#and when i say suck i mean: took a month and half to deliver a week-long task

[axolotlelle]

my hardest people to deal with is people who are like... saying all the right things, are allies or straight up marginalized, but then. they just suck ass at their job. absolutely no skills. and i KNOW they will co-opt social justice language whenever it's brought up

[leeofthevoid]

Cold-blooded Beings - Part 4

Farleigh Start x Reader

a/n: It's been a rollercoaster and I hope I delivered a decent chapter this time around. I was thinking about making oneshots soon while resting my brain from this series. I promise you...Things will go a little crazier from here. Please share your thoughts! I'm so scared to write SMUT.

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Strong language, Violence

Word Count: 2521

|| Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Guilt and Glory

With the help of other butlers, Duncan helped you, Farleigh, and Felix settle in. After two weeks of convincing from Farleigh and Felix that you should stay at Saltburn for the summer, you finally caved. It saved you hours on the plane going back to your estate in Andalusia for two months. 

Three days before Saltburn:

Getting a phone call from your mom after your exams, hoping for congratulations and a heartwarming invite to stay at your family home in Vienna. "Hello, daughter, how have you been?" You cleared your throat and smiled, "Been doing well, Mama."

"Very well then, I must let you know that you will reside at the South Estates when you depart from Oxford." You sighed and bit your lip in disappointment, trying to save yourself from an argument you might start and lose. "I see; thank you for informing me ahead of time. Where will you all be, if you don't mind me asking?" 

"Your Papa and I will be in France with your siblings. There has been a problem with our family branch there; your father's side always wants attention to be on them." You can't help but sigh with your mom, remembering how your cousins who lived in France were so overbearing even though they only leeched off from your father with money, not even half your allowance. Fakes. "Stay safe, Mama. I love you. Tell Papa and the little ones that, too." She hummed and ended your call.

"Well, that was stressful," Farleigh commented while typing away at his laptop. "Sorry you had to hear that; extended families suck ass." Farleigh chuckled and looked at you briefly before typing again. "I would know." He took refuge in your room every chance he got because you apparently had excellent ventilation and better leg space. Very obvious by the way he called dibs on your bed. "You'd like that, though, right? Be able to tell the leeches off?" 

You turned back at Farleigh while you sat on the foot of the bed, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?" 

He raised both his eyebrows with a slight smirk playing on his lips. "I'm just saying. You were so annoyed with your family leeching off your father, yet you can't tell Oliver he's using you as an ATM." He raised both his shoulders innocently and bit his lower lip. 

The air turned hot, and you didn't like the room's energy. "Farleigh, he's my friend." 

"Or your pet project?" He closed his laptop with a loud click and looked at you, waiting for a fight. It was frustrating on your part to be asked such cruel questions, especially after your Mother basically left you on your own. 

"Leave it, Farleigh. I'm not in the mood to discuss this." 

He scoffed. "Why? Because it's true? You just got bored like Felix and preyed on the scholarship weirdo." A visible frown plastered on your face as you stood up. He slid to the edge of your bed, a smirk still on his face. "Stop!" 

"Are you scared to admit that he looked so helpless when Mr. Ware favored me over him? When he stood in the corner of the hallways without friends?" 

"Farleigh, what the fuck!" 

He stood up and started to walk closer to you. "No. I'm sick of you playing god. You and Felix think you could bring another kid into the group without problems?" 

"Farleigh enough!" 

He was before you, towering over you with that shit-eating grin. "Is the Monarch losing her cool?" 

"Fuck off, Farleigh! Just because the Cattons took you in doesn't mean you're not a leech, too!" 

He smiled at you and sighed. "That's why I like you, Y/N. You're rotten, unlike me, who begs, right?"

You looked up at him with a confused look. "What happened? W-Why are you like this?" 

Farleigh didn't answer and left your room. 

You found out that night from Annabel that Farleigh apparently overheard how you and Felix talked about his Mother. How Felix told you about Fredrica Start's pitiful fate and your blatant honesty of her foolishness, making Farleigh beg for allowance more ever since she got sick. 

You sat down on your bed while Duncan instructed the maids how you liked your room done; he's such a true gentleman for that. They took a few minutes to place things under the head butler's watch and hurriedly left the room when they finished. 

"Dinner is the same time as before, Miss Y/N. Please wear something appropriate for a black tie event." You thanked him as he left. Leaving you alone in the special room the Cattons gave you. Venetia always said it would be yours because you were part of their family. Starting to think that you've been too loose with your mouth about family. 

Speaking of Venetia, she lightly knocked on the door and opened it, finding you in the middle of the room. "When they said they had someone good for me here, I didn't expect they were telling the truth." You ran to her and hugged her tight, even lifting her off the ground for a split second. "Vee! I missed you so much! You look beautiful!" 

A chorus of laughter and giddiness filled the once-quiet room. Venetia pulled you to your bed and sat down facing each other. "Babes, I was a fucking wreck when you left. Felix and Farleigh were worse, but that day was the most horrendous. Duncan had to pry Felix off the gate, Farleigh threatened to commit arson, and I was inconsolable." She had a knack for exaggerating stories like your Aunt Elspeth, but it does put a funny image in your head. 

You laughed, but she tried to convince you more. "I personally tried to jump off the plane to go back, but the guards told me that I would break my legs." Venetia realized how silly it sounded and laughed with you. You missed her so much because she never honestly did act her age, but in a way, you liked it better. Being able to have an older person connect with you better.

You plopped yourself on the bed as Venetia inspected her nails. "Farleigh and I aren't on good terms." She looked away from her nails to give you a look of disbelief. "Oh, please. Farleigh could never stand not being with you. Whatever you did, he would have been over it by now." You dramatically gasped and put a hand on your chest. "Why would you assume that it was me!" 

"Between you and Farleigh, you never get butthurt with anything since you were little." She was right. Farleigh seemed to be back to normal when you sat next to him in the cab, clingy. Did you catch him at the wrong time that day? Either way, you'll confront him after dinner to ease your nerves. 

Venetia talked her head off about the things she's been doing at Cambridge, even told you about the boys there that you should meet since "Oxford men are so last season," according to her. You both got ready in your room when Felix knocked on your door to join the gossip session you were having. Felix may be a guy, but he sure does have the mouth to rival his Mother. The room was filled with gasps, giggles, and squealing when Duncan knocked on your door to fetch you. It's dinner time. 

Venetia wasn't a fan of dinner time, especially when Elspeth did nothing but shower others with affection and not her. Elspeth was so excited seeing you walk to the dinner table, all dressed in a lovely white cocktail dress and dolled up. "Darling, look at you! So tall and beautiful! You definitely grew to be a model like me." You smiled at Elspeth as she hooked her arm around yours to lead you to sit next to her at the dinner table, sitting beside her. You looked back at Venetia, who smiled when mouthed 'No way,' rejecting all compliments Elspeth showered your way. 

Dinner went smoothly, aside from the fact that Farleigh wasn't as…Farleigh to you. He talked but barely did the usual gossip and glittering of stories. You loved that about him. 

Dinner ended on a good note. You had to excuse yourself from Elspeth and Pamela, who quickly fell into gossip when you walked away from them in the dining area. 

You walked outside to the yard, where their pond was. Sat on the little dock and looked at the stars littering the skies. "Lost, Pretty lady?" You looked up to the familiar head of curly hair and a wicked smirk. A cigarette in between his lips as he looked down on you. "Hello to you too, Farleigh. Tired of ignoring me?" He rolled his eyes and sat next to you. 

"Actually… I'd love to have you all to myself before Oliver comes here. You get a little too invested in your pet project." You scoffed and shoved him a little. "You act like I'm not your pet project, too, Farleigh. Don't deny the fact that you've been entertaining me so you can get more sexual partners." 

He laughed and scooted closer to you? Resting that big head of his. "You like it."

"No, I don't." Shaking your head while suppressing your smile. 

"Yes, you do."

"Yes, I do." 

You both chuckle as he takes the ends of your hair, playing with it between his fingers, caressing it so lightly. 

"I like our tension. The fact that you're the only pussy I haven't tried yet." You groaned and pushed him off you as he laughed. "Yeah, well, it takes more to get in between my legs, Start." 

"Oh god, don't tell me I must be Oliver to do that." He said in an incredulous tone. 

"Farleigh!" 

"What? It's true!" You shove him again but fail as he latches his arms around your waist while lying down on your lap. A fucking tease and a prick for reminding you about your gap in strength.

You gently caressed his head as you made yourselves comfortable on the docks, "I'm sorry about what I said…I don't mean it like that, you know?" He looked up at you with those beautiful eyes. "You meant it; you're just usually not an asshole to make me feel it." You drew out a breath and looked down on him. To actually look at Farleigh, one must brace themselves to have their breath taken away. He was mind-blowingly beautiful, and no one can deny him of that privilege. The Cattons were all beautiful. A beautiful chaos. 

Farleigh thought the same about you. It wasn't like you were a hidden gem; you never paid attention to it. He was mesmerized by something much more than him. That the person he had at arm's length is so…Unattainable.

"Farleigh, I was an asshole, and I hate myself for that. Please allow me to apologize and at least make it up to you." When you told him that, he had this mischievous aura, but he kept silent. "I'll hold you up to that." You almost regret being a decent human being. 

You simply hummed as you set your sights on Saltburn. Farleigh returned to playing with your hair, braiding, and doing all types of knots. 

It was a good night. It felt like so many things had changed, and so many things had stayed the same. 

The next day was eventful. Felix pulled you all out of bed at six in the morning to enjoy a time together at the vast Gazebo they had near the pond. Farleigh, Venetia, and you all looked like the undead, slowly dragging your feet to follow Felix. 

"Ladies and Gentleman! It is with my great pleasure."

