#and we will see where that leaves me mwah | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sparklingchim · 2 months ago

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game on | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.2k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine

summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.

a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.

Most of the time, it works in his favour.

But sometimes, it backfires spectacularly and gets him into trouble.

Which is why he stands in front of his fuming manage, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.

The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.

Not only is Jungkook’s charm complicating things, but the fact that he is famous too.

Sometimes, he uses that as an advantage. Not in an obvious way �� never by flaunting his own achievements or demanding special treatment.

That’s not his style.

His name alone carries weight, and he knows how to let it work for him, quietly bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.

And right now, it’s pushing back hard.

One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.

He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.

However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.

And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Standing in front of his manager, Taesung, and his PR agent, Jiwoo, eyes downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.

“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”

His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”

A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.

But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.

Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.

“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”

“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”

If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.

“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”

Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.

At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.

He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.

“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”

His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?

“What?! What do you mean?”

“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.

Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.

His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.

He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?

But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.

He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.

“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”

His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.

Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.

Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.

“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”

“I promise I’ll better myself,” he pleads desperately, looking back and forth between his manager and his PR agent. Someone has to believe him, help him.

“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”

“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me”

“I did propose an idea but-”

“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”

“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”

Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”

Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.

Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.

When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?

“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”

Jiwoo looks at the manager, waiting for his approval. He nods.

“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.

For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.

“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.

“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.

“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”

“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just a month away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.

But his manager doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.

“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”

“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.

Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.

“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.

One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.

“This is ridiculous.”

You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.

“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”

You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.

“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.

On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.

Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.

But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.

Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.

You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”

While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.

“I need your help.”

His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.

“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.

“You need to do something for me.”

“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

You blink, repeatedly.

“Huh?”

You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.

“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”

It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.

“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Fake date me.”

#jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts x you #bts x reader

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 months ago

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hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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saetoru · 1 year ago

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ GETO SENSEI — GETO SUGURU.

contents. based on this drabble and this drabble, post hidden inventory arc, healing suguru agenda !!, fluff + established relationships, suguru wants to become a teacher :,) bc teacher suguru is what we deserved

“mwah,” you press a wet kiss to suguru’s cheek. “there,” you said proudly, “another kiss for my sugu. want more?”

“i think i’m okay now, baby. thank you—”

“mwah,” you kiss his forehead, giggling, “i have a lot more where that came from, y’know.”

“i believe it,” he shakes his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “you don’t seem to run out.”

“my sugu needs all the kisses he can get,” you gasp, “they’re good for his health!”

suguru smiles softly at that, closes his eyes and leans into you as you brush back his bangs from his face and thread your fingers into his hair, scratching gently along his scalp as he sighs. you watch him relax, content with the way his under eyes seem to be less dark as of late. you brush a thumb under his eyes, feeling the soft skin before gently stroking along his cheek.

“don’t you have a mission tomorrow?” he asks quietly, letting his head droop into your hand as you cup his cheek.

“i do,” you nod, “but i have some time to kill before i go to bed.”

“you should rest,” he mumbles, “you don’t want to be tired while you’re out there.”

“i’ll get rest, suguru,” you assure with a roll of your eyes, “your hair’s a bit longer, don’t you think?”

“yeah,” he tilts his head as you reach to grab at his bun, pulling the hair tie to let his hair fall freely down to his shoulder. “i guess i should cut it.”

“i like it,” you pout, “‘s pretty like this.”

“yeah?” he grins, cracking an eye open to look at you in amusement, “should i keep growing it for you then?”

“you should,” you nod, “i’ll braid it.”

“yeah, as if,” he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “satoru’s never gonna let me hear the end of it if he sees.”

“he won’t see!”

“you said that last time when you put my hair in space buns, remember? and then you showed him a picture.”

“baby,” you gasp, “what happened to forgiving and forgetting? that was me of the past—i’ve grown! i won’t betray you like that again.”

you hold a hand up as an oath, nodding seriously to prove your point. he looks at you unconvinced before chuckling and leaning in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“today wasn’t so bad,” he mumbles, “i liked today.”

“yeah?” you smile, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck, shuffling closer on his lap as your arms wrap around him.

he nods into your shoulder, “yeah.”

“good,” you murmur, “you’ll be okay. even if it takes some time.”

“sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” he admits, cheek pressed against your shoulder as he speaks into your skin. your fingers are in his hair—they seem to never leave, and he hopes they never do. your hand rubs up and down his back, slowly, like it’ll snap in two if you go too fast.

“you will, baby,” you say sweetly, kissing his head as you twist his hair into a messy bun, tying it with his hair tie as you speak.

suguru is healing—you like to think so. he smiles more, sometimes they even meet his eyes all the way. he sleeps better, eats more healthy, seeks you out when things are crushing on his shoulders. there’s something lighter about him, something less heavy and tormented and even if he’s still empty sometimes, you always find him at the right moments.

sometimes, suguru is lost—and maybe you can’t always guide him out, but you can be lost together.

sometimes that’s enough.

“i think…” he starts, trailing off hesitantly. your hand hikes under his shirt, rubbing the bare skin of his back—it’s always calmed him more that way, feeling you without the barrier of fabric in the way.

“you think?” you encourage, letting him take his time to process his thoughts.

“i think i want to teach,” he mumbles, “here, at jujutsu high. but…but do it better. i think i’d do it better, y’know? the way kids deserve.”

you smile at that—proud, a little heartbroken deep down. people have failed suguru, they’ve failed you too. and satoru. and shoko. and nanami. and haibara too—and it’s up to you all to piece yourselves back together. maybe you can all do it together, one cracked, sharp little piece at a time.

sometimes the edges will slice your skin, will reopen old wounds and make you bleed all over again just when you thought you were done bleeding. but suguru has you to bandage the cuts, and you have him too. and everyone else, as well.

you pull away, cup his cheeks and press a soft kiss to his lips as you close your eyes. his hands lay over yours, and he thinks, for a brief moment, you’re right.

maybe he will be okay—maybe he won’t be the same, but he can be new. and that’s not always so bad.

“i think that’s a great idea,” you whisper, “i think you’ll be amazing. what kids will need.”

“well, i’ll try,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours, “and who knows, maybe you can call me geto sensei here and there.”

“we’ll see about that,” you snort. he pouts, making you lean in and kiss those jutted lips of his with a quick peck.

“i’ll convince you,” he says confidently, “you’ll be the only one i let get extra credit.”

“oh i’m honored,” you giggle, “i’ll stay in school just for you.”

“how sweet,” he grins.

you kiss him after that, and he kisses you back. your lips taste like strawberry chapstick, and your arms are warm and tight around him, and even if curses taste vile and the world is coldly unforgiving, suguru can make it through each day with at least one real smile with you by his side.

it’s not so hard when you’re around.

“i love you,” you breathe. it’s enough, he thinks, you’re enough.

“i love you too,” he kisses your jaw, “i’ll love you more if you call me geto sensei, though.”

yes this is my own version of canon. u can’t take it away from me. in MY world (the only world that matters) suguru heals and becomes a teacher <3 and fucks me over his desk

#operation: heal suguru!#teepods.writings #drabbles.#geto x reader #geto fluff #geto x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru fluff

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rowarn · 7 months ago

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hybrid au part 3 - FINAL

other parts: one | two

cw: major character death, angst, happy ending tho, lack of communication, loving!kyle agenda, mentions of price finally

a/n: SO THAT'S IT. i hope it was worth the wait!!!! mwah!!!

Kyle noticed the way your light dimmed the following days. He was at a loss, one day you're bouncing off the walls and filling every room with the sweet sound of your purrs and the next it's cold and quiet.

He tried everything, bringing home fragrant, expensive food and snacks, toys, whatever he could find that he thought would make you smile again. But nothing seemed to work.

When you spend the entire day curled up on the couch, blankly watching TV, he decided he had enough.

The following day, he was hooking your collar around your neck and forcing you to go outside into the sunshine.

Your eyes burned as you stepped out beneath the sun's blazing beams. Days spent indoors, sleeping most of the daytime hours away, had accustomed you to darkness. It was hot and you already wanted to go back inside but one pitiful look towards Kyle told you that you were not getting out of this easily.

So you hang your head and allow him to lead you down the sidewalk. The military housing area was surprisingly quiet, the only sound was a lawnmower somewhere nearby.

Kyle was silent, content with keeping his hand on the small of your back, a kind, protective gesture to assure you that he was still there as you glared at the sidewalk.

Before you knew it, the quietness of the neighborhood grew louder and louder until you were walking through the gate of the hybrid-park.

You looked around, watching all the happy hybrids and owners running around and playing lighthearted rounds of soccer or football. Casting a glance to Kyle, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile.

“What do you wanna do?” he asks, glancing around, “We can take a lap around the park if you'd like?”

You shake your head, “Can we just sit?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he coos, nudging you in the direction of an empty bench.

You both take a seat, and look out across the park. While the nights still got quite chilly, it was beautiful during the day - a soothing breeze that rustled the green leaves in the trees and clear blue skies that you could look at for hours.

You hated to admit it but - Kyle was right. You were starting to feel better, like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. Being cooped up in the house didn’t help anything, in fact it probably made things worse.

A hand patted your head and you looked over to see Kyle beaming, as if he could see the tension just melt off of you.

“I'm going to get us something to drink,” he muttered as he stood up, “Lemonade okay with you?”

You nod your head, fluffy ears bouncing atop your head as you do. Kyle has to resist the urge to reach out and pet them, forcing himself to turn around and find a drink stand to get the lemonade from.

You're staring off at a dog hybrid and a young boy playing a heated game of soccer when you hear your name being called.

Your head whips around to see Johnny standing there, tail wagging and eyes wide in shock. It's obvious he ran all the way over to where you are from the way his shoulders heave up and down with his heavy panting.

“I-” he clears his throat, thinking over what he wanted to say, “I've missed ye.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, making the blood rush in your ears, “Johnny…”

“Come home,” he says, desperate and breathless, “I miss ye and I want ye to come back.”

“Simon doesn't want me, Johnny…” you mutter, feeling shame burn at your cheeks as you look down at your hands - nails neatly filed down by Kyle just a few days ago.

“To hell with him!” he spits, “I want you back, isn't that enough?”

Your frown deepens. His selfishness ignites irritation within you, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

“Why?” you ask, voice breaking as the word slips past your lips, “Why should I have to live like that? Being hated while you get to be loved?” Johnny says your name but you cut him off before he can say anything else, “That's not fair, Johnny. I have Kyle now and he loves me! I'm happy with him.”

“Can't ye be happy with me too?” he asks, sad, teary eyes cutting right through your heart.

“Of course I could Johnny but…” before you can continue there's a sharp call of the pup’s name and both of you freeze.

Johnny looks over his shoulder to see Simon jogging up behind him, a fierce glare in his brown eyes. A rough, gloved hand grabs the back of the hybrid’s collar.

“What the hell do you think you're doin’ runnin’ off like that?” Simon snaps, anger masking the clear worry he had experienced at his missing companion.

“I was just…” Johnny’s eyes drift to you and that's when Simon acknowledges your existence.

The sneer on his face is clear even through the mask and it makes you shrink in on yourself, ears flattened back. Even after all this time, the sting of his rejection remains strong and hurts just the same.

“What’s a gutter rat like you doin’ here?” Simon snaps.

It annoys him that you're always at the source of his problems with Johnny. Whenever the pup misbehaves, you're always there. A bad influence. Typical cat.

You look at Johnny. He doesn’t meet your gaze, instead staring up at his owner with an apologetic expression. You want him to speak up. You want him to defend you, to tell Simon to be nice or to apologize or tell him what you mean to him.

But Johnny just sighs, “Sorry, Si.”

The lack of defense towards you in the face of Simon solidifies everything for you in that moment. You look down at your lap, the crack in your heart only aching and stinging more and more with every beat of silence that passes between the three of you.

Something ice cold touches the back of your neck and you yelp, launching yourself off the bench and onto the ground. Laughter fills your ears and you turn to glare at Kyle who holds a large plastic cup of lemonade - the cold thing he’d just surprised you with.

“Sorry, love!” he apologizes but the laughter shows he's anything but.

Soap speaks up then, asking if Kyle knows you. Your owner’s brown eyes shine with pride as he affectionately ruffles your hair.

“Found them on the street and brought them home!” Kyle tells them, sounding much like a proud father, “Best decision of my life!”

Your cheeks burn at his praise, his kind, loving words remedy the painful stinging in your heart that had been brought on by your previous owner. You take the cup of lemonade when he offers it to you, taking a sip and cringing at the sour taste that hits your tongue – much to Kyle’s amusement.

“You guys are welcome to come over anytime,” Kyle says, smiling as he affectionately pets your ears, “I’m sure this cute kitten would love to have a friend to hang out with.”

“Yeah…maybe,” Simon mumbles, sending you a sidelong glance that was cold and empty – telling you everything you needed to know without saying it. Absolutely not.

You find that you don’t mind that much. The idea of never seeing Simon or his painfully hateful gaze was nice. But when you looked at Johnny, who was staring at you in despair – you find yourself mumbling in response, “Maybe someday.”

The hope in Johnny’s eyes seers into your mind, even long after you’ve parted ways and gone home for the day.

The days pass in relative ease. The depressive rut you found yourself in melts away and Kyle is thrilled to see that you’ve returned to your bright, bubbly self. You greet him at the door when he walks in, sit and purr beside him while you both eat dinner together, curl up against his side and happily snooze the night away.

It’s peaceful bliss.

But one evening, Kyle returns home and tosses his heavy duffle bag onto the floor with a thunk. You get up to greet him, stretching your arms high above your head before padding over to him with a sleepy smile on your face. Kyle opens his arms for you, letting you tuck yourself into his chest for a hug. A loud purr emanates from your chest that only seems to make Kyle’s shoulders drop.

“What’s the matter?” you ask when you catch a look at his face when he pulls away; brows furrowed and lips in a tight line.

“Just got some sad news, that’s all, lovie,” he mutters, patting your head before he moves into the kitchen to start preparing dinner.

“What news?” you ask, following after him, tail swishing nervously behind you.

Did his parents pass away? Did a friend get hurt?

Kyle sets out some vegetables on the counter, hunting around for a knife before sighing, “You remember Simon and Johnny? We met them at the park the other day?”

You nod your head, “Of course.”

“There was an accident a couple days ago,” Kyle explains, slowly chopping up the celery on the cutting board, “Johnny got hit. He didn’t make it. Simon’s tore up about it.”

It feels like everything freezes right then and there for you. You no longer hear the chopping of the knife, no longer hear Kyle's voice or the sound of traffic outside on the street. All you can hear is the pounding in your ears and the sound of your own breathing.

Images flash behind your eyes in your grief. You can see Johnny’s boyish smile and his boisterous laugh emanating down the hallway. You can see him so clearly, wrapped around you as you snuggle and snooze together as the rain falls outside. You can hear the animated way he would tell you stories, waving his hands around and his tail thumping loudly on the floor.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a hand cup your cheek. You blink away the tears and Kyle’s face comes into view, worry etched onto it.

“What is it, lovie? Why are you crying?” he asks, clearly concerned.

“Johnny’s dead?” you ask, voice broken and wobbly as you fight to talk through tears.

“Yeah, love,” Kyle coos, thumbing beneath your eyes to rub away some tears, “Why are you so upset?”

Everything tumbles from your lips then. You tell him about how you lived on the street, how your life changed the day you met a rambunctious pup who wouldn’t take no for an answer until he had himself a friend. You tell Kyle about how, even though Simon was awful to you, Johnny was a light in the dark and how much you adored him and how much he meant to you. You tell him how Simon threw you out like trash and how much it hurt and how much you missed Johnny despite everything.

Kyle held you through it all, tucking you tenderly against his chest as you cried it all out.

“I had no idea, lovie,” he whispers into your hair, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead when your breathing becomes erratic.

“I-I never got to settle things with him,” you wail, “He wanted me to come home and I-I couldn’t give him an answer.”

Kyle sighs, cupping the back of your head, rocking you back and forth until your cries quiet down to hiccuping sniffles, “It’ll be alright, sweetheart. Everything will be okay.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn't know how he can make this hurt go away or help you soothe the grief you’re experiencing. All he can do is hold you close and comfort you whenever you need.

This time, when Kyle notices how sad you are as the days pass, he doesn’t force you to leave the house or do anything. He just lets your sadness run its course, doing what he can to ease your burden by making your favorite dishes and letting you watch your favorite movies over and over again until he can practically recite them by heart.

There’s a knock at the door that startles the both of you one evening. Kyle’s on his feet in seconds, hand drifting towards the firearm he keeps nearby before he looks through the peephole on the door and relaxes.

You peek over the back of the couch as he opens the door. Simon stands there.

Although he is masked, you can practically see how worn down and utterly devastated he is.

“What’s up?” Kyle asks, hand twitching to reach out for the older man but thinks better of it. “Do you need something?”

“I wanna talk to that one,” Simon nods in your direction, where you’re still peeking over the couch.

Kyle turns to look at you over his shoulder, asking your consent. You think it over for a few seconds before you nod your head. Not like Simon would do anything with Kyle here.

He steps aside to let the larger man enter and closes the door, giving an excuse about getting drinks before disappearing into the kitchen.

Simon’s heavy boots vibrate the floor as he takes a few large steps towards you. You scoot to the other side of the couch when he sits down, the couch bouncing with his added weight.

His hands are folded between his knees where he rests his elbows on them. His tattooed skin ripples and flexes as he nervously fidgets with his hands.

“Johnny wanted you to come home,” he starts out, staring intently at the floor. You swear you can see tears beading at his lower lash line as he says his companions name, “So I’m here to see if you will.”

“You want me back?” you ask softly, anxiously pulling a pillow into your lap.

Simon nods, “It’s what Johnny wanted. He cared about you, loved you. You’re all I have left of him.”

You’re silent at that.

Despite everything, your heart aches for Simon. He adored Johnny more than anything – even if he hated you, his love for the pup was palpable. You could see it in his face every time he saw Johnny, eyes scrunching up happily. Johnny was his world and now that world was gone and Simon was left with nothing but bitter emptiness and a void that he was desperate to fill.

You found yourself opening your mouth, ready to agree – ready to be the one to soothe your ex-owners devastating hurt. But then you found yourself looking into the kitchen, to Kyle’s back. He was hunched over the counter, vigorously mixing something in a bowl and you realized that you didn’t want to leave him.

Kyle was yours. Kyle was everything you could ever need or want. He wanted and loved you when you thought no one else would. He didn’t give up on you even when you were difficult and cold. He cared about you, thought about you every day. He gave you everything you wished for so desperately during your time living with Simon.

