah, and you don’t relax either. Just humor me.”

Logan gives you a look—half amused, half reluctant—as he allows you to continue to nudge him closer. He reaches up and scratches at the back of his neck and blows out a sigh. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but only if you join me.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to press a kiss to his chin. “Tough bargain, but I accept.”

You turn from him and run the faucet, letting the tap run until you find the temperature sweet spot. Satisfied, you toss in some bath salts, the scent of eucalyptus quickly filling the room. The tension in Logan’s posture eases as you finish preparing the bath, but he still eyes you like he’s not entirely sure what comes next. 

Once the tub is filled, you shut off the tap and turn back towards him. “Okay, now strip.”

Logan smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so this is what you really wanted.”

“You’re not that hard to get naked, Logan,” you say with a laugh. 

He chuckles, but follows your instruction, pulling his shirt over his head. As you join him in undressing, you can’t help but admire his physique, his muscles flexing and gliding beneath his skin. You shimmy your panties down your hips as he kicks off his pants, leaving you both bare. 

You feel his gaze heavy on your skin as you step into the tub and beckon him to join you. He steps in, sitting down so his back is against your chest and he lets out a low groan as the warm water envelopes him.  Wrapping your legs around his hips, you cradle him and feel the tension ease from his muscles. 

“See?” you say, leaning to press a kiss to his temple. “Isn’t this nice?”

Logan peeks up at you and smirks. “The naked woman helps.”

You grab a washcloth and dip into the water to dampen it before running it over his chest. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” you say, rubbing the cloth in gentle circles along his collarbones. “You’re basically a wet noodle in my arms.”

He makes a wordless noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes as you continue to wash him. A comfortable silence surrounds you, soft drops and splashes of water and the faint background hum of your apartment the only noises interrupting your space. You continue to wash him, gently massaging his shoulders, arms, down to the long fingers that know how to play you so well. A deep groan rumbles through his chest as you rub your fingers across the skin in between his knuckles. 

You eventually let the washcloth sink and wrap your arms Logan’s chest. He molds his arms against yours, lacing your fingers together. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and hold him just a little tighter. “You do, Logan. Despite your past, you’re a good man and you deserve someone to help shoulder your burdens.” Your voice is sincere as you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Or least help you relax every once in a while.”

You soak until the water cools just enough to chill your skin. Reluctantly, you untangle yourself from him and nudge him to stand. He’s already got a towel slung low across his hips as you step out and he doesn’t even let you grab your own before pulling you close. 

A yelp dies on your lips as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs pressing into the corners of your jaw as he tilts your mouth up to him. He inhales deeply through his nose, his lips moving expertly over yours, his tongue seeking the warmth of your kiss. 

You lean into him, your fingers trailing along his ribs and pressing into the damp of his skin. Logan kisses you once more, a gentle press to the corner of your mouth before he lets you go. 

“So,” he starts slowly, “Now that you’ve shown me how you relax, can I return the favor?”

A mischievous gleam dances in his eyes and he doesn’t give you time to answer before slinging you over this shoulder. Your giggles echo down the hallway as he carries you and he kicks open the bedroom door before setting you down on the bed. You scoot back and stare up at him with an expectant glance.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says with a grin, “My turn.”