"Fuck off." Farleigh snidely remarked. Felix gave him a dirty look, making you and Venetia go into fits of giggles. 

"As I was saying. Ladies and Cunty man, I'm happy to show you all…Picnic paradise." 

Two maids opened the Gazebo to show you a beautifully set-up breakfast on a picnic blanket. Venetia slowly walked up to Felix with a smile and hug, sleepily hanging on to him as he led her to the blanket. "I'd love to praise Felix, but the sun is barely out to help me hide my lies." You chuckle as Farleigh slides his arm around yours and follows the two siblings inside. 

Venetia and Felix always had a weird relationship. They clung to each other since you were all kids while you and Farleigh felt like outsiders. Venetia fed Felix some food while Felix was lying down on the blanket, reading that Harry Potter book. "I reckon Mum would be upset that we ate without them." Venetia had this playful smile on her lips, mouth stained with wine. “Auntie Elspeth would understand; our special guest is too special to have a slimy ole English breakfast.” Farleigh answered.

All eyes turned to you mid-bite on a croissant, making you a tad bit conscious. "Seriously, can't there be a hint of privacy for me and my breakfast?" Felix propped himself up with his arms and turned to look at you. "Voyeurism is a thing of this family." He gave a wink, prompting you to throw a good pastry away…On his face. Farleigh and Venetia soon held to their food and chucked it at Felix. 

A food war at six in the morning! Elspeth said it was Utterly preposterous looking back at how much mess you made. The Gazebo was filled to the brim with food all over the wood panelings and the stained glass roof windows. All of you went out looking like a mess, and it got many questions from Elspeth and Duncan. 

"Eugh, I'm going to take a bath." The first few words that broke the silence while you were all standing outside the house lined up like school children. "Want me to join you?" You smacked Felix on the chest hard as you marched past him to go up to your shared bathroom with Fareigh to get everything out of every crevice. 

After the initial buzz from the morning’s event, you all sat with Sir James at the library to watch another movie he had set his sights on. It was funny; it really had the room filling up with laughter and some smart remarks from Farleigh. 

Then came the Oliver topic. Felix first reminded us about Oliver and his situation. How he invited him due to the loss of his father, thankful and grateful that your best friend was kind enough to cheer Ollie up. Elspeth gasped and was verbal about her sympathy, especially towards Pamela…Very verbal and elaborate.

Farleigh sat behind you on a chair, typing away on his laptop with a disapproved look, you checked his screen and they were all littered with Fuck yous and other colorful words. Guess he truly did hate Ollie. “And he lent me his bike, Mum! I was seriously going to get into trouble, but my savior just happened to walk by!” Elspeth gasped and rubbed Felix’s arm in a motherly manner. 

You can’t help how Venetia had a tinge of jealousy or yearning on her face. It can be a topic discussed for later, you suppose.

At the end of the day, you are reminded of a few things, and they all circle around Oliver. Not to be crazy, but…Why do you feel so nervous?

Previous | Next

[snowdice]

Folds in Paper: Book 2 (Chapter 3: Peel It Up and See What's Underneath) [Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sander Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, Logan/Virgil, Roman & Patton & Logan

Characters: Janus, Patton, Emile, Remus, Roman, Logan, Virgil, Remy

Summary: Janus is trying. After spending months trapped in time with his enemy turned... something else, Janus is trying to find meaning in a world where he or anyone else could rewrite history with one simple mistake.

During his leave from the Time Preservation Initiative, the time distortions that have been causing disastrous ripples in time have not gone anywhere. His partner's past is more mysterious than ever and old and new alliances are shifting. Can Janus figure out what is going wrong with time before that time is up?

The problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12.

Chapter Summary:

Things are harder, better, but harder.

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol, sexual innuendo, character with depression, character with ptsd

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

Previous Book(s)

Book 2: Part 1 Part 2

They sat down in the living room. Janus let Emile have the entire couch and sat on one of the matching armchairs himself. There was a squeaky sound when he sat. The plastic covering the chair had been delivered in was still on it.

Emile had a pleasant, open but curious expression on his face and Janus suddenly had an idea what it felt like to be his patient.

“I,” Janus began after a moment, shifting uncomfortably on the squeaky chair. “I don’t know how to start this conversation. I talked about what I wanted to say and possible ways to say it with Dr. Figueroa, but I… I still don’t know. I guess I should start by saying that I did something horrible that I need to apologize for, and I’m not sure if apologizing will even be enough. The problem is you don’t even know what that horrible thing is.” Janus stared at his feet. “So, first, I should probably explain what I did. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Maybe start with what happened before it,” Emile suggested. “Just lead up to it. It might help explain why whatever it was happened too.”

Janus took a breath. “Okay,” he said. “That day was just like most. We both woke up early. I was going to the TPI and you were going to where you worked your residency. We ate leftover pizza for breakfast because both of us were exhausted. You because it sucks to be a resident and me because I’d been working on a big case. I was getting…frustrated with the case. That was my first mistake: being impatient and angry. It was just a thief, but a slippery one. She’d stolen a half-broken time piece and was using it to rob banks within about a 50-year time frame. I had an idea of where she might go, but no one would listen to me. Or at least,” Janus quirked a half smile, “that’s how I interpreted it. They said they’d look into my idea, but they were being extra cautious because of how close in the timestream her actions were to most of the agents’ lives. I was so tired of the case and so egotistical. I decided to check it out on my own without being cleared by the TPI. I went back in time without thinking of the consequences.”

Janus took a breath. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he continued. “I’m not sure how, but somewhere in the course of my self-appointed mission…” He trailed off. He didn’t know how to say it. He really didn’t

“What happened?” Emile asked when he didn’t continue.

“I…” and his next words probably sounded like crackly nonsense to Emile’s ears because he couldn’t get his thoughts straight. His tongue tangled around the shape of the words. “I don’t even remember living in that town or the fact that Mom used to work at that bank,” he choked out. “I didn’t think, and I didn’t check and…” There was a long silence. “I erased you,” he finally managed to say in a whisper, but in the quiet of his barely lived in house, the words were loud.

There was more silence. “But I…” Emile said after a moment.

“I went back and fixed it,” Janus said, “but I… didn’t do a perfect job. I don’t even know how much I messed things up. It would have been one thing if it’d just been me. If it had just impacted my life, but I did it to you and I don’t even know how to start to apologize.”

Nothing was said for a long moment. Janus didn’t look at him.

“…Huh,” Emile finally said.

Janus risked a glance at him. He didn’t look irate, but he did still look confused which was probably the reason for that.

“I’m sorry,” Janus said. It was really the only thing he could say at this point.

Emile tilted his head to the side. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the edge of his shirt with slow circles. Since he was 15, Emile only cleaned his glasses with specially designed wipes, but he’d held onto the habit of cleaning his glasses with his shirt anytime he needed a moment to think. Janus wasn’t sure if Emile even realized he was doing it, but he knew it was a signal for Janus to be quiet for a few seconds.

The glasses were perched back on Emile’s nose after a few seconds. “I think I remember that,” he said contemplatively.

“…What?” Janus asked, and he was no longer avoiding looking at Emile. He was now blatantly staring at him.

“Well, I didn’t know what it was,” Emile said, “but I did have a very odd dream on the day you mentioned and suspiciously I had said dream in the middle of the day and woke standing up.”

“A dream?” Janus asked.

“A very vivid dream,” Emile said. “I don’t believe you actually erased me completely from existence. My life was simply shifted slightly. I was someone else working as a social worker someplace else for about 5 hours and then I was suddenly back in my appropriate place.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about that?” Janus asked, but then immediately winced at his own hypocrisy. “Er… never mind.”

“I didn’t know it was possibly real,” Emile said. “Honestly, I thought I was just really tired. I’d been overworking myself a lot. I took the rest of the day off after that.”

“You shifted reality for a few hours, and you didn’t realize it?” Janus asked.

“Like I said, I was really tired and nothing seemed to be wrong…”

“Wait, but things were different,” Janus said. “Didn’t you notice things were different.”

“Not… really,” Emile said. “Like what?”

“Like…” Janus said. “Like a whole bunch of things!”

“Like…?”

“Like you had a different job title and you worked different hours.”

“I thought I’d fallen asleep standing up or had a vivid audio-visual hallucination at work from stress. I asked for a switch a couple of weeks later.”

“You used to hate time travel, but then you took a job at the TPI.”

Emile gave him a droll look. “I still hate time travel,” he said. “I literally just said that not 5 minutes ago.”

“Well then why would you work for the TPI?”

“Because time travel is so confusing and distressing that people doing it on a regular basis as a career need psychological support. Plus, Lia asked for my consultation when developing the mental health part of the Agent Management Office,” Emile continued. “Considering I already knew quite a bit about time travel from being around you, she knew me personally, and I’d finished my residency, she decided to give me a job offer when my advice panned out.”

“W-well,” Janus said. “You were allergic to pineapples.”

“You mean my childhood allergy?” Emile asked. “That has since resolved itself in my adult life?”

“It has?” Janus asked.

“Janus have you considered,” Emile asked, “that some if not all of the inconsistencies you were seeing in my life had to do with the fact that you hadn’t spoken to me in 3 years?”

“I… uh… hadn’t considered that,” Janus admitted honestly.

“You were unconsciously looking for information to support your incorrect world view,” Emile said sounding very much like a head doctor and not like a brother, “and you found some.” He sighed. “It makes sense that after having faced a traumatic event where you essentially thought you’d killed a loved one that you weren’t thinking clearly.” The head doctor analysis voice slipped just a bit. “I just wish you’d talked about it with someone.”

“Sorry,” Janus said, because no matter which way this conversation had gone and no matter the revelations, the point was an apology. “I’m sorry.”