“I can’t,” you find yourself whispering, tears filling your eyes at how much it hurt to turn Simon away, “I know Johnny would want me to be with you, to make sure you’re okay without him but…I love Kyle and I want to stay with him.”

“So that’s it then?” Simon asks, voice small and weaker than you’ve ever heard it before. You know there’s a crushing weight on his heart right now, knowing he will be going home alone to a painfully empty and cold house.

“Yeah…” You whisper, unable to look up at him as he rises to his feet.

Kyle comes out of the kitchen with a steaming bowl in his hands, asking Simon if he was okay as he passes by him to the front door. The larger man just grunts in response and opens the door. The quiet click of it closing is all you hear of his departure before the warm bowl is in your lap.

It’s a bowl of broth that makes your mouth water. The fact Kyle had made it for your just because warmed your heart.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, sitting down next to you, arm tossed over the couch behind you, fingers mindlessly stroking over the fuzzy surface of your ear.

“He wanted me to go home with him,” you respond, taking a sip of the broth.

“You said no?” he asks. You catch the worry in his tone – like he was scared you were going to tell him you were leaving him soon.

But you nod and his body relaxes in relief, “He only wanted me back because I reminded him of Johnny. He didn’t really want me, just the image of Johnny.”

Kyle nods, leaning over to kiss your temple, “That man loved that pup. But I’m glad you’re here to stay.”

You look over at him from over the bowl of broth as you sip it, “Yeah?”

“I would have let you go if that’s what you really wanted but…” He looks a little sheepish as he continues, “It would have hurt to see you go, kitty. I meant it when I said adopting you was the best decision of my life.”

You place the bowl down on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. He grunts as your weight slams against him, knocking him back onto the couch as he laughs. His arms wrap around you in a bear hug, squeezing you so hard that your ribs ache but you don’t even think about trying to pull away.

Though you don’t say it, he knows that you’re his to keep and that you love him just as much as he loves you. He couldn’t imagine life without you now.

BONUS:

“I think my boss is gettin’ impatient to meet you, you know,” he mumbles in your shoulder.

“Your boss?” you ask, voice almost too quiet to hear over your loud purring.

“Yeah, the old man’s been dyin’ to meet the cute kitten I talk about all the time at work,” he explains.

“You talk about me?” you ask, peeking up shyly.

He grins, “All the time. I think everyone’s sick of my voice at this point. But the Captain's really been begging to come and meet you. I’ve been waiting for a good time to bring it up. He’s a bit of a lover so you’d have to put up with all the pets and hugs he has to offer.”

Your eyes shine in interest, “I want to meet him!”

Kyle chuckles, reaching up to pet one of your twitching ears, “I’ll make the call then and set up dinner.”

You were excited to meet a new person. You hoped he was as kind and gentle as Kyle was. And even though the idea of Simon sitting alone and hurt in his house with nothing but the memories of his best friend, you weren’t going to let that stop you from opening up new chapters in your own life.

do not repost on other websites, translate, or modify. reblogs welcome!

#simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #cod x reader

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yawnzune · 8 months ago

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morning serenade | cbg (m.)

pairing: beomgyu x reader

genre/au: smut, punk band!au, frenemies?, college setting

warnings: morning sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise kink, marking, fingering, orgasm delay/denial, creampie, he’s a lil possessive but wbk he’s just crazy lmao

a/n: barely fics are posted when it’s his birthday today so it made me whip this up rq since i was seeing random shits anyway after waking up. ily baby gyu, happy 23rd mwah <3

you're waking up to something heavy crushing your body on your bed.

that can’t be right. or this could be one of your sleep paralysis demons tormenting you again?

when you open one eye to check, it’s almost comical how the gurgling scream was gonna come out of your mouth but it didn’t.

grogginess from sleep mixed with shock rendered you speechless after finding a demon in the form of Choi Beomgyu, the lead guitarist of your school's punk band.

butt-naked between your legs.

“hi” his even deeper voice rumbles against your chest. it sends vibrations against your bare skin, particularly in your pussy where you're feeling a bit sore.

naked. you both are naked.

you try to remember what happened the night prior. memories start to resurface the more you stay in focus despite the man scanning your face on top of you. neither of you drank for sure but you remember kissing him which lead to a whole night of non-stop fucking.

beomgyu nuzzles your bare tits when you didn’t respond but you’re still focused on how good his messy red-bronze hair looks under the sunlight.

“what the fuck are you doing here punk?”

you tend to say the opposite of what you actually wanna say. just like you’re letting him stay on top of you instead of pushing him off.

“isn’t it obvious? we fucked” he states, a bit maniacally which should’ve concerned you about what he’s planning right now.

he giggles when you don’t rebuke him, leaving kisses around your chest.

this earns gasp from you, causing him to chuckle. you couldn’t even look at him, already closing your eyes as he continued to pepper your skin with more messy kisses until he reached your nipples, encircling his mouth briefly on both before releasing them with a pop.

“scratch that, i fucked you” he grins as he pulls himself up, allowing him to see you underneath him in full glory.

“and i’ll fuck you again”

beomgyu leans on one elbow against the mattress, his other hand touching whatever he can of your body. holding your cheek then briefly squeezing your breast down to caressing the side of your tummy.

“but..” you’ve been squirming under his touch, only halting when you feel his fingers in your cunt, checking to see how swollen you are.

“you’re soaking tho, you sure you don’t wanna?” he asks in a playful manner, fingers running through your folds and you wanted to scream.

scream his name that is, like hours ago.

your resolve's giving in, with how he’s looking at you like he’d been the whole night not helping your current predicament.

“beomie..” your legs absentmindedly close due to the sensitivity but he slaps your inner thighs, eliciting a whiny moan from you.

“go on, ask” his smile widened and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes as your gaze stayed on them.

“f-fuck me?” you’re not used to this, asking him of all people but maybe this is why he wants you to say it more.

“that’s it? no please…” his smile turned wicked as he plunges a finger into your pussy slowly and added another one, much to your displeasure.

“fuck, please fuck me” you squeal, ignoring how pathetic you sounded. he’d tease you nonstop after this like he always does since you’ve known him but you don’t really care.

you just want his dick again before you both can go back to hating each other temporarily.

he brings you back by pulling his fingers out and you’ve never felt so empty. beomgyu adjusts himself, his length brushing against your thighs that had you whining again.

“tsk tsk, too impatient” he huffs, grabbing his dick to line it up against your soaking folds.

“n-no more teasing..” you plead again because you don’t know how long you can endure his teasing. he surprisingly obeyed, pushing in until he filled you up to the brim.

your sensitive walls couldn’t stop clenching around him, making him weaker than usual. he hates it, hates how you could reduce him to this.

“still too tight, ‘s like i didn’t fuck you a lot” he hisses as he moves his hips, increasing his pace at once. he wants to hear you moan louder for him, want to hear it as long as he can.

“gyu..too much” you’re babbling and moaning, can’t even tell him which one’s too much but you're gripping his back with so much strength to keep him closer to your body. he relishes it though, the scratch from your nails that will surely leave red marks against his skin.

“too much but you like it?” he asks and you nod, biting your lips and curling your toes at how much pleasure he’s giving you.

you’re supposed to be tired from fucking for hours but your body seemed to want more. more like you want Beomgyu more and that scares you.

he knew he found that soft spot inside you the moment your back started arching, almost hitting his face while he watched you under him. he leaned down to trail kisses along your neck, hearing you giggle each time his long hair brushed your skin.

you keep moaning Beomgyu’s name and he’s tempted to tease you just to hear you more. but he’ll take pity, you’ve been so good to him so far. he was actually worried that you’d push him away earlier that’s why he tried his best to distract you.

“..more..more..shit” your words spur him to grab your face, to keep you steady while he gives you what you ask.

“i’ll fuck you more don’t worry, after this i will” he starts, caressing your cheek, and your bleary eyes are having a hard time paying attention to him.

he’s so pretty and you suddenly wanna kiss him. grabbing his mullet, you try to pull his face into yours but he’s firm in his hold on your neck keeping you in place.

"will you let me? will you huh y/n?" he leans in as he says it, mouth open as he moans against your lips but not touching them. they're touching the side though and one small turn from you would allow that.

but his question irks you, no, his whole being does.

all you can do is nod, releasing a series of wanton moans of his name which causes satisfaction within him. beomgyu was gonna kiss you but that’s too much of a risk so he buries his head at the crook of your neck instead.

"i'll be good, so good you're never gonna fuck the others" he whispers by your ear, accompanied by a couple of desperate grunts that you’ve never heard from him before.

"good..mhmm..so good"

"yeah good? you like how i fuck you?" he goads, eager to hear your praises again like he can't get enough of it.

"yea-hngh, gyu omyfuck!" the band on your lower abdomen unexpectedly snaps, leading Beomgyu to fasten his pace even more to reach his own end.

he’s not far and seeing the pure bliss in your pretty face is enough for him to reach his peak, groaning loudly as releases inside you.

you’re both panting from another mind-blowing orgasm and eventually, he drops his body against yours.

this time, you push him off completely which earns a complaining whine from him.

“where are you going? can you even walk?” he taunts, still breathless but his tone irritates you because he’s right.

“shut up you fuckass!”

as soon as you tried standing, your legs gave away and Beomgyu started laughing. his annoying laughter echoes around that you tried ignoring even if you had hopes of him getting off the bed to hoist you up.

but of course he wouldn’t.

instead, he peeks by the edge of the mattress with that stupid mullet hair of his before he reaches out to grab yours gently. he tugs it to turn you to him, pulling your face closer and then leaning in while you stupidly do the same for some reason.

no kiss or anything, just him stopping right before your lips are about to touch. a taunting smile graces his in response to the frown etching on your face.

“awee don’t tell me you’re giving up already”

if he meant your stamina or something else, you don’t ever wanna figure it out.

e/n: i’m kinda out of practice for smut lmao + this is unedited so excuse 🤧. also i did not expect to post him first in this blog when i had yeonjun and soobin drafted first 🤡

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he-calls-me-kitten · 9 months ago

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Recently got busy and haven't had time to be around at all .. I just skimmed through whatever I have missed while I was away and I realized how badly I missed your writing style... It's just so ue2ge8eh27db❤️❤️⁉️⁉️ I can't really explain it.. its scrumptious, very very yummy... So I come with a little request... We know the obey men are quite and as a short girlie that's just like so fucking attractive like?????????? Sirrrr???? 😖😖

Imaginee... getting picked up by them and quite literally hanging off their cock as they just dangle you in the air, your feet not touching the ground as they just fuck yiu silly, watching your writhe and sob as their cock leaves a bulge on your stomach as you claw at their arms. They don't even gotta be trying, your just go dumb on their cock, crying how it's too big and having them bully themselves in you...

Basically that prompt with barbatos, Simeon and beel

I'm a very horny Tumblr user as you can tell LMAO

Love you though, take rests, eat, drink, stay healthy, darling. Mwah 💋

-M. 🪭🪷

Oh my god look who's back?!!! Hey M!!! Missed you loads, hopefully life eases up on you, busy little thing! Thank you for checking in, it means the world ❤️

And your ideas...just *chef's kiss*. Here's another treat for the short AFAB folks with size kink out there!!!

Little Body Big Heat

Afab! MC x Barbatos, Simeon, Beelzebub

Barbatos mock apologizes as you pant and plead him to stop. But he's barely even doing anything really. All he's doing is just standing there, carrying you in his arms, holding you so close.

You're the one struggling and twitching to take him in more or push him out. The way you are writhing - he genuinely cannot tell but he sure is enjoying the show.

"MC, use your words, won't you? I'm sorry I can't understand you when you're like this, my love." He coos, brushing hair away from your face.

"Mhhmm- B-Barb please.... please it's too much. Please ....just... help me move..." You struggled to string a sentence together.

And he finally the gracious butler takes pity on you. You're asking so nicely after all.

"Is this better?" He moves so painfully slow, you whine into his ears. "Oh? Would you like me to be... faster?" He kisses your neck, feeling the vibrations of your delightful complains, which soon would turn into delightful screams. And he wants everyone to hear them too.

Simeon's angelic side simply ceases to exist when it comes to his desire for you. Honestly what were you thinking falling asleep, sitting on his lap. Don't you know he already has a hard time behaving himself around you?

"Did you have a good sleep, MC?" He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss. "As you can see...I've run into quite the problem. I can't go home to Luke while I'm like this now, can I?"

You take some time to come to your senses. After all, it's not every day you wake up with Simeon's erection between your legs.

"Would you like to use me...to calm it down?" You gingerly try to hold him down there, it took both of your hands yet he was still much too big for you. He made a low groan at the contact.

"Really, you wouldn't mind?" He asks even as his fingers are already touching your waist, slowly pulling off your top.

"Your sense of duty is really admirable, MC." He chuckles as he pulls off your shorts, now undoing his own pants. "Now then, where would you like me?"

"You...can choose." You let him feast on you with his eyes and hands, enciting soft whimpers and moans. His fingers delight at the wetness pooled between your legs, toying with you before pressing his erection against your puffy clit.

He pushes into your hole, stretching you out but before you can't even let out a sound. His tongue is inside your mouth devouring your screams. You've taken him in so well. He can feel himself bulge out your stomach. "Does that feel good, my little lamb?"

You nod even tears collect at the corner of your eyes. "So good..so... full... It's toobiigg... you'resooo big S-Simeon... please..." Oh how he loves doing this to you.

Beelzebub's length is only the second most dangerous thing about him. The first is his stamina. You realise this now as you have been pressed against his lockers for what feels like hours. Your feet haven't touched the ground in so long.

"Beel...a-are you still.. not done..." You watched him pant, looking at you with a frenzied look in his eyes. When you told him you'd help him get his mind off food, this is not how he thought it would go.

"Beel! I-I know you're really famished ..but ...but you can't... keep...doing this...ahhhmn..mnhn Beel I'm about to...cum again...stop please..." He kept sucking your slick up, right through your orgasm. Talk about overstimulation.

He already tormented you with his tongue down there till you were leaking through your underwear. And now that he was too aroused to calm down, you simply had to let him fuck you. "Just...one last time, MC. I promise."

Yeah sure. He said that two rounds ago. Seriously you wondered how you had not passed out yet. But then again, everytime he moved - you swear he kept discovering a new pleasure point inside you.

"MC your face right now...you look so cute...I'm sorry I couldn't stop myself...and you feel so warm..." He plunged in and out of you again, bouncing you on his dick effortlessly. Of course he hasn't thought about food, he's been too busy devouring you.

#obey me smut #obey me barbatos #obey me beel #obey me Simeon #obey me x reader smut #obey me asks

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emiliehornby · 9 months ago

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when you get me alone (it’s so simple)

pairing luke castellan x fem! child of aphrodite! reader

synopsis while luke is known for making people’s heads turn at camp, you finally give them a reason to stare after learning how much everyone seems to want him

warnings implied sexual content, descriptions of a make out session

author’s notes happy valentine’s day everyone!! the voices in my head were louder than usual, so i figured we could all use a sweet treat today!! mwah!! i hope y’all enjoy these headcanons

On a particularly slow day, the Aphrodite, Athena, Apollo, and Hermes kids decide to spend their free time around the lake. In a glimpse, Luke can be seen laughing with Chris. A radiant smile is plastered upon his lips while he takes in the sight of you. In the distance, Annabeth sits with Grover on a towel, letting her toes wiggle into the warm earth. She watches the water intently, making sure none of her siblings are in any imminent danger when the giggles from Apollo kids, Sadie and Caroline, drown out her thoughts.

“Gods, what I’d give to be in his arms right now.” Annabeth’s ears can’t help but pick up on the conversation taking place beside her. “It’s no surprise he’s taken. But you’d think as a Hermes kid, he’d go for someone more like…us.” Sadie sighs.

Grover leans in closer to Annabeth, his interest piquing when she rolls her eyes. He fears that the daughter of Athena is going to give them a piece of her mind when she stands, but Annabeth merely picks up the frisbee that lands near her feet. She throws it back to where it came from and sits back down to hear Caroline encouraging Sadie, “Come on, it’s only a matter of time before you’ll get your chance. The Aphrodite charm has to wear off eventually. I mean, it always does.”

This time, Grover can’t stop her from turning to them. “Look, you don’t know how things seem to work around here, so I’m going to explain something to you.”

“What Annabeth means to say is that-” The satyr attempts to soothe the situation, but she cuts him off amidst her stubbornness.

“Now, I know not all the Aphrodite kids are palatable, but Y/N is easily the sweetest one I’ve ever known. And there’s a real reason as to why Luke is so in love with her. But I guess you’ll never find that reason for yourselves if you continue to act like this at camp.” This effectively humbles Sadie and Caroline, who mumble to each other while they make their exit.

As if on cue, you walk up to Grover and Annabeth. You’re laughing with a Hermes kid that soon leaves to join the game of frisbee, but it dies down when you notice Annabeth’s hardened stare. You place a hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Grover stands and hands over your towel while insisting it’s nothing. But Annabeth cuts Grover off again to explain, “Sadie and Caroline were saying things about you…and Luke.” You understand what she’s trying to imply and give her a squeeze.

It was no secret that Luke was well admired among his peers. Most of the time, it isn’t even an issue, but there were campers who thought they could change the course of your relationship every now and then.

Sadie and Caroline easily fall under that category, seeing as they completely ignored your existence when Luke decided to take you with him during their initial tour around camp…then there was the time Caroline pretended to lose her way at camp as an excuse to get Luke away from you and alone with her. And just two weeks ago, Sadie feigned hopelessness during a sword skills session. As the instructor, it was Luke’s job to adjust her form. However, it was glaringly obvious the Apollo girl had an ulterior motive, especially when she threw a snarky smile in your direction when she thought you weren’t looking.

“Oh…You don’t have to worry about that, Annie. I can handle myself just fine.” You reassure Annabeth to the best of your ability. She nods and stands to settle herself into your side.

In your peripheral vision, Luke is jogging over to you with his shirt in hand. You don’t miss the way Sadie and Caroline ogle at the thin layer of sheen coating his flexing muscles and the lines running down Luke’s back that aren’t actually sparring scars, despite what you tell the curious kids that help him out in the infirmary. You smile when he pats Annabeth’s arm and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “Hey, is it time to head back already?” He asks, putting his shirt on as Annabeth checks her watch.

She huffs, “Unfortunately. We should get going if we don’t want to be late. I still have to grab my dagger.”

