#and the other pair that forms the other half of their team

[norikuna]

SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni

PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)

word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa

a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!

dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!

gojo in this fic:

ACT I. don't puck around and find out!

"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."

"gojo satoru?"

"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."

you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.

"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."

"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"so?" you press on.

"so, what?"

"what did gojo say?"

"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."

"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"

not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.

it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.

"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."

right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.

"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.

choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.

this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"

choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"

"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.

choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"

"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."

choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."

"we are friends. and i don't get weird."

"you get so weird. even yuki said so."

"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"

the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.

"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.

"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.

"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.

choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"

"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.

"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"

"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"

your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.

ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine

you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.

your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.

gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.

but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.

"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.

"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.

"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.

but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.

"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.

"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"

you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."

gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."

you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."

"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."

"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.

"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."

his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.

besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.

and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.

"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"

as in why are you really here? please ask me out.

gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."

the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.

you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."

"why wouldn't i be?"

"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"

absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.

"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.

"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.

but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."

gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."

you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.

but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.

ACT III. between the covers

the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.

you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.

you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —

thud!

your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.

"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.

"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.

gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.

he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.

"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."

you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."

gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?

"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.

"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."

you blink, "you're actually studying?"

gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"

you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."

he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.

but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'

it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.

and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.

but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.

"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."

you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."

gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."

you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.

"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"

ah, now that's a curveball.

because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.

and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.

"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."

gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"

"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.

"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.

you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."

"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."

you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"

gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."

"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"

gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."

"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."

"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.

as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.

ACT IV. blush confidential

there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.

"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.

"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."

you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."

shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"

"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.

"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"

you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."

your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"

"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.

you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."

shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.

"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."

"and the other half?"

"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."

"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."

yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.

"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"

you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."

"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.

"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"

shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"

"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.

"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"

utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."

"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."

yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."

you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."

"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.

"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.

ACT V. stereo love

normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.

but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.

so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.

"you good?"

suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.

gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."

suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."

"you think too little of me."

"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"

gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"

suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."

this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.

truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.

but now the joke was so clearly on him.

because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.

suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.

but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.

"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.

"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."

"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.

"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."

gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."

suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."

"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"

"and are you?"

gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"

"a loser."

"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"

"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."

gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."

"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."

"excuse me?"

"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."

"did you pick up a self help book?"

suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."

"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.

suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."

"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?

but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.

suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."

oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?

gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.

if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.

gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.

ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.

"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."

gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.

you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.

"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —

let's rewind.

five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.

his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.

still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.

from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.

"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."

for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.

"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."

naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."

and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.

"hey!"

you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.

but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...

you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.

"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.

your brow furrows, "what?"

"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."

you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.

and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.

"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."

"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"

the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"

"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.

"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."

he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."

you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"

gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.

"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."

"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."

gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."

he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."

you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.

"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."

gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"

"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."

gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."

"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.

gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."

"with your future oscar nomination?"

the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."

"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"

"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"

you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.

gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.

you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.

when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.

gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."

shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"

utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"

suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."

ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!

gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.

right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.

"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.

"s-satoru!"

"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.

no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."

his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.

it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.

the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.

and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.

"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.

it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.

his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.

but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.

that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.

gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.

his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.

"satoru, c-can't you...?"

he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"

and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.

"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"

he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.

he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.

grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.

gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.

making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.

"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.

"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.

what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.

and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.

you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.

only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.

"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"

you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.

"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"

geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.

geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."

"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.

you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.

choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."

choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."

your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"

yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."

sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."

"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."

yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."

"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.

and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."

your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.

satoru 🪐

good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂‍↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]

"ugh, gross."

sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."

"get a life, holy fuck."

[sturniowhore]

Kiss Cam!

Warnings: Fluff, Secret/hidden relationship, Chris x Fem!reader, swearing

Tags: @d3axplr @miss-ykwho @mattsturnziolio @joemamaaa42069

A/n: this shit is so ass ngl LMAO sorry if some of the wording doesn't make sense i'm exhausted and I refuse to download grammerly! Also I hope I didn't screw up the hockey scenes I know NOTHING about the sport

Dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

In which.. Y/n and Chris decide to keep their relationship out of the public eye. What happens when they decide to go to a hockey game and they appear on the kiss cam on live television..?

You and Chris shuffle through the crowds of excited hockey fans trying to find your seats. Chris leads with one of his hands behind him, allowing for you to take hold of it so you don't get lost amidst the swarm of people.

Eventually, you two make it to your designated seats. You sit down waiting for the game to start, Chris's arm drapes over your shoulder "you excited?" he turns to you with a toothy grin. To be honest you could care less about the game, you didn't even know which teams were playing tonight. You still wanted to come with Chris though, knowing it'd make him happy. "Yeah! Can't wait! Also.. who are we rooting for again?" Chris laughs, leaning in and placing a kiss on your temple.

As he starts explaining, the screens in the middle of the arena started counting down and the lights dim. The crowd starts cheering, awaiting the players to come into view. Chris stops speaking immediately, his eyes widened and glued onto the ice. You smile at his excited expression and turn your head to one of the screens.

The lights of the arena came back up as the sports commentator announced the first team. "WELCOME TO THE ICE THE BOSTON BRUINNSSSSSS" The crowd went wild! People were jumping, screaming, waving their arms around in support. "WOOOOOO" Chris cheered clapping his hands together. The opposing team was also announced, it was the other half of the arena's turn to cheer.

The game soon started, the opposing team taking the lead. The people in the stands were on the edge of their seats, watching the puck glide around the ice waiting for it to go into one of the goals. One of the players from the opposing team scored a goal. Half the crowd started cheering, the other half kept quiet out of respect but still had sour looks on their faces.

Your boyfriend sucked his teeth, using one hand to rub his chin in frustration. "c'mon c'mon" Chris muttered under his breath as the game continued. He was watching the game with intensity, his eyes never leaving the ice.

Soon enough the Bruins made a goal, the score was now 1-1. Much to everyone's disliking the game paused for an intermission. People got up to use the bathroom, grab something to eat, stretch their legs, trying to use the short break to the best of their ability not wanting to miss anything.

You yawned, head leaning against your boyfriend's shoulder. "what? ya bored already?" He smirked down at you. "no no just uhm..." Chris laughed at you failing to find an excuse, holding you close to him. The screens in the middle of the arena changed, it went from the arena's name to a white page with the words KISS CAM in pink letters and hearts around it.

"here we go with that corny shit" Chris rolled his eyes. "stop, I think it's cute" you pouted at him and turned back to the screen. The first pair that was shown were an elderly couple, the woman was first to notice and pointed it out to her husband. when he saw the screen he gently cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss. "aww that's so sweet" Your eyes widened at the sight, a slight pout forming on your lips. Chris tried to suppress his smile but failed. He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear "that's gonna be us in 40 years." You blushed at his words, your eyes peering into his "yeah? you think so?" "oh I know so 100%" Chris said with confidence. You couldn't help but smile at his words, you loved that he was thinking of a future with you.

The next pair on the kiss cam brought you out of your trance. It was a father and his daughter, the girl looked no older than 3. The father pointed to the screen to show his little girl they were on tv, the girl grinned ear to ear clapping her little chubby hands together. The father kissed his baby's cheeks and she let out a happy giggle. The whole stadium erupted into awes, smiling at the wholesome interaction in front of them.

Chris's arm's were drawing patterns on your shoulder mindlessly, he was distracted by the bustling crowds of people walking up and down the stairs to notice that you were trying to get his attention. "Chris..." no response "Chris" you repeat, again no response. "Chris." you say a little louder this time, this catches his attention "hm?" he questions with a lazy look. You point at the screen in front of you. He looks over expecting to see another couple you found cute, what he saw wasn't what he expected at all.

On the screen, he saw himself and you displayed in front of everyone that was inside TD garden, not to mention the thousands of people watching the game live on television and he knew some of those people were probably his fans. His eyes widened at the sight, on different circumstances he would've kissed you on the spot not caring about a thing. But this was different.

You've gotten enough hate just for hanging out with the triplets and being in their videos, imagine how much hate you'd get for kissing one of them? Let alone dating. You and Chris kept your relationship hidden from the public for years knowing that you would get crucified if some of the fans found out.

You were in a state of panic not knowing what to do. You looked at your boyfriend for answers, he was just as clueless. You looked back at the screen hoping it would've moved onto another couple, it didn't. The camera was still on the two of you. "I swear whoever's operating this is praying on our downfall" You nervously chuckle Chris is silent, still in a state of shock. "just kiss already!" some stranger said from afar.

Chris's thoughts were running wild in his mind, He didn't want his fans to go ballistic on you but the thought of the two of you kissing in front of thousands of people was making him go crazy, he wanted to show the world that you were his and his only.

"Fuck it." Chris grabbed your face with both hands pulling you into a forceful kiss. You were stunned. Chris pulled away, grinning ear to ear at your surprised expression. The kiss cam moved on to another couple soon after, not paying attention to the two of you anymore. "I can't believe you just did that" you say astonished. Chris still grinning, faced towards the ice and shrugged "I mean we were on the kiss cam right? we had to" "but your f-" "don't worry about it ma I'll deal with it" Chris grabbed your hand interlocking it with his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of your palm. You had a shy smile plastered on your face "I uh.. thought you said kiss cams were corny" "they are" "then why'd you kiss me?" you questioned. You knew the answer, he knew you knew the answer. "Oh y'know, we couldn't let the people be disappointed" trying to act as nonchalant as possible, failing terribly. "of course of course" you played along.

The intermission ended and the game continued. Chris had a hard time focusing on the game, his mind wandering to the events that had just unfolded a few minutes ago. He wanted to for so long to show everyone that the two of you were together and he finally did. He didn't care what the haters had to say, all that mattered to him was that you were his and that he was yours.

hours later....

You and Chris went inside the house. Both of you were exhausted, you planned to take a nice warm shower and to finally get some sleep. But someone had other plans..

"what the fuck were you guys THINKING?" Nick screamed at the two of you. Matt watches from the couch with amusement, holding Trevor in his lap. "what are you-" you were about to question him but the man cut you off by shoving his phone in your face. On it was a clip of you and Chris kissing on the kiss cam. "oh.." Soft chuckles came out of Matt's mouth "you both are fucked everyone is going insane." He was right, that video has a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments.

"Are you guys mentally okay!? Did you not use your brains for a second!? Why on EARTH did you do that!?" Chris rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Nick what the fuck were we supposed to do? The stupid cameraman wouldn't move on until we kissed each other" "You could've said no!" "Its fine Nick, whatever's happened happened. You don't gotta worry about it anymore kay?" Chris shrugged. "fine fine but you're gonna have to deal with this cause i most certainly am not. Good night." Nick put both his arms up in surrender and walked to his room.

Matt got up from his spot from the couch. He walked up to you both, he gave Chris a supportive pat on the shoulder and he shot you a reassuring smile before walking up to his room, Trevor following close behind.

You plopped down on the couch, your face was buried in your hands. "we shouldn't have done that" you groaned, your voice filled with regret. Chris sat down next to you "hey.. it's gonna be fine, I promise if anyone tries some shit I'll block them and they will no longer have access to any Sturniolo Triplet content" His hands went to his cheeks as he gave a faux surprised look. You laugh "you can't block them all" "yeah but if I block 3 of them I'm sure the rest will get the message" He grins. You shake your head in disbelief, a playful smile resting on your face. "alright now no more sadness we just came back from an awesome bruins game and we need to keep the good vibes goin'. I'll run you a bath yeah?" With that Chris ran up the stairs to the bathroom. You couldn't help but chuckle, somehow that man always knew how to make you laugh even in the most dire situations.

You picked up your phone opening Tiktok, you weren't surprised when the first video that popped up was the kiss cam clip. You knew you shouldn't, you knew what you were about to do was dumb, but you couldn't help it the curiosity of peoples opinions took over. You opened the comment section bracing yourself for the hate and insults

comments:

user3453985: I KNEW IT

user7654876: I'm not even surprised they were so bad at hiding it I LOVE THIS THO

user2832733: AWWW CUTIES 🩷🩷🩷

user003328: they're perfect together omg!

User33314: really? her? he could do sm better tbh. 🤷‍♀️

user22383: @user33314 like who? you? girl please sit down.

As you were reading the comments your smile got bigger and bigger. Sure there was some hate, but the amount of positive comments were drowning them out almost completely. Everything might be okay after all.

[nadvs]

sleeping with the enemy ✮ au

pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader

summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriend’s worst enemy. based on this one-shot

rating explicit 18+

tropes both afraid of commitment, college rivalry, friends with benefits to best friends to lovers, everybody sees it, he falls first

timeline when they meet, she’s a junior and he’s a senior at rival colleges. they’re friends with benefits for three months before they start dating. they’re together for five months, then he gets signed with the nba and moves away. they stay together long-distance and she moves in with him a year and a half later. she gets pregnant six months after moving in, when they’ve been together for a little over two years. they get married four years later.

legend ⊗ smut / ❥ fluff / × angst

˚　꩜ ︴friends with benefits 　 ︵　🏀

✮ ࿐ they meet and hook-up ⊗

✮ ࿐ rafe texts her after they meet ❥

✮ ࿐ her ex sees them together ❥

✮ ࿐she learns about his past ❥

✮ ࿐ she hears people talking badly about her ×

✮ ࿐ he takes her out to dinner ❥

✮ ࿐ he fights to defend her ×

✮ ࿐ she rides his thigh ⊗

✮ ࿐ she keeps his shirt ×

✮ ࿐ they hook up in the library ⊗

✮ ࿐ his first time getting jealous ×

✮ ࿐ their favorite position ⊗

✮ ࿐ she cleans him up after a fight ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ a new player on his team hits on her × ⊗

✮ ࿐ he takes care of her when she’s drunk ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he accidentally calls her his girlfriend ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ they become official ❥ ×

˚　꩜ ︴in a relationship 　 ︵　🏀

college days

✮ ࿐ he tells his friends they’re dating ❥

✮ ࿐ their first time having sex as a couple ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ people see the marks she left on him ❥

✮ ࿐ they compete ⊗

✮ ࿐ he does a body shot off of her ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ their first fight as a couple ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he helps her when she’s stressed about school ❥

✮ ࿐ he consoles her after she fails a midterm ❥

✮ ࿐ they meet each other’s families ❥

✮ ࿐ they fight before he leaves ×

long distance

✮ ࿐ their roughest patch ×

✮ ࿐ he has a photo of her in his locker ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ her first night visiting him ⊗ ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ their first ‘i love you’s’ ❥

✮ ࿐ they almost break up ×

✮ ࿐ he misses her after she visits ❥

✮ ࿐ her ex hits on her ❥

✮ ࿐ she gets jealous ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ she drunk calls him ❥

after she moves in with him

✮ ࿐ he supports her career ❥

✮ ࿐ she tells him she’s pregnant ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ the public finds out she’s pregnant ×

✮ ࿐ he supports her through her pregnancy ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ he gets his first tattoo ❥

✮ ࿐ she gives birth ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ they announce the birth ❥

✮ ࿐ he sets up the nursery ❥

✮ ࿐ paparazzi find them at the hospital ❥

✮ ࿐ they struggle being new parents ×

✮ ࿐ rafe snaps at paparazzi following them ×

✮ ࿐ they deal with rumors that he’s cheating ×

✮ ࿐ a clip of her feeds the rumors ×

✮ ࿐ she sits courtside with their babies ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s away from the babies for too long ×

✮ ࿐ they’re overprotective parents ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe as a dad ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe does his babies’ hair ❥

✮ ࿐ their first night away after becoming parents ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ they hook up at a wedding ⊗ ❥

✮ ࿐ his daughter attends a conference with him ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe has a rough day with the kids ❥

✮ ࿐ their daughter loves attention ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s afraid to propose ×

˚　꩜ ︴married 　 ︵　🏀

✮ ࿐ they have a problem on their wedding day ❥ ×

✮ ࿐ she gets possessive of him ❥

✮ ࿐ rafe tells their son’s friend to stop looking at her ❥

✮ ࿐ he’s overprotective of their daughter ❥

✮ ࿐ what they fight about as parents ×

[kiwriteswords]

could you write a hotch x reader story where reader is literally a knockout bombshell and the team meets her for the first time and both are humbled and shocked tht Hotch could pull that. Also maybe she works in different department of the FBI, but not BAU and derek and others have always talked about how hot reader is but happy id they cnt have reaader that hotch can!

The Beauty and The Boss

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Thanks so much for the request! Sorry, it took me so long to get it written :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: Mild language, fade-to-black smut scene, reader wears makeup, workplace flirting, commentary about reader's appearance by BAU, jealous!Hotch, mention of a Holiday party, mentions of a bar scene.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism hides a secret: he’s been in a relationship with you, the stunning agent who turns every head at Quantico. While his team spends months admiring and teasing about you—unaware of the truth—Hotch quietly enjoys keeping the relationship private. But when the BAU holiday party reveals the truth, the team is left shocked, realizing the woman they’ve been swooning over is already spoken for by the man they least expected.

The Quantico breakroom buzzed with life as Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, a grin stretching across his face. “I’m telling you, there’s not a person in this building who doesn’t turn their head when she walks by.”

Emily Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms as she perched on the edge of the counter. “Understatement of the year, Morgan. She’s practically stopped traffic in the hallways more than once.”

Penelope Garcia, seated with her tablet, chimed in. “More like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus, wielding a to-do list and a killer power suit. The woman is unreal.”

You had no idea you were the current topic of conversation as you breezed through Quantico’s corridors. Your heels clicked against the tiled floor with the kind of authority only a seasoned professional carried. Your fitted blazer hugged your form just right, the kind of attire that screamed competence but still left a trail of stunned admirers in your wake. You were a boss, and you knew it—not in an arrogant way, but in the way a woman who worked twice as hard to get half as far in a male-dominated field knew her worth.

Little did they know that, as much as they admired you from afar, you had a certain someone who saw all those layers they missed—someone who knew how you carried the weight of your team, your projects, and your life with equal parts grace and grit.

That someone was Aaron Hotchner.

Unbeknownst to the BAU, the stoic Unit Chief had been keeping a significant secret. You and Aaron had been together for over a year. Though you both worked under the same massive roof, your respective departments didn’t often overlap—an intentional boundary to keep things professional and out of sight from prying eyes.

Aaron entered the room just as Morgan’s laughter rang out. “No, but seriously, Hotch, you’ve seen her, right? You can’t tell me someone that fine doesn’t have half the men here wrapped around her finger.”

Aaron’s sharp gaze flicked to Morgan, his jaw tightening subtly. “Morgan, shouldn’t you be focusing on case files rather than office gossip?”

Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, man, beauty like that deserves to be appreciated.”

Emily grinned. “Don’t let Strauss hear you. She’d have you running sensitivity training for a month.”

Garcia waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Hotch is just annoyed because she’s his type. Dark hair, smart, confident—maybe there’s some unspoken pining we don’t know about.”

Aaron’s lips pressed into a firm line as he reached for a file, “Let’s keep the speculation to yourselves. We have enough on our plates without playing matchmaker.” His tone was calm but carried enough weight to signal the end of the conversation.

He didn’t let his composure falter, but inwardly, he found himself caught in a tug-of-war between amusement and annoyance. You were undeniably stunning, and he couldn’t blame his team for noticing, but their casual banter skirted dangerously close to the truth.

Later that afternoon, the sun streamed through the tall windows of the BAU bullpen, casting golden streaks across the room as you entered. Your heels echoed confidently against the polished floor, their rhythmic click commanding attention as you moved with purpose. A fitted pencil skirt emphasized the natural sway of your hips, and your blazer was tailored perfectly, hinting at the strength and grace beneath. Loose curls framed your face, falling just so, and your makeup—subtle but flawless—added to the aura of a woman who meant business.

Conversations quieted as you passed by the desks. Agents glanced up from their work, some stealing longer looks than they should have, while others leaned toward their neighbors to murmur something under their breath. You didn’t acknowledge the attention. You were used to it. Your focus remained locked ahead as you carried the neatly bound folder in your hands, its weight a mere fraction of the responsibility you carried daily.

You reached the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office just as it opened. He stepped out, his posture as straight and commanding as ever, but his sharp eyes softened for the briefest moment when they landed on you. The shift was imperceptible to anyone else, but you caught it—it was the kind of look he reserved only for you.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted evenly, his voice steady but low enough that it felt personal.

“Agent Hotchner,” you replied with a nod, the professionalism in your tone betrayed by the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of your lips.

Behind you, Morgan's voice rose in a stage whisper. “And there she is…”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your expression neutral as you extended the folder to Aaron. “I just need your signature on these budgetary adjustments. It’s time-sensitive.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly as he accepted the folder, his long fingers brushing against yours briefly. “Of course,” he said, already flipping it open to skim through the pages. “Give me a moment.”

As he turned and walked back into his office, you followed without hesitation, pushing the door closed behind you. The muted sound of the latch clicking shut seemed to signal a shift in the atmosphere. The second the door was closed, your composed expression melted into something softer, teasing.

“I heard Morgan,” you said in a low voice, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. You set a hand on your hip, leaning slightly as you watched him work.

Aaron’s lips curved into a subtle smirk as he scribbled his signature onto the documents. “They talk about you often,” he replied, not looking up right away. “Morgan more than most.”

You tilted your head, your brow arching playfully. “Jealous?”

Finally, he looked up, setting the pen down and stepping closer. “Observant,” he corrected, his tone dry but his gaze warm. He handed the folder back to you, and as his fingers brushed yours again, the slightest spark of electricity passed between you. “You look stunning today, by the way.”

“Today?” you teased, your voice dropping slightly as you tilted your chin. “What about yesterday?”

Aaron’s smirk deepened, the rare expression enough to make your stomach flip. “Every day,” he replied smoothly, his voice dipping into that low, velvety tone that sent a thrill through you. He stepped just close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—subtle and clean, just like him.

For a moment, the space between you felt charged, but you straightened, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. “Careful, Agent Hotchner,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Someone might notice.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rare but rich. “Let them speculate.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement, but you turned on your heel, your exit as purposeful as your arrival. Behind you, Aaron watched, his expression softening again as the door clicked shut. The office suddenly felt emptier without you in it, and the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips.

Moments after, when you stepped out of Aaron’s office, the door closing softly behind you, you nearly collided with David Rossi. The veteran profiler stepped back gracefully, offering you a warm smile as his eyes flicked to the folder in your hands.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “You’re lucky Hotch doesn’t have a ‘No Stunning Women’ policy in his office. Makes the rest of us forget what we’re working on.”

You gave a polite laugh, your smile measured but warm. “Always a pleasure, Agent Rossi. Don’t let me distract you too much.” With a nod, you stepped past him and continued down the hall, your heels clicking confidently on the polished floor.

Rossi watched you leave, shaking his head slightly before stepping into Hotch’s office, and shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t tell me your office doubled as a runway, Aaron,” Rossi quipped as he took a seat across from Hotch’s desk, still grinning.

Hotch didn’t look up from the report in front of him. “Rossi.”

“I’m just saying,” Rossi continued, leaning back in his chair. “Agent Y/L/N is quite the… presence. Can’t imagine you get much work done when she’s around.”

Hotch finally glanced up, his sharp eyes locking on Rossi with a calm but pointed look. “She’s one of the most competent agents in this building.”

Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. “No offense, Aaron. I’m just appreciating fine talent when I see it. Professionally, of course.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift as he returned to his paperwork. “Make sure it stays professional, Dave.”

Rossi chuckled, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. “Noted. I’ll leave you to your work, but for the record… you’ve got good taste.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked up for a brief moment, narrowing slightly as Rossi turned to leave. Once the door closed behind him, Aaron exhaled, his jaw relaxing as the corners of his mouth twitched faintly. You had that effect on people. Rossi wasn’t wrong about that, but Aaron wasn’t about to let anyone reduce you to just that. Not on his watch.

It wasn’t much later in the week when the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar as the BAU team finally unwound after wrapping a grueling case. At their usual table near the back, JJ, Penelope, and Emily leaned close together, conspiring with mischievous smiles. Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, his beer in hand, as he glanced across the room toward you.

You were with your own team, sitting at the far end of the bar. The laughter coming from your group was infectious, and more than a few heads in the bar had turned to admire the sharp, confident woman at the center of it all. You were a vision, dressed in a fitted, dark emerald blouse that complemented your glowing skin, your hair falling perfectly into place despite the long week.

Emily nudged Derek, her grin widening. “Now’s your chance, Morgan. She’s right there, and she’s smiling. That’s basically an invitation.”

Penelope nodded eagerly, swirling her cocktail. “Seriously, Derek. You’re Mr. Smooth—to make one of your famous sweet moves. She’s gorgeous, brilliant, and, let’s face it, probably way out of your league, but you’ve got charm. Use it!”

JJ smirked, sipping her drink. “They’re not wrong. She’s definitely the type to keep you on your toes.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment. “You ladies make a good point. Pretty boy over here has been staring so hard, I think he forgot how to blink.”

Reid’s head snapped up, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I haven’t been staring—I was observing!”

Penelope laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. “Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that.”

Meanwhile, Aaron Hotchner sat quietly at the edge of the table, nursing his drink and doing his best to keep his expression neutral. He caught Rossi’s amused glance and ignored it, his attention drifting toward you. Across the room, your eyes flicked to his, and in that instant, the noise of the bar seemed to fade. Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, and Hotch’s lips twitched in response, his gaze steady but warm.

“Alright,” Derek announced, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Time to show you all how it’s done.”

As he sauntered toward you, the rest of the team watched with poorly concealed anticipation. Hotch leaned back slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he took another sip of his drink, clearly amused.

At the bar, Derek slid into the seat beside you, his trademark charm on full display. “Well, well, Agent Y/L/N,” he began, flashing you a dazzling smile. “A woman like you at a place like this—it’s like a shooting star landing in a parking lot. Rare. Unexpected. Stunning.”

You turned toward him, your smile warm but professional. “Agent Morgan,” you greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering if I can buy you a drink. You look like someone who deserves only the finest.”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head. “That’s kind of you, but I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You sure? A woman like you turning down a Morgan Original? That doesn’t happen often.”