Emile sighed. “I would have forgiven you even if you had erased me,” Emile said. “You didn’t mean to, and you did your best to fix it. You did fix it even if you were an idiot about it.”

“What about for being an idiot and not talking to you for three years?” Janus asked.

“I already did forgive you for that Janus,” Emile said pointedly. “What did you think the last 6 months were?”

“Pity?”

Emile gave him his disappointed and exasperated headshake. “Promise to never do anything like that to me again,” he said, “and I’ll forgive you.”

“I promise,” Janus said immediately.

“And in the future, you’ll talk to me if you have any issue even if you think it’s horrible.”

“I think I’ve learned by lesson on that one.”

“And that goes for other people too,” Emile said. “If anything goes wrong with someone, you talk to them or if that’s too hard you talk to someone so they can convince you to talk to that person.”

Janus nodded.

“Great!” Emile said. “Then you’re officially forgiven for everything. Though I expect you to go to therapy and keep working on making yourself feel better, so these things don’t happen again.”

And Janus… didn’t know how to feel about that. He should probably feel happy and thankful or at least relieved, but if he was being honest, he just felt kind of empty in that moment like an old well that had finally run dry.

Fuck his head doctor and fuck Patton. Wasn’t this supposed to make him feel better? Everything was fine. He hadn’t actually erased Emile permanently from the timeline, in fact, he’d apparently still existed in some form in the alternate timeline Janus had temporarily made. Emile had forgiven him both for erasing him and ignoring him even though that was far more than Janus deserved. This was something he’d never even dared dream would happen, but it had been exactly what he’d wanted.

Yet, he still didn’t feel good, not really, not like how he remembered feeling before all of this happened.

Though was that really a surprise? Things were not like how they were before. He and Emile were no longer close. There was love and affection there, but they didn’t really know each other. The last six months had been nice. He’d been able to pretend for a bit that everything was back to normal, but in the moments he hadn’t been able to pretend that, it’d been a bit stilted and awkward speaking to his brother.

Beyond that, Janus was just used to misery at this point. It was his default state. Not being miserable took effort and energy he didn’t always have. He felt himself slipping into sadness or numbness even during times he should be feeling good. He’d noticed himself experiencing a sense of desolation when Emile cooked his favorite meal or in the middle of watching a ballet performance Emile had suggested they go to and which he’d been looking forward to in the days before. Even now when he should be so happy, so ecstatic, the emotions did not come. Everything should be okay, but it wasn’t.

“You doing alright over there?” Emile asked, and Janus didn’t know how long he’d been silent.

Instinct said to say yes and force himself to move on, but he wasn’t going to break his promise that fast. “Not really, no,” he admitted.

“That’s okay,” Emile said. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Why don’t we go taste the soup your arch nemesis,” there was a light teasing tone to his voice, “made for you. Some of the vegetables won’t be completely cooked yet, but I’m sure it’s already good.”

“Yeah,” Janus agreed. “Yeah, okay,” he got to his feet, the chair making that plastic squeaking sound again. “Maybe we could unwrap the furniture in here before you go home.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Emile said with a smile.

[almadelsur]

Haven | R.C

Summary: In which Rafe finds refuge in your arms and utters those three little words for the fist time.  

Warnings: fluffy angst, rafe struggling w his mental health.

A/N: In honor of this precious human’s birthday here’s an emotionally fluffly lil drabble <3 It’s a lil messy cause I literally wrote this in like half an hour so I basically just spilled everything that was in my head without planning it but I hope you guys enjoy !!

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

It had been a long and complicated journey for the both of you to end up in the haven that you had constructed, one that had consistently proved a challenge for both of your overall mental states. Everyone had warned you over and over about the eldest of the Cameron children when you had initially started dating, they’d given you extensive lists on the different ways that he could break your heart. Despite his stature, Rafe had never gone without a foul reputation of misdemeanour and toxicity. But of course, stubborn as ever, you couldn’t see past the sweet nothings he’d utter and the cool ocean of blue that would lull you into that sweet sense of security like the soft ripples of the obx sea. 

But Rafe had grown up under the unforgiving direction of his father which in turn meant that his stone cold persona had been something that was drilled into him since his early years. It took him more than a few months to overcome his impulsive lying and self-destructive way of completely diminishing everything that would render him vulenarble or, hell, even happy. 

In time he learned to let his guard down, your persistance and unconditional affection was a foreign thing for him. At the start he’d relentlessly attempted to ensure that you would see him for who he had been all those years before. You didn’t falter though, behind every lie he’d speak you could see the truth, every blow he'd deliver in order to sabotage what you had, you’d take with a heavy armor. Loving him was hard work but in the end it was worth it. 

In these moments, you could both reap the rewards of your pervalence. 

After a particularly taxing day running chores for his dad with Topper and Kelce, he’d found himself exhausted and disstressed under the safety of your bed sheets. With swollen eyes and an outpour of emotions he’d unload on the only thing that helped his heart breathe. 

“I suck, everything I do ends up in a burning pile of trash and I just don’t understand why I’m like this.” He spoke in between panicked breaths. 

“You don’t suck.” You reached out to carress his tensed jaw, the touch imediately promting a release. “You’re so much more than the title you were born into or the stupid reputation that people have built for you. Rafe what people think about you is in their head not yours.” 

“I’m not, everything they say about me is true Y/N. I’m a bully and- and I’m entitled and I just I dont know how to stop. Like today when we were out at the country club we saw that Routledge kid doing deliveries.”

You bit down on your lip, preparing for the inevitably nasty outcome of his story. 

“And Topper got so worked up and- and Kelce was encouraging it and so then-”

“Did you hurt him?” 

Rafe screwed his eyes shut and let out another shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to- I don’t know what came over me, Topper started on it and I swear to god at the start I was trying to mediate it but then he said something about how you were gonna realise how shit we all were and you were gonna leave me when you came to your senses and I just-”

“It’s okay.” You spoke quietly

“No it’s not okay! I couldnt control myself again. It got physical again. And I lived up to everything everyone says I am. Again.”

“You’re right it’s not okay, you should have walked away. But look at you now, you know what you did was wrong. A year ago you would have probably taken pride in hurting that pogue. I know that it probably doesnt mean very much right now but its progress. Its not nothing Rafe, it takes stregth to admit you’re in the wrong too.” As your words calmed his mental strain your thumb worked to do so physically. You stroked his cheeks, wiping each tear as they fell- a fitting metaphor for the way you banished his anguish. 

“He was right y’know. You are too good for me and one day you’re gonna realise it.” Behind his words was that tone of voice that desperately begged for what he was saying to be untrue. He couldn’t lose you. 

“This again?” It wasn’t the first time that the two of you had hashed out this conversation, clearly it was a trigger for for Rafe. Beyond that it was one of his biggest fears. 

“Rafe I know exactly who you are and I don’t want anyone else. I’m with you because you make me feel safe and happy and you help me be the best I can be.” You continued.

Although what you were saying was nothing shy of the truth, all he could hear was everything you were to him. He wasn’t strong on his own accord, you gave him strength. You’d replenish him so that his pain and anger and everything that fed into the darkest side of him was gone, and in it’s place you’d nourish his morality. You exhanged his ugliness for your beauty each and every single time. 

“I love you so much.” The words came quick and mumbled but they hung in the air as if he’d been speaking into a megaphone. Almost like a reflex they came out without him even being able to process them. Neither of you had said the words until now so the way they’d sounded coming out of his mouth robbed you from the breath you were about to take.

Your shock promted the silence to extend which caused Rafe’s ever-anxious doubting brain to panic with each passing second. 

“I’m sorry- I-” he scrambled for something to say, he knew he didn’t have it in him to take it back. If he had he would have been lying. He did love you, he loved you more than he thought was even phsyically possible for him. You had saved him. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or say it too early but I do. I love you and I- 

“I love you too.” You interupted with a warm smile. Significantly louder than he had been in order to cut through his rambling and ensure him that the immense emotion he was feeling was reciprocated.

He pulled you closer to him and he could have sworn his heart physically stopped for a second, the spike in dopamine and serotonin almost too much for his body to handle. You felt it too. Because whilst yes, you may have saved him, Rafe Cameron truly turned your world. 

As you spoke those blissful words he couldn’t believe that the pair of you were in the place you were. He knew it was no thanks to him and yet here he was, staring at the light on the other side of his seemingly never-ending tunnel of malignancy. In moments like these the tunnel would get shorter in length, he’d learned that by letting you in and letting you love him. When he’d look back at the start of your relationship he’d feel embarrased at himself, what he thought had been him protecting himself from vulnerability had really just been his pride keeping him anchored to the state of malevolance that he had become so acustomed to.

Nowadays he felt lighter, your love elevated him to heights he’d never ventured into and it was okay, he wasnt scared. He didn’t feel weak for allowing himself to be vulnerable with you he just felt relief. Relief and love. 

“I could never not love you. I promise.” You muttered as you pressed soft kisses where his tears had previously fallen, leaving behind dried tracks in their place. 

He hadn’t even realised he’d stopped crying. You had that effect on him, so effortlessly you could rid him of anything that hurt him and more often than not without him even noticing. 

And so armed with a promise and the indestructible sword that was your love he felt at peace again. He was content with the knowledge that he could face whatever came at him as long as he had you. Because all he really needed was to love you and try to be better and that would be enough. 

As you fell asleep in eachothers arms for what must have been the hundreth time, you both felt the strength of eachother’s love engulfing you in a coccon of assurance and bliss. He was yours and you were his and that was all either of you needed. 

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

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Anklets and Necklaces

Inspired by this tweet.

@5-secondsofcolor I’m not sorry.

Female Reader insert. NSFW Content (18+). My smut writing is hella rusty. So I do apologize, whoops.