It’s a comfortable walk back, and when you reach the Athena cabin, Annabeth bids you two goodbye and runs inside. Luke’s hand is loosely intertwined with yours as you lead him to the Aphrodite cabin. He raises his eyebrows, asking, “Did you need something from your cabin? I thought you were working on archery right now.”

You push the door open, sheepishly admitting, “I am, but I was actually thinking of skipping out on lessons today.”

Luke’s tone is suddenly laced with concern, “Are you okay? Did something happen at the lake?” He drops your hand to check you over, but his touch doesn’t stray far from your waist to prevent you from moving away. But the gesture is welcomed and you take a step forward, a shy smile peeking through the corners of your lips.

His worry for you falters, mirroring your love struck expression, “Oh,” Luke pinches your side. You shove his chest with a shriek. “You’re awful.” He tells you, but he’s already got a hand tracing lightly over your cheek.

Your gaze switches from his dark eyes down to his lips, “You love me.” and that’s all it takes for Luke to dip down his head and meet you halfway. Your hands reach down under his shirt, feeling the warmth radiating from his toned torso. You bite down on his lower lip, and you know you’ve sent Luke’s head spinning when he lets out a short whimper. He attempts to deepen the kiss, but you pull away before he gets the chance.

Your eyes flutter open, whispering, “Do you want to skip lessons with me?”

Luke’s lips are lingering above yours when he responds, “Did you even have to ask?” and pulls you onto your bed. He settles his back against the wall and hums in content when you begin to pepper pecks on his jawline.

After a moment, you pretend to move off of him, “I don’t know…you were pretty excited for combat training earlier. Maybe I should just let you go.”

In retaliation, Luke’s blunt nails dig into your waist, “Don’t you dare.”

A warmth flutters through your stomach when you hear the desperation in his voice. Your fingers itch to tangle themselves in Luke’s ravenous curls, lightly pulling so he can look up at you. A deceptively innocent smile paints your lips and you don’t skip a beat to get him back on you.

Heavy breaths. Discarded shirts. Whispered promises. This is how you spend the next hour in between your skipped lessons and the nightly bonfire. It’s nice, but you know it’s your cue to take a step back when the crowd of kids crawling outside the cabin becomes heavily audible.

You’re still on Luke’s lap when you say, “You look so pretty like this.” Your eyes flicker from his own to his kiss swollen lips and rowdy hair. There’s an urge to run your fingers through them, but you settle for lightly tracing over the fresh love bites that are scattered across his neck and collarbone.

Luke smiles dopily while you admire your work, “I think we should skip lessons more often.”

You finally get off of him, throwing his shirt to his chest while you smooth yours out, “Don’t be such a bad influence, you’re a camp counselor.” You can’t help but stare again when the marks heavily peek out near his collar, fading in between the orange fabric.

Luke notices your longing gaze and walks over to you, “You know, you’re not the only one with charm in this relationship. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go, lover boy.” You roll your eyes and take his hand. You stumble on your way out, but Luke is there to catch you. He chuckles and lets his arm rest over your shoulders while you reach up to hook your hand with his. He helps you find your footing until your legs wake up on the way to the amphitheater.

“Wait,” You halt just before you reach the steps. You grab Luke’s necklace, gently pulling him in. You let your hands rest on each side of his marked up neck and he hisses at the feeling of your fingers gently pressing on his sore skin. Luke bites down on your lip in response, savoring the hint of watermelon that seeps through until you pull away, “Just wanted one more.”

You’re satisfied once you see the hint of pink gloss smeared at the corners of his mouth. He takes your hand again, guiding you inside. You spot some of your sisters, greeting them with a wave. They giggle at you two in response, whispering frantically to each other while you find an empty space at the front of the bonfire.

“Hey, is anyone sitting here?” Luke asks Sadie, who happens to be standing to his left alongside Caroline. Chris, who’s sitting a step above them, unashamedly howls with laughter at the sight. He leans forward to clap Luke on the back, catching the attention of Grover, who sighs in embarrassment, and Annabeth, who’s trying her best not to giggle at the sight of a gobsmacked Sadie. She and Caroline shake their heads frantically, broken words bubbling from their throats as they take in Luke’s glossy, blissful smile that he throws at you.

They finally give you the time of day, noticing that the reason for his contentment comes from your own swollen lips. You look back at them with a smile and take your rightful seat next to Luke, who wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer, watching as they go back to their siblings to start tonight’s singalong.

If the fire glows a little greener as Sadie and Caroline lead the singalong, no one comments on it. They all know better than to mess with the insatiable charm you hold on Luke. After all, you are your mother’s daughter.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #luke castellan #annabeth chase #grover underwood #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #stevie writes!

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cl6teen · 11 months ago

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affection, ln4 ❀ chapter i. clueless

masterlist || chapter ii

in which everyone can’t believe that a certain mclaren driver and f1’s resident rich girl aren’t dating already

contains: smau, oblivious lando & oblivious reader

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, danielricciardo, and 223,211 others

yourinstagram a much needed vacay

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landonorris im still offended by the lack of an invite

yourinstagram thailand is for the girls, not sorry!

bsfsinstagram there was a strict no lando norris rule for yn

user i have gyat to go to thailand

liked by yourinstagram

carlossainz55 the book is upside down dummy

yourinstagram i’ll turn you upside down

oscarpiastri what an informative post yn

yourinstagram hehe, can’t wait to see you

user omg yn at the next race???

user literally what are all these f1 boys doing in her comments

user shes a nepo baby i think

user her dad is mclaren’s biggest sponsor so she’s able to attend a lot of f1 events

user my fav honorary f1 wag

yourinstagram wag?? i’m very much single thank you

daniel ricciardo 🌚

yourinstagram don’t give them things to read into daniel.

lanny

i miss you

hey yn

miss youuu

when are you coming back

thailand can’t be that fun

y/n/n

thailand is totally that fun

in fact we’re about to go on a boat

lanny

you can go on a boat over here

y/n/n

it’s not the same 🙄

i don’t know why you’re so hung up about me taking a vacation

monaco gets boring sometimes

lanny

yeah but the second i get back from racing around the world you’re already gone

y/n/n

well i’ll be in the uk just in time for silverstone

lanny

you’re going back home?

y/n/n

my father said it’d be good to be around for a home race

so i’ll be in the uk for some time probably, it’s been a while since i’ve been back

lanny

okay good

i better see you cheering for me

it’d be embarrassing if my best friend was rooting for someone else

y/n/n

i’ve got my mclaren 4 cap ready to go

cant wait to see you ❤️

liked by yourinstagram, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 533,444 others

lando.jpg home dump

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yourinstagram and it’s all just a bit too much…for littol lando norris

lando.jpg im hiding in your walls

yourinstagram creep

maxfewtrell stream time? 🤔

lando.jpg let me race first bro

user not lando feeding yn pasta and lobsterrrr

carlossainz55 aye, was this a date??

yourinstagram he wishes, he got me from the airport & we went straight to eat

danielricciardo who’s that cutie?

yourinstagram i’m right here!

danielricciardo oh..i meant lando

oscarpiastri 😬

user im so confused, are they dating??

user no, but they’ve been like best friends since lando’s rookie year in mclaren

user shes better than me, i would have fallen in love…

liked by mclaren, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 745,234 others

yourinstagram couldn’t be prouder of my boys!!

tagged landonorris and oscarpiastri

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mclaren loving the love from our papaya girl 🧡

yourinstagram mwah

user yn ate today on the paddock

user she’s wearing lando’s hat im gonna cry

bsfsinstagram ugh get these men off my feed and show me ur pretty face

yourinstagram i was held at gunpoint and told to post this :/

landonorris the 6th photo…

yourinstagram ikr can you believe that loser got p2?

landonorris not too much now

oscarpiastri i look crazy

yourinstagram you look so cute??

oscarpiastri you shoved a camera in my face while i was eating

yourinstagram i did nothing wrong 🥰

user who was the man you were with on the paddock though?

yourinstagram my father!

user girl your daddy fine

liked by bsfsinstagram

bsfsinstagram user you have great taste

maxfewtrell send me that lando photo please

yourinstagram will do 🫡

45 likes

onlyyn i luv a good arfter prty

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danielricciardo me when i’m on the hennessy

onlyyn hehe

landonorris im looking for you

bsfsinstagram please don’t do anything crazy babe 😭

onlyyn i’ll try

lanny

y/n

where are you?

i thought you were with oscar

y/n/n

i let oscar leave! he looked tired

lanny

you should’ve told me that then

i would’ve kept an eye on you

are you drunk

y/n/n

i’m not a child oscar

lanny

*lando, but i’ll ignore that

and i’m not saying you are yn

there’s just people here that can be like

weird is all, who knows

are you drunk??

y/n/n

i don’t know, i’m not sober

are you drunk

lanny

i’m not sober

y/n/n

i thought you hated alcohol?

lanny

carlos convinced me to do some shots with him and max…

i regret it a little

do you wanna go home

y/n/n

yea

my feet hurt

lanny

i’ll carry you until we get to an uber

so can you tell me where you are now??

y/n/n

i’m in the bathroom

lanny

don’t move, i’ll come get you

y/n/n

god you’re the best ever lando

lanny

yeah i know 😁

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 smau #f1 x black!reader

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celiime · 3 months ago

Text

୨ৎ — .ᐟ Him ‘n his stupid infinity! [Pt.2!]

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁— Continuation to him ‘n his stupid infinity!

[Ps! I did this all in dark mode, so i’m not exactlyyy sure how it may look in light mode? hehe, so sorry if it looks super bad in light mode! it looks okay in dark—so if it bothers you in light mode, then please switch to dark mode for the best reading experience! mwah! thank you!]

╰┈➤ Gojo Satoru finds himself in a dilemma once he discovered that his cute underclassman hates him—without even knowing the reasons behind her hatred! How could he get himself out of this? Well, it seems like fate has it all played out for him…but he somehow manages to go against all odds and making it even worse.

Or in which, Gojo Satoru seems to only have his infinity activated around specifically you, his underclassman, even though you’re no threat and a student yourself! The longer you go without knowing why he does this, the stronger your dislike grows towards him. Why is he doing this? [This takes place in 2006!]

"She hates me, Suguru! Did you see how she glared at me when we passed her this morning?"

"You're being overdramatic, Satoru..."

Gojo Satoru was overdramatic at times, even he could admit that, but this time—he really wasn't being overdramatic! This was a serious problem!

All his underclassmen were supposed to like him, even Nanami (nevermind how the younger boy clearly can't seem to stand being around him, he's a different story.), so why is it that his cute little underclassman hates him this much?

You were too little for all that hatred to be in you body! Where do you even conjure it from?!

A groan left Gojo's mouth as he slumped over his desk, his cheek squishing against the wood as he wallowed in his agony—in the form of his underclassman hating him, despising him.

"Suguru, Shoko...do I smell bad? Is that why she doesn't wanna be near me?" A pout tugged down the corners of his lips as he tried to jump to any conclusion, anything that could pose a possible solution for this first world problem. “Be honest!”

But of course, his best friends would be here to appease his worries, right? As friends always do.

"Yeah." Ouch!

"You stink." Did he really?!

"You guys suck!" His shoulders slumped, narrowing his eyes at his friends from behind his round glasses, just how unsupportive were they?

This was serious!

As the chorus of laughter soon ceased, his pout deepened even more. What a man baby.

A hand rested on his shoulder—Suguru, he was always familiar with that touch—snapping him out of his sulking, prompting him to lift his head to shoot his best friend a curious look. "Hm?"

"Is it possible that you've done something to upset her?" He suggested, tilting his head to the side as he provided ample information for his friend to start questioning his interactions with said underclassman.

Suguru had to fight the twitch of his lips that threatened to tug up into a smile, he knew exactly why you 'hated' him. Hah.

"Yeah, Gojo. I heard from Haibara that she doesn't hold grudges, so you must've done something reaaaally bad for her to treat you like that!" Cue Shoko chiming in, a semblance of an innocent smile on her pink lips.

Oh, her intentions were anything but innocent.

Each suggestion and word was like an arrow—not even a cupid’s arrow!—shot into his heart, piercing his chest and forcing him to lament on their words. This is…extra bad, it’s only becoming worse by the minute!

“Wh—What! Haibara must be lying! You know how playful he is, heh—“ A nervous smile tugged up the corners of his lips, looking between his two friends for reassurance, “Right?…”

Silence.

“I’m done for!”

“What’s up with…him?” Shoko raised an eyebrow at Gojo, who had his head on his desk, neglecting the tray of food infront of him.

Gojo always had a huge appetite, why wasn’t he eating?

A fond smile tugged on the corners of Geto’s lips as he kept patting his friend’s back, “He talked to her.” He could barely conceal the chuckle he felt leaving his mouth.

Oh…well, isn’t that a good thing? They finally talked!

“So? What’s the idiot moping about?” Shoko crossed her arms, half-lidded eyes trailing over the sulking student, “Didn’t he want to talk to her?”

“You don’t get it!” Satoru’s loud voice boomed through the classroom, “She hates me even more now! Gahhh—I completely messed up!”

How?

Let’s go back a bit.

“These vending machines suck…seriously.” A small huff left Gojo’s lips as he stared down at the water bottle in his hand, having went through the trouble of literally almost tousling with the vending machine so he could acquire it, “Such a pain.”

Class had already started, but he was in no rush to even hasten his steps back to the classroom, after all—he’s Gojo Satoru, he can be late all he wants and he won’t even get scolded. Mhm!

That’s a lie. Yaga-sensei could and will give him punishment for this but, he just hates this current lesson, so he’s going to take his time strolling very slowly through the halls of the school.

Or at least, that was the plan. Until—

He heard a few noises coming from the first years’ classroom, and while it is technically normal to hear noises—it is an inhabited classroom after all—the first years were supposed to be on a mission, right? That’s what he heard from Yaga-sensei.

Or at least, that’s what he thought; he was starting to rethink if he had heard Yaga incorrectly because there were for sure some noises from behind the closed door of the classroom.

Look—Gojo isn’t nosy, he’s just…yeah, he’s nosy.

With that admission in mind, he slid the door open, curiously peeking his head in as he looked around, blinking as he found all chairs empty.

Huh. Maybe it was his imagination, after all.

Just as he was about to leave and slide the door shut once more, a small sniffle immediately halted all those thoughts.

He totally wasn’t imagining that!

He scanned the classroom once more, eyes narrowed in determined, before—lo and behold, the cause of his tantrum in the morning.

Slumped on a chair, and…crying?

You were…crying, evidently so, if the tinted sight his glasses provided him with was real, then you definitely were crying.

Did…something happen in the mission?

Despite himself, his narrowed eyes softened, eyebrows furrowing in subtle worry as he found himself worrying for the safety of the first years, if the cause of your tears was anything related to them.

After all, it wasn’t uncommon to hear of a passing in the Jujutsu community, student or not.

“Hey…” He promptly called out, going against all his rational thoughts—he didn’t have any of those—and deciding to confront you, to figure out why you were shedding this many tears.

The underclassman he knew, though very polite and friendly with others, was a girl who held herself highly, one that he’d never seen shed this many tears. This was seriously worrying.

At his call, your head snapped up, eyes rounding in shock—

and oh—

Your wide eyes, glassy and glazed over with tears, rimmed red with the evidence of the intensity of your tears, nose attaining a red color on the very tip…

Satoru thinks this sight may have tugged something in his heart, just the slightest bit.

You are his underclassman, a younger student that he finds endearing, always trying to insert himself into your daily life just to see your worthwhile reactions, always wishing you a good morning when he passes by while going to his classes. And sure, while you don’t spare him the time of the day, he still finds himself doing it.

Satoru was not crushing on you, yet, he didn’t hold feelings for you, but he is unsure if this may be the same for the future. If anything will change.

If the sight he’s seeing right now is repeated more often, then he thinks something may just change.

A sniffle broke him out of his thoughts, finding you hastily wiping your eyes with the back of your hands, getting rid of the tears latching onto your long lashes— “What do you want?” Your tone still held the same harsh lilt, “Haibara and Nanami are not here.” but it bore a soft edge to it, a testament to your vulnerability.

“I’m—ah—I’m not looking for uh..Haibara, or Nanami…” He trailed off, finding it awkward when you were this close to tears once more, he didn’t know how to deal with people when they were this emotional—

especially when it was his underclassman who seemed to dislike him.

“Okay then. I’m not in the mood for you to annoy me, okay?” There it was, the little crack in your voice, “Go back to your lesson. Geto-senpai told me your attendance sucks.”

Agh—That Suguru! Does he only go badmouthing him off to you or something? You already disliked him enough!

“I attend all my classes! Suguru is just jealous of my astounding attendance!” He hurried to defend himself, a pout gracing his glossy lips once more. However—this moment wasn’t really for him, it was about you, why you were crying.

The reason he even entered the classroom at all.

“Weren’t you supposed to be on a mission? With the other two?” He struck the question, genuine curiosity in his glasses clad eyes.

Your eyes trailed down, narrowing in dismay.

Just the mere mention of the mission—how badly it went—was enough to bring that annoying burn in your nose once more, the sight of Gojo infront of you blurring as tears filled your eyes once more.

You were not going to cry infront of him. No. Why would you give him another reason to tease you?

“Hey hey. Easy.” His eyes widened with shock as he saw the tears collect in your eyes once more, “What happened? Is everyone okay?” His tone softened, the best he could manage at this situation, he was never good with emotions.

Gojo would never hold this against you in the future. He was sure of it. Emotions were very dear to him, he understood how important they were for someone and how painful it was to display them infront of others.

He would know, he never displays much emotion anyways. Despite the storm of emotions building up in his chest by the day.

However, you found yourself thinking the opposite.

You couldn’t cry infront of him. You just couldn’t. It was too embarrassing.

But the way his tone softened—

“The mission—“ Your breath hitched, feeling your throat closing up the second you tried to hold the tears back, “went well.” Why was your voice so thick with emotions?

“Haibara and Nanami did well.”

Gojo raised a questioning eyebrow.

Why did you not mention herself? Did you not go on this mission with them, too?

“And how did you like it? You seemed pretty excited before leaving.” He tilted his head, trying to find a way to worm around this without pressuring you too much.

Your eyes rounded with tears.

Gojo’s eyes rounded with panic. He didn’t mean to make you cry again!

Shit.

“I don’t—“ You paused to take a breath, raising your hand to wipe your eyes, “I don’t think I did well today.” The words slipped out of your lips before even getting to process them.

Just what effect did this idiot have on you?

“The curse…it was so…grotesque looking—“ red rimmed eyes looked up towards him, hands resting on your lap as you tried to hold back the tears, “I know that’s normal—but! It didn’t look like the usual curses…”

God, Gojo probably thought you were so lame now. Not that you care, especially when it came to him, but it just wasn’t a good look for your image.