You smiled, leaning in slightly, your voice light but firm. “I’m flattered, Derek, really. But no, thank you.”

Derek blinked, clearly surprised but respectful, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a good night, Agent Y/L/N.”

As he returned to the table, Rossi leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “I think I know why she turned you down.”

Derek arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten us, wise old man.”

Rossi swirled his drink lazily. “She’s already seeing someone.”

That caught the team’s attention. JJ frowned thoughtfully. “She doesn’t wear a ring.”

Emily shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. Rossi’s probably right—someone like her? Definitely taken.”

Penelope gasped. “She’s got to be dating some rich CEO type. Like a Christian Grey situation—minus the creepy stuff. You know, private jets, expensive suits, maybe even his own island.”

Reid tilted his head. “Statistically, high-powered women often prefer partners who are equally accomplished, so it’s not unreasonable to assume…”

Hotch, listening quietly, couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath. It was rare for him to indulge in such amusement, but their wild guesses about your personal life were too far from the truth to resist.

“Something funny, Hotch?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

Hotch met his gaze evenly, his lips twitching. “Just enjoying the show, Morgan.”

From across the room, you glanced at him again, your eyes meeting his with a spark of shared amusement. You knew, just as he did that the truth was far more satisfying than any of their guesses.

That night, the familiar warmth of your shared apartment enveloped you as you stepped out of the bathroom, your hair still damp from the shower. The soft glow of the bedside lamp lit the room in hues of gold, casting a gentle light over Aaron as he stood at the dresser, folding his tie with precision. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and his expression was calm, though you could tell from the faint tension in his jaw that something was on his mind.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—calm, methodical, and yet there was an intimacy in the gesture that always left your heart fluttering.

You crossed the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old FBI academy T-shirts that hung just above your thighs. It was soft and familiar, smelling faintly of him, and you loved how it made you feel wrapped in his presence.

As you climbed into bed, you leaned back against the headboard, watching him with a small smile. “You’re quiet tonight,” you teased, running a hand through your damp hair. “That’s usually my thing.”

Aaron glanced at you, his lips quirking slightly before he shook his head and continued folding. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighed, placing the tie in the drawer before turning to face you, his arms crossing over his chest. “My team.”

You raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? What did the BAU do this time?”

Aaron smirked faintly, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his watch. “It’s not what they’ve done. It’s what they keep saying.”

You tilted your head, your curiosity piqued. “Do tell.”

He exhaled, his voice even but carrying a hint of frustration. “They don’t stop talking about you. Derek, Emily, Penelope… even Reid, apparently. It’s constant.” He turned to look at you, his dark eyes warm but serious. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let it slide because they don’t know. But I think I’ve hit my limit.”

A slow smile spread across your face as you scooted closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’re jealous,” you teased, your voice light and laced with amusement. “Aaron Hotchner, stoic leader of the BAU, is jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he replied firmly, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I just don’t appreciate them… ogling you.”

You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin against his shoulder. “You know I think it’s kind of hot when you’re jealous, right?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression softening. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s sweet that you care so much. But you don’t have to worry, Aaron. I’m yours. Completely.”

He turned fully now, his hands coming up to rest on your knees as he looked at you with a rare softness in his eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate hearing that.”

You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Good. Because it’s true.”

He kissed you back gently, one hand sliding up to cradle your cheek. When you pulled away, you saw the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Aaron lingered close for a moment, his thumb brushing your cheek in a rare display of vulnerability before he exhaled softly and pulled back. Standing, he moved toward the dresser with the same calm, deliberate manner that always captivated you.

His hands went to the buttons of his shirt, working them loose one by one. The sound of each button sliding free seemed amplified in the quiet of your shared space. You couldn’t help but admire the way the soft light played over his features—his strong jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more striking.

Aaron shrugged off his shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and the scar along his side that you knew he sometimes still tried to hide. He folded the shirt with the same precision as his tie, setting it neatly aside before slipping out of his slacks and into the lounge pants he favored at night.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you teased, your voice warm and playful as your eyes lingered on him.

He glanced back at you with a small, knowing smile. “Enjoying the show?”

You grinned. “Always.”

Aaron shook his head slightly, his smirk growing as he crossed the room and slid into bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the familiar warmth of his body radiated toward you as he leaned back against the pillows, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you close.

“You really don’t have to worry about what your team says,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I only have eyes for you.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face toward his. “You’re sure about that?” he asked softly, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the question’s seriousness.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one who gets this version of me. The rest of them don’t even come close.”

Aaron deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that still sent your heart racing. His hand slid down to your hip, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside your shared room ceased to exist.

The soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of your shared laughter filled the space as your words became unspoken reassurances, translated into the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way he kissed you as though you were his lifeline.

In the darkness, as the lamp flicked off and the night stretched on, you made it perfectly clear—he was yours, and you were his, completely. Always.

The annual Bureau holiday party arrived soon after and was in full swing, the large event hall buzzing with laughter and conversation as agents and staff mingled under the soft glow of festive string lights. Tables lined with food and drinks flanked the room, and a DJ played a mix of holiday classics and upbeat pop songs. The BAU team had claimed a table near the center, already deep into their drinks and holiday banter.

Derek leaned back in his chair, scanning the room with an easy grin. “Alright, I’m calling it now. This year’s party MVP? Gotta be me. I’ve got the charm, the moves, and the mistletoe strategy ready to go.”

Emily rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. “Your confidence is astounding. Let’s see how it plays out when someone turns you down again.”

Penelope chuckled, adjusting the festive reindeer antlers perched on her head. “Maybe don’t aim for anyone who’s already out of your league, like a certain Agent Y/L/N.”

“They’re never letting that one down,” Reid laughed. 

Derek smirked. “She’s not here yet, but hey, holiday parties are all about surprises. Maybe she’ll get a look and change her mind?”

JJ raised a brow. “Speaking of surprises… does anyone else feel like Hotch is acting weird lately? He’s been way too quiet during our usual teasing.” Will was at her side, with an arm wrapped over her shoulders. 

Rossi, swirling his glass of whiskey, gave a knowing smirk but said nothing.

The conversation halted abruptly as the door to the hall opened, and heads turned to see Aaron Hotchner entering with you at his side.

The two of you stepped into the room, hand in hand, your fingers loosely intertwined as Aaron scanned the crowd with his usual composed demeanor. You looked radiant in a fitted emerald dress, its sleek design effortlessly elegant, while Aaron’s sharp black suit was understated yet commanding.

The BAU table fell silent, their jaws collectively dropping.

“Is that…?” Penelope started, blinking rapidly.

“Hotch,” JJ finished, her voice barely above a whisper. Will let out a breathy laugh. 

“And Agent Y/L/N,” Emily added, looking between the two of you as if she’d seen a ghost.

Morgan leaned forward, his grin faltering. “No way.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he caught their stunned expressions. He led you toward the table with a calm confidence, his hand still firmly in yours.

“Evening, everyone,” he greeted, his tone as steady as ever.

You smiled warmly, giving a little wave with your free hand. “Hi, guys. Hope we’re not late.”

The team exchanged glances, still struggling to process what they were seeing.

Derek was the first to recover, though his grin was more sheepish than his usual swagger. “Well, damn. Hotch, you really know how to keep a secret.”

Hotch arched a brow, his hand resting protectively on your back as he pulled out a chair for you. “It’s never been a secret. Some things are worth keeping private.”

Emily leaned closer to Penelope, muttering, “Okay, I officially feel bad for every single comment I’ve ever made about her in front of him.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Same. Oh my gosh, same.”

JJ shook her head, laughing softly. “And Derek, all the flirting?”

Morgan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t know! But I’ll admit when I’m beat. Respect, Hotch. You’re a lucky man.”

Hotch’s expression softened slightly as he glanced at you. “I know.”

Rossi, still sipping his drink, chuckled. “For the record, I knew when to quit. The first time I made a comment about her, the look Hotch gave me said everything I needed to know.”

You raised a brow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what look was that?”

Rossi smirked. “The one that says, ‘Say one more word, and you’re not making it to retirement.’”

“Back into retirement,” Hotch corrected with an amused look. The table erupted into laughter.

Emily leaned forward, her curiosity winning out. “Alright, spill. How long has this been going on?”

You exchanged a glance with Aaron, his hand still resting lightly on your back.

“A little over a year,” you admitted, and Hotch nodded. 

“A year?” Penelope gasped. “And you managed to keep it quiet this long? I’m impressed.”

Hotch’s gaze swept over his team, his voice calm but with a subtle warmth. “We wanted to keep things professional. But we both agreed it was time.” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes as he added, “Especially before one of you asked her out on a date next.”

The team erupted into laughter, though Derek groaned, throwing his head back. “Aw, come on, Hotch! You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

Emily smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You really did shoot your shot, Morgan. Respect for the boldness, but hindsight? Not your best moment.”

Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, barely containing her giggles. “I’m never going to stop picturing Hotch sitting back in his office, watching that go down and just... waiting.”

JJ joined in, shaking her head with a grin. “Honestly, Derek, if looks could kill…”

Derek held up his hands in surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, alright! I didn’t know, okay? And for the record, I was nothing but a gentleman.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you smiled at him. “You were, Derek. I thought it was sweet.”

“Sweet?” Hotch interjected, his tone laced with playful sarcasm as he glanced at you. “I’d call it… bold.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow, your smile widening. “Aaron.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he looked back at the table. “But in all seriousness, I can’t blame anyone for noticing how incredible she is. I just happen to be the lucky one.”

The table quieted for a moment, the sincerity in his tone catching everyone off guard. Emily was the first to break the silence, raising her glass with a grin. “Well, here’s to the two of you. A BAU power couple if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Cheers to that,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes sparkling.

As the team raised their glasses once more, you glanced at Aaron, your fingers brushing his under the table. His quiet smile and the gentle squeeze of your hand told you everything you needed to know. You were his, and he was yours, and no amount of teasing or surprise from his team could change that.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[mariasont]

Semantics - A.H

a/n: guysssss i had so much fun writing this one let me know what you think :)

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you flirt with an officer that has been driving hotch mad all day

warnings: slight suggestive stuff, hotch looks at r's tits, mad!hotch, reader flirting with someone other than hotch! JAIL!

wc: 1.2k

Stationed precariously on your toes, you had on shoes that did not seem dependable for today's work. Hotch was sure that they weren't standard issue for on the job. Did he have the heart to tell you this? Absolutely not.

His grip on the bullpen's bar tightened, his knuckles bleaching to the color of bone. There you were, talking with an officer with a chirpiness that seemed excessive. The volume of your laughter seemed to breach the boundaries of appropriacy, your fingers decorated with glossy paint twirled in your hair, and your proximity to him was decidedly intimate.

He felt a little sick.

The officer's ineptitude was exacerbating the situation. Perhaps calling him an idiot was a bit severe, but Hotch couldn't help but consider it. He was this close to charging the officer was obstruction of justice, and it wasn't only because he was too close to you. The man boy had been nothing but a nuisance all day, holding back information, delaying necessary search warrants, and incessantly bitching about the FBI's involvement.

And you, his assistant, were well aware of the situation as Hotch had talked about it ad nauseam. Yet, there you were, flirting with the officer. He couldn't fathom why. All Hotch was aware of was the involuntary twitch in his hand, hovering perilously near his firearm. That was dramatic, he knew this. He was fine.

What Hotch was also aware of was how the team was watching, no, dissecting his every move. This led him to extract himself from the viewpoint, throwing himself into his office, and not particularly caring about the door's loud bang behind him.

He wasn't sure how long he was in there, wading through reports and forms, each one a small fortification against the temptation to check on you, before there was a knock on the door. It was so faint that it would have gone unnoticed had he not been so acutely attuned to every aspect of this morning.

He tried to convince himself that his keen sensitivity had nothing to do with you.

He raised his head just enough to see you and your pink slacks standing in the doorway. You had the biggest smile, and it took every ounce of discipline not to shovel you in the room, close the door, and kiss you senseless. That wouldn't be appropriate. He was your boss, and more importantly, not your boyfriend.

"Yes?"

His words were blunt and clipped, too stern by half, and he immediately wanted to kick himself as he noted the minuscule wobble in your smile before you could hide it.

You stepped forward, licking your lips in a nervous habit that he caught all too clearly. The door closed with a definitive thud, and a heavy knot twisted in his belly as he motioned for you to sit.

Your effort to reconstruct that trademark smile of yours was apparent, but to his penetrating eyes, it fell short of its customary sparkle. Obediently, you took your place in the seat before him, one leg over the other.

The soft tapping of your sparkly pen against your notepad echoed through the hushed room, another nervous habit of yours. He wanted to kick himself again.

"Sorry I know you're busy," you began, your head's slight tilt dislodging a strand of hair to obscure your eyes. "I'm just about to make a coffee run for the officers. Do you want your usual?"

The officers. If he had the influence over you that he secretly wanted, he'd have you spit in their drinks. Again, a dramatic thought, but one that felt warranted in his mind.

He repositioned himself, settling more firmly into the chair as his hands came together in front of him on the desk. "That's fine."

Your inched forward, and with it, a breath of your shampoo crossed the divide. He found himself mirroring your movement.

"What's wrong?"

"Why do you assume something is wrong?"

"You've got that frown on your face that makes you look constipated." Your smile was growing as you spoke, teasing him. A relief to see. He couldn't help but respond with a reluctant half-smile, almost against his will.

But then he thought about you offering the same teasing banter to the officer, undoubtedly in a more flirtatious manner, and the frown returned.

"There it is again," you noted, arms folding across your chest in a way that pushed the slopes of your breasts to the sky.

He adjusted his pants under the desk.

"I'm fine," he asserted, but the words felt hollow even to his own ears. 

His training as a profiler should have equipped him with a better poker face, but in your presence, those skills were rendered ineffective.

You pursed your lips. Those perfect lips. "I don't believe you."

It sounded more like you were singing rather than speaking, and again, he wanted to smile, but he repressed the urge.

"I don't need you to believe me," he started, narrowing his eyes just enough to be noticeable. "I'm the boss."

You let out an overstated gasp, hand dramatically to your chest. "That was mean."

He found himself laughing--a genuine, unguarded reaction that surprised him just as much as it surprised you. He shook his head, an attempt to regain his composure and the frustration he felt was due. But it was challenging when faced with your innate sweetness, a quality too precious for someone like him.

"I'm sorry," he said, still grinning. It's not often that he apologizes, but he seemed to be making exceptions for you more than anyone else. 

But that could mean nothing.

"Much better," you stated, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk, your smile striking him with an unexpected force. "Now, will you please tell your favorite assistant what's wrong?"

"You're my only assistant."

"Semantics," you scoffed, hand cutting through the air. "Spill."

You had learned that word from Reid and had not stopped saying it since. He gave you a look before giving in.

"Some of the officers are complicating my job more than necessary."

It wasn't really a lie.

You bobbed your head. "I know, right? They're being very unprofessional."

He bit back the comment ready to leap out. You weren't unprofessional--that would be an unfair assessment--but the way you acted earlier could hardly be filed under the professional conduct.

"But did you see me earlier? I totally had that one guy, I can't remember his name, but you know the one--kind of short, bad breath? Anyway, he was wrapped around my finger," you said, proudly at that, as you rummaged through your purse. "And it was worth it because I got you a little something!"

The tension that had been coiling within him unraveled in the form of a couple documents you handed over--witness statements--the very documents the local PD had been stingy with sharing. There was a heartbeat where he thought he might just kiss you for it. That thought might have turned into action, if you hadn't already been on your way out.

"You can thank me later, boss man," you tossed out with a wink. "With a bit of luck and coffee, they'll speed up that warrant thing. I'll be back before you start missing me--promise!"

He wasn't sure if that would be true. He was quick to miss you. He made a promise to himself that he would show his appreciation when you got back. Maybe in an unorthodox way, but as you said--semantics.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[certifiedyapperx]

Captain John Price • broken.

PAIRING: John Price x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: the result of my poll. in short, you tell your captain that the reason you’ve only dated one man is because your ex said you were broken due to your inability to orgasm; and price offers to show you that the only thing broken was your confidence.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k (got carried away.)

TAGS: 18+, PURE FILTHY SMUT MDNI, Slight Degradation, Praise, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Absurd amount of swearing, Fingering, Price being daddy as fuck.

"What about that ex girlfriend of yours, Gaz?"

As soon as those words left the Scottish lads lips, everyone in the room was giggling like a lot of fucking schoolgirls. You'd be lying if you said that didn't include yourself.

"You want to talk about ex girlfriends now, Soap?" Gaz sat forward in his chair, eyeing his grinning teammate from across the room, the grip on his glass so tight you were worried it'd shatter between his fingers. "What about that woman you boned in Prague? The one that wanted, oh--how do I say it...a little ride on train 141."

"Nuthin' little about that train." Ghost added through a choked chuckle, barely able to get the words out.

Your fucking abdomen was starting to get sore from the amount of laughing you'd done tonight. These men were absolutely ridiculous. You'd never heard more obscene sex stories in your damn life, and they've got a bloody abundance of them--the back and fourth taunting over who fucked who and who did what never seemed to end. It was almost three in the morning and they were still going strong.

"Aye," Soap leaned back in his chair, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip, wide eyes gleaming as he reminisced. "Fuckn' wild one, that one. Had her nice and tamed for me by the end of that deployment.”

"Aye, the fucking woman whisperer, this one," Ghost chimed in again, his balaclava half pulled up, exposing his stubble-donned chin and grinning lips as he took a hefty swig of bourbon. Not even fazed. "Almost as smooth as Price."

Everyone in the room chuckled, nodding and muttering words of agreement, but you were stuck in place--still absentmindedly staring at Ghost while turning the words over in your mind, curiosity piqued.

"Price?" His name left your lips before you could even attempt to prevent it.

All eyes in the room shifted toward you, and Gaz cocked an eyebrow. "You've never heard any of his stories?"

Ghost shot him a look. "Clearly not."

"I mean, I've heard some..." you mumbled, awkwardly trying to fix the mess you've just made. Your gaze darted between the three men staring at you, each set of eyes glazed with confusion, clearly trying to figure out why you were so taken aback. "Captain is far more secretive than the rest of you."

You'd been on the team for a solid eight months. Since recruitment, you'd worked alongside Price every single fucking day, yet the man hardly ever spoke about his personal life.

Unlike the others, who seemed to never stop.

"Around you, yeah." Soap mumbled with a smirk, shooting a knowing glance toward Gaz who instantly returned it.

Your brows knit in confusion. "Around me?"

"Aye." Ghost replied for Soap, and you were practically sitting on the edge of your goddamn seat as you knew he wasn't finished. He shifted lower in his chair as his eyes traced up and down your form. "You're new. You're hot. You've never spoken a word about your own personal life. The man's a bloody nutcase, but he hides it well when he needs to--he probably doesn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" You had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor. Trying to mask your confusion, you cleared your throat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

At your reaction, everyone chuckled again, and your face immediately flushed with blood--shading you the same crimson colour found on a ripe fucking tomato. If there was some joke happening here, it'd clearly flown way above your radar.

And yet, before you or anyone else could even consider speaking again, the man of the hour appeared in the doorway, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"Valid question." He didn't even acknowledge you as he spoke, eyes fixed on Ghost as he took a step into the room.

Gods, he was fucking attractive—every molecule in your being screamed at the sight of him. You'd done everything you could to ignore that fact for the entirety of your time here, ensuring your focus was trained on keeping things professional--but after two glasses of whiskey and the current topic of conversation, the flood gates were wide fucking open.

"Go on, Ghost," his voice was low, deep as the depths of your desire as his ocean eyes slowly danced around the room. "...I'd like to know the answer as well."

Price took a seat across from you, slouching slightly and nodding toward Soap who promptly poured him a glass of burning brown liquid and slid it across the table. Ghost pulled down his balaclava in attempt to hide his cheeky fucking grin, shrugging as though he had no idea what his Captain was on about. 

"Not sure what you mean, Cap." Ghost quipped, and you could practically hear the beaming delight in his words. "We're just talking."

"Hm," Price side-eyed him, humoured. "You always talk about me?"

"Only when you're not around." Soap chimed in, snuffing a groan in his throat as he'd downed the rest of his drink and stood up, shooting an inebriated nod to each of you. "Well, would you look at the time--I'm gonna' hit the sack. Duty calls, y'know."

Your stomach churned with confusion, your eyes glued to the Scottish bloke who decided it was convenient to make his exit the exact moment Price entered the room. You almost wanted to reach over and yank him back into his seat.

"Keep it classy ya filthy bastards."

He shot you a cheeky wink from beyond the door frame before disappearing into the abyss, only for Gaz and Ghost to rise from their seats as well, seemingly following Soap's lead, muttering excuses about how late it was and how exhausted they were.

Your mind raced at lightning speed, trying to make sense of the sudden exodus. You were going to kill those fuckers in the morning.

Price broke the silence before it had the chance to linger for too long. "It's not personal, you know."

Your heart slammed your sternum. You sucked in a breath and trapped it there. You needed to calm the fuck down--though that seemed like a goddamn impossible task at the moment. Prices' voice was the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. It stirred every last atom within you.

Avoiding his eyes, you straightened in your seat, clearing your throat. "I know."

"Do you?" He cocked an eyebrow, two fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm not so sure."

You looked up now--almost immediately regretting it as your eyes caught his. You forced words out of your mouth before you could acknowledge how the way he was looking at you made you feel.

"It's because I haven’t opened up to you..." you murmured. "Yeah?"

Price nodded, choosing to remain silent, his gaze anchoring you to the floor—every muscle stiff as stone.

You cleared your throat again. "Well. What do you want to know? My family? Where I grew up-"

"No." He cut you off, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as his stare intensified. "...I already know all that. You're my recruit, I know everything about your past..." his head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glass to the side, clasping his hands together infront of him. "What I don't know, is why a woman as skilled, as smart, and as undeniably attractive as you, has only ever been with one man."

Blood crystallized in your veins, every ounce of your skin vibrating with an emotion you couldn't identify. He was so close—closer than you'd initially gauged—and that closeness ignited dormant desperation, one you'd nearly forgotten existed.

Your throat was thick. Saliva lodged inside it. "I..."

There was a reason. There was a very good reason as to why you've only been with one man, why you promised to never put yourself through that shit again. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it, you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words aloud. That would mean being vulnerable, humiliatingly vulnerable--one of the many things soldiers were trained not to be.

Captain Price hummed, leaning back slightly, and a swarm of unpreventable desire roared alive in your chest. His attention flicked over you. Like he'd felt it.

He remained silent. He was waiting for an answer.

"It's...um..."

Your brain filtered through pages of plausible excuses until it landed on one. Inhaling a breath, you forced the fibbing syllables past your teeth, shrugging in an attempt to make it believable.

"I just...never found anyone I jived with.”

Price paused, his scrutiny skinning you raw. It was like he knew what was waiting on the edge of your tongue, like he could smell the smoke swirling off the fire below your waist. He wasn't buying it.

"You can't lie to me." His words only confirmed your thoughts. "I mean, theoretically you could, though I'd advise against it."

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to your hands. "I'm not lying."

"Perhaps not," he replied, voice cool as ice. "But you're certainly omitting."

Fuck, he was good. And of course he was--there was a reason he was Captain. He was fucking bred for this. You were certain he could detect a lie from light years away.

"It's embarrassing," you replied, ignoring the thrilled leap your heart made that he'd read you so well. "You'll think less of me."

John Price leaned further across the small table, nibbling the distance between you. The intensity of his focus made your insides tangle, something was undoubtedly churning within his mind. A breath caught in your throat as his eyes held yours.

"I don't care," he stole another inch, and you could now comfortably say that he was well within your personal space. "If this is going to work, there has to be trust. Because you should trust me—as your Captain, and as your friend..." in a single abrupt movement, he stood up, towering over you, eyes boring into the top of your head until he shifted toward the door. "...when you're ready to open up to me, I’ll open up to you."

Ice braced your veins. This was the most conversation you'd had with your Captain since you joined the team, and you were about to blow it with your inability to talk to him. To just telling him the fucking truth. He took a step back from the table, began moving toward the door, and you panicked.

You let him get two steps from reaching it before you jumped up, out of your seat. "Wait!"

Time was a relative concept. But as your Captain spun, and as you linked eyes with him, it slowed. Stopped.

You cleared your throat for the millionth time. "It's because...it's because I'm broken."

Price's eyes widened, only momentarily, before they narrowed--out of curiosity or skepticism, you couldn't tell.

"You’re broken." He said, drawing the words out on his tongue while taking a slow, lengthy step toward you. "Elaborate."

You dropped your eyes to the floor again, catching sight of his brown, rugged combat boots as they stepped into your line of sight. Heat flashed your face, and you shifted on your feet.

"My...my ex...um," your voice was barely above a whisper. Something felt gut-wrenchingly humiliating about having this conversation with your fucking Captain. "He, he kinda fucked with my head, I guess. Made me never want to date again."

You heard an exhale, a huff of enticed breath leaving lungs.

"I think," Price eased closer, and you caught whiff of his cologne--the scent engulfing your senses, sending hunger snarling and snapping for relief. "...you're omitting again."

"Why?..." you blurted, trailing your gaze past the vast expanse of his strong chest and up to his gleaming eyes peering down at you. You blinked. "...do you think that?"

Price raised a brow. "Am I wrong?"

"No, it’s just…” you closed your eyes, took a breath. Let it out. No point in lying. Just rip off the fucking bandaid. "He broke up with me because I couldn't orgasm. He said I was broken because of it. It’s dumb, but it hurt.”

Gods, it felt so fucking stupid that you had to smile, had to damn near laugh at yourself. As much as it sounded so foolish, you'd always just considered that maybe something was actually wrong with you. After all, he was your first, and your only—and the fact that you could never orgasm bothered you, too.

However, when you finally reopened your eyes, swallowing whatever ounces of pride you had left, you found a depth to your Captain's ocean irises that was not there before.

There was something floating inside them, now--something primal, something depraved.