_______________

Calum plays at the anklet, spinning it around and around her joint as her legs are crossed and resting in his lap. The gold jewellry is hardly ever taken off since he gave it to her. In return, she gifted him a chain with a tiny pendant with her initial etched into the back of it. The front of it is an arrowhead. He wears it so often now, that when it’s off, he feels a little incomplete. It’s an easy gesture to carry her everywhere with him.

“Okay we gotta decide what to eat for lunch like now or I’m going to get hangry,” she states.

Calum glances up from his phone, to see her still scrolling on hers. “Oh no. Not hangry,” he teases. But he knows she means it. Her warnings have about a thirty minute window, just enough for a delivery if they get something simple. Or if they want something more complicated, they need to find a snack now while the main course is cooking. “What do you want? Thai? Mexican?”

“Would you hate me if I said I really just wanted nuggets from McDonalds?”

The pout on her lips makes him laugh, “No, I could never. Usual then?”

“Yes, please.”

Stretching across the length of her, Calum pushes his lips together, trying to ask for a kiss. She laughs in return and squeezes his cheeks. “Be lucky you’re cute,” she states before lifting up slightly to meet his lips. “And squishy.”

“Ain’t nothing on me squishy,” he huffs, straightening back up to put her order into the app.

She sets her phone down on her stomach, gazing up over the sharp line of his jaw that his plump cheeks sit atop. And while it’d be easy to return with a poke and a verbal jab about his cheeks, she just watches him. His fingers deftly work over the screen. The white tank sits as a stark contrast to the depth and glow of his skin. “I think all the right things on you are squishy.”

“Yeah, what are those?”

“Your cheeks. And as much as you and your trainer kick your ass, I know happy weight when I see it.”

Calum grins, a chuckle shaking through him as he sets his phone down on the arm of the couch--the order completed on his end. He pinches at her thighs. “Take that back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think I will. I like it--just like I like my cookies. Hard on the edges gooey in the middle.”

Standing for just a moment to let her legs fall onto the couch, Calum kneels onto the cushion, hovering above her. Her eyes glitter just a little as she talks and the soft easy smile on her face lets him know that it’s all out of love--what’s she’s saying. The pads of his fingers run along the side of her thigh. “Be lucky I love you.”

“I am already lucky, so say what you gotta say. Roast me, my love. It’s not like we don’t do that anyways.”

And truth be told, Calum had no response. Not when he looks at her, because God all he sees is the person that’s been with him on his bad mental days. She’s been there when Calum was sure there was no lower low or higher high. And what do you say to that person that’s been there, seen all of you that there is to see? With a gentle and chaste kiss, Calum settles for silence.

“Cat got your tongue now, huh?”

This--this Calum can respond too. It’s all too easy. “I know what else my tongue can have.”

“I know something your tongue can have too.”

“Really now?” Calum asks, dragging his fingers over the top of her thigh and tracing the line of her lounge shorts. “Food will be here in fifteen minutes though. So that’s up to you.”

“Not nearly enough time to savor it. Besides,” she starts and takes a pause. Her lips pull into a side smile and Calum knows what that means. One brow quirks in anticipation and Calum watches her. The silence settles for a little too long.

“Besides what?” he prompts again.

“Besides, I need the mail to be delivered first.”

“What did you buy?”

“You’ll see later. I promise. It’s really not even supposed to be used for lingerie. But I’ve wanted these for a long time and I specifically have a set I’m trying to complete.”

There’s the black mesh set that she’s slowly been building out. The main piece came in weeks ago, at this point it might even be months ago that that came in. He was privy to it then and gave it the christening that it deserved. But there wasn’t any other lingerie set that needed expansion. Not at least to his recalling. “Which one is it?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Oh please,” he whines, dropping his head into her neck. His lips softly and slowly seal kisses into her warm skin.

“No, Calum. I’ve been waiting on this package for weeks. It got held up in customs and I-” she sighs at his lips sucking at her skin. Not hard enough to cause a bruise, but just enough to make her spine tingle. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Calum pushes up, with a huff, sitting back down on the opposite end of the couch. “This is killing me, you know?”

“Well, you ain’t dead yet. So I think you can tough it out for a little bit longer.”

“Begrudgingly--I want you to know that.”

She sits up, swinging her feet to the floor. “Your sacrifice will be duly noted. The mail will be here before you know it.” The couch releases her weight and Calum watches her pad into the kitchen. “Do you want anything?” she calls.

“I’m good,” he returns, knowing that he will be counting down the seconds until the mail comes. She returns with a glass of water, sitting back down on the couch, but bringing her feet up underneath her as she motions to the TV. “You watching that?”

Calum answers with a shrug. He wasn’t anymore. He originally turned it on mostly for the weather and some news. He found himself bored and flipping through channels before settling on the sports channel while he took care of Duke in the morning. Noise to fill the space since his brain needed the distraction. He hadn’t slept all that great the last few nights, decent sleep. The closer and closer the band got to putting out music the more his nerves kicked in--sometimes they were sneaky. The nerves come up faster than Calum had anticipated. And right now, they won the first round. But Calum was working hard to combat them so he could get about his daily life.

“Go crazy,” he finally verbally responds. And she picks up the remote, changing channels too fast for Calum to even understand how you could process what was on before decking it was a no. She eventually settles for HGTV--not quite caring what show was on. 

The first knock that comes to the door is the food that Calum ordered for the two of them. He answers it, popping up in the hopes it’s the mail. When it’s not, he sighs just a little but places the bag down onto the coffee table. “Your nugs, my queen,” he teases.

“Thank you, my good sir,” she returns with a grin, opening before divvying out what is for who. “You wouldn’t have happened to shot up like a bat outta hell because you wanted that to be the mail?”

Calum feels the heat in his cheeks, but bumps her shoulder gently. “No, why would I ever want that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” she scoffs in return, dunking a nugget into the sweet and sour sauce. They share a soft bout of laughter before turning their gaze back to the TV. Duke’s paws click as he ventures into the kitchen for a drink of water from his bowl. The lapping and splash of his tongue echoing just slightly as the screen goes dark between the show and the commercial break.

Calum lifts his gaze, taking in the soft angle of her jaw. She curls up around the carton of fries, eyes glued to the screen. Does she even have the slightest clue what she does to him? It’s not even the involved things like dressing up for him, or comforting him. It’s just her, when she’s munching on fries. Or when she sleepily walks behind Duke in the mornings. It’s when she hums as she cooks. It’s the dancing she does when she’s cleaning. It’s the pouts when she messes up on something and her brow furrows in as the determination settles onto her face.

It’s when she fucked up a birthday cake for him once--not greasing the sides of the pan enough and then adding a tad too much milk--called him crying about it and then in a minute flat resolved to make him brownies instead. Because she said she’d be damned if she didn’t make him something sweet to nibble on or pass along to the guys. And Calum’s not even that much of a sweets guy, which she knew, so she only settled on giving him half the batch she made. She, of course, saved the other half for her and her friends.

And it’s just the moments that she’s not even trying that makes Calum melt. Like when she paints her nails, she offers to do his first. Or when she lays down next to Duke, and in their shared silence, they seem to communicate everything with each other.

“I love you,” he states.

She turns, eyes widening for a second before grinning around her sip of iced tea. “I love you.” Her brows furrow just a little. “You okay? You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“If you didn’t want McDonalds, I could’ve done something else. Literally anything else,” she continues on almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

“It’s not the food,” he giggles. Calum reaches out to caress her cheek. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“I just love you, that’s all. Wanted to share it with you.”

Her grin is soft as it lifts her lips. “Good because you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of getting rid of you.”

Another silence envelopes them. Calum finishes his food and takes the empty containers to the trash. Another episode starts up from the speakers and just above it, he hears the chime of his phone. “Do you want me to screen it for you?”

“Yes please!” If it’s one of the guys, they won’t mind her answering. If it’s someone important, he doesn’t want to miss the call.

“Calum’s phone,” she answers but he can already hear her feet shuffling to him in the kitchen. “Okay, Ash. I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice comes closer and Calum shakes his hands just a little to get rid of the excess water before drying them. “No, I can’t say what it is without taking a look. Did you use the soil I recommended last time?” Another pause comes from her and when Calum turns, he finds her leaning up the kitchen counter, phone halfway pulled down but not fully away from her ear. “Yeah, I definitely think you should consider changing soils. But I can take a better look tomorrow for you. I’m going to pass along the phone now.”

She hands the phone over. “He said it was important.”

“Thank you,” Calum says in a whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then placing the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Ash?”

Calum’s not even sure how long the conversation goes on. At first, it is important information that Ashton’s trying to confirm--a date and time for a meeting that they had later in the week. He says he wrote it down where he writes down all their meetings but it’s not there. And Ashton’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t miss it. So Calum shuffles to his office and verifies in his calendar the time for the meeting.

But then the conversation diverges--they start talking about everything and anything. So much so, they’re laughing. Calum doesn’t even hear the knock at the front door. But he does notice her scurrying off into the bedroom. The door closes with a soft click. Duke comes trailing after her but notices the closer door and then keeps down the hall to the office. Calum reclines back in his seat trying to get another angle at the door. But it’s closed fully.

“You okay, gramps?” Calum asks Duke.

“Oh fuck off, mate!” Ashton laughs.

“Not you, you fucking egg. Duke--I was talking to Duke.”

“Oh!” Ashton giggles. “Sorry, I thought you was trying to talk shit.”

“I don’t have to try and do that to you.”

“Oi, don’t start something bro.” The two of them laugh and Calum bends down to scratch behind Duke’s ears. “Alright, thanks for confirming that meeting. I’ll see you tomorrow in the studio?”

“Yeah--bright and early. Talk to you later.” The call ends and when Calum spins around in his desk chair, his jaw drops as she steps out from the bedroom. It’s not exactly something new--as in something that she’s never worn before. But it doesn’t mean he ever gets tired of seeing her like this.