Gojo’s breath, on the other hand, hitched.

God, You were so…endearing. Usually, Gojo would scoff or roll his eyes whenever hearing of someone who’s weak—he’s always been filled with a bit of arrogance—thinking that they shouldn’t be sorcerers. But, in his eyes…

You seemed like the most endearing thing ever.

The sight of you crying didn’t sit in his heart so well.

“I’m usually stronger than this.” You mumbled, gaze drifting down to your lap, “I barely managed to save Haibara…he would’ve been dead if I didn’t act sooner.”

Under the desk, your hands clutched your skirt tightly.

“You did a good thing. You saved him.” Gojo breathed out for the first time in a few minutes, internally grimacing at how awkward he sounded, “What’s up, then? You seemed to be…crying a lot.”

He didn’t like hearing you dismiss your efforts so easily, to cast aside the thought that you prevented a literal death from taking place. This—

This type of achievement was one that all Jujutsu Sorcerers always wished for after the loss of their teammate.

And oh…how his heart tightened in his chest as he saw you discreetly wiping the tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t—None of my efforts were enough!”

Satoru thinks that crack in your voice pulled at something in his heart, bypassing his infinity and going straight for his heart. Stronger than any curse.

“Haibara could’ve sustained less injuries if I acted sooner.” This was so humiliating, crying infront of your upperclassman that you supposedly didn’t stand. Yet, the only thing you could do right now is cry.

Cry at your failure, your dismay, at everything that went horribly today.

“Woah woah—easy there.” Gojo finally found his voice, startled upon seeing you actually crying this time, “You did your best. This is the best case scenario, yknow?” He tried to be comforting, even though he knew he positively sucked at it.

Ahh—he couldn’t just comfort you from a distance, it would look like he wasn’t even trying to put in effort or that he didn’t care. Which wasn’t true! He cared! Or else he wouldn’t be here.

Swallowing the lump in his throat—wow, since when was Gojo Satoru the nervous type?—as he approached you, taking slow, deliberate steps…almost as if carefully approaching a frightened kitten in fear of startling her.

He inwardly chuckled at the comparison, finding it incredibly fitting for his cute underclassman.

“Do you want some…water?” He gestured to the bottle in his hands, the one he spent almost half an hour trying to retrieve from the vending machine.

Yes, he was giving you the bottle he wasted oh so precious time trying to get. I mean—pshhhh, it was just water, right? He could get another bottle!

You raised a brow at his words, patting under your eyes with your uniform’s sleeve, “What? To share an indirect kiss with a creep like you? Hmph. No.” A huff.

Creep?! Gahh—you just called him a…a creep! He isn’t a creep! He’s your totally cool and dependable upperclassman! Come on, he was totally just looking out for you!

“No—! I didn’t even drink from this, wh—“ He flailed his hands, feeling an aching need to justify himself to you, “Come on! I don’t even share my water with anyone, anyways!” He felt a familiar pout on his glossy lips, pulling them down.

And oh…how you felt your eyes softening at the familiarity of this all, at how this was a stark contrast to the thoughts that were swarming your head just before he came. This was…a familiarity that comforted you.

Ew.

And well, your throat did feel like it was a bit dry after all. You silently cursed at yourself for forgetting your water back at the dorms.

“Fine. I guess I could drink some.” You gave in with a defeated sigh, after much contemplation.

Immediately, his face lit up.

Aha? Yes! Yay! Victory for Gojo Satoru!

A wide smile formed on his lips, feeling a prideful air surround him as you agreed to his request, he took a few steps towards your desk, finally getting the okay to come closer without feeling like he’s breaking boundaries.

And—huh? you blinked, noticing how he was approaching, with no…infinity. There wasn’t a distance of five feet between them now, he was…not that far. sure, he wasn’t super close either, but he was just a few steps infront of your desk.

!!!

His infinity wasn’t on! He didn’t consider you a threat anymore!

Despite yourself, a small smile tugged on your lips, eyes rounding with relief in them, feeling like you had achieved something that you’d been waiting for for so long.

Which would be, Gojo’s infinity being off around you. Pretty laughable, but it was serious to you!

Gojo felt himself inflate with pride at your acceptance to let him help you.

He was so your knight in shining armor! And—

hold on.

He paused, feeling his breath get stuck in his throat the second his gaze drifted over to you.

…Huh?

What’s with the look on your face, and…why did it suddenly make Gojo feel as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest.

This couldn’t be healthy!

But, he couldn’t help his breath from hitching, eyes widening the slightest bit behind his round sunglasses. Because, here you were, staring up at him with those glassy round eyes, the remnants of tears causing them to sparkle, the red tip of your nose adding this absolutely endearing color to your features and—

The look on your face, the awe struck look on your face. You were looking at him with that look on your face. And coupled with that little smile? That smile that you always flash at everyone but him?

He couldn’t help but feel his heart picking up it’s speed, granting him with the faux feeling of adrenaline that he couldn’t even achieve when fighting curses.

Gojo thinks this day is blessed.

Unbeknownst to both him and you, his heart picking up its pace had caused his infinity to activate. That was how it usually worked, it worked in response to the fast pacing of his heart, as this muscle only did this when he was in danger—ready to protect him from any danger or threat.

“Here…” He mumbled under his breath as he held out the water bottle towards you, standing a bit away from your desk, still afraid of potentially breaking boundaries.

“Oh—thank you..”, You also found herself trailing off, hand outstretched forwards to retrieve the bottle from his hand, before—

An invisible force caused you to stop, hand hovering awkwardly mid-air.

Oh.

“Thanks for nothing.” You grumbled, the smile on your face falling immediately as you snatched your hand back, crossing your arms, trying to hide the shock and disappointment that you felt.

What else did you expect?

Disappointing.

Was this idiot serious? Was he actually being serious?! Is he trying to pull some prank or something? Because if so, then he isn’t funny! In fact, he may be one of the unfunniest people you have ever known!

Did he think it was a good idea to humiliate you while you were clearly not in the state to be joked around with? Especially not by him? Ah! This was so annoying! You couldn’t believe he would do something as insensitive as this at such a time!

“Huh?” Gojo blinked at your expression that suddenly soured, gone the expression filled with wonder and only being replaced by the one he’s always known.

Why are you making that face now?! Did he do something wrong?! He was so enjoying the smile on your face too!

That pretty little perk of your lips, he thinks he enjoys the sight of you smiling.

“Come on! Take it. I told you I didn’t even open it yet!” He waved the bottle infront of you, clearly inviting to take the bottle from him. “You obviously need it! Your voice is so hoarse and you probably lost half the water in your little body by crying all these tears!”

His underclassman had to have lost all the water in your body. Listen—you were crying so much…and no way your little body stored more water than that!

What meant to come off as concerned, only rubbed you the wrong way.

Why was he taunting you?! Wasn’t it enough that he literally decided to target you when you were in a vulnerable state and then humiliated you? This man was…seriously insufferable.

He really didn’t…mean any of his comforting words, did he?

Your shoulders tensed, eyes narrowing as you glared up at him, “I don’t want your water!” You scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He was your upperclassman, you had to behave.

…No matter how much you wanted to hit him senseless with the water bottle he was waving infront of your face.

“Why not?! I never share my water with anyone!” He huffed, glancing down at the bottle in his hand before looking back up at you, grimacing at the look on your face.

Why were you so mad?! You should be grateful and thankful! Supposed to thank him for being your knight in shining armor!

“You’re so—insufferable! You’re such a child!”

Ouch!

“I can’t believe you’re even older than me! What a lame example of an upperclassman!”

Right in his heart!

“Eh? I just wanted to help you! Why are you suddenly switching up on me?” A whine left his lips as he stared down at you, wondering why you suddenly decided that he was horrible once more. He thought that you would see him in a better light after this!

Instead all he got was…

His cute underclassman glaring at him with the sharpest look in your eyes, cheeks attaining a reddish tint as a frown formed on your pink lips—

A smug thought formed in his head.

Oh, were you embarrassed by him? Hehe. He knew you wouldn’t be able to resist his charms sooner or later!

“Keep your stupid water bottle to yourself! I hope you choke on it!” A huff left your lips.

Oh, you were so humiliated by him. You could feel your cheeks heating up by how embarrassed you were.

Meanwhile, Gojo convinced himself that the red on your cheeks is due to you being charmed by him and his handsomeness. Ha! You were totally charmed by him!

“You think you’re soooo funny? Even Yaga-sensei is funnier than you!” Yes, you didn’t mean to drag poor Yaga-sensei into this, but you had to make a point!

Huh? What? He totally was funny! Why would you insult him like that?! Oh, he’s so done for!

He didn’t even understand why you decided to switch up like this! Gee, your mood swings were bad, hm? Hmph. And here he thought they were getting along.

But no. Here you were, glaring at him with red rimmed eyes, huffing here and there about him and how unfunny he was.

You hate him so much! Gahhh—just how can he make up for any of this when he doesn’t even know the cause behind your hatred?!

“I could leave the water on your des—“ Maybe another attempt?

“Get. Out!”

Maybe not.

At the end of his recollection, Shoko had found herself unable to hold herself back from letting out a loud laugh, smacking Suguru on the shoulder playfully in the midst of her joy, “Ah, man. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while.”

“It’s not funny! She really does hate me! She doesn’t even think of me as her knight in shining armor that rescued her from those horrible tears!” A childish cry rang throughout the empty classroom, with the exception of the three upperclassman in it.

“It is kind of funny, Satoru.” A soft chuckle left Suguru’s lips, “She really dislikes you, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t think she likes you, Gojo.”

“Don’t—Don’t say that! You’ll manifest it into existence! She’s just shy!” He failed at an attempt to convince himself.

The two snickered, with Shoko sending a small wink towards Suguru once Gojo put his head down to wallow again. This time, she mouthed something,

‘Buy me lunch tomorrow.’

Ah, his wallet was going to suffer, no?

“I guess…there’s always another day to try, right Satoru?”

He wasn’t going to end this bet here. No, he was determined to at least win just once. Just so he would earn the satisfaction of Shoko being the one to buy his lunch, just once.

Gojo’s face brightened, “You’re right! I’ll totally charm her tomorrow!”

And well, maybe also giving his best friend some support along the way.

“Do you guys think she didn’t like that water brand—“

Cue the groans telling him to shut up.

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homestylehughes · 6 months ago

Text

sundress seduction

pairing(s): luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: where luke is seduced by y/n’s sundress and he cant keep his hands off of her.

warning(s): little plot mostly pure filth, smut 18+. use of pet names, no use of y/n. oral fem!receiving. dirty talk. unprotected sex p n v. luke and reader both being cute!

wc: 1.8k

an: HIIIIIII!!! here i am once again..with luke smut...AND I LOVE IT. it's sundress season and this little idea popped in my head and here we are now, thanks to the help of you guys MWAH and boyyy is it hot. i need luke like this BAD! anyways!! i hope you all enjoy, like and reblog if you do, as always much love!!!

happy reading <3

It was so hot at the lake house this year, the dry heat making it hard to be in anything besides a bikini or in the water. Luke and I have been at the lake for a few days, arriving before everyone else, hoping to spend some time together before the summer gets busy.

The first few days spent at the lake house were calm and the both of us decided to take it easy, going grocery shopping and stalking the house with necessary goods. Spending time swimming, tanning or on the boat. The calm atmosphere of the lake is something I'll never get used to.

Today while I was making Luke and I's breakfast he proposed the idea of us going to lunch at a new restaurant that had just opened up by the lake. Nodding my head in excitement, already knowing what I wanted to wear, I had bought a few sundresses just for the lake. Knowing it would be hot at lunch, I decided it would be the perfect thing to wear.

This was a few hours ago, Luke spending some time outside in the garage staking, practicing on his shots. while I lay on the deck reading my book as I tan. I hear lukes footsteps pad behind me on the deck.

“Hi baby” he says leaning down, placing a kiss on my back.

“Hi” I smile back up at him, the sun reflecting beautifly on his sweat covered chest.

“Do you still want to get lunch?” he asks,

“Yes i'm fine with that, if you still are”' I say, placing my bookmark in my book, moving to now sit up.

“Of course pretty girl, gonna go shower” Luke says smiling down at me, leaning down connecting our lips before heading back into the house.

Looking out the lake for a few moments, before pulling myself up from the deck gathering all of my things, slipping on my sandles before heading inside. Closing the door, heading up the stairs to Luke and I’s bedroom, entering the room, I hear the shower running in the connected bathroom.

Heading to the closet, looking through my options of dresses I have, pulling out one I haven't worn before. the long yellow and pink sundress with flowers littered over the dress, the dress being exactly what I wanted to wear today, hoping luke likes it.

I can hear the bathroom door opening, turning my head slightly, seeing Luke with a towel wrapped around his waist, as he's digging into his drawers finding something to wear. “Shower good?” I ask.

“It was, it would have been better if you were there with me though,” Luke says from behind me.

“Next time” I smile at him, as I turn around, now seeing a fully dressed luke.

The khaki shorts and dark blue polo, that complements his tanned skin so well. I walk over to help him fix his collar that's tucked in on one side.

“Thanks baby” he says while he's running a towel through his damp curls, “you're welcome handsome” i say leaning in to give him a small peck on his cheek before turning around.

“I'm going to go down stairs and wait for you, take your time baby” luke says standing in the doorway, i nod my head in understandment, luke shutting the door softly behind him as he leaves.

My attention now is going to get ready. Changing out of my swimsuit, forgoing a bra because of the dress, replacing my bottoms with underwear, before slipping the sundress on over my head, pulling it down making sure it's placed correctly on my body.

I headed into the bathroom, and began going to do my makeup and hair, choosing to do something simple. adding a few curls to my hair, fluffing it and moving on to my makeup, adding a few light products, finishing off with lip gloss. Looking at myself in the mirror, seeing it there's something I want to fix or change. deciding everything looks fine, running my hands over my sundress making sure it looks right.

Exiting the bathroom, I slip on my sandals grabbing my purse as I make my way to head down stairs.

“Im ready” i say to luke as i reach the bottom of the stairs. Luke lifts his head up from the couch, his eyes catching mine before looking me up and down, his face expressionless.

“Do you like it?” I ask him, giving him a quick little spin to show off the full dress

“Come here” he says, his voice breaking the silence around us. I slowly make my way to stand in front of where he sits on the couch, luke takes my purse from my arm, setting it on the floor before placing his hands on my hips pulling me closer to his body.

“Fuck” he mutters out

“What's wrong?” I asked nervously.

“You in this dress thats what, fuck me” he groans tracing his hands over the fabric, from my feet to the straps of the dress.

“Do you have any idea how good you look right now?” he says, as he's lightly pulling my things down, urging me to sit in his lap.

“It's just a sundress?” I say, now sitting in his lap, his hands running over my bare legs.

“Whatever the fuck it is, i want you wear them all the time” luke says, leaning into my neck placing wet kisses down my neck and exposed neck.

“Oh” I pant out, as Luke continues his assault on my neck, I feel his hands slip under the straps of the dress, pulling them off my shoulders, exposing my bare chest.

“Oh my gosh, you're going to kill me '' Luke says before his mouth latches around my left nipple, his warm wet mouth around my breast causes me to moan, pushing my hips against his.

Broken moans and pants leave my mouth as Luke continues his work on my chest, before pulling back suddenly his eyes finding mine.

“i need you baby, fuck” luke says breathlnessly, moaning in response as his hands find their way underneath my dress, his fingers tracing over my covered core.

his fingers tracing over the wet patch that now covers my underwear, “fuck baby who got you this wet?”

“you luke, please do something”

“I'm getting there baby.” he says pulling my underwear to the side, running his fingers through my wet folds, the action causes my whole body to shutter against him. I began to grind down on lukes fingers as he slowly fucks me with him.

His thumb finding my clit, “luke right there” I plant out, dropping my head to his neck, my body still moving against his fingers.

I can feel my orgasm on the rise as his fingers continue to fuck me, moaning as he curls them over so slightly hitting my g-spot, just as I feel myself about to come, Luke pulls his fingers out of my aching core. Whining in the loss of contact, pulling myself up from his neck, leaning back on my knees. I see Luke bring the two fingers that were once inside me into his mouth, sucking on them like they're a hot summer treat.

My eyes locked on his, Luke pulled his fingers from his mouth with a pop, bringing his hand to the back of my neck pulling my face to his smashing out lips together. Moaning into his mouth tasting myself on his lips, my hips begin moving against his again, craving some type of friction.

“I want you to ride me in that sundress baby”, im quick to get up from his lap, helping him take off his belt, tossing it across the living room as his hands move to unbutton his pants, pulling them down along his boxers. His cock springing free, precome leaking at the tip, the sight making my mouth water.

Luke's hands finding my hips, pulling me back towards him, helping me line up on his cock, sinking down, our moans filling the room as I fully sit down on his cock.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good around me” luke says as he goes to brush my hair thats fallen into my face.

“Luke” I pant as he rolls his hips against mine, lifting up and sinking down on him, the burn between my thighs feels so good.

I began to speed up my movements, Luke's thrusts meeting mine. My hands finding the back of the couch, my head leaning down as I watch myself sink back down on him again. “Fuck” luke says, his head agianst the back of the couch as our movements increase.

“You look so pretty riding my cock baby” , his eyes finding mine, I can feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck from sweat.

“Fuck luke” i pant out as one of his thrusts hits just the right spot, almost causing me to collapse right on top if him.

I can feel myself getting close to my climax, my legs beginning to grow tired. “Is my baby tired? Need me to take over and fuck you baby” luke smirks

“yes please” i paint before connecting our lips back together.

Luke's hands are back on my hips again, he begins to thrust into me at full speed. My breasts are bouncing with each thrust. Letting out uh’s and broken moans as he contuines to fuck me to my peak.

“Right there Luke, don't stop please” his thrusts hitting my clit, causing me to moan loudly at the feeling.

“Luke im about to come” i pant out against his mouth,

“im almost there baby, wait for me fuck” he says as he contuines thrusting into me.

“I cant hold it luke” it's becoming all too much, each snap of his hips against mine, each touch, kiss. everything is making it hard to hold on. The whole room feels like fire around me, panting like i've never had a drink of water before.

Before I even know it, my legs are beginning to shake around him.

“I'm coming,” I say before dropping my head into his neck. My vision becomes white, only feeling lukes body against mine. I can feel his grip tighten on my waist, hearing him moan out from below me. He's coming,

“That's it baby, come all over my cock” I hear Luke say, pulling me back up connecting our lips.