"Interesting." His hand raised from his side, grazing over your cheek and coming to a slow on your neck, the tips of his fingers skimming over your racing pulse. "Broken."

Any blood that had been left in your head was now plummeting to your core.

"Broken." You whispered.

Price exhaled, his breath caressing your face, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to thrust itself past your teeth. Never once would you have considered the thought of actually fucking your Captain--but right here, right now, with the way he was touching you, analyzing you, palpably tempting you--it was becoming more difficult to deny the physical need steaming from your pores.

"This,” his voice was so deep it made your blood sweat, his thumb stroking your pulse. "Doesn't feel broken at all."

Adrenaline surged you, ambushing your lungs with rapid breath, flares of lust sparking over your skin. You leaned into his touch, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a hum and a straight up growl.

Your pulse soared, your hand finding his wrist. “Captain…”

It would be lying to say you thought this was a good decision. But you couldn't find a fuck within you. After years of denying yourself any sort of physical touch due to the shame that consumed you, Price had perceived it without effort and ordered you strip yourself of pretense in his presence.

"Let me show you...." Price wedged a boot between your feet, his hips brushing yours, other hand finding your hip. "...that the only thing broken is your confidence."

You nearly whimpered. "Please."

Without further contemplation, your eyes darted to his lips the same millisecond his darted to yours, and you both moved at once. Price groaned, one hand shooting into your hair, the other supporting the small of your back, tugging you close. His hungry mouth captured yours, teeth nipping your lower lip as he spun you around and pushed you back against the table.

You groaned into his mouth, your ass hitting the cool metal with abrupt force. His lips attacked your jawline, moved down to your neck, and another groan escaped you, this time in bliss.

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, throwing your hips into his, allowing desperation to guide you. "Captain..."

A low, menacing noise reverberated in his throat and he seized your neck again, bringing his mouth to your ear.

"My name," he took the lobe between his teeth, earning a squeak. "Say it."

"John—" You gasped, clawing at his back. "Shit."

"Mm. Good girl. So obedient..." he purred, tracing his mouth along the curve of your ear. "So responsive."

"Fuck." Every new beat of your heart brought a desperate pulse to your cunt. His fingers found your hair again, curling into a fist. "John...please..."

Your Captain hummed, just as his lips moved back to your pulse and attacked it, sucking rough rabid marks to the surface, his hips grinding against yours. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and he moved lower, releasing your head to work on removing your clothes.

Before your belt even hit the floor, he was tearing off your shirt and tugging off your bra--exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dimly lit room, surging goosebumps to life that he was quick to cover with his hands, taking the fresh tissue between them and kneading it.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, to himself you presumed. "You're fucking perfect."

There was one brief second of thought surrounding the notion that any one of your teammates could walk in and find the two of you here—but that thought was quickly lost as Price leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You squealed, squeaking in pleasure, and his grip possessed your hips.

"So sensitive..." he said with a grunt. Your Captain wasn't just hungry—he was starved, more voracious by the second, spurred on by your reactions. "Fucking hell."

He leaned back, hooked his fingers under the waist of your pants and pulled, unconcerned for the ripping seams as he forced them down the curve of your thighs. Your head rung, entire body tingling. Paralyzed, you watched your Captain tear off your boots and rip your pants free, tossing them all to the side.

"Fuck me." He muttered again, returning his sights to your figure. "Look at you."

Price examined you like a meal, gaze traveling from your collarbone to your breasts, down past the curve of your belly to the swell of your hips, coming to a slow between your quivering thighs.

Adrenaline had got you this far. Reality was setting in. "Captain..."

"Shh," calloused hands found your hips, urging you back against the desk, spreading your legs further apart as he inserted himself between them. "I already told you what to call me."

You shuddered, twitching from his touch, and the corner of his lip quirked. Smouldering blue eyes searing into your skin. "John, I—"

His thumbs slid close to your heat, dipping into the crease and teasing close to the edge of your thong. Reality was a plummeting star, crashing down into your mind without regard. Nerves were consuming you, fingers digging into his biceps in attempt to stop them from shaking.

"You...what?" His voice was practically a lullaby. How something so deep could be so soothing was beyond your comprehension. "Go on, pretty thing..."

"I just..." you shifted your hips, trying to balance fear with desire. "I'm just...I don't want to disappoint you..."

Price assessed you, only for a moment, gracing your thigh with a stern yet gentle smack before trailing upward.

"Enough." It was an order. "I want you out of that beautiful mind."

He brushed his finger across your cunt, grazing over your swollen clit, and you choked, hips snapping toward him.

"Don't think..." the power in his words was intoxicating, a command given with the confidence of knowing you'd obey. He teased your clit again and you whinged, gripping him harder. "...just feel."

Before a coherent thought could enter your head, he pulled your panties to the side with two thick fingers, not giving you a second to brace for it before he used those same fingers and sank them into your tight, aching cunt.

"Oh—fuck-"

You groaned, head tossed back, walls tightening around the delicious stretch as he pried you open with slippery ease. The intensity, the fullness from just his fingers stole your breath, dizzied your mind, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growling breath escaping his lungs, trying to ground yourself as much as you could.

"Christ...tight little cunts just soaked..." he was right, you were dripping. You couldn't ever remember being this wet. In truth, you couldn't ever remember being this turned on, this desperate for touch. "Tell me how that feels."

"G-oh, fuck—" any additional words you had planned on using instantly died on your tongue as Price curled inside of you, pushing deep, every coherent thought fleeing your mind with a moan. Your entire body pulsed for him, like he'd shaken every cell awake and enthralled it under his possession. "John—oh, Gods!"

It wasn't like you'd never been fingered. It'd just never felt like this.

Something about the trained motion of his hand, the skilled curl of his wrist, the attunement to your body was consuming you--the need for more only increasing as he found a perfect rhythm, fucking slow, reaching to your belly while his thumb circled your sensitive clit. Your cunt throbbed, squeezed around him, as if to coax him deeper inside of you.

"Needy little thing," an amused huff at the corner of your consciousness. You forced yourself to look at him—he was smirking. "Tell me how it feels."

Desperation was throbbing at your temples, growling and coiling in your belly—unfathomable, incredible desperation stalling your lungs. Unfamiliar, but entirely absentmindedly as Price stroked your walls, stroked your clit, and you were gasping, you were—

"So fucking good—" you were practically screaming, brain a mangled mess of aimless words. "Cap—John, I—I'm-"

His free hand seized your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his fingers still keeping their pace, your vision blurring to bliss. "You're?"

You gasped. "I’m-"

"You’re close." Fire flooded your flesh, and you mewled like a nervous, helpless animal. His grip tightened. Intensity and power radiating off him in waves. "S’ that what you want, little slut? Hm? You wanna’ fuckin’ cum for your Captain, don’t you?”

“Yes!” No thought required. “Pleasepleaseplease-“

“Mhm. That’s right, that’s right—“ he was just as gone as you were. Air rattled in your lungs like rocks. Your vision blurring as you held onto him like your life depended on it. “Cum on my fingers, darling, let me feel you.”

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the gates of heaven themselves. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunting for air while he worked you through the receding tide of your release.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled, the arrogance in his tone palpable. “Look how easy that was, hm?”

Your Captian pulled his fingers from cunt and yanked you off the table by the hold on your jaw—you stumbled into him, wetness seeping down your thighs, brain given less than two seconds to process the slew of events before his slick covered fingers were at your lips and pushing past your teeth.

"The way I see it, soldier—there are two possible explanations here." He shoved his fingers deeper, reaching for the back of your throat. "Either you somehow managed to lie to me..." he pressed against you, his desire evident in the way it was jabbing against your stomach. "Or this tight little cunt has never been properly sated."

Your heart was in your feet, your lips sealed around his fingers as you held his eyes, a shade of blue so deep you'd almost thought you were staring into the depths of the ocean. His pupils were blown wide with lust, it was clear what he was getting at—and judging by the way your cunt clenched in response to his words, it was clear that you felt the same.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, looking for a response. You gave the only words you could think of. "I didn’t lie…I’ve had sex, Captain...I’ve just never done—that.”

"Well I think I've just proven that it wasn’t due to any fault of your own." His words were backing you into a corner, an explanation that was challenging to draw yet completely impossible to now ignore. "I got you there in seconds."

Your face grew hot. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he assessed you, eyes looking past you, through you. “Your ex didn’t know what he was doing.” he leaned in closer, plush lips curling into a mischievous grin. “All you needed was someone who knew how to handle you.”

"Hm." The arrogance was stifling, setting you ablaze. It only made you want him more. "Cocky bastard."

"Cocky," he repeated with a raised brow. "You have no idea, princess.”

"You know what, Captain," you teased with a smirk of your own, unable to tear your sights off him. His eyes. His lips. "I think you just got lucky."

“Luck.” He chuckled—a deep, growling thing. "I don’t do luck, soldier. I do facts.” Price shifted a hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants as he pressed against you. “Fact one, I just gave you your first orgasm.” He was possessed, hungry, borderline rabid. “Fact two, I could do it again on my cock. If you’d like.”

And you, you were his eager, willing prey.

"Shit," you muttered, the words shooting straight to your cunt. You didn’t need any further discussion. You wanted him, and nothing could stop the next words from leaving your lips. "Please...please fuck me..."

Your Captain growled. The sweet desperation of your pleas sending him past the point of salvation. He sucked in a breath. Trapped it there—internally clutching whatever ounces of restraint he had left.

"You sure you want this?" His voice was so fucking low you almost missed it. His fingers moved to his belt, and his lips moved to your ear. "I'm not so sure you can take it."

"I'm built for combat, Captain..." you murmured with a grin, spurred on by the evidence of his throbbing desire, fingers trailing toward his belt to help him along. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Price huffed against your jawline. Amused.

"You’re built for combat, undoubtedly..." you watched as he pulled free his thick, heavy cock. Your jaw slackened, your mouth watered. "But by the time I'm done with you, darling..." he seethed in relief as he guided his hand back and forth along his length, other one directing you back against the table. "You'll be built for me."

A sharp intake of breath found your lungs and then you were lying flat against the table, cool metal biting your backside and ripping goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You shuddered, seething in discomfort, but two strong hands made quick work to soothe them, coasting up your thighs until they found your hips, and then he stepped forward.

"Christ..." you whimpered as he loomed over you, the warm head of his cock rolling over your clit, teasing you with false thrusts, making sure you were well aware of just how long and fucking thick he was. "John..."

"Quiet." He purred, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Just let me break you open."

His heavy, smooth tip pressed against your entrance and then pushed in, head just barely spearing you yet somehow still splitting your cunt with a girth that stole your breath and forced a cry from your throat. With a breathless groan he pulled out, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing.

He smacked your thigh again. “Look at me.” He hissed, teeth sinking into the plush of his bottom lip as you instantly obeyed. “That’s it. Eyes on me.”

There was a mere second of silence before he sank in again, entirely this time—and though you were fucking sopped and pliant and voracious, he tore you wide with a sting.

"Oh—fuck-"

You fought for air, your body trembling, fingers clawing at anything that might steady you. He’d stuffed you full with ease, lungs heaving upon impact. Both big hands tightened around you, and he slid out, driving into you again with a hidden hiss of air, earning a loud, shameless groan from your lips.

"Fucking hell.” A dark, low voice rumbled from his throat. "Tight little whore. So fucking tight—"

"You're—oh, fuck—" words died on your tongue as he pulled out, pushed in again, sucking in air through his teeth, working you wider with each plunge into your pussy. You clenched around him, and he snuffed a moan, snapping his hips. "You're fucking huge."

"Mhm, yeah," it was a shameless admission. He placed a palm on your pelvis, pressing down, feeling himself fucking into you. He leaned back slightly, drawing long, slow strokes, forcing you to quake around every inch of his length. "That's how fucking deep I'm in you."

And deep he fucking was. Every centimeter banishing the ability to do anything other than exist as a stammering sheath for his cock. It wasn't penetration—it was pervasion, it was domination. Sex had never felt this intense. Sex had never felt this fucking tranquilizing.

"Christ—Cap-John—fuck—"

Price slid out and rocked in, driving to your stomach with a stab of blissful pain. Eyes snapping shut, you gripped his arms, seething when he thrusted again, and again. Each stroke shoved a cry from your chest, tightened your walls, and this only seemed to entice him, his cock splitting you apart. You scratched at his shoulders, fighting to find yourself in the bewildering delirium.

"There we go." His voice was distant in the sea of pleasure. "Look at you. Brainless on my fucking cock."

Your response was a moan, loud and shameless, gripping onto his arms and matching his rhythm, forcing your hips to his, a plea—faster, harder, more, more. Your Captain hissed in satisfaction, and his hand snaked between you, rolling and teasing your clit.

Your vision blurred for the hundredth time. "Oh, fuck—"

Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick. He fucked into you, his skin smacking yours, his breath heaving in feral huffs.

"Fucking perfect pussy," he growled through his teeth, shifting your legs together and directing both ankles over his left shoulder, his thrusts slowly slightly as you gasped and whimpered, clawing at his hips, the new position causing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. "Mm, fuck...this is what you needed, darling. You needed a proper fucking."

"Fuck," you replied, brain numbed by bliss. Words didn't even make sense. "Deep. So fuck—deep—"

"Fuck—take it, take it little slut." His thumb was back on your clit, swirling it in tight, fast circles, his cock fucking deep into you. "I warned you."

"John—" You needed to scream, fingers clawing at anything they could find. If you weren't broken before, you’d certainly be broken when he was done with you. "Fuck—"

Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. The feeling was so intense you didn't know what to do with yourself, you weren't sure if you could even get the words out to warn him.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck—I'm—I-I'm..."

"Yeah, that's right." He hissed, teeth barred, hips snapping. He already knew. "Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock."

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt milked his dick, your thighs spasming, your back reached for the ceiling, pleasure possessing your nerves.

"There we go—good little fucking slut—squeezing me so good," it seemed an eternity--he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, until he edged his climax. "Fucking hell."

He sputtered, pummelling your cunt with sloppy final thrusts, pouring his cum inside you, grip gouging your flesh until he descended, meeting you in the receding tides of your peaks. Both of you twitched with aftershocks, both of you seeking air.

Once he stalled, you sucked in a long inhale and peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings for the first time in however many minutes it had been. The room was still as dim and dreary as it was prior to your mind shattering, the only thing now different was your Captain—who remained looming over the table, cock still buried inside you, precipitation lining his forehead and chest still heaving for breath, piercing gaze perceiving you like a sated predator.

With a glance at your lips, he finally moved, pulling back and out of you, tucking himself away. It was then that reality struck you hard—you'd just fucked your Captain. And he'd just shattered the preconceived notions of everything you thought you knew.

You were not broken. You were perfectly fucking fine.

Price cleared his throat as you pulled yourself off of the table and stood. "Y'alright?"

You nodded, grabbing your pants off the floor. "Yes, Sir."

Shame engulfed you, for reasons you couldn't explain. Embarrassment threatened to swallow you whole.

"Hey." Sensing this, Price stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't do that."

Your eyes fixed on his. Outlining his perfectly tamed facial hair, his striking blue eyes. "Do what?"

"Avoid me." He simply stated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "All this was, was me proving to you that you're not broken. You're the furthest from. It doesn't have to be any more than that."

"I know…just feel stupid, I guess.” Your face was in flames. You swallowed your pride until it was digested. There was no room for that here, not after what’d just happened. “I, uh, I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Price regarded you with eyes warm as the summer sun, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “I wanted you to open up to me. Willingly. I never pry.”

You cracked a smile, slipping on your shoes. “You got your wish, then. Emotionally and physically.”

“Aye.” Your captain chuckled, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and plopping himself into a seat, sliding a glass across the table toward you. “My turn, yeah?”

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love. 

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway. 

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try. 

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door. 

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich. 

And right in the center of this mess is a figure. 

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes. 

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel. 

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips. 

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder. 

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

Wind chimes. 

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger. 

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection. 

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity. 

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind. 

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade. 

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years. 

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day. 

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude. 

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night. 

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy. 

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It’s written on your face.” 

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?” 

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi. 

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.” 

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“I warned you, filthy rat.” 

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all. 

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back. 

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.” 

She folds her long arms over her chest. 

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…” 

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi. 

“Then, do you recognize this person?” 

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight. 

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms. 

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-” 

“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…” 

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.” 

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years. 

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.” 

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner. 

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep. 

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit. 

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-” 

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food. 

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray. 

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?” 

A sneer itches at his lips. 

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?” 

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.” 

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?” 

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.” 

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further. 

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…” 

A soft fog drapes over his expression. 

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-” 

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing. 

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing. 

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach. 

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him. 

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you. 

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips. 

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane. 

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?” 

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge. 

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!” 

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight. 

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of. 

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony. 

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.” 

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room. 

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway. 

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?” 

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless. 

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues. 

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!” 

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.” 

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.” 

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?” 

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue. 

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts. 

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such. 

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.” 

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her. 

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands. 

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!” 

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends. 

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!” 

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…” 

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?” 

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so. 

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots. 

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?” 

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.” 

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present. 

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…” 

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once. 

“Y/N…” 

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life. 

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits. 

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors. 

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield. 

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac. 

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?” 

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered. 

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail. 

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway. 

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets. 

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you. 

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches. 

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream. 

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal. 

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…” 

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air. 

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread. 

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers. 

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers. 

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water. 

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…” 

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…” 

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?” 

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh. 

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms. 

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…” 

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact. 

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…” 

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness. 

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?” 

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side. 

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.” 

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?” 

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you. 

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances. 

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.” 

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade. 

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone. 

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.” 

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?” 

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back. 

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder. 

“Is that so?” She further challenges. 

“’The fuck else would it mean?” 

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles. 

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand. 

“Search the grounds.” 

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump. 

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested. 

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars. 

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt. 

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace? 

“Oh… Hello there, little one…” 

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless. 

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?” 

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move. 

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast. 

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well. 

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee. 

“Violet…” 

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight. 

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!” 

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced. 

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics. 

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.” 

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?” 

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path. 

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side. 

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness. 

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence. 

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.” 

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair. 

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack. 

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.” 

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two! 

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.” 

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers! 

Vi’s voice perfuses next. 

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-” 

“Shut up!” 

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts. 

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise. 

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you. 

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been. 

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies. 

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes. 

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue. 

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation. 

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either. 

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued. 

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance. 

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-” 

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions. 

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.” 

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest. 

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.” 

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.” 

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle. 

“You…” 

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up. 

“Tastes like candy, I bet.” 

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching. 

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words. 

“Violet…” 

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all. 

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.” 

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck. 

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances. 

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action. 

“Sleep…” 

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe. 

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such. 

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.” 

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.” 

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty. 

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.” 

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of. 

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?” 

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[littleredwolf]

Hungry Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The team overhears Nat and Y/N's 'girl talk' through the comms and feelings surface as a result.

Warnings: Suggestive content. Sex references.

Words: 956

A/N: PART 2 CAN BE FOUND HERE

--

“Bucky's done nothing but undress you with his eyes since you walked in,” Natasha's husky voice came over your earpiece and your eyes snapped to the super soldier on the other side of the room, your cheeks reddening to find him already staring in your direction. 

You let your gaze casually pass over him, playing the brief moment of eye contact off as a coincidence as you scanned the room for the mission, but your heart was pounding and you were sure he could probably hear it. 

“Doubtful,” you scoffed, though you couldn't ignore the tingle that travelled up your spine at the thought of Bucky finding you attractive. You'd had the hots for him for months, but your fear of rejection strongly outweighed your desire to tell him so you'd kept your little secret to yourself…and Nat of course. 

“Stop living in denial, anybody with half a brain can see how he practically drools over you every time he sees you,” Nat argued, and you rolled your eyes as you continued to survey the room. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s true.” 

“Stop watching me, you know it creeps me out when I can’t see you,” you hissed, eyes roaming the crowd in an attempt to spot the redhead. 

“If you could see me, I wouldn’t be very good at my job,” she teased, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes again. 

“Just hurry up and do your job, Romanoff - the quicker we finish and I can get out of this dress the better,” you stated, readjusting the silky garment that Natasha herself had picked out for you. It suited your cover well, but it was a little provocative for your usual tastes. 

“I’m sure Barnes would agree with you on that one…”

“As much as I’m enjoying watching Bucky squirm from this conversation, head’s up that this is an open channel,” Sam’s voice cutting in over the comms caused any reply you had prepared for Natasha to die on your tongue, the blood draining from your face as you turned to look at Bucky.  

The super soldier was no longer on his mark, but as you searched the crowd you caught a glimpse of him as he was making a swift exit. More than anything you wanted to follow him, to defuse the awkwardness and recover from the embarrassment of him overhearing Nat’s comments, but you stayed rooted to the spot, unable to leave your position. 

“Go,” Nat urged, as though sensing your inner turmoil. “Me and Sam have got this.”

A quick look towards Sam confirmed that he agreed, and you wasted no time in hurrying towards the same door Bucky had gone through moments ago. 

Surprisingly, he hadn’t gone very far, and you found him leaning against the wall in the foyer. Heat rushed to your cheeks as his eyes landed on you, and you smiled sheepishly as you approached.  

“Hey Buck,” you softly said as you reached him. “Sorry about what you heard back there - Nat was just teasing, she didn’t mean any of it.” 

“Didn’t she?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow. 

“What?” You frowned, unsure how to interpret his response. There was a way you wanted this to go, but you didn’t want to get your wires crossed and make even more of a fool of yourself. 

“You said she didn’t mean any of it, but how can you be sure?” 

He pushed himself off the wall and fixed you with an intense gaze, making your knees weak and your breath short. You didn’t dare look away - afraid that if you did, this moment would end. 

“I-uh…I don’t know what you’re getting at here, Buck…” you stammered, too dumbfounded to form a better response. You were very aware of how close the two of you were and the smell of his cologne and warmth emanating from his body was making your brain short circuit. 

“Then let me show you.”

There was no hesitation as he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, and you melted into him with a whimper. The sound gave him the encouragement he was looking for and he spun you round so that he could press you up against the wall, moaning into your mouth as you raked your hands through his hair. 

Everything around you ceased to exist and all sense left you as you gave into your desires, the feeling of Bucky’s hands roaming your body setting your skin on fire. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you’d never even let yourself hope that Bucky might actually feel the same, yet here you were, making out with him while his sizable bulge pressed up against you. 

Had Sam not cleared his throat over the comms, you were sure you’d have let the super soldier take you right there and then, regardless of the fact that you were in public and on a mission.  

“Channel is still very much open, guys,” he informed, and Bucky’s eyes widened in horror as he pulled away. You giggled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

“I’m not even sorry,” you told Sam teasingly, straightening up and readjusting your dress. You were aware of Bucky’s eyes on you and you looked up to meet his hungry gaze. 

“I can’t wait to get that thing off you when we’re finished here,” he blurted, and you bit your lip as heat flooded your core. 

“Then we’d better hurry up and finish,” you replied, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the main room so that you could get the mission, and later on your clothes, out of the way. 

PART 2

[mingtinys]

" i already have the world "

pairing : jeon wonwoo x gn!reader

"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"

warnings : none

word count : 0.5 k

a/n : unsure if i'm happy with this , but the writers block was BAD and so i ended up falling victim to the gamer!wonwoo trope

You truly wonder how Wonwoo still finds it in himself to wake up as early as he does to make his various schedules. Especially when it's already two in the morning yet he's still locked in on his computer screen, furiously clicking away. Meanwhile, you're walking a very thin line of consciousness.

If it weren't for the giant glowing monitor and the voices shouting through Wonwoo's headset, you probably would've lost your battle against sleep by now. And judging from the increasingly irritated shouts of Seungcheol and Jihoon for Mingyu to "go left," it sounds like Wonwoo's team is losing theirs.

"Your other left, idiot," You just barely make out Jihoon's exhausted words. "Wonwoo, please help him, you're closest."

"Yeah, I'm already on it. Someone cover me–" There's a pause, then a sad tune plays and you force your eyelids back open just wide enough to catch the giant "LOSE" written across the display. "Never mind, good game."

"It was most definitely not," Seungcheol complains.

"One more round?" Mingyu asks, even though this is their fifth "one more round."

"Yeah, just give me a minute and we can start," Wonwoo says before promptly muting his mic. He nudges you with his shoulder, earning a very unamused groan back in response.

"You can go to bed if you want," he chuckles.

"Alone?" You whine, which only makes him laugh more.

"You're right, what a ridiculous idea," he teases. "This is the last one for real this time, promise."

You're head falls to Wonwoo's shoulder with a sigh. He readjusts, allowing you to rest more comfortably. With your newfound pillow, sleep easily consumes you.

Your breathing slows down to a steady pace almost instantly and Wonwoo glances down with a soft chuckle. "I'm sorry I kept you up," he whispers, placing a feathery kiss on the top of your head.

He unmutes his mic. "Hey, sorry guys, I'm gonna log off for the night."

"What? Dude, we're just about to start. Please don't leave me with Seungcheol and Jihoon!" Mingyu urges. Wonwoo contemplates it, a match would only be around twenty minutes. But one more look at your sleeping form and that thought is gone as soon as it comes.

"Sorry, it's late, good luck though."

"Wait!" Mingyu tries again. "What if I buy you lunch tomorrow?"

"Goodnight, Mingyu."

"A coffee? Your favorite pastry from that bakery half an hour away? The world? What's it gonna take?"

"Mingyu, stop being dramatic and let the man go to bed." Seungcheol chastises.

Wonwoo secures his arm around your waist and pulls you against him when he notices your head slipping from his shoulder. An action that makes you snuggle further into his side in your unconscious state. Perhaps his heart has gone a little soft, but no offer could possibly amount to the moments like these he gets to spend with you.