The white bustier pushes her breasts up and almost over the cups. And he travels the look down, taking in the baby blue skirt, fishnet knee highs. And he goes back up, taking in a black strap wrapping around her thighs. She notes the lustful gaze and steps right on the line of the threshold to the door.

“So,” Calum starts, trailing his gaze down and then back up to her face. “Not the black lingerie I was anticipating.”

“No, I’m waiting for the heels I want for that lingerie to go on sale. Besides, you didn’t like the collar I liked so I’m still searching.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it. It’s just too similar to one we already bought.”

“You’re right, but still.”

Calum cracks a smile at the reluctant confession. “But enough about that. This--this is a cute outfit.”

She nods, smoothing out the pleated mini skirt. “It’s less about the outfit and more about these,” she says, tapping at the thin black band.

“And those are?” Calum asks. It’s one step closer into the room and Calum think he can make out a heart shaped metal loop in the middle of it. She takes a second step closer and Calum can see clearly it’s some sort of thigh garter--leather or something related as the material. “Oh,” he breathes.

She continues slowly to approach Calum and when she’s just in arms reach, she lifts the skirt up. It goes up inch by inch and Calum’s entranced. Watching more of her thighs revealed to him. And soon it’s black panties--mesh and if Calum remembers correctly crotchless. But wrapped around her waist is another band of leather. Two pieces hook to another metal hoop right on her hip bones and then one trip connects the top piece to the bottom.

“A harness garter belt--what do you think?” she asks in a whisper.

Calum exhales, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach. He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around her thighs and pulling her into him. He kisses in the spaces between the leather, gingerly, lips hardly touching her skin. “I think you look beautiful,” he hums, dropping his head on his neck to look up at her.

Her eyes are still closed and Calum softly runs the tips of his fingers up her thigh, tracing the lines of the harness. With a deep exhale, she finally blinks back to reality. “Not too silly?”

His brows meet in the middle of his face. Why would she think it’s too silly? There’s nothing silly about her standing in front of him, clearly excited about her own purchase. “Angel--I’ll be damned if I ever think this is silly.”

Swinging her leg over and settling onto his lap, she grins. “Thank you, love.”

Calum holds onto her hips, rubbing his palms down to her ass. “So you said this technically isn’t lingerie?”

“No--I don’t think so. But I think they could be--a small accessory to something I already have.”

They share a kiss, much too quick for Calum’s liking so he pulls her back in for more. And her arms wind around his neck as he continues to palm her ass. Here, he doesn’t really care what it is technically or not. She looks absolutely amazing. “I like it. In fact,” Calum starts, moving to grip her thighs before housing them both up and then plopping her down on the desk. “I really like them.”

Calum stands between her legs, nose brushing and bumping against hers. Here, she can feel her core aching as Calum’s fingers trail closer and closer to her heat. It’s feather light--his touch, but it makes her feel electric all the same. “Cal,” she hums.

“Yes baby?”

There’s nothing that comes out of her mouth but a small huff, a rushed and harsh exhale at the feeling of his fingers dancing across her skin. He grins pulling back just a little to see the way her face goes slack, almost as if she’s at peace with him between her legs.

“Was there something you wanted to say, darlin’?” Calum tries again, taking just a half step back away from her.

With her eyes still closed, she smiles. “I want to know,” she starts, exhaling softly to counter the thud of her heart in her chest, “if you’d so kindly want to make love to me?”

Calum can’t help his own small tuft of laughter. “Darlin’, I’d do so happily.” They don’t always wind up in bed like this--but it’s nice, to be comfortable even to be this forward with this and this open.

Calum takes her hand as she hops down from the desk. “Give me a twirl,” he asks. She obliges, turning in a circle for Calum, punctuating the back view by lifting her skirt up. “Silly girl,” Calum laughs, giving a firm but playful tap to her ass.

Facing Calum again, she wraps her arms around his torso. “But you love it.”

“I do. I love you.”

They share another kiss and she slowly walks backwards out of the room. They get lost in each other--Calum in the way she fits against him and her in the way Calum holds her, palms spanning across her back and tight enough that she wonders if he thinks she’s going to disappear but gently enough at the same time that she’d love nothing more than staying here forever in his hold.

Calum finds the zipper to the top and slowly drags it down. The material exhales, slowly falling away from her body and when it falls to the floor, he kisses her neck, down to the swell of her breast. Her moans are soft, just above a hum that makes just enough noise for him to hear. And it goes right to his gut.

Here there's very little need for words. When Calum gives, she takes happily. But when she tugs at his hair, Calum knows to step back, lets her give something to him. Her kisses are soft against his skin, but make him feel like it’s being set on fire. One that he’d happily stay in, let the blaze consume every inch of him, if it meant that she was always the one to take him.

His shirt goes to join hers. Her mouth teases his nipples as she descends further down on him. Calum thinks he sighs, all he can do is just shut his eyes and let go into the feeling of her teasing the cut of his hips beneath the sweatpants. She’s always like this, teasing him. At first, it used to annoy him. But now he loves it, loves just how close she’s willing to push him to the edge, push his buttons but always delivering at the end of it.

Her meticulous work, to watch him jump at every scratch of her nails and nip of her teeth, is enjoyable. But Calum blinks open his eyes to cup her jaw, which stops her. When her gaze lifts, Calum motions for her to stand. “Yes?” she grins standing to her full height.

Calum presses their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

“Well how dare I keep a man like you waiting?” With a slow kiss, tongues just barely dancing, Calum walks the two of them to the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of it and she buckles just a little. Calum catches her from falling. “Turn around,” he whispers into her ear, “please.”

The instruction is obeyed and she spins to face the bed. Calum finds the zipper to the powder blue skirt and almost doesn’t want to take it off her. In the end, he does-- Calum lets the skirt fall onto a pool at their feet. Without even prompting she falls to her hands, ass grinding against his hips. He traces her spine with the pads of his fingers, following all the way down, over the curve of her ass and down to the opening in the panties. His fingers gather a bit of her arousal.

“Oh,” he groans. “So wet for me,” he hums with approval.

“Always for you,” she sighs. Calum teases her clit--a featherlight touch as he dances over her core. She lets herself fall a little bit more into the mattress--another moan leaving her lips when Calum takes one finger down from her clit to teasing her entrance.

Calum pulls away, bring his wet fingers to his lips and sucking them clean. “Taste just like heaven,” he hums. He gingerly guides her back to standing and uses her hips to get her to face him again.

More kisses are shared before they fall onto the mattress. Calum takes hold of one of the straps around her thigh and tugs her down, closer to him and she laughs. It gets caught off and morphed into a moan as Calum’s tongue licks a wide stripe up her. He’s careful of the mesh material of her panties, but knows that carefulness won’t last long. Not when her arousal coats his tongue. Not when her nails scratch over the muscles of his shoulders or tangle into the curls on his head.

She melts under the work of his mouth. The mattress merely becoming the vessel to hold the mess she’s bound to make and become. The room echoes the moans and slurps. Fingers gripping at the sheet, she chants Calum’s name. His tongue working magic over her core and just when she thinks she couldn’t possibly handle anything more, she notices the stretch at the addition of his fingers.

“Fuck,” she whines, lifiting one leg and he slips in even deeper, curling his fingers and hitting just the right spot.

Calum hungers for her pleasure--the high-pitched whine and groan as she releases. Some days it’s just the sound he needs to ground him. She gives short and breathless huffs, and quivers underneath him. “Gonna be a good girl?” Calum asks, fingers still pumping at her.

“Yes, oh yes, I will.”

“Gonna cum for me?”

“I want to, yes I’ll come for you. Make me your good girl.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s not fully cognizant of what she’s saying. Not quite babbling, but definitely talking so fast words bump into each other and slur together.

Calum grins, sucking at her clit again and she groans, head throwing back against the pillows. Her toes are curling--her whole body growing warmer with the passing second. The heat coils in her lower gut and she’s pleading. Though, she’s not sure who she is really meaning to plead to, but she wants to cum so badly.

Then it finally happens, one moment she’s sure she’s nearly in tears and the next, the coil snaps. She squeezes, hips raising off the bed and Calum continues to ride out her orgasm, gently pressing her back down into the bed. She hisses and starts to push at his shoulders, the signal that it’s too much. So Calum places one last kiss to her clit before pulling away from her glistening core.

Beneath him, eyes fluttering close, she looks angelic. Calum holds himself up above her and just watches the way she tries to collect her breath. “You’re beautiful, you know?” he whispers, not wanting to shatter the silence.

“No kidding?” she teases, winding her arms around his neck. The necklace dangles just a little in her face and she takes one hand to trace the chain. Hooking her fingers into it, she tugs Calum down to her. The taste of her arousal on Calum’s tongue makes her head spin. Calum caresses her side and stomach as the kiss deepens. Here is all they need--the soft and deep kisses, the moans that they swallow from each other.

Her hands leave from around his neck and begin to push down his sweatpants and underwear. And he lets her, even pulls back to kneel on his knees as she sits up. Their kiss hardly breaks and she’s quick to tug the cotton material down, hands wrapping around his length.

He groans at the squeeze--nothing too hard just enough pressure to make his whole body ignite. Her hand pumps him, once, then twice slowly and teasing him. “Baby,” he sighs, relishing the feeling of her hands working over him. The stay like that only for a minute or two before Calum pauses her to step down and full disrobe.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he crawls over her. “Welcome back, handsome,” she greets.

“Oh, it’s so good to be back,” he returns, grinning.

She runs her fingers over the tattoos decorating his chest, out of habit, out of something to ground her for a moment. There’s no way he’s real and it shouldn’t ever shock her like this. But sometimes it sneaks up on her and the realization of how madly in love she is with his man hits her all over again.