The kiss is hot and messy, our tongues fighting for dominance as we ride out our highs together.

Pulling back to catch my breath, our movements now stilling, looking at Luke with widened eyes, his lips swollen, as he pants looking back at me. I began to giggle at our state, thinking about how we even managed to get in this position.

“I can't believe I was seduced by your sundress. Luke laughs along with me,

“me either '' I say, lowering my face to his, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips before pulling back.

“So lunch?”

#nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #new jersey devils #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes smut #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes imagine #lh43

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 1 year ago

Text

Practice On Me — Part Six — Azriel x Reader

Note — Tumblr still isn’t allowing me to tag some of you. I’ll keep trying but if you haven’t already, make sure you check in settings that your username is able to be searched/tagged! Mwah 💕

Summary: Reader seeks comfort after the events in Fenlaros. Lines are crossed that can’t be uncrossed. Actions come with consequences.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: Some violence. Things get fiiiilthy. 18+, NSFW, smut, minors dni.

It’s not clear who punches who first, because fists are flying left and right. The male in front of you lands a harsh hit on your cheek, the metal of a ring catching your skin, but there’s no chance to register the burst of pain, because you’re being shoved, and you’re shoving back, and your knuckles are pummelling into another male’s face while his friend sends a punch straight into your gut.

It’s that impact that winds you too much to move. You’re doubling over, trying to draw breath while the fight continues around you. The same male goes to hit you a second time.

But he doesn’t have a chance as Rhys comes lunging at him and knocks him to the floor. Your friend is as flawless with his fists as he is with steel. The Fenlaros male doesn’t stand a chance against him.

This is…this is bad. If you can somehow round your friends up and get out of there before it gets any worse, you may be able to escape the repercussions. A fight like this between two camps could carry a punishment anywhere from revoked privileges to an outright flogging. You’d really rather not face a disgruntled Lord of Windhaven upon your return.

Through the brawl, you’re searching for both Azriel and Cassian. You’ve lost sight of them both completely. And you know they can hold their own, that they’re some of the best fighters in all of Illyria, but the four of you are vastly outnumbered. Even the trio of your closest friends have limits, and being dogpiled by a group of males out for blood surely brings them close to theirs.

Someone grabs the back of your shirt, and with your breath having returned to you somewhat, you round on them, ready to defend yourself once more. However, it’s Cassian who looms over you, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled.

He yells at you over the noise, “This is getting out of hand! We need to get out of here!”

Thank gods he’s choosing to be sensible for once. You suppose even Cass knows when a fight is worth having.

“I’m trying to find Az!” You shout back. “I don’t know where he—”

“Kaeda already pulled him out. Let’s grab Rhys and go!”

Now is a really, really inappropriate time to feel jealous.

And yet jealous, you are.

And maybe even a little hurt, too. Did Az even try to find you before making an exit with Kaeda?

You banish the thoughts, allowing Cassian to wrench you through the people and mostly avoid getting hurt, besides the odd wayward fist that isn’t intended for you. The second he spots Rhys, still fighting with the male who winded you, he’s grabbing him firmly by the collar of his shirt and leaving no room for protest.

“We’re getting out of here before this turns really bloody.” He tells him loudly.

Rhys doesn’t put up a fight. He nods, straight on board with the exit strategy. His wild, alert gaze swivels to study you. “You’re alright?”

“Fine.” You nod. “Let’s go.”

It turns out the exit strategy is to just shove through hordes of people until you find a way out. Rhys is keeping hold of Cassian and you’re keeping hold of Rhys, and the three of you create an aggressive little train that wends through the chaos until cold air washes over you, and you’re spilling out onto the front path. You can hear the distant whoosh and thwack of the Fenlaros lot having no choice but to turn on each other.

“Y/N!”

You turn, just in time to see Az pushing away from a wall, Kaeda in tow. She carries a bloodied dish rag that she was clearly using to dab at his bust lip, but she falls back as Az strides over to you.

“I was looking for you everywhere.” He grabs your chin in his hand, turning your head to the side. “Your cheek is cut.”

You stare back at him, waiting for him to say something — something that even vaguely resembles an explanation as to why he started all of this.

“We should really get out of here—”

“Does it hurt?” He interrupts Rhysand’s interjection, his touch gentle despite the ferocity in his gaze. His thumb brushes over your cheek.

You’re too pissed off to care about his concern.

“I’ll live.” You snap, shoving him away from you. “Azriel, what the fuck?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Cass mumbles.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You continue. “You were the one who said coming here was nothing to be worried about, and then you start that? Have you totally lost your mind?”

“My sentiments entirely.” Rhys echoes.

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw ticks. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. “Sorry for being protective—”

“Possessive, more like—”

“It’s my fault.”

Both your heads snap round as Kaeda steps closer. She stares between you, wide-eyed. Doe-eyed. Looking like she stole the last slice of cake and has a litany of evidence stacked against her.

“He was being protective over me.” She says, and you freeze. She angles herself towards Azriel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that Thedis and I have history. I don’t know why I did. I’m sorry, I—I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

Oh.

That’s—that’s not what you thought was happening.

Clearly, you and Kaeda have two very different understandings of what went down.

You study Az closely, waiting for his reaction — to see if Kaeda is right, and it wasn’t you he was starting a fight over at all.

He stares at her like she’s spoken in a foreign tongue. He opens his mouth.

“Shit.” Kaeda swears suddenly, looking past him. “Shit, that’s my father.”

Each of you swivels around to see the colossal male striding down the path towards you, two slightly — very slightly — smaller males flanking either side of him. His long hair falls about his head in unruly waves, and there’s something ruggedly handsome about his face that kind of makes you want him to smother you with his ridiculously huge bicep. Everything about him is dark. His eyes and his beard and the whorls of Illyrian tattoos that cover the expanse of his neck.

This…this is a male who could snuff out a family of six just by looking in their direction. And his gaze zeroes in entirely on Azriel.

Cassian yanks you closer by the back of your shirt. “Let’s go—”

“He’s going to want to speak with you.” Kaeda turns to Azriel. “You’re the only shadowsinger around here. He knows who you are. He’s intrigued by your power.”

Az continues to watch his approach. And then he squares his shoulders. “Fine.” He doesn’t even glance your way as he says, “I’ll see the rest of you back in Windhaven.”

You don’t like this. Not one bit. Who knows what the male might do to Azriel? You want to say something, to protest—

But Kaeda links her arm through his, and you know there’s no point. This isn’t your fight.

“Don’t get yourself into even deeper shit.” Cassian says, lifting you into his arms.

Kaeda doesn’t seem worried. She rolls her eyes at that. “He’s not going to hurt him.”

You can’t help staring at her. She seems so sure, so unbothered. Not just by what her father might have in store, but by the entire situation. She seems almost…smug.

Az did start an entire fucking brawl over her, after all.

You can’t meet his gaze as you cling to Cassian. Too much has happened in a short space of time. It makes you feel…full. Uncomfortable. You need some space from Az to process what exactly just occurred.

And it seems like your wish will be granted. It’s clear, as he steps closer, that Kaeda’s father has no interest in the rest of you. His cat-like eyes follow a shadow that coils around your friend, and you could swear his lips want to smirk. Like there’s some inside joke the rest of you aren’t privy to.

“Go.” Azriel says, and neither Rhys nor Cass need telling twice. They don’t seem particularly concerned.

Your gaze snags on Az just as Cassian’s arms tighten around you, and he shoots into the skies with an unpleasantly steep climb. Rhys does the same.

And as Kaeda and Azriel become smaller the higher you go, you’re just able to glimpse Kaeda’s father stopping before him and shaking his hand. It’s then that you look away.

This isn’t for you to worry about. It’s—

It’s between him and Kaeda.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The thing about flying — or, in your case, being flown — is that it’s invaluable for moments of pensiveness. There’s no better time to face your thoughts than when the clarity of the sky stretches all around you.

But that can also be really fucking dangerous. Because you think. And then you think some more. And then suddenly, you’re thinking about anything and everything all at once, thinking about ifs, buts, maybes, thinking yourself into a bad mood.

And that is precisely what you do.

You are pissed the fuck off.

So pissed off, you want to scream into the void, at the shifting landscape below. You’re pissed off with Azriel, with his actions, with your entire situation.

He has never been as stupid, as reckless, as he has been recently. Never did you think you’d see a day where Cassian was the more sensible of the two. You’re used to Az being the mediator, to always approaching situations with a rational mind.

And yet these days, he’s a ticking time bomb. You don’t know who he might have a problem with, and clearly you don’t know why, given that you so wrongly assumed his protectiveness — possessiveness — flared up over you.

Of course it was Kaeda. How stupid you are.

Lust is one hell of a blinding light.

Every few seconds, you tell yourself you’re not going to think about it. And then a few seconds after that, you’re straight back to that constant screech of AZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDAAZRIELANDKAEDA.

If this is who he’s becoming because of her…you’re not sure that’s a good thing.

By the time Cassian is setting you down in front of the cottage, your mood is absolutely foul. You feel sobered by the situation. You may as well have not had a drop of alcohol at all.

Rhys doesn’t stick around. He tells you and Cass that he’s going to Velaris — he wants to explain what happened in Fenlaros to his father before the High Lord can hear it from anyone else. And so it’s just you and Cassian traipsing into the cottage, freezing cold and fed up that the night went how it did. Your stomach is starting to ache where the male punched you, the cut on your cheek starting to sting.

You head straight for the kitchen and begin turfing through the cabinets, looking for a half-empty bottle of whiskey or a snack or something. You slam each cabinet door closed, but it does nothing to alleviate your irritation.

Cassian lights a fire, his eyes watching you closely. Perhaps he can sense that something is brewing in your veins. And he’d be right about that — you’re just not sure what it is.

Finally, you sit up on the kitchen counter and settle on biting into a stale bread roll. It’s dry and tasteless, but it occupies your mouth and stops a scream from escaping.

“I want to clean that cut on your cheek.” Cass strides over to the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Only in your heart. “No.” You lie.

He nods, and just like the other night, he begins gathering medical supplies. He’s getting good at this. You kind of want to tell him not to bother, to just let the cut sting, but you’re brooding too much to get the words out.

You swallow down your last, dry bite of bread, and you comment, “I knew going to Fenlaros was a fucking terrible idea.”

Cassian chuckles. There isn’t much that fazes him. “In hindsight, I don’t know what we were thinking.”

“With your cocks, probably.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, and then his hands are on your knees, parting your legs so he can slot himself in between. You don’t protest; he’ll only start a mother hen routine and threaten to bring you to a healer instead.

He wets a rag and begins to gently dab the gash on your cheek. It hurts, but not enough. Not bad enough to drown out the thoughts of the night’s events. You go through them from start to finish, and you have to suck in a deep breath just to stop yourself from punching something.

Why had Kaeda suggested such a stupid fucking thing?

And okay, you can’t put the blame entirely on her; it’s mostly your jealousy that stokes your anger. You, Azriel, Cassian and Rhys are all fully autonomous adults. Any of you could have shot the idea down and refused to go.

But it just…it just sits funny with you, weird in your chest. Something about it feels…gross.

Again — probably your jealousy talking.

But the entire thing had been a shit show from start to finish. You should have known, from the self-loathing thoughts that were pelting you on the way there, that you should never have gone. And your failure to listen to your gut only worsens your mood.

“You push that brain to think any harder and it’ll explode.” Cassian murmurs, his warm breath fanning your face. “You can share, if you like. I may even be able to dredge up some wisdom to impart.”

You bite down on your lower lip. “Why would Kaeda’s father want to speak with Az?”

It surprises you that the question makes him smile. “I wouldn’t worry over that.” He says. “I imagine he’s more interested in speaking to Az because he’s fucking his daughter than because he came to a rival camp.”

You almost flinch at the words.

Of course, you know that by now, Azriel and Kaeda have probably taken that leap and slept together. But torturing yourself with your thoughts is different to hearing it said aloud, and by someone so close to Az, too.

It hurts. And you want to scratch away at the feeling. It might just be what tips you over.

Cass studies you for a moment, reading the change, the tightening, in your expression. He knows there’s something — but thank the gods he doesn’t know what.

He turns his attention to your hand — your knuckles must have split when you threw a couple of good punches — and he begins to clean it gently.

“Here I am again, eh? Playing healer. I should get myself an apron.”

He’s trying to make you laugh, but you can barely force your lips to twitch upwards. He drinks in your pathetic attempt with a sympathy that you can’t stand. And, sensing that humour isn’t going to be enough tonight, he tries a different approach.

“Talk to me, Y/N.” He pleads softly, dabbing gently at your hand. “Please…”

You frown. You’re thinking and feeling too many things at once to make sense of them. Running through the entire night over and over. You’re not sure which of those feelings will rear its ugly head when you try to speak.

But you open your mouth, and the words just spill out.

“I really fucking hated myself tonight.”

Cassian pauses momentarily. And then he continues his treatment to your wounds. “Y/N, fights break out every other hour—”

“No. Not because of the fight. It wasn’t that.” You swallow a lump down. “It was the flying.”

“…the flying?”

“Being carried by Rhys while the rest of you flew so freely. Knowing I’ll never be able to do that. I’m Illyrian, and yet I’m always going to be confined to the ground. I hated myself—”

“Y/N—”

“I really fucking hated myself, Cass. And to be confronted by that fact every damn time I take my shirt off…to see the fucking hideous remains of my wings—”

Your words are cut short when Cassian’s huge hands grab your face and force you to look at him. It stings the cut on your cheek, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he stares at you fiercely.

“No. Cut that out right now.” A muscle in his jaw moves. You’re looking back at a lesser-spotted serious Cassian. “There is no part of you — not one part — that comes even close to being hideous, scars or no scars. You’re brilliant. Inside and out. You’re fucking beautiful, and I love you, and I won’t have you hating yourself. Particularly not at the hands of your piece of shit father.”

For a moment, you’re so stunned by the impassioned speech that you don’t know what to say. Thanking him wouldn’t be enough. And you think you might want to cry, but tonight, crying wouldn’t be enough, either. Nor would screaming. You just…want to feel something different. Something good.

Something worth feeling.

You stare back at Cassian, and your throat bobs.

And it might be against your better judgement, but you cover his hands with yours, and you haul your mouth to his.

You can’t exactly explain it, but he has a mouth as rugged as his general appearance, something rough and untamed and just…Cassian. It’s exactly what you need in that moment. You kiss him as if you’ve kissed him a thousand times before.

You feel the moment’s hesitation on his end. It’s rare that anything is able to knock him silent, but this most certainly does. After a pause, he rips his mouth away from yours, and he stares at you, wide-eyed and flushed, reading your face as if in search of an answer to an unspoken question.

But his internal battle isn’t a long one. He seems satisfied with whatever conclusion he comes to. And then he’s surging forward and kissing you back, hard.

What follows is not slow nor tentative.

You and Cassian love each other dearly, but there are no illusions that this is anything but needed pleasure. He’s not reciprocating because he’s spent hours daydreaming about this, or because you mean more to him than any other female.

Cassian would fuck a tree if a stirred branch waved in his general direction.

And that is absolutely fine. That is exactly what you need.

He wrenches your legs further apart and yanks you to the very edge of the counter, just so he can get closer, kiss you harder. His hand snakes up the nape of your neck and bunches in your hair, strands of it tangling around his fingers, and he tips your head back, his mouth scorching hot and hungry on yours.

This is not something you’ve ever thought about, because he is just Cassian. He’s the male who pisses you off by leaving weapons lying around under couch cushions, who sings loudly at the top of his voice first thing in the morning, who fights like fighting is going out of fashion. Since the first day you’d met him, when his eleven-year-old self had looked you up and down and challenged you to an arm wrestle, he’s always just been Cassian.

You’ve always needed him in some impulsive, temperamental way — someone who keeps you on your toes, even if you complain about it sometimes. But now, you need him in a different way.

You part your mouth from his, just long enough to rip your shirt off and chuck it vaguely over his shoulder. Cass watches as you unclasp the bandeau that covers your breasts, and that’s being thrown away, too, and now your top half is naked, and Cassian is growling. It’s not even that he hasn’t seen these parts of you before, but you’d think it was the first ever time, going by the way his eyes darken, and a thousand sinful thoughts flit over his face.

“Fuck.” His voice is deeper. Both of his hands cup your breasts, and he kisses you again. “I love these.”

You smile, and you lock your legs around his waist, and you both groan as you yank him as close as he can get, and you’re grinding the centre of you over the bulge in his breeches. That, alone, feels too good — the length of him pushing through the barrier of your clothing. It’s not enough. You need more. You need him inside you.

Cass seems to echo the sentiment as he growls and finally yanks you fully off the counter. “No screwing around.” He says through gritted teeth. “I need to fuck you.”

His hands are at your breeches, and he’s ripping them open, and you’re so wet between your legs that you have to rub your thighs together, desperate for some kind of friction. Cassian notices, of course, and one side of his mouth tips up into a smirk.

“Turn around.”

You do.

You’re happy to be commanded. You don’t want to be in charge, don’t want to teach.

You want to be taken, and you want to be taught.

His rough hands shove your breeches all the way down, and then he’s seeing to his, ripping at the buttons and stays just enough to pull the hard length of him out. You turn your head to drink in the sight, but he doesn’t allow it.

He slams your front against that counter, and then he’s at your back, the head of his cock brushing against you as he murmurs into your ear, “How do you want it?”

You think your mouth might be watering. “Hard.”

“Hard?”

“Hard.”

“Brace yourself, then, sweetpea.” He grabs your hands, plants them firmly on the counter, calluses biting into your skin. His teeth graze the shell of your ear as he asks, “Are you ready for me?”

You couldn’t be more ready if you tried. You moan, pushing your ass back against him. His chuckle is felt through every inch of you.

He moves one hand down, drags it down your body, slots it between your legs. Your hips give a little jerk as he mops up some of your wetness with his fingers.

“Oh, yeah, you’re ready for me.” There’s a smirk in his voice. His fingers land on your clit, and he nips your ear again. “Good girl.”

You open your mouth — to say something, or to beg, you’re not sure. But there’s no chance.

The head of Cassian’s cock is guided to your entrance. You gasp at the mere feeling of it bumping against you, teasing the opening.

And then he fucking thrusts all the way in, hard enough that you slam once again against the counter. Medical supplies go flying onto the floor.

And gods, it feels too good.

There’s a tiny bite of pain, yes, but it’s pleasurable — more a feeling of fullness. He’s pushed all the way in to the hilt, and the guttural noise that leaves him might just be enough to make you come. It’s animalistic, the way he groans, almost a snarl.