So while lunch and a coffee is a tempting offer, it simply doesn't compare. "Besides," he says in a last goodbye into the mic. "I already have the world."

taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi

[cottonlemonade]

Dating You For A Bet [Part 1]

word count: 1767 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: university AU!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst

warnings: some swearing

It was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the barely hidden stares and whispers surrounding you. You looked up to check if maybe you were just imagining things but the hastily averted eyes and hush of voices solidified your suspicion that you were once again the talk of the town. It happened many times before that you, the chubby foreigner with the mediocre grades but big opinions during seminars, were subject to gossip and after a year of studying in Tokyo, you were somewhat used to it. The gossip died down a few months after your arrival only to spike exponentially when the handsome middle blocker of the varsity volleyball team came up to you one day during lunch and with a disarming smirk that belonged on the pages of scandalous romance novels simply sat down across from you, asking if you enjoyed the miso soup that was hardly touched and by now stone cold on your tray. Oblivious to any kind of possible flirting you just shrugged and went back to your phone when a long finger tapped gently on your knuckles to get your attention. Matsukawa tilted his head a little and asked if you’d like to study with him later in the library and you agreed and it all just developed from there. He did have to spell it out for you that he was interested since you just assumed that he was being nice like most guys you talked to but you quickly came into the dessert-like luxury of being acknowledged as his girlfriend, fingers entwined, him pulling your legs over his lap when you lounged on a bench on the university grounds, talking about anything and nothing for six glorious, sunny months. You were in fact waiting for him right now, keeping your backpack on the seat next to you just in case someone dared to plop down. Giggles and pointing now joined the stares and whispers and frowning a little you pulled out your phone to text your boyfriend how long he’d be.

“Sorry! Sorry. Hey, I said sorry, now shoo~“ Your tall glass of water of a man shuffled through the row of seats a minute later and a little out of breath from running over from another building got comfortable and produced his laptop from his messenger bag. “Thank you, beautiful.”, he panted when you brought the straw of your iced coffee to his lips.

“What’s up?”, he asked when you didn’t lean in as usual for a kiss. Following your gaze he looked around the lecture hall. Some people quickly turned the other way again while others just blatantly continued their gawking.

“What’s going on?”

“No idea but I feel like it has something to do with me.”, you said quietly. Slouching further down in your chair you added, “Maybe some stupid rumor again in the class forum. Like last time when they thought I only have one pair of pants because most of my jeans just have the same cut.”

“Well, better check it out so I can vehemently defend my girl against any and all evil doings that are being evil done.”, he said chivalrously and grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket. But after a bit of typing you saw all color drain from his face. His usually relaxed half hooded eyes widened in shock and he quickly locked the screen.

“Babe.”, you gave a nervous chuckle, “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

You raised a brow. “You do realize that I also have access to that site and can check myself.”

Slowly, very very slowly he handed you his phone and with a few swipes it unlocked.

Sure enough the community forum of your year was open and a set of screenshots from a group chat was pinned to the very top.

You recognized one of the profile pictures. It was Issei’s old one before he changed it to a photo of you and him kissing at a lake.

Your boyfriend meanwhile sat silently next to you, staring at his hands.

Three minutes passed in which the air around became thick with tension.

You swallowed the impossibly large lump that had formed in your throat while you read, then stared ahead at the many other students now obviously waiting for you to react.

But you were not about to give them the satisfaction. You tossed the phone back into your … into Matsukawa’s lap and having no patience to put your things away, just grabbed tablet, notepad, pen and phone awkwardly in one hand, your backpack in the other and got up.

“Please let me out.”, you said calmly.

“Y/n, I-“

“I said, let me out.”

Matsukawa stood up to let you pass, so did the other people in your row. You felt your eyes burn but you willed yourself not to cry or breathe until you left this room.

Stoically, you walked up the few steps towards the double doors when you heard shuffling behind you and a hand grabbed your wrist. You didn’t have to turn around to know it was him.

“Princess, please-“

You yanked yourself free and reached for the handle.

“Mr Matsukawa, Miss L/N.”, the voice of the professor who had finally arrived stopped you in your tracks, “May I remind you that in order to pass my class you need an 80% attendance rate? Especially you, Mr Matsukawa, if you leave now I’m going to have to fail you.”

Grim satisfaction filled your head when you pushed open the door to leave him behind.

He should stay like a good boy. He should have the decency to give you a head start to go to his dorm so you could collect every single thing you ever left there and you began to wonder if you’d need one or two trash bags for all the crap he kept in your room.

But much to your surprise the door behind you didn’t close as quickly as you thought. Familiar footsteps caught up to you.

“Y/n, it’s not what you think.”

Your heart began to sting and twist; the tears, no longer under your control, streamed down your plump cheeks when you spun around.

“Alright.”, you began, letting out a quivering breath to steady your voice, “Tell me. Explain to me why you obviously making a bet with your jerky friends about getting me into bed is not what I think. Oh, and make sure you use small words for the foreigner. Go on. Make me laugh.”

“Gorgeous-“

“Don’t call me that.”

He flinched. He looked small, kneading his hands like that, head ducked between his shoulders and staring at your shoes.

“Y/n…”, he said but then fell silent.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t talk to me. Don’t call me. Don’t come near me ever again.”

You turned on your heel and not caring about the highly entertained grin some passersby threw your way you hurried out of the building.

Issei looked after you for a long while, then he returned to the lecture hall.

You lay on your bed, arm over your eyes and heating pillow on your tummy. Ever since this morning you hadn’t been able to eat anything and were now paying the price for trying to keep down an old milk bread bun you had found squashed at the bottom of your backpack. Without all of Matsukawa’s stuff cluttering your side of the room it felt a lot emptier. All the plushies from the arcade he’d won for you, his spare Pyjamas (kept hidden under your bed) for when your roommate was out of town, a bouquet of flowers, impulsively picked from someone’s front yard that you had pressed and framed, a tattered old jersey from his high school team he left for you as a makeshift pillowcase so you could breathe him in if he couldn’t be with you - all of that was stuffed into a bulging black trash bag by the door. It genuinely surprised you that your phone had stayed silent all day. In the very back of your mind, a small unwelcome part of you had hoped that he’d try to talk to you despite your warnings. That he would try to explain himself and get you back but then again it had all just been a game to him, right?

The rustling of paper had you sit up. A folded note slipped under your door. You got up to investigate. The handwriting, almost illegible chicken scratches, and almost illegible, was unmistakable. Fighting the urge to read it, you simply crumpled it up and threw it away, proud of yourself. But when you turned to go back to bed, another note appeared.

It looked identical to the first.

“What the…”, you muttered, and as you balled up this new message you called through the door, “Go away!”

But a third note, the same as the first two, swished towards your feet.

You had enough and pulled the door open.

Crouching before you, a stack of paper in his arms, was Matsukawa, arm outstretched with yet another note, ready to deploy apparently.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I-“

“Didn’t I tell you that I don’t want to see you again?”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Technically you didn’t see me. U-until… now.” You glared at him and he quietly added, “Loophole.” in a weak attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you seriously trying to be cute right now?”

“No! Not at all, I- uhm, did you read the message?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Okay, give me five minutes to explain. Please!”

“What’s there to explain? Your dumb friend offered you a dumb bet and your dumb ass accepted it. With zero hesitation, might I add.”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you get the money?”

“What?”

“You heard me, did you get the money?”

“I… yes.”

“Did you feel guilty for getting the money?”

“Babe- I mean, y/n”, he quickly swerved after seeing you seething with rage at the nickname, “the money didn’t matter! I was hopelessly in love with you the moment you pushed Makki into the pool.”

He shuffled half a step closer to you and took a whole one back again when you frowned.

“That party was in July. We started dating in the spring. So for the first half of our relationship you were just pretending?”

“N-no! That’s not what I - no!”

“Take your shit and get out of my sight!”

“Listen to me, I won’t let you go! You’re the best thing that ever happened to me! I know I don’t deserve you but please don’t leave me! I love you, y/n!”

“Goodbye!”

And after chucking the trash bag into his face you slammed the door shut.

art: I wasn’t able to find out who the OG artist was. If you know, please lemme know and I’ll add

[part 2]

[hubbvrd]

Protecting Boyfriend | Quinn Hughes

summary — During the Canucks home game, a man says some not-so-nice words to you because you're wearing a Hughes jersey. When Quinn finds out, he does everything he can to protect you and makes sure you get the pep talk you need to hear

pairing — quinn hughes x reader

words — 2165

warning — not-so-nice- words

A wide smile formed on your lips as you entered the Rogers Arena.

Today would be the game against the Coyotes that you've been looking forward to for the past week.

You can't wait to support your boyfriend Quinn and the rest of the team live in person, and then at home, in your own stadium.

You slowly walk down the stairs to your seat, from which you have a perfect view of the entire ice.

But from your seat you not only have a good view of the field, but also of the Canucks players who are seated not far from you.

That way, if your boyfriend wasn't on the field, you'd get a good look at number 43.

You can hardly wait for the stadium to fill up and the 1st period to begin.

In fact, it doesn't take too long before the stadium starts to fill up and various people fill the seats with their jerseys bearing the shirt numbers of their favorite players.

Today you are also wearing the blue Canucks jersey with Quinn's number on it, which you wear at every game you attend.

From the beginning, it was natural for you to show up at your games in his jersey and not to wear any expensive clothes to make your appearance at Quinn's games a kind of catwalk.

There were many wives or girlfriends of players who used the games to get themselves all dressed up and did half a shooting during the game to get likes and attention on Instagram or various other platforms.

But you've never been like this before. Supporting Quinn has always been your number one priority and that will never change.

"Hello," an older man in a Canucks jersey greets you as he sits down on the happy seat next to you.

"Hello," you reply in a friendly manner and give the man a friendly smile.

As your gaze begins to wander through the now full stadium and the noise level slowly rises, you feel a gaze on you.

Slowly, you turn your face in the direction of the man who had greeted you kindly just a few minutes ago.

Now there's a crinkled look on your face as he eyes you intently and begins to make you feel uncomfortable.

You've always been a little reserved around strangers, so the words that now leave your mouth surprise you.

"Is everything all right? Or is something wrong?"

The man begins to mumble something into his beard, which you can't understand due to the volume level.

"Excuse me? What did they say?" you ask as your heart starts to beat a little faster with nervousness.

You just want to watch the game in peace, without incident.

"I said that it's obvious that you're wearing a Hughes jersey of all things, like almost all the young women here."

"What makes you think that?"

The confusion was written all over your face. Of course you know that there are a lot of fans wearing the number 43 jersey, but there certainly weren't that many in the stadium just now.

"You young women now only pick players who look good. Most of you aren't even interested in the sport itself," he rants, causing you to look shocked.

You expected anything, but not this. What is wrong with this older man? And above all, what the hell did he have the nerve to say that to you?

Stunned, you start to shake your head and just as you've thought of the perfect answer, it gets loud and the teams enter the ice.

Probably better that way, because at least the man next to you was quiet and you could more or less enjoy the game.

Because you wouldn't let him ruin the day you've been looking forward to for a week.

—

The man had actually kept his mouth shut to you the whole game.

But when Quinn scored a goal and you, like several other fans, jumped up and cheered loudly, you heard other comments coming from his direction, but you couldn't hear them over the loud cheering and music.

Now the game is over, which the Canucks won 2-1.

A broad smile returns to your face, but it is immediately extinguished when the man next to you stands up and gives you an annoyed look.

"Well you fangirl? Did you even watch and understand the game? Or were you just undressing Hughes with your eyes?" His voice growls slightly, making you flinch and reflexively wrap your arms around your body.

This can't be true. Why can't the man just leave you alone and make his way home?

Even if you were just a fangirl who was only there because of Quinn, that wouldn't be his problem.

You just shake your head and leave your seat.

As you climb the stairs to get to the exit, you try not to let on too much how much the man has intimidated you and you're starting to panic.

It's all good, y/n. Just keep walking. You'll be with Quinn in a minute, you repeat the phrases over and over in your head as you leave the stadium, a light breeze blowing through your hair.

You breathe out deeply and close your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again and mingling with the crowd of fans to get to the back of the stadium.

There you will meet Quinn so that you can finally embrace him and congratulate him on his victory.

As you reach the back entrance, where a barrier has already been erected in front of the exit and one or two fans are already waiting to intercept their favorite player, you look around.

So as not to get in the way of any of the fans, you stand in the corner of the barrier so that everyone else has enough space. After all, you're not there to get autographs or photos, but to wait for your boyfriend.

But luck was not on your side. A few seconds later, the man you just met stands next to you and looks at you with an annoyed expression.

"Well, are you trying to get your hands on Hughes?" There is disgust in his voice. He speaks so quietly that only you can hear him.

Your heart begins to hammer faster against your ribs as your hands claw at the barrier and you try to stay calm.

"Stop it," you whisper on the verge of tears, which makes you angry with yourself for showing the man weakness.

But you can't do anything about it. The words and the way he treats you start to burn on your soul and reopen some old wounds.

You don't have an answer ready, but if you were honest with yourself, no perfect answer would shut the man up.

As the first players come out of the stadium and start signing autographs and taking photos with their fans, you stand on tiptoe to get a better look at when Quinn will finally arrive.

Quinn was never one of the first to leave the dressing room and then the stadium, so it would be a while before he arrived.

You would survive these few minutes - hopefully.

"Don't get your hopes up, sweetie. Hughes would never take you home," the man laughs as he steps closer to you.

"If they only knew..." You mumble, unaware that you've just spoken your thoughts out loud as you take a step to the side to put more distance between you.

"Excuse me?" the man hisses.

"I said, if they knew," you start and then gather all your courage for the next words that leave your mouth. "He's my boyfriend."

The man next to you starts to laugh out loud, attracting the attention not only of the other fans, but also of one or two of the players.

Confused, Dakota, Conor and Elias look in your direction. It took a few seconds for the three's eyes to grow wide as they recognize you and realize what's happening right in front of them.

"Hey, man. Do you want an autograph too?" Dakota asks as he approaches you and the man.

Dakota gives you a warm and gentle look, trying to make you realize that everything is going to be okay.

"Oh, I'd love to!" The man beams now and starts to engage Dakota in a conversation in which he is overly friendly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Elias run back into the stadium, followed shortly afterwards by Quinn.

Relief spreads through your body as you spot Quinn, who looks anything but pleased.

He looks angry.

Elias must have summarized everything for Quinn.

Several fans start yelling for Quinn, but he only has eyes for you.

He approaches you with quick steps, puts his hands on your hips and lifts you over the barrier.

"Are you okay, babe?" You ask him as you feel his tense muscles under the suit.

"I should ask you if you're okay, if anything. Why didn't you say anything?" Quinn looks down at you with a worried expression.

"I couldn't have said that during the game..." you begin, but are immediately interrupted by Quinn.

"But during the break. You could have texted me or come to the dressing room."

Quinn strokes your hair gently as he continues to look at you with concern.

His muscles relax slightly under your hand, which is still on his chest.

But you know that won't last long.

"I wouldn't take her home tonight!" A voice calls out, making you flinch.

Immediately, Quinn's muscles tense again as his face becomes angry again and his hands automatically clench into fists.

"Quinn..." You begin, but Quinn doesn't seem to hear you at all.

He gently pushes you over to Elias, who has become like a big brother to you over the last few years, when you've spent a lot of time with him and Quinn.

"Elias..." You mumble anxiously as you look up at the blond.

"Don't worry, y/n. He won't do anything stupid," Elias promises you, but you're not even sure if you can really believe his words.

From a safe distance, you watch Quinn more or less stumble the man together.

As you do, you pick up a few scraps of words, like "My girlfriend...She doesn't deserve this...Greatest person on earth...Our team doesn't need fans like you..."

It's not long before the man is taken away by security and Quinn returns to you.

Sniffling, you throw yourself into his strong arms, which he wraps tightly around you and presses you gently against him.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mumbles into your hair.

"It's not your fault," you sniffle as you look up at him and see a few tears in his eyes.

"But he hurt you and said things to your head that no one should ever hear. And if you get hurt, it hurts me here too."

Quinn reaches for your hand and places it where his heart is.

"Oh, Quinn..." you whisper as countless tears begin to roll down your cheeks.

He was incredibly sweet to you and now, after you had to hear those nasty and caustic words from the man, he made sure that you were moved to tears.

"If that happens again - which I hope it doesn't. Would I like you to come straight to me, Elias or another one of my colleagues, yes?"

Quinn looks you in the eye and then kisses your forehead.

"I promise," you murmur as you snuggle back into his arms and enjoy his strong, warm arms.

All the words that had hurt you just a moment ago disappeared as if by magic while you were in Quinn's arms and enjoying his closeness.

"I want you to forget all those words that man banged on your head, y/n. You know none of those words are true. I know it's hard to get these words out of my head, but I hope they help you. You're the best person I've ever met. You are the love of my life. You're always there for me, you make me feel better no matter how bad I'm feeling, you make me laugh and just your presence makes me feel good. I love you y/n and I could go on and on, but then we'd be here until tomorrow and I hope these words help you forget all the crap he's thrown at you."

His words caused a tear or two to roll down your cheeks. You were touched by how lovingly he treated you and had the perfect words to make you feel better.

And Quinn's words actually manage to put all the man's words out of your head once and for all.

Quinn was not only your friend, but also your protector.

Even though you do this side of him and you like how protective he is of you, you hope that something like today won't happen again.

[winterarmyy]

Welcome Home, Daddy

The aftermath of when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Bucky was over the moon when he discovered that Y/N was pregnant with his child. But, when the danger that lurks in dark threatened to steal his family away, a fellow soldier decided to come home.

Note: Highly recommend to read 《 Welcome Home... Soldat? 》 for backstory. But, you can also read this as a stand alone (though you might miss some call backs on the soldat's behaviour if you skip)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Words: 7.1k++ (bare with me, please)

Warnings: graphic violence, torture, blood, gore, deaths, dark undertones, sudden fluff, tiny bit of angst, google translated russian, and just so much detained anger exploding around, soldat is just deadly yet adorable in this one (i can't even handle it, and i'm the author), this event takes place far in the future after what happened in 《 Welcome Home...Soldat? 》

A/N: Looks like we have the winner for the poll 👀 Who's ready for our lovely soldat to make his appearance again? I know I'm not, but here we are. So, strap in and let's do this!

P/S: Also, I might as well make this as my submission for the seven writing event hosted by @nickfowlerrr 💌 Check out the event masterlist and support the writers by reading and reblogging their stories!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

They say the wrath of a fighter may threatened a heinous war but the wrath of a lover will let the earth drenched in bloody gore. And if a fool was daft enough to tore a lover from his other half, then they might just court themselves right into the hands of death.

And this couldn't be more true, especially if we consider the crime that the soldat was currently committing. Surely, the blood pooling on the floor will forever leave a grim mark that'll haunt the people who ever witness it.

"Where is she?" the soldat prompted the frail woman, limping on the chained chair. Despite the horrid situation, he sounded rather calm when he spoke.

How unfortunate it was for Elle to be associated with Hydra yet to also be so exposed to the dangers of the ghost himself, the Winter Soldier. Hydra may have their suspicion about the soldat making a move, but she didn't expect that she would be involved in the mess of this ordeal.

The cold metal of the soldat's vibranium fingers, particularly his index and thumb, latched themselves on another one of her nails. Her mouth slacked open but no sound was able to be formed when the soldat mercilessly ripped her nail right off her finger.

And oh, the pain was beyond any kind of injury that she had ever experienced, not a even a bullet through her flesh could be compared to this agony of a torture.

He harshly grabbed Elle by the back of her neck, forcing her to watch the blood leaking from the reddened flesh of her fingers, "I asked you a simple question, су́ка (bitch). Where the fuck is she?" The soldat's patience had been running thin and rage had clouded his judgements.

He needed to find her. His precious Родная (darling).

No matter whose neck he needed to slay or whose blood that have to be shed dry. He had to bring his darling home; no matter what it takes.

Unfortunately, it had been almost a month since he lost her.

And no one saw it coming.

Who would've thought that the old Hydra compound that the team raided were meant to be a part of a plan to weaken the Avengers. It was just a distraction filled with unexpected traps and triggers. By the time they flew home, the team were already tired and injured as the result of the raid.

So imagine the desperate struggle and utter panic that Bucky had to go through the moment he stepped his foot into the comfort of their home and had to witness Y/N's exhausted figure fighting for her life.

Hers and the baby's inside.

After hitting the 2 months mark of pregnancy, Bucky decided that Y/N shouldn't be involved in any high stake mission anymore. At first, she only laughed to his statement, thinking he was surely joking but when his stern expression didn't flatter, that was when she reliazed Bucky was not open for negotiation.

Y/N knew it was way too early to settle into her maternal leave but after having a long conversation with Bucky, they both agreed to keep her missions strictly on low-risk stakeouts and desk works at the tower.

It was supposedly be some kind of a precaution for her, to keep her and the baby safe, away from any type harm that might come their way. But, that certainly back fired.

When Bucky's burning anger had pumped him full with high stream of adrenaline, it was as if he went into an auto pilot; a murderous one at that. And soon enough he managed to take down half of Hydra's best agents that joined the mission of collecting Y/N from the tower.

For a moment, it seemed like luck was on their side, at least it felt like it.

It lasted only until Bucky saw how harsh the kick of the enemy landed on Y/N's hip, and how she managed to shield her stomach seconds before her body slammed down to the ground.

That was when fear crawled into his pumping nerves and the roots of it ran extremely cold.

And that was all it takes for Hydra to distract Bucky then immobilize him on the spot with a replica of the Sonic Taser developed by Stark Industries a few years back.

Bucky grunted painfully in protest of the high pitched sonic frequency from the device that overloads his nervous system. His body couldn't help but to slowly paralyzed its movements as his skin turned pale and the strain in his blood vessels became visible.

On the opposite side, Y/N could be seen being forcefully dragged away by a few of the Hydra agents that was left. There were couple of nasty injuries torn all over her body yet she was still stubborn on fighting back.

While she was being pulled farther away from him, she shouted his name loud and desprete, "Bucky!" Hot tears broke from the corner of her eyes as she desperately reach out her hand.

It felt as if she was right there when Bucky's hand was reaching back towards her. Like, a little bit of a push would've been enough to catch her but alas fate was not planning to be merciful.

Bucky's menancing eyes never left her wavering ones as Hydra tortured Bucky by stealing a part of his soul from him; and no one really knew how his heart clenched and torn to the fact that he was helplessly useless when Y/N needed him the most.

And when he only managed to scream back Y/N's name, he was forced to watch her wailed as she was unwillingly being taken away.

The moment when Bucky drowned himself in regret and rage, that was when the Winter Soldier took over his consciousness.

Unfortunately for the soldat, his mortal body was already worn out from all the intense fight that happened prior; he was knocked out right after he took over the body.

But in those few seconds before the darkness consumed him, the soldat managed to catch a glimpse of his darling. He saw the image of her; teary and bruised in the hands of those who created him. The very same monsters who uses him for despicable things.

That was all that he needed to see in order to break those chains around the dark pandora residing deep within his being.

The team was absolutely not ready to deal with the soldat again, this time without Y/N to tame him. Especially when his demands were unrealistic for them to fulfill.

It's been nearly 3 weeks since the incident and they had failed to locate Y/N; repeatedly. Even if they did manage to get some kind of an intel, all the of bases they had raided were basically bunch of abandoned spaces that Hydra used to occupy.

So of course the soldat was agitated. He had every right to be, more so when he thought of the increasing risk of his darling getting hurt in the hands of Hydra. And at this point, those scumbags were just messing with their minds. Especially with his.

"Listen, we're doing our best here, soldat." Steve tried to reason with him but it only fueled the burning flames within the soldat, "ты делаешь недостаточно! (You're not doing enough!)" He spat harshly that he didn't even noticed that he uses Russian language. It seemed like the unkempt irritation had conquered the chaos of his mind.

So that very night, the soldat decided to do this on his own; thus he ran away from the tower in search for his darling. He had to. Especially when he knew precisely why the Avenger was not able to find Y/N as quickly as they should be.

It was because they were the good guys. They were the heros, they were the light. And the soldat was not. In fact, he was the very opposite.

Unlike the Avengers, the soldat was not planning to play  nice and soon enough he managed to find a lead.

Which bring us to this very moment in which he successfully snuck into a Hydra agent's home to interrogate her.

But, in contrast of those Hydra troops that attack the Avengers Tower a few weeks ago, Elle was not even involved in the mission of retrieving Y/N. She was actually on a solo mission to infiltrate a certain high school to collect informations on Peter Parker. Hydra suspected that he might be involved with the new hero appearing in Queens.

However, even if she was not a part of the team mission, she knew bits and pieces of the overall plan, especially the whereabout of the main character herself, Y/N.

However, the appearance of the Winter Soldier in her temporary house was completely unexpected.

It felt like it was just few moments ago that the intel on Y/N's location reached her ears. Then, she distinctly remember the glimpse of those murderous eyes glaring into her soul. Next thing she knew was everything went pitch black.

Even if it was temporary, however it felt so surreal.

The darkness surrounding her.

The bone rattling cold.

It felt like death itself.

But unfortunately for her, the soldat was far from stopping.

Elle was fraying at the edges while the soldat crouch to her level. Even if she could barely reconstruct the unclear and blurry images through her dazed eyes, however, that didn't stop the soldat from maiming the dying woman's soul through his unforgiving gaze.

"Wake up..." he growled as he yanked her face upwards, "...we're not done yet."

It took a while for Elle to finally adjust to the light, after being in the dark for – how she felt like – so long.

After the light hits her vision, the striking pain came next. The pulsing pain surrounding of her right eye, her broken nose, her busted lips, her bleeding skin; neck, chest, arms, and almost every part of her limbs.

Everything were – slowly but surely, in each cuts and bruises on her skin – blooming its pain into existence.

How can she skipped all of this when she lost her consciousness?

Perhaps that was how she managed to stay alive as long as she had. By running away from the misery; from her reality.

Elle whined in pain but her voice suggested that she might already torn her throat apart when it sounded more like a broken grunt. Her disoriented gaze fell into her aching fingers, each were missing its nail; the tips of them was where the icky blood trickled from and had shaped a pool of blood on the floor where she rested.

The dim lighting from the room reflected on the surface of the deep-red puddle, revealing the resemblance of it to a mirror. And the blurry image looking back, was the soldat, with a sinister expression on his face.

This game, that they're playing.