“What are you thinking about?” Calum asks.

“How much I love you,” she answers softly.

“I love you too,” he returns, bending down to kiss her. It’s soft and sweet--the kiss. For a moment, they just inhale the breaths of the other. It’s a tender moment, one that neither one wants to interrupt, so they let it linger, smiling at each other. She stretches up to kiss him, one hand trailing between their bodies and Calum catches the hint all too quickly when she traces along his length.

“I haven’t forgotten, love,” he exhales in a breathy laugh. “Trust me, I could never forget.” Once lined up, Calum’s slow to sink into her. One, he wants to drag this out, enjoy every inch of him that she grips of him. And two, because he wants to make sure that even in the lull that she’s ready to take him.

Her head falls back, hair pushing into the pillow and neck exposing itself to him. A tempting sight but Calum loses himself in the feeling of her wetness. He’s slow, pulling out just a bit before sinking further back into her. Her sighs and words of encouragement are soft from beneath him but they fuel him.

The pace quickens and both of them groan at the ecstasy. Out of reflex, she lifts one leg to readjust her hip flexor and Calum brings it up, resting her ankle on his shoulder. He kisses over the joint and the anklet, savoring just how much of her he can feel like this.

The chain dangles in her face, brushing in the valley of her breast and she revels in the feeling of Calum reaching the full depths of her body. She digs her nails into his flesh, more curses falling from her lip. But some of them get lost in the groans that win out. “God,” she huffs. “You’re everywhere.” And though it’s a bit of strain to get the words out because Calum’s pace is relentless as he snaps his hips into hers, she pushes the words out.

“You always take me so well,” he praises, watching the way her face contorts. “Oh, so soon, love? You’re going to cum again for me so fucking soon, like a good girl.”

Her whine slips out first but she nods, feeling the coil tightening yet again in her lower abdomen. Her body is hot, and she can already feel the prickle of sweat on her forehead. “Please, baby, please,” she begs.

“As you wish,” he hums, his own orgasm approaching faster than he anticipated. His body humming as the warmth spreads. The bed rocks just a little, hitting the wall and the sounds echo around them as they sigh and moan to each other. But the only thing that really matters to them, is each other.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, voice straining as she orgasms. No noise comes from her, but her mouth opens like if she had the breath she’d definitely be screaming his name. This time the quakes last longer, her whole body shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he hums, bumping his nose against her jaw, still riding through her orgasm.

“Shit, oh my god,” she shudders, wrapping her arms around his neck.

There’s a slight hiss when Calum moves again, and he kisses over her face, starting with her nose and then moving to her cheeks. Another quake takes her and Calum, not anticipating it, groans-- his orgasm now right on the edge. It won’t be much longer, but she nibbles at his earlobe. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Made me feel so fucking good. I want you to cum in me. So fucking deep,” she hums.

And while Calum’s trying to get his own rebuttal to the tip of his tongue, she squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he yelps just a little, his body erupting with his orgasm. His body shudders and he’s so blindsided by the feeling, his slips just a little, more of his weight settling onto her than usual.

She doesn’t say anything, just hums at the feeling of him succumbing to the pleasure. “Oh, that’s what I wanted,” she encourages. It leaves her throat like a purr and Calum shivers again at the sound.

They lay together, for a moment, her nails scratching lightly at the muscles in his back. Calum sinks into her, body going heavy. Her slight shift squeezes around him and he groans, sensitive. “Don’t--I can’t,” he laughs.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” Even her own voice sounds heavy and slurred. She kisses his temple and Calum pushes up. He’s slow to pull out, enjoying the drips that follow of his own release spilling out of her. With one finger he gently scopes it back up and into her. The familiar twinge of desire pulls at his lower gut and it’s almost enough. She even shivers, but Calum watches the way her eyes stay closed.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sleepy now,” she returns.

“Let’s get cleaned up first and then we can nap.” His voice sounds farther away towards the end of the sentence and she assumes he went to the attached bathroom. The rush of water from the sink confirms it. Something wet and warm presses against her--no doubt Calum with a warm washcloth.

The clean up is swift as both of them share a shower and then under the sheets, they curl up around each other. Calum kisses the top of her head as she nuzzles in closely. “I want pancakes after our nap,” she mutters.

“I think we still have some blueberries.”

She pops up onto her elbow and grins a little. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

Calum laughs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

0X1=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You were one and he made you both zero. He has it all, a stable life, all that money, a wife lined up, and your body as his drug, him coming back for hit after hit. They called you a bad influence. You called yourself Jeon Jungkook's ex.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; angst; cheating; stereotyping of tattoos; reader is verbally abused by JK's wealthy parents; JK and reader are foolish, wounded animals and act accordingly; rough hate sex (fem reader, biting / marking / scratching, f and m-receiving oral, cowgirl, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - exes, tattooed, rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader, ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK's best friend

–

now playing – 0X1=LOVESONG (i know i love you) by txt ft. pH-1, Woodie Gochild, Seori

"I hate you."

"Join the club. Current members, me."

He narrowed his eyes and tossed his keys onto the table next to the door, kicking off his sneakers.

"We gonna fuck or what?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You tell me you hate me and then you want to fuck?"

"Stranger things have happened. I could tell you I love you."

You made a gagging noise. "Disgusting."

He pretended to be shocked. "How could you say such a thing?"

You slammed the door shut and walked past him, not saying anything. You heard him stride behind you, following to your bedroom.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Right, and I'm a dog. We done lying now?"

"You are a dog," you replied, falling onto the bed.

His head popped into view, long black hair hanging down, half of it pinned back to reveal his undercut and two dangling black earrings on his right ear.

"You fuck dogs? Nasty. I'm not into bestiality, sorry."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Shut the fuck up, Jungkook."

Jeon Jungkook cocked an eyebrow, adjusting his black turtleneck by hooking a finger on the collar and sliding it from side to side, the small tattoos on his knuckles and fingers dancing with the action.

"Why are you stressed like a nun?"

He clicked his tongue. "Her idea of getting freaky was trying to chew my neck off. Went full piranha on me."

You snorted. "Maybe you deserve it. Would have saved me the trouble."

"Ha, ha, very funny."

He glared at you and you glared back from the bed.

"So, how was fucking my best friend?" he snapped.

You scoffed. "I didn't fuck Taehyung. I told you already."

"That's not what he said."

"So what? I've never seen his dick or had it near my pussy. If he wants to make up shit, that's his prerogative."

Jungkook didn't look like he believed you, but you weren't the one cheating on your girlfriend with your ex, so it wasn't something you cared about. He narrowed his eyes.

"Swear."

"On what?" you shot back. "Your right nut?"

"Your life."

You snorted. "Well apparently to you, that ain't worth shit."

He was reaching for the bottom of his turtleneck and pulling it up and over his head. You felt a tinge of annoyance, seeing the dark, spotted bites on his side and shoulder. He yanked the article of clothing over his head and you spied the one on his neck, a blotted, messy patch of red-purple. It was ugly on his pretty tan skin.

You could do better.

"Your girlfriend know the meaning of sexy?"

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what she or your parents think."

"She and my parents can suck each other's dicks."

"Didn't know you liked dick. Guess that's why we didn't work out."

He tossed his turtleneck aside and growled, crawling onto the bed. Large, powerful, shoulders flexing, copious black tattoos covering his right arm and shoulder, a full sleeve. On the inside of his right bicep was a skull with a knife in its head.

You picked that one, a long time ago.

You looked into his eyes.

He had noticed you glancing at it.

She's ruining your life! Look at you! Tattoos all over your arm and hand! How could you get these ugly things?

Jungkook didn't say anything. He just grabbed your arm and started yanking your clothes off, just like how you grabbed his pants and started pulling them off his body, throwing them violently aside.

Don't you dare speak to our son ever again, you good-for-nothing whore. You think we wouldn't notice your poisonous influence sullying him? It took us months to find a nice, sensible girl willing to put up with your mistakes!

Hands and skin and teeth and hate, tumbling onto the covers, the taste of his flesh on your tongue and his cologne attacking your nose, his large hands gripping your soft thighs, pushing them apart, looking down into those chocolate eyes, the voices melding together, arguments, tirades, chaos, a fucking mess of you biting your tongue while Jungkook stood there and did nothing to defend you.

I hate you so fucking much, Jungkook!

And calling my parents dogs licking the shit off countryside roads is any better? The fuck is wrong with you?!

They were eating me alive in there and you said nothing! Absolutely nothing! I'd go to hell and back for you and you couldn't even say a single fucking word!

You were in hell. You came back.

And now you were in hell again.

"Damn, she must be fucking horrible at making you feel good if you keep coming to me."

Jungkook rolled his eyes and you clamped your thighs around his head, nearly a triangle choke as you dragged him along the sheets, him half-crawling to follow you, shuddering at the close proximity of your pussy to his face. When he spoke, his warm breath saturated your wetness.

"She doesn't even taste half as good as you and never fucking listens when I tell her what I like," he grumbled.

"Yeah? You tell her you like it when you shove your face into pussy?"

He scowled.

"Like I said, she doesn't taste good. I never give her head."

And he attached his lips to your heat, slurping noisily, sighing in satisfaction as you squeezed his head with your thighs, hot and slick tongue sparking your sensitive skin, fuck, yes, this is what pussy should taste like, so sweet, fuck, familiar and erotic, his hands sliding up and gripping your ass, firm and solid while staring up at you, opening his mouth and letting you see the pink, wet muscle flick and dance over your clit, ghosting it with pleasure but not giving it to you, your honey-like juices glistening on his lips and chin.

You clenched your jaw. "Get serious already. Stop fucking around."

Jungkook narrowed his eyes.

"I'm always serious with you."