“Hard?” He repeats, withdrawing slightly.

You gasp, your head tipping back. “Hard.”

“Thank the Mother.”

You yelp as his hand suddenly smacks against your ass cheek, and then he’s spreading you open and thrusting in again.

He is not gentle.

He is not soft or tentative or even kind.

This is how Cassian — the much-feared Illyrian — fucks.

And you like it, want it, need it. You push back against him to remind him he doesn’t need to be gentle. Forget about the fact that you’ve always known each other, that you have a fondness for each other.

Fuck me, you communicate silently. Ruin me, and make me forget who I am.

He growls, as if those very thoughts reached him mind-to-mind. And fuck you, he does.

You’re slammed again and again against the counter, hard enough to bruise and leave marks. His balls slap against your skin as he damn near rams into you at an unstoppable force. He’s grunting and snarling and panting. His hands suddenly clasp both of your arms, and he pulls them behind your back, holding onto them and thrusting faster.

“Fucking knew,” he growls, “that your cunt would feel like this. That you’d squeeze my cock like this.”

He slows just slightly — just enough to roll his hips and make sure you feel every single inch of him stroking the inside of you. The shout that leaves you doesn’t even sound like you.

“You like that, sweetpea?” He chuckles darkly. He pushes in to the hilt again, and you moan — a mistake that comes with a penalty. His hips still. “Give me your words, sweetheart. I want to know how much you need my cock.”

“Cassian.” You grit your teeth. “Fuck me.”

He withdraws. Slams into you again. And then the rhythm picks up, the pace fast and raw and unbeatable. Gripping onto your arms gives Cass the perfect leverage to take you exactly as you want him to take you, as he wants to take you. He can’t possibly go any faster, reach any deeper.

Heat coils in your lower belly. You meet every one of his thrusts by bucking against him, and it spurs your body on. You can feel something brilliant building beneath your skin and firing through your veins.

And when he lets go of one of your arms and dips his hand between your legs, his fingers immediately finding your clit, you’re not at all sure that you won’t just explode.

As you feel the head of his cock hit deep inside you, unable to go any further, as the pads of his fingers circle your clit, the noise that leaves you is unlike any other noise you’ve ever made. You’re vaguely aware of a sudden surge of wetness between your legs that drips down your thighs. Cassian made you squirt.

He half-laughs-half-groans, and his teeth nip your ear. “Sweetpea,” he bites out, “who knew you were such a filthy girl? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

You can’t speak — words fail you. You’re utterly incapable of doing anything but making your breathy little noises, your fractured moans, as Cassian pounds into you. His ministrations at your clit don’t even falter, even as he lets out a noise that hints at his own release being close.

“Come for me again.” Your wetness still drenches his hand, you know, but it’s not enough — he wants more. His finger presses down hard on your clit, and at the exact same moment, he lands a harsh kiss on your neck that turns into a suck. He slams into you so hard that you have to grip the counter to stop yourself being winded for the second time that night. And you erupt.

You hear the exact moment the walls of your cunt clamp around Cassian’s length. The noise he makes is one that you need to commit to memory, keep for a cold, lonely night when it’s just you and your hand. You’ve never heard anything like it. You never imagined he could make a sound like it.

“Oh, gods, yes,” He damn near whines. His hand is suddenly at your back, and he pushes you down, bends you over until your cheek is pressed to the countertop. He fastens that hand at your shoulder, the other at your hip, and then he’s on the homestretch. “Oh, fuck!”

He thrusts, and he thrusts, and he thrusts — and then he goes still, his cock exploding inside you.

He grunts through every spurt, his fingers biting into your skin. You’re not sure you can move as your cunt continues to contract around him, draining him of every last drop. The counter and Cassian’s hands are the only things holding you up. If he steps away now, your legs may just buckle and drag you to the floor.

So in contrast to the wicked noises you were both just making, near-silence sweeps in, broken only by you both gasping for breath. You close your eyes, your brow furrowing. Press your forehead against the surface you’re currently slumped over. You can’t remember how to…how to exist outside of pleasure.

You are well and truly fucked out.

You’re almost content to just stay there, gripping onto the counter for dear life. But then Cassian finally slides out of you, pulling his seed with him. It drips down your legs, into your underwear. A shudder leaves you.

“Shit, that was—” Cass breathes a laugh. “Gods. Why have we never done that before?”

You manage your own weak, sated chuckle, and finally try to stand up straight. “Because friends aren’t supposed to fuck friends senseless.”

“No,” he agrees. Pauses. “But, like…it doesn’t have to make things awkward, does it? We’re both adults. Capable of sharing pleasure and…and carrying on as normal…”

Oh, bless his heart.

Non-committal Cass is now worried that a casual rearranging of your organs might turn into you falling in love.

“It’s not going to be awkward, Cass.” You snort softly. “I’m just not sure I can move.”

He stares at you. And you stare at him.

The laughter hits you both at the same time. It’s laughter of both relief and release. An acknowledgement that you both feel a darn sight better now than you did when you first walked in. The night isn’t weighing on you so heavily, now.

Is that bad? Perhaps.

But you can fuck people, too. Why…why should you regret it?

“Here.” Tucking himself back into his breeches, Cassian yanks his shirt off, handing it to you. “You can use this to clean yourself up. I’ll run you a bath.”

He turns, but you’re stopping him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want special treatment just because we fucked. Just…be normal.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “I planned to run you a bath after I cleaned your cheek. We just got a bit…sidetracked. I’m looking after you, Y/N — as your friend.”

You study his face. He’s open, sincere — not pitying. Good.

“Okay.” You tug your hand away. “Thank you.”

He dips his chin, and then he’s strolling away again. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to look at you.

“I love you.” He says. “Just…don’t ever doubt that.”

You’re not sure you ever could. He’s one of the few constants in your life.

You nod, suddenly not sure you can make eye contact. “I know. I love you, too.”

He, too, nods. And then he disappears, and you’re listening to his boots thudding against each step of the stairs.

You wipe yourself down, tug your breeches up. Slump back against the counter. Drag a hand over your face.

You kind of just want to sleep, be unconscious, before the weighty thoughts begin to shove their way in again.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The summons comes early the next morning, before the sun has even arisen.

One of Lord Devlon’s cronies comes to pluck you and Cassian from the cottage, lead you to the Camp Lord’s study. Azriel is already there when you arrive.

You meet his gaze as you sit down, trying to look for some clue as to what might have occurred in Fenlaros after you’d left. All he seems interested in is checking you over, surveying you for what injuries you have as a result of the night before.

You’re not all too sure if your stomach is tender because of the punch you received to your gut, or because of how thoroughly Cassian fucked you against the kitchen counter.

Probably best not to linger on that thought for too long.

You’re sandwiched between your two friends, waiting for Lord Devlon to actually grace you with his presence. Where Rhysand is, you can only imagine — probably dealing with his father’s wrath.

You glance down at a slight, sudden pressure you feel at your leg. Azriel presses his thigh into yours, and you lift your gaze to meet his.

“You’re not too hurt?” He speaks quietly.

You shake your head. “You?”

“I’m fine. All good, Cass?”

With his typical, swaggering nonchalance that will most certainly land him in deeper shit, Cass grins and stretches his arms above his head. “Just peachy.”

“Az.” You coax the shadowsinger’s gaze back to yours. “What happened with Kaeda’s father?”

Perhaps you’re being a tad dramatic, but you’d lain awake pretty much all night, brooding on the fact that you’d fucked Cass whilst Az was being subjected to the gods knew what. Your thoughts had snowballed into preparing you for Az to return beaten black and blue — or not return at all.

But he looks…fine. A little roughed up from the brawl, but otherwise fine.

He opens his mouth, leaning closer, and that’s when the door flies open.

The three of you stand up immediately. Tuck your hands behind your backs. Bow your heads.

Lord Devlon saunters into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. His footsteps are loud and purposed as he strides to his chair.

“Sit.” He says coldly.

You take your seats once more. The Lord’s eyes skate over the three of you for a pensive few moments, before settling entirely on you. It makes you uncomfortable.

“So.” He sits back. “Who wants to take a stab at why I’m not very happy this morning?”

The three of you keep your mouths clamped shut.

“I’ll give you a clue. It’s not so much to do with a piss-poor night’s sleep, as it is to do with the fact that three of my fucking soldiers,” his lip curls as he looks you up and down, “and their little plaything,snuck off to a rival camp and picked a fight.”

“She’s not our—”

“Did I give you permission to speak, Azriel?”

The ticking in Az’s jaw is slight, but it’s there, as he stares forward. “No, my lord.”

“Then keep your fucking mouth shut until I do.”

Your friend bows his head once more.

“Can any one of you explain why, exactly, you not only travelled to a rival camp without my orders, but why you then decided to stoke tensions between our two camps? Because, you know, that’s their territory. They were well within their rights to defend themselves and not one of them is being punished for it.”

None of you are sure whether he actually wants an answer. It’s best to just…keep your mouth shut.

“None of you have anything to say?” Devlon’s eyebrows flick up. “Fine. How about I offer you my theory? Because I’m seeing a running theme, here.”

You can feel his hard, intense stare bounce from Azriel, to you, to Cassian. Back and forth and back and forth.

But it always returns to you.

It might be in that moment that you realise there’s another layer to this, that you stupidly hadn’t considered. One that’s really going to get Devlon and his cronies grinding their teeth.

You’re female.

And it’s bad enough for males, his soldiers, to behave like this. But you? A mere, docile female? Someone who should be focused on housekeeping and finding someone to breed with?

A female stepping outside of her place is more or less considered a crime by Illyrians. And you don’t have a Camp Lord father to get you out of that very deep shit.

“It’s Y/N, isn’t it?” Lord Devlon addresses you. He knows your name. He’s a cat playing with a mouse.

You meet his gaze and nod. “Yes, my lord.”

“The blacksmith’s daughter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hm. The thing is, Y/N, I am here to raise armies. To oversee the training of their soldiers. As Camp Lord, that is my duty.”

You grit your teeth, bite your tongue. You hate the condescending tone that is so fucking typical of Illyrian males. It’s patronising. Offensive. He’s stating blatant facts and explaining them to you as though you are a child.

But you simply dip your chin in acknowledgment, because playing your part is the only way the three of you are getting out of here with a slap on the wrist.

“I cannot afford for my soldiers to be distracted from their training, or be seduced into making trouble for themselves.” The way he looks you up and down, in that moment, makes you feel oily. “I need my soldiers to be prepared. If war came tomorrow, do you honestly think I could send these two out onto a battlefield?”

These two. He says it with such dismissal, such contempt, that you find yourself balling your fists at your sides. He’s always singled your friends out, tried to break them. He may have to tolerate Rhysand — his father being the High Lord and all — but the tiny slither of acceptance he has for Rhys does not hold up for Azriel or Cassian. He sees them as useless. As nobodies. He’s waiting for them to lose their lives in training or combat so he can be rid of them for good.

It boils your blood.

Before you can stop yourself, your lip curls. “I think they’re two of the best soldiers in Illyria, and you’re damn well lucky to have them.”

Devlon sneers back at you. “I’m sure you would say that. If only to keep them in your bed.”

Beside you, the arms of Cassian’s chair creak as he squeezes them hard. “My Lord—”

“If either one of you speaks without my permission again, I will string you up by your balls. Understood?”

There’s a pause. And then both Cass and Az are sitting back in their seats. Offering quiet, affirmative responses.

“So.” Devlon focuses on you once more. Anger mottles his cheeks a reddish hue. “Considering every time these two land themselves in shit, you are at the centre of it, I see only one appropriate course of action. I will not have you leading them astray. Be it pointless fighting or the absolute colossal fuck up of last night, you are always the common denominator. That stops today. This instant.”

You stare at him. You’re not entirely sure what he’s getting at, but something lurches in your stomach. You swallow down a lump in your throat and grip hard onto your chair.

“As soldiers under my command,” Devlon’s eyes flit between Cassian and Azriel, “I forbid you — and Rhysand — from having any more involvement with her. You will not spend time with her. You will not speak to her in passing. You won’t even look at her. If I find out you do, you’ll regret it.”

All three of you shoot up in your seats, alarmed looks passing your faces. “You can’t do this.” You’re the first to spit.

“Oh?” Devlon cocks an eyebrow. “This is Camp Windhaven, is it not?”

“Yes, but—”

“I am Lord of Camp Windhaven, am I not?”

“Obviously—”

“Then I absolutely have the authority to give such orders, and thus, consider them given. Starting today, your involvement with my soldiers ends.”

“My Lord,” Azriel’s tone is pinched, panicked, “you don’t understand — she’s living with us right now. Her father kicked her out of his home. She has nowhere else to go.”

“Do you think I give a shit about her domestic situation, Shadowsinger?” The Lord snaps at him. “I’m here to oversee the training of Windhaven’s soldiers. Not to get involved in pointless family drama.”

“But where am I supposed to go?” You can’t help it — you slam your fist against the arm of your chair. “What am I supposed to do?”

“That isn’t my problem.” Devlon shrugs. He stands up, planting his hands on the desk between you. He leans over with a glower. “But you better run home with your tail between your legs and begin mending relations with your father, because if I detect that there’s even a hint of involvement with you and my soldiers, I will make you regret it, girl. Do not cross me.”

He tucks — no, slams — his chair under the table. It’s a dismissal. You’re not allowed to respond.

You’re silent, too stunned to think, speak, breathe, as Devlon strides to the door and rips it open.

“Get the fuck out, all three of you.” He orders, and you stand numbly from your chair. “You two,” he directs his attention to your friends, “I want your asses in the training ring immediately. Go.”

They don’t want to, you can tell. They hesitate, but ultimately, there’s no other choice. They have no authority. They’re mere soldiers in training. This is their career, their life’s work, on the line. They can’t meet your gaze as they file out of the door, and you don’t blame them.

“And you?” Devlon stops you as you try to follow, gripping onto your shoulder hard. He may as well pick you up by the scruff of your neck like a boisterous pup. “You’d better heed my warning, Y/N the blacksmith’s daughter.”

He shoves you out of the room. You throw your hands out before you slam into the wall.

“Stay. The fuck. Away.”

azriel tag list: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @jjlevin @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @spikertrash @kindagoldylocks @barbiezambie @kht1998 @soupghoul @nyctophiliawitch @gracie1234567891011 @gaymistakeboi @luvmxo @rinalouu @microwaveallthedemons @starlightshowdown

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jaehaeryshater · 6 months ago

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“Near the end, [King Jaehaerys] grew certain [Alicent] was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea.”

artist: @riotarttherite

I had the great pleasure of commissioning, in my opinion, one of ASOIAF fandom’s greatest artists on this gorgeous piece. I had never commissioned any artwork before and didn’t know what to expect, and this far exceeded my expectations. The attention to detail is beautiful and the overall piece conveys exactly what I was envisioning in my head, so I wanted to start off with a big thank you.

The idea for this art piece was originally a “what if” or AU where Saera either didn’t get caught at the brothel or was brought back from the Silent Sisters as was allegedly Jaehaerys’s plan (or if she had bonded with Balerion and gotten to stay! Would have loved that for her) so she stays in King’s Landing and becomes his caretaker in his old age instead of Alicent Hightower. As his daughter, she would have significantly more influence in being able to “speak for him” instead of a caretaker for another House, so although I do not take Saera as someone particularly obsessed with power, I do find it very interesting to imagine her deciding to cause chaos as the Old King’s mouthpiece. The streets of King’s Landing are burning as we speak! Even before Jaehaerys seemed to succumb to dementia, Saera did appear to have a strange influence over him, so once Alysanne passed away, it only makes sense that Saera would become the person in his ear. Not all that great for the smallfolk or even Lords of the realm, but great for drama and storylines. And Saera, of course! I’m sure she would have paraded everywhere, weighed down by jewelry and the finest wines. Perhaps she would have had a full menagerie, as she appeared to love animals. Definitely an elephant there somewhere.

As this piece was being worked on, however, I did think of a second meaning to the art that I also think is really neat. You could also view this as what Jaehaerys is seeing as Alicent is caring for him. He did believe her to be Saera in the end, as his mind was being lost. His Saera had come back to him, and although I do not like Jaehaerys and think he probably deserved worse, he most likely died happy at that thought, believing Saera was reading to him. So if you prefer to interpret this as viewing things through Jaehaerys’s mind, I welcome you because I love it at least equally to the first idea.

Lastly, the detailings are beautiful so I wanted to touch on them and give them the attention they deserve for the moment. I asked Riot to have a caring but sinister vibe, that she is caring for him for a plethora of reasons but certainly that includes self-serving reasons. I believe this was captured really well! I wanted it to be illustrated that Jaehaerys had lost his wits a while beforehand, so he has a vacant look, and Saera has the keys, showing that she is the real power behind the Crown. She has several expensive jewelry pieces (she has many from her lovers, but she doesn’t bother with them, leaving them to collect dust, only thinking gifts from the King are worthy to wear), but my favorite was one I specifically requested. Her jeweled bodice, which contains replicas of the King’s jewels that are present on his crown. Dare I say, she had her mother’s crown repurposed for herself? The intention is clear, Saera is effectively the Queen now, not in name, but Queen nonetheless. As for the general fashion, I told Riot that my favorite era of fashion was the Tudor era, more broadly 1300s- 1550s. As you can see, this was more than delivered and extremely beautifully inspired by historical fashion. GRRM doesn’t always describe his character’s outfits, and the GOT and HOTD outfits were often lackluster. This was exactly the type of beauty I was looking for. The dragon embroidery on Saera’s sleeves? Mwah!

Anyway, thank you so much for geeking out with me! The Saera/Jaehaerys dynamic is one of the most interesting dynamics to me. There’s simultaneously so little and so much there. It’s complex and layered, I can’t stop thinking about it. If you have been on my tiktok, you may have heard about my extensive theory regarding that dynamic, iykyk. If you ever want to talk about them, absolutely feel free to inbox me. More commission ideas coming this year definitely, at least a couple more of this dynamic, but I don’t know how a piece could be any more perfect <3

#jaehaerys targaryen #king jaehaerys #jaehaerys the conciliator #saera targaryen #fire and blood #let women be sinister #evil thoughts #behind every evil person is a more evil person #tudor fashion

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brairslair · 10 months ago

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just self indulgent eddie filth i wrote while sleep deprived, ur welcome

18+ ONLY (minors dni)

a/n: i love the opposites attract shit idk smth abt it is just sooo

cw: one use of the word “slut”, eddie running his mouth as per usual, light exhibitionism, kinda hinted at a corruption kink but barely, shitty writing

don’t forget to like, reblog, and comment to support my work! mwah <3

“gotta keep quiet for me, princess”

Your parents were right downstairs preparing a lovely dinner, which you had invited your sweet boyfriend to. Soon after you had also invited him on a house tour, leading him right into your pretty pink bedroom, where you may or may not have left out some of your best lacy little panties for him to see, which got you to where you are now.