It hardly seems fair to one of them. To be tortured if not speaking the truth? That's simply unjust; but if we're talking about fairness, then none of those injuries could ever be compared to the pain Y/N might be going through at this very moment. Every second of Elle's useless stubbornness was costing Y/N's safety.

And the soldat didn't like that. Not one bit.

"You mentioned Spain? Where exactly?" In one swift, harsh motion, the soldat thrust his knife through her thighs, "FUCK!"

The loud scream of pain that tore from Elle's throat was probably the last coherent word that she uttered as the torture continued.

The soldat pulled the knife out and stabbing it into the open wound, he listened to Elle's gasp for a moment, relishing her breathless pleading and the tears now openly streaming down her face.

He stabbed again, twice, each was quick and deep, not caring about the blood that spurted out across his face.

At this point Elle was just a puddle of blabbering mess; streams of saliva pouring out her mouth, sobbing, gasping for air; mixture of grunts, moans and whispers of curses and pleas were all spouted incoherently.

Anger.

Frustration.

Rage.

Wrath.

Even hatred.

The soldat was feeling it all.

It was consuming him, devouring any sanity that was left of Bucky's moral values. The eerie glint in the soldat eyes suggested that he was not planning to stop until she gave him what he wants.

God, if it wasn't for chilling atmosphere around her, Elle might just mistook that she was actually in hell.

"Pyrenees!" She cried out. The soldat instantly stopped when she confessed. He waited for an answer and right on cue, she spoke again, breathless and almost silent as the fear that engulfed her prior refused to release her from its haunting grip. And truthfully she doubt that it will ever let her go, "T-there a secret base n-near the Irati forest."

She exhaled a shaky breath as she pleaded, "S-so please. Please stop this." The was tired of the pain and the numbness that came after. And the soldat knows it.

The room was left silent momentarily, as if he was actually considering her plea but alas he already had plans for her all along, "Shame. You should've killed yourself before I came here."

As he finished the last word, the soldat viciously plunged his knife deep into her neck, digging the sharpness of it through the delicate flesh until it reach the base of the blade.

Elle gasped in response, her hands scrabbling around in effort to break free, to stop all of this. But considering the situation she was in, there was nothing she could do about it other than to take it as it was given to her.

When the motion finally stopped, the soldat simply walked away from the scene as if it was a complete norm for him to behave as he was. He didn't even thought of cleaning the mess he left behind. Or hide the corpse somewhere.

Isn't he afraid that he might leave his tracks for the police to find?

Why would he?

This has been his life for decades on end. His sole purpose of living was to kill. So best believe that the authorities will never be able to link the soldat or Bucky to this crime.

Not today, not ever.

Through the days that Y/N was locked deep within Hydra's base, she hadn't been treated the worst. In fact, the sick and twisted agents and residents in the facility was more than willing to care for her.

This was all because they wanted her baby.

It was always sickening to hear them referring her child as merely a tool for their success. And the way they worship Y/N like she was a gift from God to fulfill their purpose, was beyond insanity.

"Oh, to have the privilage of bearing the offspring of the Winter Soldier. To be able to create the perfect weapon, unlike the father. It is just honorable."

It made her stomach churned with pure disgust whenever she heard those types of comments floating around her.

Besides the eerily digusting behaviour of the agents, there was also the regular check-ups and the lab tests that she needed to attend. Out of all the things she had to endure these past few weeks, the medical check-up has always dreaded her the most.

There was this constant debate within her troubled mind; of the possibility of Hydra manipulating her baby's health and genes by inserting unknown substance into her.

"Come on, mama. On the bed." The doctor said as he patted his rubber gloved hand on the surface of the rigid single bed.

She always found it vile that the people here calling her by that nickname. It tickled her throat in a way that she wanted to puke all the tasteless gunk that they had fed her with.

As she laid on the bed and let the process went on as it usually do, the doctor suddenly stopped everything that he was doing. At first she was weirded out by the irregular act of the man, but when she felt the vibration on the ground and the rushing footsteps from the floor above her, she knew exactly why the doctor suddenly froze on his spot.

And the emergency siren that shortly blared after, had only confirmed her speculation.

But mostly, it was the panic in the doctor's eyes that gave him away; then when Y/N noticed the man scrambled to search the drawers from one of the cabinet, she knew that he was up to no good.

The second that the doctor's hurried his steps towards her with a syringe in his hand, Y/N's body immediately recoiled. She quickly stopped him by grabbing his wrist and twisted it back until the syringe dropped from his hold.

The man cursed under his breath and decided to take her by force when he grabbed a handful of her hair, almost dragging her out of the bed. Y/N shrieked painfully while her hands blindly grabbing the silver tray by the bed next to her.

She then slammed it hard against his head, and watched the contents on the tray fell and scatter onto her. She took quick skim over all the tools and saw a potential weapon for her defence; a scissor.

"Stay still, mama. Or the baby will get hurt." The doctor foolishly threatened.

Maybe it was her defence mechanism or maybe it was just her motherly instinct kicking in but something just snapped inside of her when he said those words. There was this incredibly strong urge to either fight or take flight.

Of course she could easily slipped away and make a run for it but she just couldn't risk it. Especially when her baby's life was currently at stake. So, after a short moment of hesitation, she swiftly grabbed the scissors and surge it through his ribs. The man wailed in pain as he staggered off the bed and fell onto the floor.

You'd thought a single yet firm stab through the guts was enough to quench Y/N's need of fighting back but no. Apparently, the haywire of her nerves had drove her feral and she needed him to be soulless by the time she walk out the room.

That had forced her to nearly jumped on him like a predator pinning on a meek prey and the lack of struggling on the victim's side had only gave her full control to dominate him.

Then all of the sudden, the doctor felt another strike of the pain, digging into the flesh of his chest.

He woefully cried in extreme pain while Y/N did not utter a single word or let out any sound, she stayed silent as she thrusts the scissor in and out his flesh.

Each surge was vicious than the previous. Each stab was gradually speeding up as the motion increases it's number of repetition.

She completely let her emotions took over her sanity.

Until what's left in the room was only the sloshing and splashing sound of blood seeping through every thrust, as she continued to violate the body of the corpse.

Until the calm puddle of blood on floor rippled as the tears that broke from her eyes dropped on it's surface.

And when she realized that the doctor was long dead, that broke Y/N out from her feral state. Realizing what she had done; she shakily loosen her grip on the scissors and scrambled off from the lifeless body.

Her breath was near erratic; it was a chaos of unsteady rhythm as her words was lost at the tip of her tongue. She jolted in shock when the commotion in the facility got louder than before, reminding her that Bucky was there to save her.

Y/N felt a sob choking in her throat as her hands searched her stomach to coax the child in her womb, "It's okay sweet bean, daddy's here for us."

Have you ever heard how ear-ringingly loud it is when it's hailing? How the sounds of the frozen raindrops hitting – the top of your car or the roof of the shades of an outdoor café table – can completely mute your words for anyone to hear?

That has nothing compared to the thundering sounds that echoed throughout the whole facility. The shots were fired from multiple range of stolen guns, all were coming from one moving figure.

The once clean grey and white painted walls of the hallways, were now stained and splattered with the color of crimson. The usually empty hallways, were occupied by the dead bodies of fallen Hydra agents. And the distinct scent of well-kept lair, were effortlessly replaced by the unpleasant and pungent smell; a mixture of blood and sweat.

It was a clear trail of the Winter Soldier's deeds.

This place was supposed to be pristine, but now feels more like how it should be; hell.

While the enemies were roaring into their death, the soldat on the other hand was very much the opposite.

Unlike his foe, it took him very little work from the tips of his tongue and much more on the tips of his gun. When the enemies barked like a dog, the soldat pounced like a wolf; silent and resilient.

By nature, the soldat had never been a patient man, especially when it comes to people harming his darling.

Sure, maybe he can tolerate and play along with people who messed with him, but if one were to touch even a strand of hair of his beloved, then they practically reserving themselves a first class ticket of a one-way trip to hell.

And that unhinged tendencies of his only worsen when wrath was the one reigning his mind while hatred was its ruler. His mind was nothing but a chaos of rampage and vengeance. Seeking nothing but blood and death of his foolish foe.

At this point of time, with the amount of life he had taken from the moment he step foot into the gate of the base, to the very stairs he was currently climbing, one could probably matched his heart rate with the rhythm of the shots formed by the bullets he shot.

Magazine upon magazine he reloaded his gun and waste no less than zero bullet as every shot made was accurately deadly and terrifying fatal to his prey.

As the soldat's feet reached half way up the stairs, a Hydra agent's voice spoke from the lower level, "She's on the LG2, we need a team to come and collect her as soon as poss--" A bullet went straight through the top of his head before he could finish his sentence.

And that was the soldat's last ammo.

While he mentally took note on the intel, his feet was quick to jumped into action and made his way down to LG2. As he entered the hallway, his wild eyes wondered around to steal another gun from a dead man's body.

But he rose into a stand, he felt a tip of a cold steel nudged at the back of his head.

Some would call out the soldat's mistake for letting his guard down in the middle of a battle, but another would definitely ridicule the stupidity of that fool's guts for even thinking that the soldat couldn't counter-attack his weak threats.

However, none of the two man managed to made any move towards each other when there was a faster, more accurate trigger was pulled from someone else, from across the hallway.

And that action left an aftermath of the fool's body to drop flat on the floor, quickly finding it's perfect spot with between the other pile of corpses scattered around.

When the soldat turned around, the sharp of his gaze softened almost immediately.

There she was standing there, in the pastel blue of her 'prison' attire. Her hair was a bit messy even if it was tied, and her complexion looked slightly pale with fatigue but to the soldat, she was glowing like angel; despite the blood on her clothes or the gun in her hand.

She was right there.

His heart.

His love.

His darling.

Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she had been crying for days. Her pouty lips trembled when the soldat stepped closer and closer towards her, tears threatening to fall as if she haven't done that during all the weeks that she had been here.

The soldat's steps grew faster.

So does Y/N's.

Tap taping until they were almost running towards each other.

Until the moment they reunited in the middle.

Catching each other's lips in a desperate and insatiable kiss, the soldat pulled her body tight around the waist as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Both whimpered in a yearning moan, both still had their guns hanging on one of their hands.

So many feelings at once, relief and grief, with each of them had a different story to tell.

The couple kept breaking and mending the kiss ever-so-passionately as if they weren't in the middle of the grave-less cemetery; as if they weren't in the center of the piling corpses.

Briefly opening his eyes, the soldat could see a shadow running towards them. When Y/N heard the footsteps from her back, she knew they need to pull away, but the soldat was firm and stubborn with his hold.

So instead of letting her break the kiss, he groaned in disapproval and pulled her lips back to his. An angry growl vibrated against her lips as he continued to explore her wet and warm mouth.

Caught off-guard she melted to his silent demand, almost forgot that the enemy was right behind her. But, she should've know better when the soldat loosen one of his arms from the embrace and pointed his gun towards the target.

His finger pulled the trigger almost as easily as his teeth tugging into the bottom of her lips. And suddenly the sound of a body collapsing behind didn't matter anymore.

When the soldat felt that he had enough of the sweetness of her kiss, he finally pulled away, at least for now. He whispered dearly, "Родная (darling)..." he cupped her face in his large hands and rested his forehead on hers.

She thought she heard it wrong, but did he just called her darling? It took her a few second to piece it together and realized that this man was not Bucky, that he had relapsed into the Winter Soldier again, "Soldat?"

The soldat smiled and leaned forward to steal a chaste kiss on her lips, "Yes, it's me, мое Родная (my darling)" he cooed as he swept her by her feet, off the bloody ground and carried her in his arm, "I got you, Куколка (little one). You can rest now."

"We're just wanted make sure she's alright."

"You can follow us if you want so just please--"

"Soldat! You're going to hurt her."

The familiar voices leaked through Y/N's ears as she was drifting through her dreamless slumber. Soon enough, the loud commotion of her surrounding woke her up from the deep sleep.

The words that the Avengers were yelling out became clearer as she gained her consciousness, and the ever-changing movements of the soldat, evading every step the Avengers made to get closer to him, made her aware of the way she was resting in his arms; perfectly cocooned in a form of a bridal carry style.

The soldat halted on his spot when Y/N opened her eyes to see what was going on, "Soldat?" She blinked multiple times as she adjusted to the lights. The menacing frown of the soldat melted into a much softer expression, "Родная(darling), you shouldn't be awake yet." He craddled her closer to him as he cooed.

Where is she? How long was she out? When did she changed her clothes?

"What is happening?" She asked as she peered over his shoulder to see Natasha sighing in relief, "Sweetheart, thank god you're awake."

Y/N then looked over to Steve, "You've been gone for weeks, y/n. We got news about your rescue yesterday, and you guys just arrived home. Now, if we could just to take you to the medbay and get you check-up, that'll be great." He briefly explained.

"Yeah, that's all we want isn't it? But, someone just had to be sappy and refuse to let anyone touch you. You know, how it is with the soldier." Tony quickly intercepted.

The soldat didn't pay them any attention now that his darling was awake. He was merely focusing on whispering the sweetest things as he traces delicate trails of kisses on her forehead, her nose, her cheek, basically all over her face.

Sam took it as opportunity to get closer when the soldat was distracted on suffocating Y/N with kisses. But he should learn by now how alert and agile the soldat can be, especially when he have Y/N close to his proximity.

So, when Sam took a step closer, the soldat recoiled almost immediately, putting quite of a distance between them.

"Man, if Bucky has a staring problem, then the winter soldier over here has a hogging problem." Sam accusingly pointed at the soldat, only getting grunts as a reply.

Looking at the current situation, Y/N pondered for awhile. As much as she wanted to get herself check-up, it was also wise to not pressure the soldat to give her away.

Considering what she witnessed at the Hydra base, Y/N knew the risk that comes when we let the soldat dwell in anger for too long.

So she consulted the rest of the team to back down for now, and let the soldat do what he wants. Y/N promised them that she will conviced the soldat to let her get a check-up as soon as possible. But for now, they really need to trust her words.

At first every one of them was reluctant to let her go but in the end they agreed to her suggestion.

When the team spread out and gave some space for the soldat, he didn't waste any time and marched straight to where their bedroom supposed to be. As soon as they arrived at their safe space, the soldat almost threw Y/N onto the bed and swiftly drew a knife from the holster of his thigh as his predatory eyes searched the room.

He refused to move even an inch away from where he stood and remained close to Y/N; shielding her figure with his own.

It was very faint, but the soldat could sensed that they weren't the only ones in the room.

Y/N eyed him curiously, wondering why the soldat was still on edge when he wasn't supposed to. So, she hopped off from the bed and stood on her feet before reaching out to hug the soldat from behind.

"You can put the knife down, soldat. It's just us here." She coaxed but the soldat refused to believe her. He pulled her by the arms, breaking her hug in the process and hold her close to his chest, "There's someone else here."

His actions was rather rougher than he intended it to be; even Y/N was startled by the sudden movement, "Oooff, careful there, soldat. You might give the little one a fright." She chuckled softly as she give her belly a loving rub.

And suddenly his attention was completely focused on Y/N now. Usually his frown symbolized irritation, but this time there was a clear confusion in his eyes. The amount of appalled blinking of his eyes increases when the puzzle pieces in his head started to merge.

The soldat knew that he heard a third heartbeat in the room; that was why he was on alert for threats but apparently he had been closer to the source than he thought was.

In fact, it was right his arms. Or maybe a little bit lower, somewhere around his torso.

Y/N didn't say anything, she simply nodded and smiled up to him as she continued to rub her belly.

When the conclusion finally hits him, the soldat dropped the knife in his hand at the same time he fell on his knees. His gaze never broke from hers, not even a split second, until he was face to face with her tummy.

The soldat leaned one side of his ear closer to her and the thumping sound of the third heartbeat got louder. The discovery had caused him to jolt away as shock decorated his features. He titled his head upwards to Y/N with the same wide, confused look in his blue eyes.

"It's okay, love." She giggled amusingly when the soldat repeated his previous actions. He leaned in and jolted back again as if he couldn't believe what he just heard was real, "Is it... his?" The soldat asked as he implied his existance to be separated from Bucky.

There was a hint of sadness in Y/N's expression when he said it like that. There's been many long conversations that she and Bucky had about the soldat after his first relapse.

Though Bucky was still unsure of his own dissociating self, Y/N on other hand believed that the soldat, this particular man whose drenched the earth with blood just to save her, the same man whose currently on his knees to hear a heartbeat of an unborn child; he deserved a little kindness in his life.

"Yes..." Y/N answered truthfully before she continued, "...and he's yours too."

And that surely knocked the air out of the soldat's lungs, he couldn't tell if she was telling him the truth or was just trying to kill him; either way the butterflies in his chest was suffocating him from the inside.

The soldat couldn't speak a single word; because he didn't know what to say. But there was this beam on his features, light in his eyes, softness on his smile when he dreamily stared at her growing belly.

Y/N took him by his flesh hand and place his palm on her stomach, then she spoke tenderly to the baby inside her, "Wanna say hi to daddy, sweet bean? Say, 'Welcome home, daddy.' "

She knew it was silly, because obviously the child in her womb shouldn't be able to speak, and he was not yet developed enough to be kicking his feet. Hell, they don't even know his gender yet.

But how could she not say it when the soldat looked so damn happy when she did. He looked so peaceful and has this daze and some of those twinkling hearts in those steel-blue eyes of. The soldat sighed in pure joy before he leaned to kiss her stomach.

And as it turns out that was all she needed to do to persuade the soldat to letting her see the doctors. He was there through the whole process, refusing to let go of her hand. It was such a good news to hear that the baby was healthy and there wasn't any foreign substance that might contaminated her during her times in Hydra.

After getting proper medical care and some food in her system, the soldat immediately carry her back to their room to settle down. While she laid on the bed, making up for the lost time to finally get the mental rest she desperately needed, the soldat on the other hand, had made himself comfortable by lying his head on her stomach.

He just couldn't stop; as if he was hypnotised by the melody of the baby's heartbeat. His hand snuck under her shirt, lifting the fabric up to reveal the belly where their miracle resides.

Y/N's droopy eyes followed his actions as she watched how carefully the soldat approached her. Out of habit, her hands absentmindedly rake through the softness of his hair as she held him by the head.

The soldat dotingly caressed the child's sleeping chambers as he leaned closer to it, "...Hi there, little one." he greeted with a quiet and loving whisper.

Immediately, a smile beamed brightly on Y/N's face when the soldat proceed to pamper her belly with countless of tender kisses, "...it's daddy." he introduced himself, as if the baby was able to understand him.

The silence that came after was so sweet and comfortable. And Y/N knew she wouldn't be able to have this without the soldat. She tucked a piece of his loose strand of hair behind his ear when she spoke gently, "Thank you for saving me, soldat."

He briefly lifted his head and smiled up at her, "You know I can't live without you Родная (darling). I will always need you." He declared a truthful confession before turning his attention away. His lips grazed on the skin of her belly as he mumbled against it, "And you too, little one."

Y/N could burst into tears just from this interaction alone but she try not to. She doesn't want to look back at this moment and remember how much she wept, so she blinked her tears away while she watched the soldat spoiled the little buddle of joy inside her with so much endearments.

Even though it was always a happy memory for the soldat when he spend time with his darling, but this... this was rare. And he wanted to cherish it for as long as he could.

The soldat laid on his ears again when he peered from where he had his head rested, his deep gaze captured her attention, "Has he been taking care of you good, darling?" He asked.

The soldat probably had no idea how Bucky adored her; if anyone paid enough attention they might even caught him worshipping the very ground she stepped on.

A breathy chuckle escaped from her mouth as nodded with a drunken grin, "He's the best." She hummed approvingly, "Best husband, and best daddy too." She exclaimed brightly as she glanced at the ring on her finger; it was barely visible through the thick of the soldat's hair.

Surprisingly, the soldat didn't react negatively to her remarks, instead, a proud smile curved on his lips as the pride in his chest overflowed and leaked all through his very being, "Good." He simply said.

The smile lines on the corner of his eyes didn't flatten even when he closed his eyes. For a moment, he tried to silenced everything else around him and focused on the fluttering sounds of the baby's tiny heart.

It might have been the thick haze of lavender smoke in their head or the swarming butterflies in their chest, that they didn't even notice the fatigue that had been slowly taking over them, until the tenderness of their caresses were barely moving.

When the heaviness of her eyes weighted the lids, she sleepily asked the soldat, "Will you still be here when I wake up?" Truth to be told, she was afraid that all of this was just a dream; an escape from reality of the cruel captivity.

The soldat briefly opened his own tired eyes and cooed softly, "I'm always with you, Родная (darling)." And Y/N took it as a promise for her desprete soul to cling on; a ray of hope for her to hold onto, if she ever wakes up in that cell again.

Not long after, both of them lost to the lure of somnolent and their soul quickly drifted into the peaceful dreamland. Soft snores were filling the quiet of the room as their mortal body continued to entangled themselves with each other.

It was safe to say that if Steve would ever barge into the room, he'd probably maxed the storage of his phone with photos of the soldat smushing his face on Y/N's belly as she perfectly curled around him.

Maybe it was the sunlight leaking through the window or maybe it was the intense gaze she felt burning on the skin of her face. Eitherway, it certainly disturbed her from her sleep.

When her body stirred, Y/N realized that she didn't need to open her eyes to know that last night was not a dream, especially when she can feel a pair of familiar arms wrapping around her waist under her shirt.

Y/N slowly peeled her eyes open to see a recognizable ceiling. Her eyes then trailed to her side and met a pair of blue of eyes staring back at her. Her gaze searched for the soul within him and found the semblance of Bucky reflected in his eyes.

Still dazed from sleep, she continued to watch him blinking at her, slowly and silently, like a cat declaring their love to their human. But even then, he couldn't hide the afterglow of the tears on his face.

"Bucky, honey. Have you been crying?" Her voice rasped from lack of use, yet her tender fingers find themselves crawling across his wet cheeks. 

It was as if her voice was a trigger, and tears quickly reformed in Bucky's eyes again. Y/N gently pulled him to her chest, one hand threading his hair and another rubbing his back as he sobbed in her arms, "It's okay, Bucky. We're okay." She continued to coax him lovingly.

They spend most of the early morning holding each other close and dear. Then when the tears started to lessen, Bucky finally pulled himself away from her. Y/N wiped the excess tears on his cheeks but he caught her hand underneath his; he relished in the relief of her presence when he sighed to her touch.

Bucky's gaze wobbled in the pool of tears in his eyes but he was still determined to speak his mind  "I'm so sorry, doll." He apologized, "I couldn't stop them. Even with this damned serum in me, I still couldn't protect you; both of you." If his defeated voice didn't convey his truth, then the tremble of his touch should be enough.

And Y/N's heart simply shattered for him; what did he meant by that? He did save her though. The winter soldier or Bucky. It didn't matter who but she was here now because of him. She was safe; they both were, "But you saved me, did you not?"

"But, I didn't. The sol--" Before Bucky could even finish his sentence, Y/N quickly cuts in, "The soldat is always going to be a part of you, Bucky. And if he saved me, that means you saved me too." She reassured him.

Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she continued to persuade him, "And if I could speak for our child, which I absolutely can because I'm his mother, then he would say that he is proud that his strong daddy managed to beat the absolute shit out of those bad guys."

Bucky blurted out a hearty laugh, "I don't think it's good to teach our baby to curse when he is still in your womb, mama." His laugh gradually reduced to a chuckle when he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

Y/N simply shrugged to his suggestion, "It's not like he wouldn remember this anyway." She smirked playfully.

Another chuckle managed to slip through Bucky's lips before he lowered his face to her tummy, "And you? How's your play date with Winter, hmm sweet bean?" He mumbled as his lips planted on her skin.

Besides the heartbeat of his child, he could also hear the tiny twitching of the baby's limbs moving ever-so-slightly, "Yeah, I bet he spoiled you with lots of kisses and cuddles, huh? Like he did your mommy?" He continued to coo against her belly, unaware of the shock on his wife's face.

"Winter?" A small smile cracked from the corner of her lips. Yes, she was shocked but that doesn't mean she wasn't pleasantly surprised by it.

Bucky didn't even bother to look up at Y/N's face as he was busy blowing raspberries on her stomach, "If he's going to keep popping up in our lives then we might as well call him something else other than 'soldat', don't you think?" He simply said, marking one last kiss on the small growing bulge on her belly, before working his way back up to her face.

Y/N's heart swelled to his gesture and when he laid his head next to hers, she carefully took him by his cheeks, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, "I think he'd love that, Bucky." She whispered against his lips, feeling his smile in return.

Bucky nudges forward to catch her lips again; kissing her slow and sweet as if his whole world has been waiting for this moment. And when the kiss naturally broke, he tempted her with something he knew she couldn't resist, "Now, how about we grab you both something to bite, hmm?"

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: The use of the title in the fic is suprisingly wholesome despite the insinuation of it, don't you think? Lol. Btw, thank you so much for stopping by and read my work. Leave your thoughts behind for me, I'd love to hear from you!

[crashandlivewrites]

Hear the Dogs Howling

Dedicated to the lovely @soapsgf for allowing me to ramble and bounce ideas off as I wrote this, along with being so sweet and helping me grow my confidence. This is for you.

Pairing: Dom!Ghost x fem!switch!reader x switch!Soap

Summary: Soap doesn't know how to stay quiet during sex. Tonight is no different. When you finally knock on his door to get him to tone it down, you walk in on a scene you weren't entirely expecting to see.

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, MMF threesome, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving vaginal; m receiving anal), anal sex (m receiving), mild dubcon as Soap is initially choking on cock but he's into it, minor pet play (Soap is referred to as pup)

Read on Ao3

Soap was a noisy neighbour. There was no other way to put it. You’d been rooming next to him for a good while now ever since you were placed on the task force, and he always found a way to disturb your peace. Whether it was the sound of his music, or telly being up too loud, or his booming laughter as he chatted on the phone, or his or his partner’s noises of pleasure as he fucked them into the squeaky bed the base provided. 