His lips closed in and he made your mind go blank, soft black hair fanning out on your thigh, fast, swift, powerful licks all over your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending shocks and jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine from your core, one of your hands twisting in his hair, bunching it up, his sharp jaw cutting into your inner thighs because you were squeezing so hard, but Jungkook didn't care, always saying, do it, choke me with your thighs, if I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die eating you out, his long fingers splayed out over your ass and pushing your hips into his face, making you hump his waiting mouth and his punishing tongue, hot flames of desire taking over, your head tipping back, pulling on his long hair, moans of his name tumbling from your throat, suck harder, fuck, seeing black from the sudden blinding tension, his skillful tongue fiercely teasing your engorged clit in the overwhelming tightness, snapping the strings of sanity.

"J-Jungkook!"

The impossible high, the violent shivers, shooting into accelerated free-fall, your fingers unclasping from his hair and pushing his head into your throbbing core, his tongue shoving into your folds and moaning at the sensation of your muscles clamping around it, sucking it all out, your orgasm consumed by his greedy mouth.

Your name vibrated in your own pussy, delivered by sinning lips and hazy dark brown orbs drugged with lust.

Back then, when it was falling apart, you told Jungkook all sorts of things and he said all sorts of things back. Painful things, hateful things, pitiful things, pointless things, never having a real conversation about how deeply he hurt you.

Only later, a strange moment, seeing Jungkook at your front door, seeing it in his eyes. Something different.

He asked you if you wanted to fuck with no strings attached.

You bit back, as wounded animals do.

Why? You were such a waste of time.

Jungkook didn't know it, but his next words made you agree to this ridiculous arrangement.

Yeah, but I was your waste of time and that's all I ever wanted to be.

When he kissed you now, it was hungry and heady, drunk on your taste and you, forcing his tongue into your mouth and thrusting into your lips. Tangled bodies, tangled tongues, tangled minds, falling into the bed, his hands in your hair and yours in his, whispers of, she'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel, your lips and tongue all over his jaw and ear, biting down on it, earrings jingling against your cheek, his moan above your head as you traveled down, marking his skin with sharp bites and thick swipes of saliva, pretty pink marks all over his torso, contrasting the bruises.

"Of course not," Jungkook panted, a shuddering groan torn out of his throat as your nails raked down his back and then glided back up, fingertips pressing into the irritated skin, soothing it. "She never fucking listens to me or my body because she's an idiot."

You traced the curves of his muscles, lips ghosting kisses, hot and soft and sharp from breath and tongue and teeth, his body becoming yours from persistent, familiar touch, his name in your mouth and on his skin, your saliva dripping over his hard, thick length, and then your mouth was on it, his taste on your tongue, in your throat, and in your memory.

Jungkook moaned your name.

With longing, pain, and love.

When's the wedding?

Next year.

Huh. Good for you.

No, it isn't, and you know it. Bet you're glad I'm going to be miserable forever.

You've made me miserable forever, so serves you right.

"Get off, I don't want to blow my load in two seconds, fuck!"

You swallowed him as deep as you could and then pushed your head down so the tip was buried into your throat, swelling and twitching at the unbearable, euphoric constriction.

"F-Fuck, please, let go, fuck... oooh, shit..."

Your tongue outlined the underside of his length, humming around his cock, rubbing the base of the head and straining to slurp at it, letting him hear you, lewd, obscene, unafraid.

If he really wanted to, he could pull out now.

Jungkook breathed your name, savoring every syllable.

You stared into dark brown eyes, black pupils expanded, watching his jaw flinch and his shoulders shake, black tattoos shivering as you slowly removed your tight mouth, popping it off his cock with a wet plop.

His normally smooth, silvery voice was trembling, the pleasure deepening it.

"God, I hate you."

Jungkook and you could say it a thousand times, a million times, for all of time, and both of you would know neither ever meant it.

I love you.

Get out, Jungkook.

But–

Get the fuck out! You think you can fuck me and tell me you love me? Like that's going to somehow negate all the previous bullshit you put me though? No. Take your clothes and your pathetic self and get out. Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

He would. He did.

Over and over.

You towered over him now, waiting for him to roll the condom down, watching his face as you sank down onto his stiff length, seeing the elation, the gratification, the absolute bliss in the way your pussy suffocated him, tight, wet, his, your head dipping down and taking his lips, yours, fitting yourself around his girth that became harder as you bottomed out, his moan feathering over your lips as you rolled your hips into his with a firm smack.

"Oh, fuck, feels so fucking good..."

He knows you're not going to fuck someone else. You have to see other people so he finally realizes how important you are to him.

That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard in my life, Taehyung.

If you don't refuse him, he won't change.

I was never important enough to him in the first place.

Those chocolate orbs watching you, his strong hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin and leaving crescents of his nails, matching your pace, harsh, deep slaps of skin to skin, your name on the tip of his tongue, balanced in the tightrope of all or nothing, zero or one.

They want me to take over the family business.

Having a trophy wife is important for that kinda shit.

You're the perfect trophy.

Yeah, me and my mechanical heart.

Jungkook switched your positions, rolling over and pinning you down, perfect white teeth sinking into his pink lower lip, the black mole underneath prominent against his tense jaw, fucking you into your mattress, panting, giving you his all, aching pleasure with every rough thrust, your back arching and hands on his long black hair, clutching his head and raising your hips to meet that full hardness and to hit your favorite spot, sending bursting sparks of ecstasy up your spine and into your lungs, rendering you airless.

Nothing but pleasure, nothing but need, nothing but physicality.

“Look at me,” Jungkook rasped, hoarse from breathing so hard.

You lowered your head and raised an eyebrow. His parted lips had small cuts from stress-biting them. His tan skin was as lovely as ever, dotted with small moles on his nose, cheek, neck, underneath his lip, kisses from the moon, not bothering to wear makeup to cover them. He never did, not with you, not when his time could be better utilized being all over you. Dark brows and chocolate eyes, large, sharp, expressive, beautiful, your Jungkook.

Your country, your world, your universe.

You smirked as you looked at that face. He cocked a brow, black curls falling over his eye as you lifted your hand.

“You know what would piss them off?”

You didn’t need to say who.

He clicked his tongue and slammed his hips down on you, but you only clenched around him, causing him to pause and savor the feeling. His length wrapped in your warmth, connected in the most visceral way, his breath mixing with your breath. Dark brown orbs on you, half-lidded and shadowed by his lashes and long hair.

“What?”

You pushed his hair aside and traced his right eyebrow, stroking the hairs of the tail.

“If you got a face piercing.”

Jungkook grinned, low chuckle in his throat. “Yeah?”

You lifted yourself up to smack your hips into him, holding onto his broad shoulders with your other arm to balance yourself, devious smirk on your lips.

“You won’t do it.”

He leaned down, putting more force into each thrust. Your grip tightening, gasping into his face, eye to eye, dragged along by Jungkook’s intensity and passion, breathing in his exhale, drinking in his fervor, blind to the wrongness, deaf to everything but the sound of bodies, wetness to hardness, and the way he said your name, like there was nothing else, nothing but you and him and ecstasy, nothing but the sensation of how hard and how full his cock felt when he was inside you, nothing but how strongly and viciously you pulsed around him, toppling over the edge, moaning his name and staring into his eyes, into the eyes of the one that made you orgasm and mean it with every fiber of your being.

“Jungkook…”

He sucked in a breath and gasped your name, cock twitching and spurting into the condom, plunging forward, kissing you hungrily and deeply, shoulders shaking in your hands, stealing your breath, muffled cries sliding into your throat from his, anguish at the force of his climax, sweeping you up with him.

It was a long kiss.

He finally broke it, heavy exhale against your lips, not lifting his head, his black hair spilling all over your face, not letting you see anything.

Mouthing words against your cheek that you could feel, but it was a silent utterance, a soundless scream into the abyss that he alone was sinking, living a life without you.

Enjoy your piranha.

Ha, ha, very funny.

She’s not gonna notice?

He hadn’t said anything, pulling his turtleneck over his head and shaking out his long black hair like a dog. You had pulled your blankets over your naked body and looked away, not wanting to see him any longer.

You’re trash, Jungkook.

Yeah, but I could buy you a Louis Vuitton bag, easy.

You’ve been hanging around your parents too much. I don’t give a shit about your money or your influence and I never did.

Everyone likes money.

Everyone likes you too. Oh, wait, except me. I guess I’m excluded from everyone.

He hadn’t said anything more. You didn’t tell him goodbye when he left.

You waited until your heart became numb again. Then you mechanically crawled out of bed and cleaned up all traces of his existence, going all the way outside to dispose of the condom and the wrapper so you wouldn’t accidentally look at them in the trash later. You put your clothes back on, one by one, and went about your day. And the next day. And the next. And the.

And.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine,” you would say to whoever asked. You would smile and nod.

Time went on.

You would open the door and no one was there.

You would close the door and go back inside.

You would open the door.

And Jeon Jungkook was there, with a cut on his lip and a black-purple bruise underneath his left eye.

His right eyebrow was slightly swollen, two stainless steel balls connected by a silver bar pierced into the end of his brow. His clothes were torn up, his white dress shirt dirtied and his dark wash jeans torn, brown mud caked on one knee. He looked at you, chest shuddering, wheezing for breath.

“Hah…”

He smirked, the gesture not reaching his eyes. Those dark brown orbs were desolate, numb. He wiped his lip with the back of his hand and winced.

“I think they’re mad at me.”

You raised your eyebrows.

He flicked a hand through his now short black hair and ticked his head. “They told me not to show my face in front of them ever again and that I can kiss my inheritance goodbye.”

You leaned against your doorframe. “They took the silver spoon from your mouth over an eyebrow piercing?”

Jungkook shrugged. “I guess it pissed them off when I said I wasn’t going to take it out.”