“Shhh, you gotta keep quiet for me, princess.” Eddie reminds you, gravely and hot in your ear, chest leaned down to press against your back, “Wouldn’t wanna get caught now would we?”

You bite your lip hard, forcing down a whine as you shake your head. Manicured nails tug at your dainty floral sheets and your arms begin to shake from holding yourself up. Your eyes dart over to the door to make sure it hadn’t magically unlocked itself, head spinning.

Every thrust sparks the ebbing fire in your belly, the head of his dick rubbing just right against your spongey walls. A particularly hard thrust pulls another soft moan from your lips, your arms collapsing beneath you as your face falls into your pillow. He’s doing it on purpose.

You whine his name out, long and desperate, muffled by the fluffy mass beneath you. You can’t decide if it’s too much, or not enough, but your hips push back against his.

He rubs his thumbs soothingly on your hips despite the way his hips pick up in pace, cooing out an “I know, baby, I know.” and “It’s all too much, isn’t it?” hushed words dripping with faux sympathy.

Your nails claw deeper into your sheets, getting dangerously close to ripping them. You can feel the pleasure building up rapidly, getting dangerously close to release but still needing more, more, more.

“Eddie-“ your whole body is trembling, and your stomach tightens with restraint, “Ed- I’m gonna-“

“Oh yeah? Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” you clench around him in response, panting with the effort to stay silent. “Gonna make a mess on my cock in your pretty little bed, baby?” Tears start to form on your lash line, and your chest aches with a suppressed sob.

You don’t notice when a hand slides its way off of your hip, and suddenly his finger is on your clit, rubbing it cruelly and making your brain go completely blank.

Before you can make a sound, his hand is in your hair, pulling you flush against his chest and muffling your pretty noises with his lips. You can feel his breath getting heavier and his thrusts getting sloppier.

His lips migrate down to your jaw, leaving sloppy kisses along your flushed skin, “Come on, pretty girl, I know you can do it.” His kisses on your sweet spot, and his fingers circling your clit, and his cock buried so deep inside you, and it’s all too much.

“Go ahead. Be a good little slut and soak my dick for me, sweetheart.”

His hand clasps firmly over your mouth as you fall right over the edge, stifling your screams and sobs of his name as your vision hazes over.

“Attagirl”

asks are open!

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year ago

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The Kind of Girl You Take Home - Part 3

➪the one where bradley can’t get enough of you after making things official.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, unprotected sex, pda, swearing, fingering, oral (f receiving), hair pulling, pain kink, sex tape (kinda), dirty talk to the max, small breeding kink, age gap, bradley is even more whipped for you, here is a part 3 no one asked for mwah

Word Count: 8.2k | Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ | Thank you for 3.7k followers :')

“It’s not too late to turn back around and apologize for ditching them later, you know,” Bradley said as he parked the Bronco in the beach parking lot. “I’m sure they won’t miss us if we were to leave right now.”

You roll your eyes and unbuckle your seatbelt. “Not a chance,” you reply and lean over the center console so you can grip his shoulders. “You’re leaving for two months soon, everyone wants to see you before your deployment.”

Bradley sighed but quickly lightened up when you leaned further in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. When you pulled away far too soon for his liking, he placed his hands on either side of your face and guided you back into another, much longer kiss. He groaned as he deepened it, one hand sliding down to grip your waist through your thin tank top. “Come on, baby, let’s just go home,” he nearly begged and you laughed as you pulled away from him.

“No, Bradley,” you say and place your palm flat against his mouth when he tries to kiss you again. “A few hours with your friends won’t kill you, then after that we’ll leave.”

“We’ll stay for two hours, max,” he told you as he opened the door and took your hand in his when you met him around the front of the Bronco. “Then I’m taking you home.”

“Bradley,” you warned as he led you down towards the sand.

“What? We’ll see them later at the Hard Deck, anyway,” he waved off your eye roll as he pulled you along with him. “They don’t need to take away any more of my alone time with you today.”

You shake your head and hold back a smile as you finally make it down to the beach. As soon as your feet touched the sand you were lifted off the ground and spun around. Your hand slipped from Bradley’s and you grip Jake’s shoulders as he embraces you, laughing as he wraps his arms around your middle. “Hey, sweetheart,” he grinned up at you. “Missed you.”

He sets you down and winks up at your boyfriend when Bradley gives him an unimpressed look. “You saw me a few days ago,” you pointed out and Jake just shrugged.

“I used to see you a lot more than that,” he responded as he backed away from you. “I can’t believe Rooster stole you from me twice now.”

“Seresin,” Bradley muttered as he pulled you back into his side.

“Bradshaw,” the blond said back before grinning at you again and walking towards the group of aviators that were further down the beach.

The two men still weren’t on the best terms after the quick bar brawl that occurred at the Hard Deck a mere three months ago. Sure, they spoke to each other while at work, but outside of work they avoided each other even more than before. They were somewhat friends back when Jake introduced you to Bradley, and had grown a bit close during the five months you two were unofficially together, but after Bradley fucked it up with you, Jake had completely shut down any chance of a proper friendship forming between the two of them.

It was unfortunate, as you and Jake are very close and now it was no secret that you and Bradley were head over heels for each other. Bradley wanted to try and mend the broken friendship between him and Jake just for you to be reassured that the two most important men in your life weren’t at each other’s throats whenever you aren’t around, but Jake never gave him the time of day.

Three months of that and it really pissed Bradley off, enough to the point where he stopped trying and now just accepted that the brief encounters he had with the other aviator at work and at the Hard Deck would be all that would happen between them.

“Fucking Hangman,” he muttered as he glared at Jake’s retreating form through his aviators. He was dreading this next deployment, simply because Jake will be there with him, and because he’ll be away from you.

“Hey,” you scold as you deliver a gentle nudge to his ribs with your elbow. He caught it in his hand and pulled your body back to his, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. Your words die on your tongue when he tugs you forward until your chest is pressed right up against his and your hands slide upwards to grip his biceps.

“God, I wanna take you home so badly right now,” he mumbled against your mouth before kissing you again.

“Hey, Rooster! Give the poor girl a break, man, and get over here. We’re just about to start another round of dogfight football,” Fanboy called out from his spot near the water.

You pull away with a teasing smirk, patting him on his chest as you back away. “Ooh, sounds fun,”

Bradley’s hands fall from their place on your hips and he bites down on his lip as you walk towards where Nat is sitting. He watches as you bend down and place your towel next to hers, not even giving him a second glance as you fall into a conversation with her.

“Bradshaw, let’s go, man, she’ll still be there after the game,” Payback yells over the chatter of the group.

Both you and Nat smirk at Bradley and he curses under his breath as he pulls off his white tee and tosses it at you. You catch it with a surprised laugh and stuff it into the tote bag you brought.

Bradley joins in on the game and ends up covered in sand and had initiated more than one dogpile during the thirty minutes he participated in. You chatted with Nat the whole time, but you couldn’t really be blamed for not being able to take your eyes off your extremely attractive and fit boyfriend.

You had to refrain from moaning at the sight of him when you were right next to his best friend, and that was a hard task in itself. Bradley caught your eye every once in a while and sent you a smirk every time. The urge to not jump on him in the middle of the game was even harder to resist.

When the sun loomed higher in the sky and heated up the whole beach, you decided to rid yourself of your tank top and jean shorts. After shoving them in your bag as well you settle back down against your towel just as you hear Fanboy yell, “Come on, Bradshaw, we were winning! Where are you even going?”

That made you look up and watch as Bradley begins to splash water on himself to wash away the sand from his body. You bite your lip harshly as you take in his wet skin and heat up from both the sun and the way Nat laughs from her spot next to you.

Once he is decently cleaned from both the sand and sweat, Bradley walks right past the group of guys and heads in your direction. “Alright, we lost Rooster,” Fanboy announced as he turned back towards the others. “Round three? Phoenix, you want in on this one?”

Nat sprung up instantly and took Bradley’s place, slapping him on the shoulder as she passed him. “Nice job at keeping your hands to yourself for over five minutes, Bradley,” she joked and he barely gave her an eye roll before he was towering over you and blocking the sun from your eyes.

You gaze up at him with a teasing smile. “Oh, hey,” you greet. “All done with the game?”

He grunts and moves so he’s sitting next to you on the towel. “Yeah,”

“That’s too bad,” you pout as you move over to make more room for him, but he just slides closer to you. “I was enjoying the free entertainment.”

“You’re the reason it ended early,” he said and you scoffed.

“As if,” you laughed. “You were busy beating Jake and Coyote and then the next second you’re quitting and walking towards me.”

He gives you a pointed look before raking his eyes up and down your body in an obvious nod as to why he stopped the game early. “Because you look like this,”

You glanced down at your red two piece and shrugged. “You’ve seen me in less than this, Bradley,”

“I know,” he rasped, moving even closer to you until his cold side was pressed to yours. You weren’t sure what caused you to shiver, his cool skin or the fact that he couldn’t seem to stay away from you today. “But you look so hot right now. It’s making me jealous that the rest of the guys get to see you like this.”

“God, you’re clingy,” you complain in a lighthearted tone and push him away from you, but it might as well have been a light tap as he barely moved an inch.

“I told you that you’d become sick of me,” he smirked. “Just living up to my end of the deal.”

Before you could reply with a smart remark, he was closing the distance and kissing you hard. His aviators pressed uncomfortably against your nose and you pulled away and tugged them off his face before kissing him again.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered as he kissed you deeply.

When he tries to pull you onto his lap you pull away and push at his shoulders. “No, you’re cold,”

“Then come in the water with me,” he suggested with a boyish grin.

“You’re wearing those in the water?” You nodded at his denim shorts as he stood up and held his hand out to you.

“Yeah, why not?” He asked as he pulled you to your feet. You placed his aviators over your own eyes as you looked up at him, lacing your fingers with his. “Would you rather me wear nothing at all?”

“Always,” you answer right away and he just smirks at you. “Let me get in at my own pace, Bradley.”

He hummed as he led you towards the water, and his lack of reply had you raising a brow.

“I’m serious,” when he glanced down at you and didn’t bother hiding his look of mischief, you stopped walking and begin to pull on his hand. “Don’t bother.”

But you were kidding yourself if you thought your strength could match his. Within seconds he had picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, making you yell out as you caught his aviators before they fell from your face.

“Bradley! Stop!” You nearly scream as he makes his way towards the water. “Please!”

Your pleads fell on deaf ears as he carried you closer to the water and the others were no help as they watched with grins at your misfortune. Even Jake wore a small smirk as Bradley grabbed his aviators from your hand and dropped them onto the sand without a care in the world. “They won’t help you, sweet girl,” Bradley said in a mocking tone.

“Bradley, I swear-” but you weren’t able to finish your warning before he was in the water with you still over his shoulder. You squeal loudly when you feel the cold splashes against your bare skin, and you briefly wonder how he was able to walk into the small waves as if they weren’t cold at all. “Oh, my God! Bradley.”

You were still pleading with him to stop, even as he was at waist level with the water. A few seconds later he was throwing your body into the cold water and you were met with his grinning face when you resurfaced.

Glaring up at him, you shiver instantly as you stand in front of him. “Stupid ass,” you mutter and splash him when he just laughed loudly at your insult.

He caught your hand when you went to splash him again and pulled your body against his. Instead of immediately pulling away from him you wrap your arms around his waist as his body is still somehow warm, even in the water.

You cling onto his warmth as the water splashes around your bodies, his heated skin soothing yours.

The others went back to the game after watching you get helplessly thrown into the water, so it just felt like you and Bradley at the moment. “I’m sorry,” he murmured in your ear as he held you. “But now you look even hotter.”

You shake your head and nuzzle closer to him. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,”

“You help me sleep at night,” he replied and you smiled up at him. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through the next two months without you.”

“At least you’ll have Jake,” you offer and laugh at the emotionless look he gave you. “We’re swapping best friends for this one. Nat and I already have so many girl days planned, we’ll hardly realize you’re not here.”

Bradley scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he says. “You’ll know I’m gone when you’re trying to get yourself off without me there to do it for you.”

You gasp and look around as if you and he weren’t surrounded by water and way more than a couple of meters away from the shore. “You can’t say that to me,” you whine quietly. “Especially not in public.”

“You started it, sweet girl,” he shrugged as he gripped your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist under the water.

You throw your arms around his neck and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I will think about you every second of every day until you come home,” you tell him and hug him a bit tighter. “I won’t be able to sleep without you, either.”

He smiled at you and kissed you again, lifting one hand from your hip to caress the side of your face. “Good to know you still want me,”

“I will always want you,” you promise and press a kiss to his cheek and then another one to the skin just below his ear. “Tell you what, we’ll stay another hour here and then you can take me home and let me show you just how much I’ll miss you.”

Bradley pretty much spent the next hour in the water, even well after you made your way back to the shore. Your words, of course, went right through him and caused him to become hard, even in freezing cold water.

You willingly went with him when he finally got out and pulled you along the trail back to the Bronco after a brief goodbye to everyone else.

The whole ride back home he had his left hand tightly gripping the steering wheel while his right one touched every part of you that it could. You were both so needy for each other and it was evident by the way he barely had the car in park before he was tugging you inside and pushing you up against the closed front door.

His lips captured yours in a searing kiss as his hands gripped the backs of your thighs. He lifted you up as if you weighed nothing at all and pressed you harder against the wood, his bare chest pressed to your semi covered one. You had both passed on the idea of putting your shirts back on and left them in your bag that was still in his backseat. You had only managed to slip your shorts back on by the time he had pulled you up from the towel and led you back to the Bronco, but even those you had failed to zip up and button as Bradley was far too impatient.

He pulled you away from the door and carried you down the hall to his room. It was a trip he had made countless times before, and he seriously couldn’t believe he had almost let you slip away because of his commitment issues.

When he made the short walk to his bedroom by himself not too long ago after he returned home from his deployment, he felt so bad about himself and hated how he treated you. He hated not seeing your things in there and he hated sleeping alone, even if it was just for one night and he was drunk.

To think that it was no longer just his bedroom, but one he shared with you… the thought had his head swirling with need for you. Taking you to bed just felt so much better now, and while he would never forgive himself for how he acted towards you, he couldn’t be more grateful for the outcome of it all.

His shorts were still damp as he pressed his body against yours after laying you down in the middle of the bed. You didn’t care as he pressed kisses all along your shoulders and neck. “Bradley,” you moaned.

“I’m going to miss that sound,” he rasped as he sucked a mark onto the base of your throat. “Gonna miss you so much.”

He would probably miss you more than last time, seeing as he wasn’t sure if he had a chance with you after what he did. Now that he knew you would be here when he got back, he knew he would miss you twice as much. Especially since he would be returning to a home filled with both yours and his things.

“Just come back to me,” you whispered as he trailed kisses down your chest until his lips were pressed against the skin above your shorts. “That’s all I ask of you, Bradley.”

“You know I can’t promise you that, baby,” he murmured as he pulled the denim down your legs and dropped them to the floor. You whine softly, both from the feeling of his kisses on your inner thighs and from his words you knew were honest and true. You couldn’t ask him to promise to always come home, and you understood that, but it didn’t make it any easier. “But I can promise to always give it my all and to do everything I can to get back to you. I’ll do that every time. I always will.”

He tugs your red bikini bottoms down and drops them to the floor as well before you’re pulling him back up by his biceps. “Then that’s more than enough for me,” you promise and kiss him deeply. One of his hands slips down and his middle finger begins to gently rub circles onto your clit, making you moan against his mouth and pull him closer. “I love you so much, Bradley.”

His middle and index fingers run up and down your folds before slowly slipping inside. “I love you, sweet girl,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to the love bite he had given you on your neck. “I always have.”

Bradley kisses all over your chest and nudges your nipples through the thin fabric of your bikini top with his nose. You whine quietly at the feeling and run your hands through his hair, bucking your hips up in time with the gentle thrusts of his hand.

“I always will,” he continues and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.

“Bradley,” you gasp when he uses his free hand to push up your flimsy top in order to wrap his lips around your hardening peaks. You take it upon yourself to arch your back and reach around to pull the string of the top, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

With your body completely bare, Bradley grunts deeply as he gently tugs on your nipple with his teeth, taking in the way your hands moved to cling to his biceps.

You were beyond soaked for him at this point and it could be heard with every fuck of his hand, and the sound only spurred him on. He still couldn’t believe that he had managed to get you back and that you still want him as much as he wants you.

His mouth travels downwards again and places kisses to various parts of your body before settling on your clit. You moan loudly and tug on his hair as his lips suck gently on your nerves in time with the movement of his hand. He curls his fingers inside you and the small pinch has you clenching tightly around him, your walls sucking his digits even deeper.

“Feels good?” He asks, knowing damn well that he was skilled with his mouth and fingers.

You still give in, though. “Fuck yes, Bradley, feels so good,”

He smirks against you before speeding up the pace of his hand and fucking his fingers into you. Keeping his mouth on your core, Bradley tilts his head back a bit and you knew right away what he was trying to get you to do without him needing to say it.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug a bit harder than before, feeling him hum in appreciation against your clit. “That’s it, baby,” he praised and kissed your inner thighs. “You know me so well, huh?”

“You’re mine,” was all you managed to get out, and the prideful grin he gave you had your legs trying to squeeze shut around his head.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he agreed and leaned back down to your throbbing clit. “Now come on my fingers.”

“Fuck, I want to so bad,” you whine, out of breath from the pressure that was steadily building deep within you. “Want you to make me come.”

“I’ll get you off, baby,” he promised, smirking up at you. “Like I always do.”

“God,” you gasp as the coil snaps a bit unexpectedly. You had been turned on since he took his shirt off at the beach all those hours ago, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise that you didn’t last very long. “Fuck, Bradley, fuck.”

He kissed the skin of your stomach as he slowly fucked you through your high, breathy praises leaving his lips as he stared up at you. “Good girl,” he murmured, placing an open mouthed kiss to your ribcage before hovering back over you. “My good fucking girl.”

You moan against his mouth when he kisses you hard, his mustache pricking the skin above your upper lip in the best way. “Bradley, please,” you beg against his lips. “Please, fuck me. I need it.”