Sure, you might have been jealous, picturing him above you, behind you, beneath you instead of them. Yes, you may have also touched yourself listening to his moans, wishing he was making those sounds for you, but you thought better of actually doing something about it. Pushed those feelings deep, deep down. Ruining the team dynamic, especially when you were the newest member put you more at risk than the others of transfer, or worse, discharge.

Shaking your head, you broke out of your chain of thoughts, biting your lip as you tried to focus on the report before you. Price wanted it by tomorrow. Demanded it by tomorrow. Cursing, you rested your forehead on your palms, trying to keep yourself awake as the half-empty cup of coffee remained stagnant next to you. Two pages left. That’s all you had to get through. 

And then you heard it. A muffled moan from next door. Fucking Soap and his inability to keep it in his pants for more than a few days. 

Clenching your teeth, you snapped your head over your shoulder, glaring at the wall as if you could curse him into silence. But, knowing Soap, this was only the beginning. The man knew how to fuck, and had the stamina to keep on going, meaning if you didn’t put a pin in this now, you were going to be listening to the sounds of your teammate fucking for the next few hours. 

Sitting in your chair, you debated for a few minutes, wondering if it really was something you wanted to walk in on, or interrupt at the very least. Tapping your foot and the pen in your hand in a steady rhythm, you tried to focus on the report before you, but after another five minutes of staring into empty space and the sounds from next door filling your head, you caved. Pushing the chair back, you marched over to your adjoining wall, banging on it harshly. 

“Keep it down, Soap! I have shit to do for Price.” 

You thought that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t. As though he was intentionally trying to spite you, the noises got progressively louder, more frequent. You’d slammed on the wall more times than you’d care to admit before you finally snapped. 

Slamming your door open, you march over to Soap’s room and bang your fist against his. But instead of it being solid, the door gave way, swinging open to reveal a scene you’d never thought you’d walk in on. Instead of Soap being on top of a pretty girl, he was on his knees, stark naked with his lips stretched wide around a thick cock that was being shoved down his throat. And not just any cock. Ghost’s cock. Your mouth sagged open slightly as your eyes flicked over the pair of them, taking in Soap’s bare form and comparing it to Ghost’s fully clothed one. 

Making a small noise of protest, Soap shuffled his weight on his knees and went to pull back, but Ghost was quicker, gloved hand reaching down to grip Soap’s mohawk firmly, keeping him pressed into his crotch.

“Ah! Did I say you could move, pup?” Ghost’s voice was stern and deep, stirring something deep inside you. In reply, Soap whined, blinking up at the larger man. It was only then that you noticed tears streaming down his face. Your breath hitched as you finally turned your gaze towards Ghost who was staring directly at you. 

His dark eyes were sharp and calculated, locking you in place as you stood stock still in the doorway. It was like your shoes were rooted to the spot and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the erotic scene even if you tried. 

“You just gonna stand there and gape at the slut?” Ghost cocked his head to the side, his eyes squinting in amusement. “Or are you gonna make yourself useful, Sergeant?”

The resolve in you crumbled. If Ghost and Soap could fuck with seemingly little consequence, surely you were fine to join as well. Feeling the heat bubble inside you, and your heart thump in your chest, you knew there was only one correct answer moving forward.

Swallowing thickly, you shut the door behind you. 

Despite the balaclava covering his face, you could see the interest spark in Ghost’s eyes at your actions. His eyes crinkled as he looked down at Soap, who whined pitifully, drool leaking out the sides of his mouth as he held position. 

“Seems like you’ve got another playmate, pup.” Ghost rumbled, carding his fingers through Soap’s hair gently as you walked forward, steps muffled by your socks on the wood floor. “You gonna put on a show for our guest?” 

Soap moaned, wet lashes fluttering as glanced between you and Ghost before beginning to bob his head in a slow rhythm along Ghost’s cock. The masked man let out a sharp hiss, fingers gripping Soap’s hair roughly as he grunted in pleasure. You stood there, less than a metre away from the pair, watching, feeling the heat of arousal spread through your body, accumulating between your thighs. Your mind raced, wondering how exactly you were going to fit into this scenario, but that question was answered when Soap reached a hand up towards you, stretching out his fingers. 

You kneel down next to him, lacing your fingers through his as his mouth continues to work. Soap’s own cock was rock hard, twitching slightly between his parted legs as the tip drooled pre-cum, pooling on the floor beneath him. He squeezes your hand in thanks and moans prettily, glancing towards you through the corners of his eyes and you grin, leaning in to purr into his ear. 

“You’re doing such a good job, pup. Putting on such a good show for me, aren’t you?” Despite the Ghost bullying his heavy cock down Soap’s throat, he whined at your words, opening his mouth even wider to accomodate the thickness. You cooed at him encouragingly, your other hand tracing circles on his back as Ghost groaned. 

Thrusting his hips forwards, he bumped his dick into the back of Soap’s throat causing him to gag. You could see the bulge of his cock every time he bucked his hips forwards, yet Soap swallowed eagerly, one hand laced in yours and the other resting on his thigh, twitching with every bounce of his cock. 

It was now your turn to stare up at Ghost from your position on the floor and you almost wished you hadn’t. He was a sight. Large and imposing as he stood over the pair of you, eyes darkened with lust as he stared. Your mouth went dry as his mere gaze sent another rush of desire through you, shivers running up your spine as you squeezed your legs together, trying to stave off the lust. He reaches a gloved hand down to cup your cheek, then your neck, tipping your chin up to hold your attention. 

“Can I touch him?” You breathed, voice barely audible over the excited yet muffled noises Soap was making at your words. 

“Good pups don’t touch themselves.” Ghost answered, brow raising. “He can cum from just sucking me. Sure you don’t wanna see that?” 

You had to admit, watching Soap cum without any direct stimulation would be enticing, but you couldn’t wait. You needed to touch him. After months of hearing him fuck, and presumably be fucked, you were finally getting to live out your deepest desire. You shake your head, keeping your eyes fixed on Ghost.

“Not right now. Wanna stroke his cock and watch him lose his mind as he gets you off.” Ghost simply cocked his head to the side before turning his attention back to Soap, but it was Soap who reacted viscerally. His hips stuttered; cock bobbed between his legs as he began to tremble. You felt a sly grin flash over your face. 

“Look at you… so excited to be touched? Is that it?” Releasing his hand, you move your own to stroke his thigh, running your hand along the inside, feeling his muscles twitch beneath his skin. “Such a good pup, aren’t you.” He nodded as best he could with a cock down his throat. 

Reaching down between his legs, you swipe a finger through the small pool of pre-cum on the floor and move to circle the head of his cock with your fingertip. He whined, hips canting forward to seek more stimulation, which you granted. Wrapping your hand around his cock, you began to stroke him with a light grip, in time with the bobbing of his head. Soap shivered, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your hand touch, and he built up a steady rhythm, causing your hand to move quicker. He moaned, eagerly swallowing down Ghost’s dick to the base, causing him to hiss, gloved fingers tugging at Soap’s mohawk. 

“Good fucking pup. Look at you. Swallowing me so well. Makin’ a fuckin’ mess as you do.” Ghost’s dark eyes flicked over to you, before reaching over and cupping your cheek. Breath hitching, you raised your head up to look as him as your hand continued to work over Soap’s slick cock. 

“You’re bein’ such a good girl too. Takin’ care of my pup. Makin’ sure he doesn’t get too antsy. Can be a right pain in my ass sometimes.” You could hear the smirk in his voice as you ducked your head, glancing away from him and back to Soap who was pumping his hips forward, desperate for the pace to increase. His eyes flick to yours pleadingly and his hips moved, brows pinched together as he made a muffled noise of impatience. 

“Stop touching him.” Ghost growled his command as he yanked Soap’s head back as you pulled your hand back quickly. Letting out a multitude of protests, Soap’s brows furrowed as he glared up at Ghost. 

“The fuck did ah dae?” His tone was petulant, accent thick as he coughed, heaving air into his lungs. 

“Bein’ fuckin’ impatient, pup.” Ghost leaned down, leering at Soap who squirmed under the stern gaze. “We have someone nice enough to come in and touch that needy cock of yours, and you’re actin’ like a brat. Rein it in, or I’m gonna fuck your face like a slag I’m payin’ and leave you hard and leaking.” 

Soap kept his head low, but you could see the pout evident on his face. His eyes remained cast down as he nodded in response to Ghost’s words before reaching back up to fill his mouth. A strong hand pressed to his shoulder, stopping him going any further. 

“Open your mouth and use it for fuckin’ words like your s’posed to.” Soap glowered, huffing before he turned his head towards you. 

“Sorry fer bein’ impatient. Ye can touch me how ye want.” You smiled at him for a moment, before Ghost’s fingers tapped on your cheek, turning your attention to him. 

“Keep him in line, or after I’m through with him, I’ll show you how to properly keep a pup in line.” His soft, yet deep voice sent shivers down your spine, and you felt wetness pool in your panties, sticking to you.

“Yes sir.” Ghost let out a barely audible breath at your submission as his thumb stroked along your cheek bone. 

“Keep that up and maybe I’ll fuck you too sweet thing.” Your mouth parted as your head tilted back, angling slightly as Ghost stooped lower, as though he was about to kiss you through the mask before he pulled back. Wrapping a hand around the base of his thick cock, he fed it into Soap’s open and willing mouth, cupping the back of his head before thrusting deep. Soap gagged at the sudden intrusion but kept the dick deep in his throat as he swallowed around it. 

Spitting on your hand, you wrapped it back around Soap’s cock, mixing between long, languid strokes down his full length and quick, sharp ones over his dripping head. Soap trembled at the changes, body shaking slightly as he remained still for you. Cooing into his ear, the pace of your hand increased slightly. 

“Look at you, pup. Sitting so pretty for me now, aren’t you. Bet you look real sweet when you cum too.” Soap moaned out an affirmative, one of his hands cupping the back of Ghost’s muscled thigh as his other reached for your leg, resting high up near the apex of your thighs, but refusing to lift any higher until he was told so. You grinned at his good behaviour. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum for me? Wanna be a good boy and spill all over my hand?” Soap moaned again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he continued to suck off his teammate, messy and sloppy as drool dripped down his chin. 

“Oh, fuck yeah, love. Make him moan like that again.” Ghost grunted; eyes closed as he continued to shallowly thrust. Not wanting to displease either man, you tightened your grip and swept your thumb along the ridges of Soap’s cock head, teasing his frenulum as you went. Letting out a keening sound, Soap’s dick twitched in your grip as his hips bucked into your hand, the grip on your thigh tightening.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Leaning forward, you whispered into Soap’s ear, before mouthing kisses down the line of his neck to his back as your other hand cupped his ass. “Come on, pup. Do it. Do it for me.” 

The cock in his throat meant the moan came out garbled, but his hips jerked forward erratically as he reached his climax. With every heavy twitch of his cock in your hand, a thick pulse of cum shot out, adding to the mess already on the floor. 

“Fuckin’ hell pup.” Ghost growled, both hands now gripping at Soap’s hair as the pace of his hips picked up, shallowly thrusting into Soap’s mouth as he moaned, eyes still rolling from his climax as Ghost used his teeth to take his right glove off before pulling out and stroking his cock roughly, releasing his load over Soap’s face, grunting as his whole body shivered, breath coming out in short pants. 

Once he’d finished, Ghost tucked his cock back into his pants, before pulling the chair up from Soap’s desk and sitting down. Unsure of what to do next, you glanced over at him, brows furrowed slightly as you waited for direction. Noticing, Ghost cocked his head to the side, before his eyes squinted appraisingly. 

“Soap could learn a thing or two from you, love. So well behaved, you are.” You went to face him, but he held up a hand, stopping you from moving any further. “The pup’s quite messy there. Why don’t you give him a hand cleaning all that up?” 

Eyes widening, to glanced over to Soap, who was dragging a finger through the mess of cum on his face and holding it out to you. 

“C’mon, bonnie thing. Show how good ye can be fer him. Fer us.” Soap’s eyes darkened as he stared at you expectantly and suddenly, you realised precisely how fucked you were. 

Your eyes followed his hand as he held it out towards you, Ghost’s cum dripping down his finger enticingly. Without further thought, you leaned forward on your knees, lips closing around the outstretched digit. Soap’s eyes widened slightly as he glanced over at Ghost, his mouth dropping open slightly as you licked and sucked his finger clean of cum. Pulling back, you swiped your thumb over his cheekbone, and then, keeping your eyes fixed to Soap’s, you sucked your own thumb clean as well. 

“Fucking Christ, hen.” His tone was breathy, his hands reaching out to push you down onto your ass on the cold floor. Your hands flew out behind you to break your fall as he nudged his way between your legs, pressing into your space with an intense need. “S’fuckin bonnie fer me. Been listening to me fer months, haven’t ye?” He whispered into your ear as his hands groped greedily at your body. 

“Gonna make ye feel s’good, I promise.” You were barely able to process his words as he tugged at your shirt, shucking it up and tugging your bra down to expose your breasts so he could latch onto one with his teeth, moaning as he did so. Letting out a sharp gasp of pain, you smacked his shoulder, eyes staring down at him accusingly. Soap released your breast and pouted. 

“Ye’ve got such bonnie tits, hen. Couldnae help maself.” His mouth spread wide in a toothy grin as he reached out to cup the breast he bit, squeezing it apologetically as his eyes traced over the marks his teeth left. “Wanted ye fer months. Thought ye wouldnae have me.” 

“I wanted you.” You breathed; eyes wide with surprise at his confession. “Always did. Thought it ruin things. Thought that it wouldn’t be professional.” Even in your ears, the words were a weak excuse. Soap’s grin spread even wider. 

“Touch yerself at the sound of me, aye?” His hands roamed your body, roughly groping at every piece of bare skin he could access. He lowered his mouth to your tits once more, sucking the nipple tenderly this time, tongue laving over the swell of your breast as he moaned. “Was extra loud fer ye too. Hopin’ ye’d break that door down sooner. Didnae take ye as the patient type.” 

“Shut up.” You hissed, arching your back as his hand reached for your other nipple, tweaking it between his fingers. Lifting a hand up, you carded it through his hair, tugging at the strands lightly, his mouth still firmly attached to your breast, sucking dark, claiming marks into your skin. 

“Tug it harder, love.” Came a rumbling voice from behind you. Breath hitching in surprise, you glanced up, remembering Ghost was still in the room watching the two of you intently. One hand sat at the seat of his pants, rubbing softly and you couldn’t help but moan at the sight. Blinking once more, you turned your attention back to Soap and, heeding Ghost’s instructions, tugged at the mohawk a little firmer. Soap let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering slightly, but it wasn’t enough to break his attack your chest. 

Closing your hand over his hair tighter, you pulled roughly, harder than you’d meant to, but you were rewarded with a strangled moan as you wrenched Soap back from your chest. His eyes were glassy as his hips canted forwards. Ghost mumbled his praise at the action, and you felt a stir in your chest. 

“That’s nae fair, bonnie.” Soap growled. “Ye’ve had ye fun teasin’ me.” His brows furrowed as he pulled back, making you lose your grip on his hair. Moving quickly, he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand as the other reached for the buttons of your pants. 

“Gonna show ye what I dae tae wee sluts who play dirty.” His eyes were wild as bore down on you, nose brushing against yours. You could feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheeks. “Gonna tease ye till yer gaggin fer ma cock.”

Before he could make another move though, a sharp whistle sounded, and you both snapped your heads up in Ghost’s direction. He was lounging back on the chair, head tilted and resting on one first as the other cupped his bulge. His eyes narrowed towards Soap. 

“Thought I trained you better than that, pup. Manners.” The tone was stern, unwavering and was met with a soft whine from Soap. “Take her pants off and finger her pussy. If you make her come, you’ll get a reward.”

As though the instructions sparked something in Soap, his rough hands turned soft as he began to caress your body, slowly sliding up your sides to remove your shirt and bra properly. He cooed; eyes soft as they roamed appreciatively over your body. He dragged his hands down your torso, trailing down to the waistband of your pants. His breath was coming out in heaving pants as his fingers made quick work of the buttons, pulling both your pants and underwear down in one go. 

“Steamin’ Jesus hen.” Soap groaned, throwing the clothes to the side so he could return his hands to your body, sliding over your ass and up your legs before spreading them apart, eyes focused on your soaked cunt. The heat and desire in his eyes alone made your cunt pulse. “Jus’ wanna sink ma teeth into ye.” 

“Play nice, pup. Don’t wanna break your chew toy too early.” Ghost muses from his spot. Your eyes meet his and suddenly, you realise just how exposed you were. Soap may have also been naked, but the way Ghost’s eyes were roaming over your bare body and grinding against his palm made your face heat. 

“Cannae help maself, Lt.” Soap leaned down, mouth trailing kisses along your thigh, working his way down towards the apex of them. His teeth dragged over the sensitive skin, leaving red marks, but not hard enough to break skin. You felt your body jerk as his warmth breath fanned over your leaking cunt and you whine pitifully. 

“Please… Soap. Need it. Need you.” Your hands pushed through his hair, gripping tightly as you tried to angle his face towards your wetness. Groaning at your impatience, he lowered his mouth, flat tongue dragging a line from your hole to clit. Letting out a shuddering gasp, you arched your back, fingers tugging at his mohawk to hold him close. But that didn’t last long. 

The chair creaked as Ghost pushed himself up, boots heavy as he marched over and wrenched Soap’s head up unkindly, causing him to cry out. “I said, finger her pussy, not eat it, impatient slag.” He spat in Soap’s ear, voice low and harsh. You whined at the loss, bucking your hips up to chase his mouth, but Ghost’s hand pushed you back down. “Look at you both. Such greedy fucking whores. You take what I tell you to.” 

Your brows pinched as you stared up at Ghost. 

“Please Ghost… please I need it. Need his mouth on me.” Reaching out, you clasped your hand over one of his thick forearms, squeezing as your eyes pleaded up to him. Ghost sighs, bringing one hand up to sweep the hair from your face as he leans in to whisper into your ear, other hand still firmly gripping Soap’s hair, causing him to huff petulantly as he was dragged away. 

“The pup’s gotta learn to listen, love. I’m not punishing you, yet anyway. If you’re good, and you cum on Johnny’s fingers, he can eat you out. Got it?” He leaned back slightly, eyes soft as he waited expectantly for your reply. Nodding in response, you went to look down at Soap again, but Ghost’s rough hand in your hair stopped you. “No. Words, love. If I ask you a question, you answer it with words.” 

“Yes, I got it.” You breathed; eyes glassy as you stared up at him. “I’ve got it sir. I’m sorry.” Ghost let out a gentle sigh, hand releasing your hair as he stroked your chin tenderly.

“There’s a good girl f’me.” His gaze then hardens as he turns to face Soap. “Remember the rules, pup. You listen to me. Now finger her wet cunt until she cums or you won’t be getting your dick wet.” Soap’s nose crinkled slightly; brows furrowed as he stared at Ghost. 

“That’s nae fair, Lt. The lass was leakin’. Pure gaggin’ fer it.” His hands run gentle lines on your inner thighs as he spoke, and you felt the anticipation rising. 

“Then make sure to use those fingers to make it good for her and she’ll get it. You always yabber on about how good you are at pleasing pussy. Show me, then.” Ghost cocks his head expectantly and you felt like nothing but a toy for Soap to play with in that instant, and boy if that didn’t send a fresh wave of arousal down your spine. 

“I’m better with ma mouth than ma fingers.” He sulked, pouting up at his superior. 

“Then you’d better learn quick, Johnny.” Despite the mask, you could hear the grin, see his eyes crinkling as he waved his hand towards your cunt. “Go on, pup. She got you off with her hand. Return the favour.” 

Mumbling incoherently, Soap trailed his fingers towards your wet cunt, eyes flicking up to meet yours and smirking slightly. Dragging the tips of his fingers through, he gathered your wetness and began to circle your clit slowly. Shuffling forward slightly, he leaned over you before hesitating and turning back to Ghost.

“Can ah suck her tits?” His question was measured, as if he hated asking permission, but thought better of it. Ghost chuckled behind the mask. 

“Good pup for askin’. Does she want you to suck her tits?” Soap snapped his head down to you, eyes wide as pleading. Grinning, you nodded encouragingly. 

“Please, Soap.” Grabbing at your breasts, you shoved them together enticingly, causing Soap to moan and lean forward, burying his face between them, tongue dragging over the warm flesh before his mouth closes over one nipple, sucking intently as his fingers flick over your clit. 

Moaning softly, you spread your legs wider, encouraging him to keep going. And he did. His fingers were on the rough side as he continued to roam, trying to find what you liked. Reaching down, you moved his hand slightly, positioning it exactly how you liked it, and he took it on board, working his fingers in this new spot as his teeth closed over your nipple, making you cry out. 

“Pathetic. Needing to be shown where she likes it pup. Can’t find it on ya own?” Ghost rumbled, shaking his head as he continued to brush a hand through your hair tenderly. “Look at her cunt, weeping and clenching round nothing. Come on, pup. You’re not even trying to make her cum.” 

Soap whined at the words and, desperate to prove himself, his fingers moved to circle your hole before pushing two in. You hissed slightly at the sudden stretch of his thick fingers but moaned as his thumb continued to flick over your clit and clenched down on his fingers. 

“Curl them upwards.” Ghost whispered, his other hand trailing down to where Soap’s was between your legs. You twitched as you felt the rough material of his gloves against your sensitive pussy. “Get that spot right in here.” You couldn’t stop the loud moan that broke through your lips as Soap followed the instructions, hand reaching down to grip at his wrist as your hips ground against his fingers, building up a steady rhythm. 

Grinning darkly against your chest, Soap continued to suck at your breasts, squeezing and nipping at the sensitive skin as your pussy squeezed around him, slick dripping down onto the hard floor beneath you. 

“That’s it, bonnie. Fuck yerself on ma fingers. Can feel ye clenchin’. Dinnae ye wanna cum fer me? Ye can dae it.” He rambled; voice muffled against your chest as he quickened his pace at your clenching. 

“Don’t speed up.” Ghost admonished him, smacking his hand down where Soap’s was inside you, causing you to jolt. “If she likes it, keep steady. She’ll let you know if she wants the pace changed.” You moaned in response to Ghost’s words, one hand clutching at Soap’s wrist, the other reaching for Ghost to squeeze him in thanks. 

“Just like that, Johnny. Keep it like that!” Panting, you continued to grind down on his fingers. He pulled off your tits, leaning down to spit on your clit before bringing his other hand over to rub over it like you showed him before. Gasping, you squeezed around his fingers tighter, feeling your impending climax build. His hungry eyes bored into yours, his face twisting into a leering sneer. 

“Feels good aye? Gonna cum, bonnie? Make a mess all over ma fingers?” Unable to form a coherent sentence, you whined, hand squeezing his wrist to hold him inside you, pleading silently for him not to pull out. “Nae goin’ anywhere. Stayin’ right here til ye cum.” 

Your eyes rolled as you moaned, head falling back, only for a rough hand to grasp your hair and pull you back up. 

“You keep lookin’ at him, love and you don’t look away. Show him how fucked out you look when you cum.” Ghost’s words were harsh as he positioned himself behind you but sent a sharp bolt of heat through you and Soap moaned as he felt your cunt clench and pulse. “Yeah, that’s it, love. Be a good girl now. Show him how good he’s makin’ you feel.” 

“So fu- ah! So fucking good, sir.” You blinked up at Ghost, whose eyes were wide and feral. Adjusting you slightly, he pressed his hips into your back, and you felt his stiff erection pressing against your shoulder. 

“Feel what you’re doin’ to me? Feel how hard you’ve made me? Been such a good girl yeah? Lookin’ so fuckin’ pretty with your fucked out face when you ain’t even had a cock in you yet.” Panting at Ghost’s harsh words, you glanced back down at Soap, eyes wide and desperate. 

“I’m gonna cum. Soap please! I can’t...” He shook his head, body trembling. 

“Give it tae me, hen. Please. Been such a good fuckin’ lass fer us. Show me how bonnie ye look when ye cum, aye?” Your brain was going into overdrive, stimulated by not only Soap fingers, but his and Ghost’s desperate words, the intensity of their eyes on you… you felt yourself crumbling, careening towards the edge as one more flick of Soap’s fingers sent you over. 

Jerking your hips, you cried out, body shaking as Ghost wrapped his arms around you, cooing in your ear and talking you through your orgasm, but you couldn’t make sense of the words. Soap’s fingers softly worked you through your release, slowly pumping in and out of you until he felt your body sag. Withdrawing his digits, he held them out to Ghost, a sly grin on his face. 

“Wanna taste, Lt?” Looking up lazily at the two of them, you noted Ghost’s narrowed eyes. But they weren’t focused on Soap due to his coy request, but rather his glistening fingers soaked with your climax. Pulling the balaclava up to expose his mouth, Ghost leaned forward, sucking Soap’s thick fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste. Whining softly at the erotic sight, you reached back behind you, trying to wrap your hand around his clothed cock, but his gloved hand stopped you. 

“Not right now, love. Need to see Johnny fuck you.” He whispered, squeezing your wrist tenderly before lifting himself up a little straighter. “C’mon pup. I can see you leaking from here.” 

“Och, I thought I was eatin’ her out next!” He grumbled, body already halfway shifted to put his head between your legs. 

“Plans changed. You can eat your cum out of her. Need to see her crying on a cock, now.” His voice was urgent, as he pressed his palm into his aching erection. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

At the warning, Soap scrambled back up your body, lowering his head to capture your lips in a kiss for the first time. His tongue pressed into your mouth, sweeping over yours as he shuffled his legs up until you felt the heat of his hard dick against your sensitive pussy. Everything about him was demanding and insistent, impatient as one hand clawed at your breast. The other was wrapped around his cock, sliding it up and down the length of your wet slit, catching your clit with his head and causing you to jerk. Breaking away from the kiss, you surged up, eyes transfixed on the glistening head of his cock, covered in your slick. 

Grinning savagely, he pressed inside, both hands gripping at your hips as he let out a throaty groan as your own breath stuttered, reaching out to grasp at his arm for stability.

“Steamin’ hell she’s tight, Lt. Like she’s nae been fucked in a wee bit.” His nails dug into the skin of your waist, surely leaving marks that would remain for days after. Ghost grunted and you heard him unzipping his pants. Glancing over, you watched as he pulled out his heavy cock, thick and hard with his tip flushed and leaking. Tugging his glove off, he held out his hand to Soap, who spat on it without a second thought. Then, he held his hand out to you with an expectant look. Without hesitation, you spat in his palm as well and he moaned, closing his hand around his cock and pumping it steadily. 

Before you’d even gotten accustomed to his size, Soap began to thrust, hard and fast from the get-go. He buried his face into your neck, whining and rambling nonsense about how good it was, but most of it was incoherent, his accent thickening as he continued to erratically slam his hips into your cunt. You hissed, the pace bordering on being not pleasurable as he grasped your hips tighter. 

“Soap…” you whined, pressing against his shoulders, but the man was unmovable, lost in his own head. Your eyes flicked up desperately to Ghost, who huffed, shuffling down Soap’s body to place a resounding smack on his ass. Yelping, Soap sprung up, cock pulling out of you entirely as he spun around to glare reproachfully at Ghost. 

“That hurt, Simon.” He pouted, brows furrowed. Ghost snorted, clearly not feeling sorry. 

“You’re pathetic, pup. Losing your head the moment you get your dick in something warm, and you wonder why I don’t let you fuck me.” Soap ducked his head, face flushing as he let out a whine of protest. 

“Felt so good, Lt. Couldnae help maself. Her bonnie pussy was grippin’ me like a vice.” He glanced over at you, eyes apologetic, but with a spark of lust, as if he enjoyed Ghost telling him off. 

“Not just about you, pup. Do I need to show you how to fuck a pussy?” Soap shook his head indignantly, turning his back on Ghost to bring his attention towards you. Running his calloused hands down your legs, he wrapped them around his waist as the head of his cock caught against your wet hole. Moaning, he slides back inside with ease, hands reaching for your tits once more as he set a better pace, rolling his hips and catching your clit with his pubic hair every pass. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” He growled, mouth lowering to latch onto your nipples, tonguing over them as he continued his slow, grinding pace. “Such bonnie tits. Such a bonnie cunt too. Fuck lass, ye been holdin’ out on me. Could have fucked ye sooner if ye weren’t so stubborn.” 

Between Soap’s praise, his rocking hips, and the insistent press of his cock inside your cunt, you felt like you were melting into the floor below you. 

“Just like that, Soap. God, your cock feels so good in me.” Your hands dragged red lines down his back, causing his pace to stutter and pick up again. Moaning, you felt your second orgasm edging closer as he continued, bucking his hips up to grind against the spongy spot his fingers had fun into before. Ghost kneeled just off to the side, stroking his dick in time with Soap’s thrusts, grunting every time he swiped his thumb over the head. 

“That’s it, Johnny. Keep fucking her like that. Doing a good job for once, pup. Touch her clit like she showed ya too.” Soap’s face was flushed as he nodded along with Ghost’s words, reaching down between you. His hips stuttered as you clenched around him at the contact, moaning as his pace fumbled again, legs shaking as his thrusts sped up, breath coming out in short pants. You whined softly, feeling your orgasm fade with the change in pace. Scoffing, Ghost moved behind him, gripping Soap’s hips to halt him once more. 

“Losing your head again, pup?” He titters, shaking his head as he mouthed along Soap’s neck. “I’ll show you how to really fuck her, since you clearly can’t without blowing your load early.” 

Soap smacked one of the large hands off his hips, glaring over his shoulder. 

“Fuck off. I can fuck her just fine. You can wait ye fuckin’ turn, ye bastard.” 

Instead of being offended, Ghost chuckled darkly. 

“You’re losing her when it starts feelin’ too good for you. But don’t worry pup. I won’t be fucking her.” His arms reach down, tracing over Soap’s to place his hands on your hips as well, holding you steady. At the look in Ghost’s eye, you whimpered softly, cunt squeezing around Soap, causing him to twitch. “I’m going to fuck you into her. Still got that plug in ya, right slag?” 

Your eyes widened, realising what was about to happen. Soap was practically vibrating between your legs, breath stuttering as his eyes became unfocused. 

“Wouldnae be able to hold it if ye fucked me too.” His voice cracked as he stared over at Ghost.

“Too bad, pup. Already showed me you can’t fuck a pussy properly. Need me to show you how. You alright with that, sweetheart?” He glanced over Soap’s shoulder as his hands reached down to toy with the plug in Soap’s hole that you hadn’t noticed before. Your eyes were wide as you nodded fiercely before remembering Ghost’s earlier request. 

“Yes sir… want you to fuck him into me please.” With the mask still lifted up above his mouth, you could see his appreciative grin. 

“Good fucking girl. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you what you need.” He reaches his hand down to your mouth, holding out his fingers. “Get them wet f’me, yeah?” Nodding, you lean your head up, sucking his fingers into your mouth, letting saliva pool on your tongue before swiping between the thick digits, tasting the lingering muskiness of his cock on them. Ghost let out a deep rumbling sound in his throat as he began to shove his fingers deeper, pressing down into your throat, gagging you slightly. Cooing softly, Ghost stroked the pads of his fingers along your tongue. “That’s it, love. Just like that.” 

Between you both, Soap whined, tipping his head back to rest on Ghost’s shoulder.

“Please, Simon. Please.”

Withdrawing his fingers, Ghost pressed his thick digits into Soap, causing him to fall forward, hands either side of your head as his cock twitched inside you. Breathing softly, you watched his face crease, his brows pinching as his mouth hung open. 

“Fuck Si… right there!” He gasped, breath hitching as he rocks his hips back onto Ghost’s fingers, and forwards into your wet cunt. His hands clenched into fists as he opened his eyes to stare into yours before leaning down and sealing his lips over yours once more, hips beginning that same slow, filthy grind. Wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him close, you pressed your tongue into his mouth in a messy kiss, swirling it around his. 

Your head grew hazy as time passed and you felt your orgasm returning as Soap picked up the pace of his grinding, stimulating your clit as his hands tweaked at your nipples. 

“Fuckin’ hell. Still so fuckin’ wet from earlier, pup.” Ghost withdrew his fingers before pressing the blunt head of his cock, catching it against the rim of Soap’s hole, causing him to jerk, fingers digging into your hips. “That’s it, pup. Open up f’me. Let me in ya.” One of Ghost’s large hands wrapped around Soap’s neck, pulling him up and breaking your kiss with him. The other gripped Soap’s hip, pressing in slowly with a loud groan until his hips sat flush against Soap’s. Releasing his neck, Ghost placed his other hand on your hip, squeezing you softly. He set a slow, but harsh pace, hips smacking into Soap’s, causing his cock to punch deep into you as he did so. 

Letting out a choked gasp, Soap fell forward again, burying his face into your neck and peppering the sweaty skin with nipping kisses as his hips were pushed forwards into you. Rocking back against him, your hands clutched at his hair desperately, cupping the back of his head as your other hand reach out to Ghost’s thick forearm. Your head was spinning, a strangled noise leaving your mouth as Soap’s tongue dragged its way up your neck. 

“Tastes so good, hen. Feel so fuckin’ good too. Wanna feel ye cum ‘round me, please.” One hand tangled in your hair as the other reached down to your clit once more, sending shivers down your spine. 

Ghost continued his pace, the loud slapping of skin filling the room as his breathing grew heavier. Soap was also growing desperate, driving his hips forwards and backwards, stimulating himself over and over as his thumb continued to flick over your clit. 

“That’s it pup. Doin’ s’fuckin’ well.” Reaching down, Ghost added his own thumb to the mix, flicking over your clit to make sure Soap didn’t lose his rhythm, his eyes catching yours. “Fuckin’ hell look at you, love. So bloody pretty. Can barely look at me, can ya? Cock feels that good, yeah?” He chucked, whispering something inaudible into Soap’s ear as you arched your back, feeling that brink edge closer. 

“Ghost… Soap.” You weren’t sure which name to call as you felt your body twitch, pussy clenching around Soap’s cock as he continued to buck his hips into your wetness. You could feel yourself beginning to spiral, eyes locking onto Soap’s face as he panted heavily, a soft whine leaving his lips after every one of Ghost’s heavy thrusts. 

“Bonnie… tell me yer close… I’m so fuckin’ close. Need tae feel ye cum first. Please… fuck, oh fuck please. Need it real bad.” Soap practically whispers, one hand clutching at your breasts, your hips, your legs as his other still pressed between you both, covered by Ghost’s larger one. 

“Good fuckin’ pup, Johnny. Beggin’ for her to cum ‘n all.” Ghost’s voice was rougher, sweat beaded on his brow as he quickened his pace, fucking into Soap with angled thrusts that made him shiver and whine. “Come on love, you can do it. You can cum for him. Make the pup feel real good, yeah?” 

All you could do was nod and moan, fingers digging into weathered skin as your cunt began to pulse rhythmically. One final hard thrust from Ghost pushed Soap up deeper into you as their combined thumbs over your clit sent you hurtling off the edge. As your toes curled with the sensation, your back lifted off the hard floor, hands clutching at the two men desperately as your head spun. 

Soap followed soon behind, thrusting quick and sharp up into your clenching cunt before releasing inside, cock twitching and releasing his load deep inside you as he shook with pleasure. 

As he shivered through his orgasm, Soap leaned forward, collapsing on your chest as your arms wrapped instinctually around him, both panting in tandem. Not wanting to be left high and dry, Ghost pulled his hips back and set a merciless pace, pounding into Soap’s hole until he began stuttering. 

“So fuckin’ tight, pup. Both of you… so fuckin’ pretty. Good fucking sluts. So good f’me. Gonna fuck both of ya next time. Wanna see how good you sit for me, love.” He rambled, eyes half closed as his pace turned erratic until he slammed his hips forward with a low grunt, stomach clenching from the effort as he emptied his load deep into Soap. 

Moaning softly at the feeling, Soap stirred, looking over his shoulder accusingly. 

“Ye ken I hate shittin’ out cum, ye eejit.” He grumbled, nestling his face into your chest, his soft cock slipping out and resting wetly against your thigh. Grimacing slightly, you glanced up at Ghost, who had a dazed smile on his face. He looked at you, as though assessing the situation before he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Get over it, Johnny. You beg me to cum in ya more often than not.” He shook his head before returning his attention to you, cupping your cheek softly. “Did so well for me, for us. You up for doing this again?” 

Without hesitation, you nodded, eyes wide and hopeful as Ghost grinned, pushing back from the bed and standing up. 

“I’ll get cloths from the bathroom. You take care of our girl, right Johnny?” Soap simply hummed, burying his face further between your tits as Ghost scowled, but smiled and walked away. 

“I’ll eat ye out in the mornin’ hen. Good wake-up call fer ye.” He rumbled against your chest.

Grinning to yourself, you threaded your hand through Soap’s hair, holding him close as you felt yourself settle, being lulled to sleep by the warm body that was sprawled on yours. Price’s reports could wait.

[mieczyslawsravenclaw]

Eidetic Memory Be Damned -Spencer Reid

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•Pairing - Spencer Reid x FemFBIAgent!Reader

•Rating - 18+, Minors DNI - Smut - NSFW!!!

•Summary/Prompt - Spencer is tired of only having the memory of you to enjoy during his spicy times , so he just has to intrude into your hotel room after a case is finished…

•Warnings/Content - p in the v unprotected (hey kids- DONT DO IT) ; cursing ; Spence loves to beg to nut in you and does so ; creampie ; some pain play? (just a lil hand on the throat dealio and some hair pulling) ; LOTS of praise on both sides (good boy, pretty girl, etc) ; very mf horny lol ; (basically they do just about everything from first base to last bestie slay)

•Word Count - 3.3k

•Authorʼs Note(s) - Iʼm so mf rusty at writing smut so this is probs not the best, I just wanted to write some Spencer spice cause I had a spicy dream about him lmao RIP >_< Also this'll be my first official post of my writing on Tumblr slayyyyy

•Additional Tags - Switch!Spencer , Switch!Reader , Spencer is a needy brat LMAO , Team has ‘no ideaʼ you two are hooking up (Be so mf fr they do) , Good aftercare is so valid , Spencer loves being cuffed and teased muahaha

As much as this last case had taken out of me, I was more than happy to get to spend some time in my hotel room while the jet refueled and everyone got their bearings. Itʼs not home - far from it, Iʼd been missing my own bed for the majority of our time here in whatever state it was now - but at least it was something.

But of course, the reprieve wouldnʼt last long - a sharp knock on my door confirmed that, about 20 minutes after Iʼd laid down to sleep.

“What…ˮ I groan, frustratedly looking over at the clock.

The knock, again, more persistent this time. And I recognize its pattern now, three short tap-taps. Spencer.

My heartbeat, despite my minor annoyance at being woken up, is hammering now. Spencer seems to do that to me, from the moment Iʼd realized I have feelings for him, carrying into whatever it is that we are now. Secret trysts that Iʼm sure are no secret to our team members, especially Garcia, because sheʼd pried it out of me almost immediately and now waits in her dark little room with nothing else but excitement for the latest updates on us, it seems.

“Are you awake?ˮ A gentle but still much-too-loud voice asks.

I tumble out of bed, rushing to the door. I donʼt even have time to make sure I look okay - Iʼm much too worried about anyone else hearing him. The door is unlocked and pulled open in record time, a stunned lanky man quickly and semi-quietly forced inside.

“Spence, someoneʼs gonna hear you if you keep on like that.ˮ I chastise him, shutting and locking the door behind us. No sooner have I done so, than his lithe form overtakes me, nestling into the crook of my neck with a groan that seems both relieved and not relieved at all.

“Donʼt care,ˮ He pushes me back, until my legs meet the mattress and fold. Quickly following on top of me, he sighs, “Been too long. I miss you. You know I have an eidetic memory, yeah? Doesnʼt mean shit when Iʼm up late and even thoughts of you arenʼt enough to keep me satiated.ˮ

“Someoneʼs gonna-ˮ Hear, I want to say. He knows, of course he does. And Iʼm only half-complaining, with his lips at my neck and his leg sneaking up between mine the way he also knows.

“Donʼt care.ˮ He repeats, the low moan at the back of his throat breaking through into the silent room. “I told you I miss you. Should I tell you about what I use my memory for? And just how much that hasnʼt been enough lately? Or should I show you?ˮ

Itʼs clearly a rhetorical question, but still, he seeks the permission I am more than happy to grant.

“Tell me. Uh, show me. I mean-ˮ

“I can do both,ˮ Even in the dark, I know heʼs got that matter of fact smirk on his lips. He reaches down, holding me by the hip with one hand while the other slips into my pajamas, a practiced motion heʼs all too good at by now. “Usually this is what I remember first. The way your skin feels, how nice it is to make you tremble beneath my touch.ˮ

I buck up, and he chuckles.

“All too eager, arenʼt you? Clearly youʼve been thinking about it too, huh, pretty girl?ˮ A pointed question he knows Iʼll struggle to answer, with his hand and his voice torturing me so.

“No eid- identical- uh, no memory recall whatever for me.ˮ

“Still wouldnʼt satiate, I bet.ˮ He remarks, casually rubbing circles and patterns over my panties. This is how he operates, surely and with no warning. A gentle but firm kiss to my jaw, and he continues, “Itʼs like that for me, at least. I know no amount of recalling how you feel under me will be enough to match just how nice it is.ˮ

Heʼs right, and of course he is; I can barely handle the teasing, the tone his voice has taken in this short amount of time. And I currently dont care if weʼre heard, either.

“Spence-ˮ

“What is it, sweetheart? Too much for you? Not enough?ˮ

“Please?ˮ

“Words, honey. Youʼve gotta use your words. Or you can show me, Iʼm okay withthat too.ˮ He guides my hand down to his.

“More.ˮ I plead, working to undress myself before his hands take over.

“You only have to ask.ˮ

True to his word, Spencer pulls the fabric away, no longer allowing it to be a block between us. Itʼs lost somewhere in the sheets as he kisses me, his practiced hands no longer in the mood to tease. He slips a finger in, and when I let out a keening whine, another, his free hand going automatically to my mouth.

“Now as much as I say I donʼt care, youʼve gotta be a little quiet for me,ˮ He goads, knowing this will only make it harder for me to do so. His breath is hot in my ear, his fingers working a motion thatʼs both breaking pent up weeks old frustration, and yet causing more tension in my belly. “Much as I love your voice. Your sounds. The-ˮ

I rut up against him, my lips opening around his thumb. He works it into my mouth, his voice lowering even further.

“Cmon, show me how much you missed me, huh, princess?ˮ

I moan, words lost in my mind as it spins. Every tug of his fingers between my thighs is building a high Iʼm chasing, and when I get to this point, Iʼm not talking - he is. And he knows it, knows the right words to say to build and break me.

“This is what Iʼm after, this is what I canʼt just remember. Because itʼs all too much to remember how good it feels to destroy you.ˮ

Please, please. I canʼt hold off much longer.

“Now are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?ˮ

I nod, lips opening and letting his hand free from my mouth as my breaths grow heavy. “Canʼt - Please, Spence, please-ˮ

He presses me further into the mattress, murmuring sweet and dirty nothings into my ear as the dam breaks and I ride my high. Iʼm far too sensitive following, and when I try to push him away for a moment, allow myself to collect some sort of reprieve before we continue, he chuckles lowly.

“See, I can recall that clear as day. But itʼs so much sweeter to have it happening in front of me, you know?ˮ He nestles in beside me, turning me to face him.

Nigh immediately, Iʼm reaching for his belt buckle. Of course he wouldnʼt have changed into comfortable clothes, not even this late- Iʼm sure this was his plan all along, and he tried to fight it as long as he could.

“Someoneʼs eager.ˮ He quips, the smirk growing.

“Youʼve got me thinking about it,ˮ I sigh, letting him maneuver himself out of the constricting clothing. “Coming over and getting me all hot and bothered. I really ought to…ˮ

“Ought to what?ˮ He goads, pulling me onto him with a low noise as we brush together. “Hmm? Are you gonna say…you ought to punish me?ˮ

I nod, rubbing back against him. He lets out a moan, hands gripping my hips tighter.

“I remember how that feels,ˮ He pulls me closer, voice dropping. “But for your sake, maybe you should refresh me.ˮ

When he reaches for me again, I pull back, pinning his hands down above his head. I know he could get out of it if he really wanted to - Iʼm strong, but not stronger than him - but he most certainly doesnʼt want to get out of it. And Iʼm enjoying it far too much to stop myself now.

“Whatʼre you gonna do, cuff me?ˮ He snaps, the bratty attitude far too practiced and already making me a soaking mess.

“I might.ˮ I reach for my pair, knowing all too well that heʼll absolutely lose it once I let go on him. I can hardly stand the anticipation. “Scared, Reid?ˮ

“Terrified. Please, donʼt. Iʼve been a good boy, I swear.ˮ

I push him back while he pleads, tightening the metal around his wrists. The look on his face, muffled as it is by the darkness of the room, is more than enough to spur me on.

“Not thinking about this at all, huh?ˮ I shed my top, if only for the knowledge that his inability to reach for my breasts drives him utterly insane. “And Iʼm sure you havenʼt spent many late nights with the memory of me riding you, have you? Havenʼt had your hands on that pretty cock of yours, thinking about how it feels when itʼs me, yeah?ˮ

“N-Not at all.ˮ

“Itʼs a shame, then.ˮ I tease, feeling him harden beneath me with every word. “Iʼll have to make you confess, I suppose.ˮ

His eyes follow my every move as I back up, slotting between his legs and bending down to kiss along his hips.

“Youʼll never get it out of me.ˮ He groans.

“Is that a promise or a challenge?ˮ I ask, not breaking eye contact as I place a kiss on his sensitive head.

“Challenge? Would I…challenge you?ˮ He still holds onto a moment of sanity, until I take him in my mouth, and itʼs lost with a sigh of, “Oh, would I.ˮ

I bob my head, my practiced motions coming in handy now. The usually-full-of- remarks Spencer Reid folds under my touch, soft deep moans and babble of confessions and wish I could pull your hair passing his lips while I work him out.

After a few moments of this, I let him free - at least from the torture of my lips.

“Where are you going? Please, I wanna cum for you, Iʼll tell you everything I did while I couldnʼt stand to wait for you.ˮ He keens.

“Oh, Iʼm far from done with you, Spence.ˮ I slowly, agonizingly slowly, climb back on top of him, making sure to back right up against him as he tightens against the cuffs. “Donʼt you worry, Iʼll have every measly confession pouring from you. You know I will.ˮ

“Please, let me out- Gotta touch you, I just gotta-ˮ

“Shh, be good for me, wonʼt you?ˮ I lift myself over his face, pressing my folds to his lips. “Unless you wanna stay in those forever.ˮ

He shakes his head, vibrating a ‘noʼ against me.

“Good. Now youʼre gonna pay your dues and clean up the mess youʼve made.ˮ

Eagerly, he laps at me like heʼs never had it before. His utter submissiveness overwhelms him, letting me ride his face to my hearts content. Words are muffled and entirely lost in it, and I know by now that the sounds Iʼm making alone will be heard, but I donʼt really care. Iʼm too far gone in how good it feels to finally have him making me cum again.

“Can I touch you now?ˮ

I slide back onto him, teasingly letting myself rest with just the edge of him pressing into my folds.

“Can you?ˮ I look pointedly at his wrists.

“I-oh, my god, clearly not, but-ˮ

“How about this?ˮ I amend. “You give me a confession, you get a reward. Sound fair?ˮ

“Yeah, sounds just fine. I couldnʼt get off without coming here, you realize that, donʼt you? Youʼre the only thing that gets me off anymo-Oh-ˮ His confession is cut short as I slide him a bit further in, just enough to spur him further. “I mean, I get off, donʼt get me wrong here. But nothing feels as good as when itʼs with you. Nothing.ˮ

“Keep going, youʼre doing good.ˮ I praise, sinking a bit deeper.

“Goddamn you feel so good.ˮ He moans. “Like, my hands canʼt even come close to this, are you kidding? I can try all I want, and believe me, I have - Oh, my god, please donʼt stop - Iʼve been trying all the time, I admit that, canʼt hardly stand being around you and not being able to just fuck you whenever I want.ˮ

I push down further, the stretch he gives me loosing my own moan. “How much do you wanna fuck me, Spence? Tell me, please.ˮ

“God, all the time. Itʼs all I can think about when I get down to it - baby, can I please touch you now?ˮ

“Punishment is a bitch, isnʼt it, Reid?ˮ I smirk, starting to push him in and out of me, slowly and with a devious grin that falters at just how damn good it is.

“Baby, Iʼm gonna get outta these and fuck you so good-ˮ

“Try it.ˮ I raise an eyebrow, stopping my motions.

“Oh- No, Iʼm sorry, please donʼt stop. Iʼll be good, I promise.ˮ

“Yeah, you will.ˮ I drop as far as I can take him, savoring the stuttered animalistic groan he lets out as I press down onto him, pulling his hair and moving my hips around him. As he is want to do, heʼs thrusting up into me, even if heʼs unable to reach me with his hands held up as they are. “Eager, sweet boy. Iʼm gonna ruin you.ˮ

And ruin him, I do. The tension and heat in my belly rides and breaks several times, with him unable to form real words except for the continuous begging of please donʼt stop repeated on a loop until I feel Iʼm satisfied with his demeanor.

Once Iʼve tortured him enough, I reach for the cuffs, ready to let him off the leash - knowing that once I do, the balance will shift. Truthfully, Iʼm just eager to let him be true to his word and fuck me like heʼs been dying to.

“You donʼt need any more confessions from me, then?ˮ He huffs, sweat slicked across his brow from the effort of holding back - though heʼs not really done so, has he?

“One last one, I suppose.ˮ I pull off of him, and the pout he gives nearly makes me sit right back down on him again.

“Alright, Iʼll be good and honest with you, then.ˮ He continues while I set to unlocking the cuffs, “You know the other day, just after we got the final piece of evidence put together?ˮ

I nod.

ˮI was so psyched, I couldʼve taken you right there. I donʼt care that everyone would have known, would have seen. Itʼs just something you do to me.ˮ He finishes, his tone light. Oh boy, Iʼm about to get railed. “I love you. And now Iʼm gonna fuck you like Iʼve been wanting to for weeks.ˮ

No sooner is he free, tearing off the shirt he was wearing and looming over me with the hungriest of looks at my body before pressing himself into me. No wait, no teasing - heʼs not got the control for it, clearly, and Iʼm not complaining one bit.

“Next time, you get the cuffs, pretty girl.ˮ He promises, his hands all over my body now that he can manage it. Hard, precise thrusts, his voice heavy and fucked-out.

“And Iʼll show you just what Iʼve been wanting to do that Iʼm gonna savor in my mind after.ˮ

My nails are leaving deep trails in his back, surely leading to marks that would raise questions if anyone else saw. Heʼs so far in me, almost bottomed out, and itʼs almost too much and yet not enough all at once. I pull him closer, and his hand tangles in my hair while the other clasps around my throat.

“Youʼre all mine.ˮ Spencer growls - truly, thereʼs not other word for it, the purely animal drive taking him to a world where itʼs just us, just this. And Iʼm there too, crying out with the ecstasy his body causes my own.

“All yours.ˮ

“Thatʼs right, pretty girl. Say it for me, I wanna hear you say it.ˮ

“Iʼm all yours, Spence- oh, my god-ˮ

“Good, thatʼs good. My pretty girl. Youʼre so tight, you feel so good wrapped around me, donʼt you? God, what a sight.ˮ Here he is, in his rambles now, and I can hardly contain how close I am. “Wanna tell everyone this is mine. Iʼm the only one that gets to have you, gets to fuck you like this. See you break for me. Only me.ˮ

“Only you, Spence, only you-ˮ

“Cʼmon, I know youʼre close, I can feel it. You get so much tighter, god, if itʼs even possible-ˮ

“Spencer-ˮ

“Thatʼs my girl, cum for me.ˮ

“Donʼt stop-ˮ I can feel the cord in me ready to snap, chasing my most intense orgasm of the night with his words and the feeling of him slamming so deep inside me. “More, Spence, you can give me more-ˮ

“Sweet girl, of course, I know you can handle it.ˮ He pushes himself fully in, my breath catching at the slight pain, yet itʼs still so good, I canʼt stop it, I donʼt want to. “Want me to fuck you so good with all of me, donʼt you?ˮ

I nod against his grasp, and he loosens it a bit, kissing me fervently.