He groaned loudly and pulled away so he could unzip his shorts. He practically throws them to the floor before he’s back on top of you, his mouth kissing all over your collarbones and shoulders. “I need it, too,” he confessed, settling in between your legs and teasing your wet folds with his tip. “I need you all the time. Gonna think about you every fucking second I’m gone.”

You whimper at both his promise and the sensitivity that shot through you at the feeling of his dick grazing your swollen clit.

Your lips were puffy as his met them in a searing kiss before slipping inside you with a sharp thrust. Moaning against his mouth, you wrap your legs tightly around him and grip either side of his face in an attempt to get him impossibly closer to you.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he grunts, fucking into you at a steady pace. “Still so tight for me, no matter how many times I fuck you.”

Your eyes blur for a second as you take in his words, and as your walls take him in general. “All for you,” you weakly murmur.

“All for me,” he repeated, rocking his hips against yours at a bruising pace. “All mine.”

He pressed his lips to the base of your throat and sucked another mark there, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to cover it up before heading over to the Hard Deck in a couple hours.

Even though damn near everyone knew that you were his, Bradley still loved seeing the physical proof of it.

Your needy whines spurred him on and made him want to please you in every single way he could. He kissed all over your shoulders and reached one hand down to grip your thigh as he wrapped your leg tighter around him. “I wanna stay here with you forever,” he rasped. “Just like this.”

“You can,” you manage to say as he fucked into you so good. “I’ll be here when you come back, Bradley. Always. I’m yours.”

Bradley grunted deeply, hiking your leg up higher. “You always know just what to say to me, sweet girl,” he commented as he slowed down a bit to prolong this as much as he could.

Yeah, you and he would need to get ready to go to the Hard Deck soon, but he would put a night like this with you over getting drunk with his friends anyday.

He wasn’t in a rush, wasn’t fucking you quick and hard to ensure you weren’t late arriving to the bar like always. He was taking his time, loving on you in all the ways he would miss out on for the next two months after this.

Your walls noisily suck him in deeper, your previous orgasm providing him with all he needed to fuck into you hard and slow. Bradley’s eyes trail downwards, skimming past the two hickeys on your throat so he can watch the way he disappeared in you. “Fuck, look at that,” he said, more to himself. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

You moan and arch your back a bit, scraping your nails down his biceps.

He grunted at the sting. “There you go, baby,” he praised, cursing under his breath when he felt you clench down tightly around him. “Fucking claw me, give me something to remember you by for the next two months.”

“Bradley,” you cry out, wrapping your arms around him and digging your nails into the skin of his back.

He grinned at you, nudging your nose with his. “You were made for me,” he muttered, bracing both of his forearms on either side of your head. “Just for me.”

“Just for you,” you agreed breathlessly.

Bradley groaned at how submissive and responsive you always got when he fucked you like this. With each drag of him against your tight walls you were slowly losing yourself to the blinding pleasure that came with being filled so well. “I need more than just your scratches,” he concluded, watching the way his dick became more coated with your wetness each time he pulled out of you. “You should let me take a picture.”

You whimpered, leaning up to kiss along his neck. “Do it,” you encouraged his sinful idea with a teasing smirk.

He pulled away from your body with a deep groan as he reached for his phone. Keeping himself still buried within you, he points the camera downwards until it’s focused on your wet core.

He only was able to take one photo before you were giving him another idea. “Take a video, Bradley,” you purred, pushing on his shoulders. “Record how good you fuck me.”

Bradley exhaled harshly through his nose as he moved so he’s kneeling on the bed, your thighs spread wide and revealing your sopping entrance. He places one hand on your hip as he sits back and hits record, giving your drenched heat a slow fuck of his hips.

His fingers dig into your skin as he begins to thrust into you again, his eyes fixated on the screen of his phone as it captured the dirty act in top tier quality. “Look how wet you are, baby,” he comments as both you and him glisten as the lights reflect off your wetness. “Feel it?”

“Yes,” you answer and reach a hand out to wrap around the wrist of his that wasn’t holding the phone. “Feels so good, Bradley.”

He grunts as he gives another quick thrust, looking away from the camera and at the way your breasts bounced from the rough movement. “Say my name again,” he demands in his deep voice.

You moan as you comply, “Bradley,”

“Again, baby,” he requests, nearly dropping the phone when you tighten around him once more. “Who’s fucking you so good right now?”

“You,” you practically cry out. “You, Bradley.”

He moves his hand from your hip so his thumb can rub against your throbbing and sensitive clit, watching as your whole body shudders. “That’s right, sweet girl,” he muttered and couldn’t wait to watch this video once he stopped recording it. He knew he would be watching it on a nightly basis once he was stuck on that damn carrier for eight weeks.

“Bradley,” you gasped and reached for him. “Touch me, please.”

At the sound of your begs, he doesn’t bother stopping the recording when he drops his phone onto the bed next to you. He hovers over you and starts fucking into you harder than before, knowing that it wouldn’t be visible in the video, but your sweet sounds would definitely be heard. He could handle having to picture your body in his mind as long as he got to hear the sounds you only made for him.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your hands in his hair. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you warned in a highpitched voice.

“I want it,” he nearly begs as he holds himself above you by his elbows. “Want you to come all over me, wanna feel it.”

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out and pull harshly on his hair as you come. “Fuck.”

Bradley locked his jaw as he held back his own orgasm, still roughly fucking into you as you try to come down from your high. “Good girl,” he said sweetly and your head spun as you weakly reached for his phone.

You grab it and angle it so the camera is capturing the image of him continuing to rock into you. You whimper at the sensitivity and open your legs wider so the video can really capture just how drenched you are for him.

Bradley groaned loudly as he leaned down to kiss you. You kiss him back and take your eyes off the screen, now blindly recording him as he fucked you hard and deep. “Come for me, Bradley. Inside me,” you requested in a quiet voice when you pulled away. “Knock me up on camera.”

You were on the pill, but your words still went right through him. He gave a few more deep thrusts before he was spilling into you, his seed reaching the deepest part of you.

He let out a throaty groan as he moved back so you can record the way his come spilled out of you when he pulled out. He took the phone from you so he could get a better angle, then nearly dropped it again when you reached down to swipe your finger through the mess. His phone followed your hand as you lifted it back up to your mouth and sucked the digit clean, giving the camera a sheepish smile afterwards.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped as he finally stopped the recording and dropped his phone back down onto the bed. “I don’t think I’ll be able to watch that when I know the real thing is waiting for me at home.”

You shrug and sit up, placing a kiss to his chest. “It will get you by while you’re away,” you murmur and lick a stripe up his neck. “I want you to think of me when you touch yourself.”

“There’s no one else I could ever think about,” he swore, wrapping his arm around your waist as you suck a mark on his shoulder. “Especially not after that.”

You grinned and leaned further up so you could kiss him. He deepens it by reaching up to angle your head for better access to your mouth. “We need to get ready,” you inform him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as you crawl off the bed and wander into the bathroom.

Bradley sighs deeply, running a hand through his messy hair as he picks up his phone. He debates on whether or not he should play the video now, just to see if it came out alright, but he knew it would just make him hard again, and he actually did want to see Nat before he left for two months.

He ends up getting off the bed and dressing himself in jeans and a Hawaiian button up as he waits for you to emerge from the bathroom. When you do, he holds out one of his old tees to you. “Wear this tonight,” he suggests and you take it from him.

“What,” you laugh as you slip the shirt over your head. “The two hickeys you gave me aren’t enough to show that I’m taken? I have to wear your clothes now?” You were just teasing as you both knew how much you loved wearing his shirts.

“No,” he answered as he pulled you close to him. “I just like the way you look in my clothes.”

Truthfully, he wanted to erase the last time you wore his shirt to the Hard Deck. That was the last good night he spent with you before shattering your heart and nearly ruining everything you and he had. He wanted to replace that night with an even better one.

“Hm, okay,” you hum, leaning up to kiss him quickly before moving away to finish getting dressed.

“There you are!” Nat called as she watched you and Bradley enter the Hard Deck hand in hand. “Took you guys long enough.”

Bradley smirked as he thought about why you and he were late again. “We were a bit busy,” he said and loved how the physical proof of what made you late was in a file on his phone that was in his pocket.

“I don’t even want to know,” she cringed and began walking back towards the pool table. “Rooster, come over here and get your ass kicked in the next round.”

Bradley rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to your temple before standing on the opposite end of the table with Nat across from him. “That’s your specialty, not mine,” he grinned and looked over at you.

You smile and gesture towards the bar. “You want a beer?”

“Just one,” he answers and watches as you begin to make your way through the crowd of aviators.

He was getting flashbacks to the last night he spent with you before his latest deployment, and he wanted to take you back home and promise you that he wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

“Jeez, Bradshaw, you can’t keep your eyes off her for more than a second, huh? It’s your turn,” Nat broke him out of his trance by poking him with the tip of her pool cue. “She’s wearing your shirt, I see.” She adds when he finally gets into position and lined up his shot.

“You’re very observant, Nat,” he mumbled as he sank one of the solid colored balls.

“I’m just saying,” she held her hands up as she walked around the table. “You seem happier this time around. I guess that comes with finally making things official.”

Bradley couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his face as he glanced over at you. Your arms were braced against the top of the bar as you waited for Penny to pour the beers, and you had a small smile on your lips as you stared at the floor. “I’m so in love with her, Nat,”

His best friend nudged his side with her elbow. “I know you are,” she said as he stood up and placed the cue against the table before beginning to make his way over to you. “Hey, that doesn’t mean you can just ditch our game! I was winning.”

But Bradley was already towering over you and taking one of the beers from your hand when you turned around. You jump slightly, nearly spilling your own beer as you look up at him. “I was going to bring that over to you,”

He takes a sip from the glass and shrugs, wrapping you up in his free arm and pulling you into his side. “It had been too long,”

“I was literally gone for less than a minute,”

“That just proves my point,” he replied as he pulled you towards the pool table. “I should be spending every second with you until tomorrow morning. Deployment rules.”

You scoffed. “You just made that up,”

He winked at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “I won’t tell if you won’t,”

“Never,” you say and nuzzle closer to him. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

Bradley presses his lips to the top of your head as Nat gets into position at the opposite end of the pool table. “I’m going to miss you, too, sweet girl. Every single day,” he swore. “The next two months are going to be so lonely without you.”

You lift a brow and give him a teasing smirk. “They better be,”

“You two are seriously so cute, I might actually throw up,” Nat muttered as she set down her pool cue. “So on that note, I’m going to get a drink. I’ll see you later, Bradshaw. Don’t get on that carrier without saying goodbye to me. I mean it.”

She pointed her finger at Bradley, who laughed and gave her a thumbs up. “Wouldn’t dream of it,”

You and Bradley stayed for about an hour after that before he caved and took you back home, where he spent the rest of the night loving you in every way possible and already trying to make up for lost time.

The next morning, after saying a quick goodbye to Nat, you and Bradley were off to the shipping dock once more.

It was hard to believe that the last time you were here with him was when you had given your heart to him and he had given it right back to you after damn near shattering it completely.

How he managed to get you back after that, he’ll never know.

It was clear that Bradley was also having a hard time standing on the dock and it was obvious that he, too, was thinking back to that awful day that almost cost him you forever.

He dropped his bag and turned to you when he was a few feet away from the ramp, his hands instantly finding their home on your hips. Yours come up to rest on his chest as you try to compose yourself as best as you could manage. “This is it, pretty girl,” he mumbled as he pulled your body close to his.

You nod and wrap your arms around his middle. “I love you, Bradley,” you whisper, unsure if he even heard you as countless other people sent off their loved ones around you.

He did, though. “I love you more,” he said back and kissed the top of your head, lingering there for a few seconds so he could inhale the sweet scent of your conditioner. When he pulled away, he was met with the sight of your teary eyes. “It’s okay, baby. We can handle two months.”

You shake your head and look up at him. “It’s not that,” you murmur, blinking away the tears as best as you could. “I was just thinking about the last time we were on this dock. Feels like it was yesterday.”

Bradley’s heart broke a bit at your words and he wanted to take you into his arms again, but refrained from doing so as he thought about his next move. His pocket felt heavy, even though the object was as light as a coin, and his heart quickly began to beat a bit faster.

His face heated up as he took one hand off your waist in order to rummage around in his pocket. “It’s not like last time,” he promised as his fingers felt the cool metal.

“I know, but still,” you trail off, furrowing your brows as he continues to feel around in his pocket.

“It’s not like last time,” he repeated in a breathy tone as he pulled his hand free. “Because you didn’t have this last time.” He held up a ring that reflected in the rising sunlight, the small object making your mouth part in a silent gasp.

“Bradley,”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he got down on one knee right there on the dock. He didn’t care about the many people rushing around him as he focused his full attention onto you. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Your eyes fill with tears once more as he takes your left hand in his. “Bradley,” you say again, at a loss for words as he held the ring between his thumb and index finger.

“I love you, and I love that you’re the one I get to come home to,” he says, him being the one to wear his heart on his sleeve this time around. “I hope I can return to you as your fiancé, if you’ll say yes.”

Your eyes widen and tears freely fall as you bend down to grab either side of his face. “Are you kidding me?” You ask with a laugh and kiss him hard. “Of course I’ll say yes. I’m saying yes.”

Bradley’s arms were around you in seconds as he stood back up to his full height, taking you up with him and lifting you off the ground slightly. Neither of you paid any attention to the smiling strangers around you as they witnessed your acceptance of the ring, your lips pressing together in a salty kiss. “Yeah?” He asked when he pulled away but kept you close to him.

“Yes,” you confirm and he took it upon himself to slide the pretty ring onto your finger. “God, I love you so much.” You say and jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist and kissing him again.

He kissed you back as if this was his last time doing so, his arms caging your body tight against his. “I love you,” he says back, kissing you a couple more times as he sees people beginning to board the carrier next to him. “I gotta go, baby. But I’m coming back to you. I’m coming back to my fiancée.”

“Stop,” you whine against his mouth. “How am I supposed to let you leave now?”

He grinned and peppered kisses all over your face. “Just know I’m going to be thinking about you every single second,” he swore as he set you back down.

You nod and grab his bag. “Be careful,” you beg as you hand it to him.

“Always,” he said as he took his bag and pressed a final kiss to your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you,”

“No fucking way,” Jake muttered as he threw his bag onto his bunk. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Bradley rolled his eyes from his place on his bed. “Cheer up, Hangman,”

Jake rolled his eyes as he sat down and ruffled his pillow. “How the fuck did we end up as bunkmates,” he muttered under his breath. “I was fine with being deployed with you, but not sleeping in the same room as you.”

Bradley wanted to bite back with some witty remark, but held off as he thought about you and how close you are to the guy beside him. For some reason you adored this guy, and he would just have to accept that Jake Seresin would always be in his life as long as he was in yours, and he planned on being with you for the rest of his days.

He already missed you so much. If he really concentrated and closed his eyes, he was sure he’d still be able to smell the vanilla perfume you wore whenever you left the house.

The same house he now shared with you, officially.

Man, is he whipped.

It hadn’t even been half an hour and he already craved you beyond words. The video you and he made weighed heavily in his pocket, and he was tempted to watch it now. You got him hard without even being in the same room as him, and he knew he wouldn’t last long when he got the chance to watch the video, but having Jake share the same room as him was definitely a mood killer.

He just hoped he would get the chance to be alone for at least a small portion of this deployment.

Bradley debated on whether or not he should just leave the room and only come back when it was time for bed, but he also knew he was going to have to face Jake at some point.

“This is getting old,” he said as he looked over at Jake. “Why are you still so pissed off with me?”

Jake sat up a bit straighter. “I said it before. Just because Y/n forgave you doesn’t mean I will,” he answered. “You weren’t there, man. She was….messed up. You fucked her up, Bradshaw. It was hard to see her like that and know it was partly my fault since I’m the one who brought you into her life.”

Bradley sat up from his lying position and faced his bunkmate. “I know I fucked up, alright? I know. I thought about it every single day while I was gone. It killed me to know that I made her feel like she wasn’t enough and that I wasn’t there to tell her that I didn’t mean it,” he rasped, his mind going back to how rude he was to you that day. He was such an ass, and you truly didn’t deserve any of it, much like how he simply didn’t deserve you. That never changed. “If I’m being honest, I’m glad she had you after how I left things. Even if you are a prick sometimes.”

“Wow, Bradshaw,” Jake said sarcastically. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

Bradley grunted in response, unsure of how you put up with this literal child. He thought about what to say next, knowing he didn’t want the next eight weeks to be tense and awkward between the two men. Without thinking too much more, he says, “I asked her to marry me,”

That had Jake’s eyes widening. “Damn, Bradshaw, you don’t waste any time, do you?” He asked as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. After a few more seconds he asked, “What did she say?”

Bradley smiled at the memory of you jumping on him in front of everyone on that dock and how he helped erase the previous experience, successfully replacing it with a better one. He wished he had thought to take a picture of you wearing the ring, just so he could have something sweet to look at after all the dirty photos, but he also knew there will be time for that later. “She said yes,”

Jake blew out a huff of breath, nodding afterwards. “That’s great, man,” he didn’t sound too thrilled, but he also didn’t sound too pissed. A quiet grunt of disbelief left him before he said, “Just don’t hurt her again.”

He then moved to lay back on his bed, pushing his bag and letting it land on the floor. “Jake,” Bradley said, his voice more serious than it had been the night they got into that altercation. “I won’t hurt her ever again. I can promise both you and her that. You still don’t give a shit about me, and that’s fine, but we both love her, so we need to learn how to get along. This is my attempt.”

Jake huffed, a bit annoyed at the fact that he knew Bradley was right. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, reaching behind him and resting his head on his hands. “For some reason she seems to actually love you, so I guess she’s about as smart as your dumb ass.”

Bradley laughed, a genuine sound that had Jake holding back a small smile of his own. “Thanks,” he said under his breath. “I mean it, Hangman. I won’t fuck it up again. She’s it for me.”

Jake looked over at him and studied his face for a while, noting just how serious he was. He lets out a sigh before saying, “Alright, man. Stick to that promise and give me a warning when you need the room to yourself for a few hours and we might actually survive the next two months,” he says, continuing when Bradley just laughed, “I’m serious. I’d rather not walk in on you jerking off to whatever sick thought is going through your head.”

Bradley reached into his pocket. “Don’t worry, I won’t be thinking about that kind of thing too much,” he says, holding his phone up and smirking. “That’s what this is for, so I don’t have to think about it.”

Jake looked confused for a second before he clued in to the fact that he was insinuating that you had given Bradley plenty of viewing material. He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tried to fight off a grin. “Fuck, this is going to be a long deployment,”

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