“Please, please cum for me, I wanna feel you all over me, beautiful.ˮ He reaches down, his thumb rubbing circles on my clit. Itʼs the last thing I need to send me over that edge, and I cry out, his name slipping past my lips unwarranted. “Oh, baby, love how you say my name. Like itʼs a prayer, like Iʼm a god.ˮ

“Donʼt stop, Spence-ˮ

“Iʼm close, baby- Oh, I wanna cum in you-ˮ

Another orgasm follows near immediately after this one, and Iʼm grasping at him while heʼs chasing his own, his hands fumbling and his thrusts getting sloppy. He grips the sheets, his breaths stunted.

“Cum in me, please-ˮ

“Iʼm gonna, god, Iʼm so fuckinʼ close-ˮ He tightens around me, muscles shaking as he lets loose, and now itʼs his turn to moan my name a lot louder than he should while he cums. Heʼs so pretty when he does, too - the crease that works between his brows, the round pucker to his lips. Partly through, he kisses me, hard. And when heʼs done, his grip loosens, falling slack on top of me with a contented sigh.

A few moments pass where he just holds me, peppering soft kisses across my face and telling me you did such a good job, baby. Then, he pops up with a smile and comes back with water and a towel, cleaning up after himself.

“Satisfied?ˮ I chuckle, slowly pulling my clothes back on.

“Almost.ˮ He dips his head down, capturing a nipple in his mouth for a few moments. I groan, overstimulated, but still too happy to appease him. “Now, Iʼm satisfied. Iʼm staying in here, okay? Donʼt care if someone sees at this point.ˮ

“Spence?ˮ

“Mmhm?ˮ

“I love you, too.ˮ

[moviecritc]

after midnight ⋆ lestappen

pairing: lestappen x driver!reader

summary: charles doesn't want to accept that he has feelings for both of max and you

word count: 1.8K

warnings: making out, grope? (idk how to saying in english, but in spanish would be meter mano o manosear)

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

part 1 | part 2

Max and Y/N had once again achieved a 1-2, it was the third consecutive race they had achieved this result.

Everyone was cheering their names, and then there was Charles. He had managed to finish third because George DNF'd on the last lap and he took his place in the race.

Charles had always felt a mixture of envy and admiration for the Red Bull duo.

Envy for their driving style and tactics to win all the races and admiration for their personalities. Max stood out simply for being himself, calculating and fierce both on and off the track, his blue eyes sent shivers down Charles' spine. Even more so when he saw him without the fireproofs.

Y/N was slighty warmer than him, but still he feared her, with a somewhat rebellious driving style, Y/N had won the championship last year and was fighting for her second. She was much more open than Max and she was the one who humanized the team, separating her person from her race number very well. Most of the time she was Y/N L/N, when she got into the car she was simply the 1. It was impossible not to fall in love with her, from the moment she joined the competition she had become the girl of the paddock, the representative of all women in motorsport, and she wore it with pride. She has collaborated to form the F1 Academy, has financed dozens of girls to make a place for themselves in the sport and now she was forming her own F1 Academy team with Rare Beauty as a collaborator. She was an ambitious, determined, and also beautiful woman, Charles had found it impossible to resist her.

The most surprising thing was how well Max and Y/N got along off the track, they lived relatively close in Monaco and there had been several times when they had been seen having dinner together. Most of the people said they only had common friends, a few said there was something more than friendship.

The chemistry was undeniable, Y/N brought out the best side of Max in interviews and Max knew how to stop Y/N when she talked too much.

Charles knew the podium was going to be uncomfortable, Max and Y/N celebrating their victories and pouring champagne on each other, and Charles just being there, knowing that neither of them cared at all about his P3.

Surprisingly, Y/N approached him and patted him on the shoulder as she congratulated him, but immediately Max once again drew all of Y/N's attention by soaking her with champagne. Charles drank from his bottle as he watched Max half-kneeling and Y/N pouring champagne from her bottle into his mouth.

That scene caused Charles a strange sensation. Seeing Max like that, slightly kneeling with his hair and suit dampened by a mixture of alcohol and sweat. Y/N with the glow of victory in her eyes and her suit adapting to the curves of her body.

There was something so sexual about that scene that it overwhelmed Charles. His attraction to Y/N he had assimilated, with just a couple of words he knew she would be the woman of his dreams. The problem was that when he was with Max that feeling doubled. The idea of ​​not being a spectator anymore and being with both of them made his heart race.

After finishing all the interviews, Y/N approached Charles. "Hey, we're going to get a drink, wanna come?"

Charles blinked. "Me?"

He pointed to himself, surprised by the invitation and interaction. In all those years he had hardly ever spoken to Y/N, except for business matters, which made her even more ethereal.

Y/N laughed in a natural way and brushed her hair away from her face. "Sure. Max and I usually have a drink with whoever comes third, and today it was you." By the way she said it, it seemed like it was already a routine. "So? Do you feel like it?"

"Uh, yes, yes. I'd love to," he nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

"Great!" she said with a smile. Charles was impressed by her constant naturalness. "We'll get dressed up and then see you at the club."

Y/N gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and left the paddock with Max, who had been present throughout the conversation from a prudent distance.

At the after-party - for lack of a better term - there were many people from Red Bull, too many, and Charles felt like an intruder. He locked eyes with Y/N, who gestured to him as soon as she saw him. She was at a table almost in the center of the place with Max, some friends, and Lando Norris. That guy was always everywhere.

"Charles! Come here, come on. What do you want to drink?" exclaimed Y/N.

Charles approached, somewhat impressed by all of this. Y/N made room for him next to her and instead of fist-bumping, she gave him two kisses. Max, on the other hand, stretched his arm over Y/N to greet him and then left his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer to his chest. Y/N didn't mind.

"P3, huh? That was very good," commented Max.

Y/N groaned immediately. "We always talk about races, let's talk about something interesting."

"Isn't Formula interesting?" Max spoke, tilting his head.

"Not with you," said Y/N.

They all laughed and Max made a face.

Y/N once again focused all her attention on Charles, he noticed how Y/N's heel was circling around his calf.

"What about your love life, Charlie?" she asked, without hesitation.

The nickname caught Charles off guard, and even more so the question. If she was asking, it was because she cared.

Max clicked his tongue, telling him he didn't have to answer.

How was Charles going to explain that every time he had felt some sexual desire it had been because of her and her teammate? "Boring," he ended up saying, with a slight frown.

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed, almost disappointed. "How can it be boring? You're too handsome for your love life to be boring."

Charles lowered his gaze with a silly smile, noticing that Max hadn't stopped looking at him, as if he too were expectant of the answer.

"Don't listen to her, Charles. She rambles when she's drunk," commented Max, rolling his eyes a bit.

"And you get a thousand times more boring when you drink," Y/N gave Max a pat on the thigh, too close to the crotch for some to think.

Y/N drank from Max's gin and tonic and relaxed against his chest because no one was starting a conversation. She quickly got bored and looked at Max with a pout. "Will you dance with me?"

"No," he replied immediately.

"You asshole," Y/N wasted no time. "Charles?"

Charles looked up from his drink. "Huh?"

"Let's dance," she didn't even ask, she got up and pulled Charles' arm while flipping Max off before heading to the dance floor.

Charles knew she had only pulled him to dance to mess with Max, but that moment was like living a fever dream. The music hardly had any lyrics, it was pure beats on instruments. Y/N pressed her body against his in time with the music, so much so that sometimes it seemed like she was rubbing against him.

"You have beautiful eyes, Charlie," Y/N said, getting close to his ear so much that he could almost hear her saliva. She put an arm over his shoulder and kept dancing.

"Thank you," he replied, not knowing what else to say.

Their faces were getting closer and closer, while both could feel Max's gaze on them. When their noses brushed, it was Y/N who stopped, looking at him for a few seconds. She removed her arm from Charles's shoulder and bit her lip, as if she were nervous.

"Hold on, I have to talk to Max," she declared, before leaving the dance floor, leaving Charles stranded and confused.

He returned to the table, not knowing what had happened, but Max and YN were no longer sitting there. Lando pointed in the direction they had gone. He found them leaning against the door of what seemed to be a private room in the club; for a moment, he thought they were arguing because of the tone of their voices, but as he listened to the conversation, he began to feel chills.

"You like him too," Y/N insisted. "Deny it. Deny that it doesn't turn you on when you see him in the fireproofs."

"Damn, yes. But it doesn't matter, I've already told you he won't want to," Max grumbled, with a distressed expression.

"You don't know that," Y/N clenched her jaw.

"He's very uptight, and insecure."

Those two words echoed in Charles's head. Insecure… he knew he was, but he hadn't realized until now that other people might notice it.

"Max, I really want him," Y/N complained. "Just imagining him watching us fuck already turns me on, imagine with us in bed." She pressed herself against Max's chest, with a grimace.

Charles felt an instant satisfaction knowing that they also fantasized about him, at least he wasn't the only weird one. He thought about the possibilities of joining the conversation, or just letting them know he was there.

"Are you Charles Leclerc? Can we take a photo?"

Before Charles could react, Y/N and Max peeked their faces around the door, her with a little smile and him slightly nervous. It was an awkward moment while the fan took the photo, but when he left, both Max and Y/N were looking at him with crossed arms and feline eyes.

"How long have you been there?" Max questioned, raising his eyebrows. He thought his friendship with Charles was going to become quite awkward after that.

Charles didn't waste time. "I… I want to,"

Max and Y/N looked at each other, with a devilish smile.

"Really?" confirmed Max.

"Yes,"

Max didn't need anything else to pull him into the room and close the door behind them. Surprisingly, Charles and he were the first to kiss while Y/N watched them. Then Y/N attacked Charles's lips at the same time as Max left marks on his girlfriend's neck. Being in the middle of the two was too much for her; having so many hands on her made her messy. Eager for more, she pulled Charles's hand towards her inner thigh. He stopped at that exact moment.

A feeling of guilt, almost shame, overwhelmed him. The other two noticed it and stopped as well. "Is something wrong?" Y/N placed her hand on Charles's thigh, but that only made him stand up as soon as he felt the contact.

"I can't…" Charles didn't finish the sentence. "I better go."

[foxy-eva]

Nude Beach

Summary: Reader finally convinces Spencer to go to the beach with her. Turns out it's a nude beach. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) nudity, awkwardness, teasing, fingering, handjob, semi-public sex (in a car), unprotected penetrative sex

Author's Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Summer Sunshine Challenge!

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

After solving a case at this picturesque, vacation-like place, your boss decided that your team should stay for another day for some much needed time off. It was the perfect opportunity for a beach day.

When everyone started making plans for the day at the breakfast table, you realized that nobody wanted to go see the ocean with you. Half of your team decided to go to a spa while the others planned a hike. Neither of those options were particularly intriguing for Spencer but he still didn’t agree to come to the beach with you. 

Spencer explained why he’d rather stay in the hotel, “Sandy food, pink skin, limited and unengaging topography, but mostly drug-resistant bacteria spread by seagull fe–”

“Reid!” Hotch interrupted him. “We’re eating breakfast.” 

“Come on, pretty boy! I’m sure you’d find some engaging topography if you go with (y/n),” Morgan teased the both of you. 

“That’s inappropriate,” JJ scolded her coworker before snickering, “He’s right though.” 

You felt your cheeks heating up at their words. Spencer had never looked at you for longer than was necessary, so you knew your team was just joking around. However, the thought of him getting excited to see you in a swimsuit let your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer looked between you and the other team members before asking, “You guys won’t stop until I agree, right?” 

With the sweetest tone in your voice you practically begged him, “Please, Spencer! I don’t want to go alone.”

Defeatedly, he sighed, “Fine. Let’s go to the beach.”

A quick online search for the closest beach later you were on your way to the shore with your favorite coworker. Once you arrived it only took you a couple of seconds to make a very interesting discovery. It took Spencer a little longer than that. 

He placed a blanket on the sand and sat down before he looked around. A grin had already formed on your face, curious about his reaction. You took off your shirt and shorts, revealing the bikini you wore underneath. Spencer kept turning his head before locking eyes with you again. 

"I think this is a nude beach," he finally realized.  

When you reached back to undo your bikini top, his eyes widened and he squeaked, "What are you doing?!" 

You just shrugged and said, "When in Rome."

"What?!"

"It means that you should adopt the customs of the place you are visiting," you explained the same way he usually did. 

Spencer shook his head, clearly having trouble to wrap his mind around what was happening. "N.. No, I know what it means! I just meant… don't you want to leave?" 

"Nope," you chirped and let your bikini top drop to the ground. 

Spencer's sight followed the piece of fabric before he made the mistake of looking up again. After getting a glimpse of your breasts, he quickly averted his eyes, already feeling overwhelmed with this situation.

You didn't think he had anything to apologize for but he did it anyway. "Sorry, I didn't mean to– "

"It's okay, you can look," you laughed. "We're at a nude beach, you won't be able to avoid seeing naked people." 

"I really think we should leave," he said, his eyes glued to the floor. 

"You're really gonna leave me here on my own with a bunch of strangers?” You asked and added, “While I'm naked?" 

"No, of course not!” Spencer protested as he found your eyes. “I want you to come with me."

"Not gonna happen. I missed the ocean too much to just leave again. Besides, we haven't gotten a day off in months."

He stared at your face with disbelief in his eyes. You emphasized your words by reaching for the waistband of your bikini bottoms, pulling them down as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Fuck!” Spencer whined as he turned away from you. 

“That bad, huh? I always thought I looked alright naked,” you said while pretending to be offended.

“What? No! It’s not that, you’re very..,” he mumbled as he turned his head to look at you again, just to regret this decision instantly. “Ugh, sorry, I… I’m just uncomfortable.” 

“I would be too if I was the only one wearing clothes at a nude beach,” you snickered. 

You sat down beside him, studying his facial expression while he kept looking into the distance. You reached for your bikini, ready to put it back on when he still seemed uncomfortable around you. 

His sight followed your hand as it grabbed the piece of fabric before he asked, “What about adopting the customs of the place you’re visiting?”

“It’s okay, we can leave.” 

The initial shock of seeing you naked seemed to have worn off for now as Spencer dared to look at you again. “We can leave if you want to but I don’t want you to go just because I’m being a little… dramatic.” 

A rosy shade was covering his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was from the sun or from being embarrassed. 

“I really want to stay but I also don’t want you to spend the whole time being uncomfortable,” you confessed. 

Spencer smiled at you. He was sincere when he said, “I’m fine, I just needed a second to adjust. We can stay.” 

You got excited to be able to finally have your beach day and chirped, “So… are you taking your clothes off now or what?” 

With a dramatic sigh, Spencer asked, “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. I swear I’ll behave and only look at your penis for a second.” 

“As long as you don’t laugh,” he joked. 

“No promises.” 

Your words made him laugh and you chimed in with your own giggles. When he finally started undressing, you understood how Spencer must have felt moments before when you took your clothes off. It was impossible for you to keep your eyes on him without having your whole face heat up.

You distracted yourself by putting on sunscreen but kept watching Spencer’s movements from the corners of your eyes. You realized that you had only seen him in button-down shirts and long pants before today and now he was sitting beside you, completely bare. You had to try really hard to not let your thoughts wander to all those impure things you often fantasized about alone at night. 

When you realized that you’d be needing help with putting sunscreen on your back, your eyes fell to his hands. You couldn’t stop your mind from racing to the thought of him touching so much more of your body. With a couple of deep breaths you managed to get your composure back and handed him the bottle. 

He instinctively reached for it before he realized what you were asking. 

You smiled at him when you wanted to know, “Could you please put some on my back?” 

“Wh..What?” 

You shifted your position until you were sitting in front of him so he could reach your back. He was hesitant to do what you were asking for. After a couple of seconds you finally felt his palms tentatively moving over your shoulders and back. He was carefully spreading the sunscreen over your skin and you savored every moment of feeling his fingertips against your body. Unfortunately it was over quicker than you would have liked. 

When he was done, you reached for the bottle again and offered, “I can put it on your back as well.” 

Spencer shook his head, “No, I’m good. I put on sunscreen back in the hotel.” 

You didn’t accept his answer and moved to kneel behind him while you said, "Please don't make me recite statistics about sunburns, that’s usually your job. There’s no way you’re able to reach own back."

Spencer considered his options for a second before telling you, “Fine, you can do it.” 

You took your time putting the lotion on his shoulders and back and noticed how tense he was. He was looking into the distance when you noted, "You seem distracted,”

"I just try to keep my mind occupied."

"You really need to learn how to relax a little," you snickered and began to massage his shoulders. 

To your surprise, he leaned into your touch while a sigh fell from his lips.  

Curious about what was going on in his head, you wondered, "So, what is it that currently occupies your brain?" 

"Baseball."

You felt like you were missing some context. Spencer wasn’t into sports, so you asked, "Why would you think about baseball?" 

Spencer took a deep breath before he mumbled, "I have heard other men claiming that it helps. It's not really working though." 

Suddenly you understood what he was implying. 

“Ah, the disadvantages of the male anatomy,” you snickered. “Okay now I really wanna know, who is it? Who got your attention?”

Spencer seemed confused about your question, almost as if it should have been obvious to you. You tried to follow his line of sight and landed on a gorgeous young woman in front of you. 

"That dark-haired woman over there has a really nice body. Is it her?" You wanted to know. 

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, "Please stop."

His reaction made you laugh. “Oh it’s definitely her.” 

He turned his head to find your eyes. “Do you want to go into the water? Cooling off sounds like a good idea.”

Spencer got up from the blanket and reached out his hand for you.

Raising your eyebrows at him, you wondered, “I thought you hated the ocean?” 

With him standing in front of you with all the glory his body had to offer, you finally dared to actually look at him. It was only when you noticed his not-so-subtle erection that you realized that the both of you desperately needed to cool down. 

“That was longer than one second,” Spencer reminded you. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Sorry!” You chirped as you reached for his hand to get up as well. 

Spencer didn’t let go of your hand once you were on your feet, instead he kept pulling as he basically sprinted towards the water with you just two steps behind him. You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his odd behavior. Running was already unusual for him but heading towards the ocean? That wasn’t like Spencer at all. 

He didn’t let go of your hand nor stop once the cool liquid met your feet, quickly moving further into the water until it reached your neck. Your body didn’t get a chance to adjust to the temperature and you could feel how every cell of your body was on edge because of it. However, the erratic beating of your heart might have had a different cause. 

Even when you could barely stand, Spencer didn’t stop. 

“Spencer, you’re taller than me. I can’t go in further,” you laughed.

He turned his head to find your eyes and let go of your hand. It seemed like your words might have gotten him out of whatever spell he was under. That was until he stepped closer to you. With a smirk spreading over his cheeks he closed the distance between your bodies to wrap his arm around your waist. Before you realized what was happening, he had lifted your toes off the sandy ground of the ocean to carry you even further in. 

A surprised cry fell from your lips at the sensation and you instinctively clung your arms around his neck. Spencer didn’t stop until the beach was barely visible and the water almost reached his chin. Only when he stopped moving did you realize how close the two of you were. Your body was pressed into his side, skin on skin, and your face was close enough to his cheek that you were sure he could feel your breath against it. 

“Spencer, what are you doing?” You finally dared to ask. 

Before he could answer, an ocean wave came up from behind you, almost knocking the both of you over. Without thinking about it, you gripped his body even tighter and wrapped your legs around his hip while he buried his fingertips into your waist. The way you clung onto him must have resembled a spider monkey. This whole situation could have been adorably cute if it hadn’t been for the fact that the two of you were completely naked. 

After the wave had subsided and he seemed sure that he had you securely held against the side of his body, he finally mumbled, “I don’t like how they look at you.” 

“What?”

You leaned back slightly to be able to look at him but his sight was fixated in the direction of the beach. 

“The guy on the towel beside us. He looked at you and he wasn’t the only one.” 

A little confused, you reminded him, “So? You were looking at that woman.”

He turned his head to lock eyes with you. “No, I wasn’t.”

You heard his words but they didn’t make any sense at all. Before you could ask what he meant, he explained, “How could I even think of another woman when I’m with you.”

“You were thinking about me?” You muttered in disbelief. 

“And baseball,” he joked. 

It was almost impossible to wrap your mind around what Spencer was saying. Your lips parted several times to voice your thoughts but nothing came out. It was hard to believe that he might reciprocate your feelings, never before had he even implied that he was attracted to you. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before he looked at you again. “It’s not just because you’re naked. It’s because it’s you… and you’re naked.” 

A few moments passed of the two of you just staring at each other. The gold of his irises was more intense than usual with the sun reflecting in them. It felt like you could drown in the comfort they provided but it was nothing compared to the sensation of his lips finally meeting yours.  

There was no way to tell who leaned in first but you were both eager to deepen the kiss within seconds. When his tongue met yours the heat the sun provided was nothing compared to the warmth spreading through your chest. You shifted your position until you were in front of him, your chest pressed against his and your legs wrapped tightly around his hips. His hardness was pressed firmly against your inner thigh when you felt it twitch against you. 

“God,” Spencer groaned against your lips, “I can’t believe this is happening in the middle of the ocean.” 

You leaned back to look at him as you purred, “Maybe we should get back to the hotel?” 

“Great idea,” he chuckled. “Let’s go.”

With a similar hurriedness as before, the two of you made your way back to the beach, drying off and putting on your clothes at record speed. When you arrived at the car, Spencer hesitated to get into the driver’s seat. 

You walked towards him and offered, “Do you want me to drive?” 

He shook his head and placed his hands on your hips. With more force than you had expected, he pushed you against the door of the car to kiss you feverishly. Your hand found the nape of his neck, grabbing a fistful of his hair to playfully pull on it. 

“Spencer,” you breathed against his lips, “We’ll never make it to the hotel like this.” 

“I need you right now,” he groaned. “I can’t wait.”

You pulled back to look at him. His pupils had almost completely swallowed the gold of his irises, staring at you like a man starved. There was no need to share words for you to know what he was suggesting. The van had tinted windows and it only took a few seconds to fold down the rear seats, making the trunk large enough for the two of you.

Spencer placed the blanket in the trunk to make it more comfortable (and less messy - this was a government vehicle after all) before you climbed inside to lie down beside him. His hands were on you immediately, almost ripping your shirt and shorts off as they greedily roamed over your skin. You were just as eager, your lips only ever leaving his to get rid of his clothes. 

When no more fabric was covering you, he took a moment to unabashedly look at your body and coo, “You’re so beautiful. I will never get enough of seeing you like this.” 

“Maybe we should go to nude beaches more often, then,” you teased him. 

One of his hands snuck down your body until they met your thighs, gently spreading them while he whispered, “I’d rather have you alone.” 

As his fingertips made contact with your slick folds, a moan fell from his lips. He softly kissed you while he started drawing circles around your little bud. 

“You’re so wet,” he purred. “Is that all for me?” 

A desperate “Yes,” fell from your lips between quiet mewls and whimpers. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groaned when you began grinding your hips against his fingers. 

“I might have a hunch, actually,” you teased him as you reached down his body. 

A smirk spread over your face as your hand wrapped around his length. He felt hot and heavy in your palm as you began stroking him, his tip already leaking with desire when you brushed your thumb over it. His entire body trembled at the pleasure your touch provided, almost making him forget about his own mission to focus on you. 

“Fuck!” He groaned and you accelerated the pace of your hand. “Feels so good.” 

When he remembered about his hand between your legs, he continued showing his affection for you. His fingers found no resistance when they carefully began pressing into you, moving against your core until your arousal was dripping into his palm. 

“Please, Spencer,” you panted against his face when the pressure became almost overwhelming. 

“My sweet girl,” he cooed and slowed down the motions of his hand. “What do you need?” 

Everything was somehow too much and not enough at the same time but you were certain that you might dissolve if you didn’t feel his cock inside you anytime soon. 

“You. I need you, please,” you whined. “Fuck me.”

Hearing those words almost made him finish right then and there. He managed to keep his composure by gently moving your hand away from his erection. Once he was on top of you, he reached between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance. With a tilt of your hips and your legs wrapping around his body, you let him glide into you with ease. 

“You feel so good,” he praised you. “So good for me.”

The intense pressure he provided made you feel light-headed. Your walls clenched around him and were answered by him twitching inside you. His lips found yours at the same time he began moving, slowly pushing into you over and over again. There was no way to tell where his body ended and yours began as you melted into one another. 

When he accelerated his pace you began dancing along the brink of euphoria. Despite his weight on top of you it felt like you might begin floating at any moment now. You closed your eyes for a moment only to open them once again when Spencer slowed down. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. 

His eyes were wide when he looked at you and muttered, “Sorry, I.. I’m so close.”

You began grinding your hips against his as you sighed, “Me, too.” 

That seemed to encourage him once more, moving against you harder than before. He watched you intently as you scrunched up your face and your breath staggered, desperate to finally find relief. With one particular hard thrust you fell over the edge, a loud moan escaping your lips as your body began to tremble. 

When Spencer felt your walls pulsing around him, he dared to let go himself, throbbing inside you as he shared his essence with you. When he had nothing left to give, he collapsed into your arms, his face buried into the crook of your neck. Once he had caught his breath again, he dared to separate your bodies to reach for some tissues in your bag to contain the mess of the shared evidence of your desire. 

When Spencer wiped some droplets of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand you realized how hot it had gotten inside the car. Both of you were in desperate need of a shower, so you decided to go back to the hotel right away. When you were on your way back, you reached out your hand to gently brush over Spencer’s fingertips on the steering wheel. 

“Thank you for coming with me today. And thanks for staying despite the surprise.”

He turned his head to smile at you and say, “I’d do just about anything for you. Besides, not all of today’s surprises were that bad.” 

Smirking at him, you teased, “We should skip the beach next time, though.” 

“I can’t argue with that.” 

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fics in my NSFW Masterlist!

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