He made eye contact and you saw him trying to tell you that he had changed.

Well.

Was forced to change, now poor and cast away.

“I know you said I was a waste of time,” Jungkook sighed, heavy and remorseful. “But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.”

You looked into those chocolate orbs that always told you they loved you.

“They knew, huh?”

He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t try to hide it. She knew, they knew, they probably all knew where I went.”

“And what will you do when they ask you to come back?”

Jungkook stood at your doorstep and told you words that you had always wanted to hear, but he had been too afraid to say, afraid of the repercussions, confused of his own feelings, too selfish at the time to realize how much he had hurt you. Time and emptiness had taught him pain and taught him what it meant to be without.

The time taught him how it felt to be not one, but zero.

“Tell them I should have left a long time ago and stayed with you, because you always let me be whoever I wanted to be even though all I was doing was wasting your time.”

He faced you, you and your mechanical heart that he created with his silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology meant nothing to you, far too late.

“Now I have nothing but time.”

It never mattered. You always knew Jungkook was sorry from the moment he asked to fuck with no strings attached. It was for him and for you. For him to touch you once more, even if it was all a lie, and for you and your mechanical heart, cleaning off the rust and giving it a moment to feel. He knew. You knew.

Without each other, you were both zeros when you could have been one.

And it was all his fault.

I know you’re not here, but I love you, Jungkook.

You sighed.

Then you shrugged.

“Yeah, well, I got nothing but time too.” You tilted your head, chuckling. “And even now, I waste it on you.”

Jungkook smiled sadly. He didn’t ask to be forgiven. He didn’t ask to be invited in. He just stood at your doorstep, finally able to say the words he should have said. He didn’t ask you to love him. You already knew he loved you. He mouthed it all the time, I love you, against your cheek, after each and every rendezvous, without fail.

Now he had nothing.

But you could see he was going to give it his all this time.

You stepped away from the doorframe and turned around, waving him in.

“If you’re gonna be my waste of time, at least wash your face.”

-

continued in LO$ER=?, m | jjk

--

masterpost

[eideticmemory]

DOWN THE HALL | SPENCER REID

Spencer lives down the hall, and likes to spend more time dicking you down than telling you the important things.

Word Count: 4k.

Warning: Sex w/ S2 Spencer.

207.

Not very far from 210, where not two months ago, you settled down in the heart of DC. You first met him when he was coming up the steps, and like an awkward television moment. Your eyes met, you went still, stunned from any movement, your key stuck in the lock of your door.

And although he felt it too, the connection, the attraction, the momentary pause in time. He didn’t react. He stopped, he saw, he kept walking. All the way to unit 207, where he’d lived for over a year.

In your wildest dreams, he would give you just a second of his time. He was like a blur. Never there. Gone in an instant, constantly moving. He often came home late at night, sometimes two, three in the morning.

Tonight, he came home at midnight. He pounded on your door exactly thirty-seven minutes after the hour. You weren’t asleep by any means, but you were comfortable in your bed. Completely surrounded by bliss and safety, suddenly pulled to fear by the sudden knock.

You answered the door in your pajamas, a lamp in the grasp of your hand, prepared to defend yourself in the most ridiculous way possible. You dropped it to the ground when you saw him.

“Hi.”

“Hi . . . [y/n], right?” he greeted, too tired to put on the facade of a bubbly appearance. His sweater vest was clenched in his fist at his side, his tie loosened around his neck, only just revealing his chest underneath.

You, dressed in gray long sleeve and green shorts, tried desperately to hide yourself behind the door. “Yeah,” you murmured.

“Hi, uh, I’m Spencer — Reid. I live in 207,” he told you. A formal introduction.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around.”

“I’ve seen you, too,” he sighed. “Which is why I’m here, listen, [y/n], would you like to come over?”

“I — “ you stuttered, visibly taken aback. “When?”

“Now.”

“Now? Now? I — for all you know, you could be a serial killer or something.”

He let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head, “No, no, I’m not a serial killer . . . the opposite, actually.”

The way you saw it: you could be stupid, and not go with this gorgeous man. Or be stupid, and go with this gorgeous man. There was really one answer. “Okay . . . okay, let me change — “

“What you have on is fine,” he nodded to you, sticking his hands in his pockets as he walked down the hall.

Your jaw dropped just slightly, “Okay.” And you followed him, your socks pressing to the hardwood of the hallway floor.

He closed the door behind you, and it felt final. Locked in. You turned to him, after being distracted by the allure of his apartment, and he was suddenly two feet away from you. You gasped, “Really making me believe you’re a serial killer, dude.”

“Sorry . . . sorry,” he whispered, taking a step back. “I just — didn’t think you’d actually come. Didn’t have a plan.”

“Oh, now you’re shy?”

Spencer cracked a smile.

Finally.

“Bad day?” you asked.

“Bad.”

“Well . . . I don’t know what you’re, usual coping skills are, but um, if this is your very deranged version of a booty call, I accept.”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, “Booty call?” he repeated, not understanding the term in the slightest.

You let out a dry chuckle, “Okay . . . okay, um . . .” You moved in with your hands ready to hold his face in your palms. His skin was warm, red, soft. Just like his lips. His teeth bit down on your bottom lip, in a desperate attempt to keep you close.

You pulled away, his temples between your hands, whispered, “Is that what you wanted?”

And instead of saying a simple ‘yes,’ he pushed his body against yours, pulled you in by your waist and stuck his tongue in your mouth.

It was a heavy mix of attempts to breathe between kisses, you tripping over your feet as Spencer began to kiss your neck, feverishly pushing you to his bedroom. You fell back onto his bed, completely spread open for his to see. To touch. To kiss. To climb on top of.

By sheer luck of his, you weren’t wearing underwear, and it drove him crazy how wet you already were. He pushed your shorts to the side and you melted against his fingers as they pressed to your clit, slid inside of you. He hummed a soft moan against your cheek, using his hips and wrist to push his fingers further inside of you. God, you don’t know how he did it, but your legs were already shaking. You gripped onto the soft material of his shirt, your jaw dropping to release a gasp.

You couldn’t comprehend how his fingers made you feel so full. How they struck in just the right spot, so deep, so much pressure. “Fuck,” you slipped.

“I’m not even doing anything,” Spencer said. Not cocky, not arrogant. Just clueless. It was cute.

“So do something,” you wanted it to be an order. But it came out as a beg.

Either way, he delivered. He curled his fingers inside of you, and you could feel your entire body tense up. He was fast, and aggressive, more than you anticipated. His hands pushed your shirt up over your chest. He took his time, teasing your nipples with his fingertips, blowing on them just to keep them hard before he put his mouth on them. It was all tongue, slimy and sticky and topped off with tight suction.

Tangling your hands in his hair, you release frail whimpers into the air. Your hips moved desperately against his hand, chasing an orgasm that was so close, it was just mean. You called out Spencer’s name, and he responded by railing his fingers into you so hard, your toes curled on impact.

“Oh, God,” you whined.

His mind pieced together the clues like fragments of glass. The heat between your legs, the shuffling of your thighs, your increased in volume, the way you pulled at his clothes, his hair, his skin. You were so close. And he was going to get you there, no need to worry.

His mouth left a wet trail from your breasts to your navel. The palm of his hand pushed your thighs apart, just making enough room for his head. “God, fuck,” his mouth was red hot, and slick. His tongue pressed into just the right spot on your clit, and swiped up with a hard and fast motion. Over, and over, and over.

It was so good. The combination of his long fingers, and quick tongue, and the warmth of his hand holding your tummy down. You pulled and scratched at him in some weak effort to ease the intensity, but he was so good. Where you needed it, he gave it to you. Until the tension in your body became too much to bear, and you came in a tantrums of moans and gasps. Both of his hands grabbed your thighs as they tightened around his face, and his tongue worked on you until every last drop was squeezed out of you.

You went to catch your breath, but his mouth was back on yours. His face was red, and turned a dark crimson when you undid his pants. Your head was heavy, and your vision was still a bit blurry, so you let your hands lead the way. You only looked down when his cock was caught in your hand, hard and big and pulsing for you, aching for you. You kissed Spencer’s neck, your tongue tracing a line down his throat as he reached over to grab a condom. His body was trembling, struggling to hold back from the pleasure.

The condom rolled over him pornographically, contrasting against the fabric of his pants. His belt rang as he pushed himself into you, and it was cold on your stomach. Just beneath the surface, Spencer was filling you up to the brink, and God, did you feel full. His hands were positioned beside your head, each other gripping onto the pillow with all his strength.

Even in the dark, you could see his pupils were dilated to the size of Jupiter, and his teeth dug into his lip as his hips dug into yours. His movements were slow at first, unsure. But as he moved in and out of you, made you squeak and moan, he realized that you liked it. That he was doing a good job, and he better keep it up. So he picked up the pace, a lot. You were taking as much of a beating as the headboard, but your moaning was loud enough to mask the noise. Spencer only gave you primal grunts in your ear, until you hooked your legs around his waist. Then his jaw dropped, and the gates were open.

It was almost musical, the sounds you guys made together. Growing louder when one of you would claw at the other, or bite onto the other’s shoulder just to stay grounded. And Spencer seemed to get more determined with time, placing your ankles on his shoulders, bending you in half just to get as deep inside of you as possible.

He had you in tears almost. So little time, but still so, so close. The pressure was deep, making you whimper with each thrust Spencer delivered without mercy. You held your fingers to the back at his neck, holding him in place with his forehead against yours. You pleaded, with your eyes, your voice, “Keep going, ke--keep going.”

He paused to hold his cock deep inside of you, just long enough to make you cry out, then his fingers found their way to your clit. They were fast, and his hips struggled to keep up. But either way, the pleasure was blinding and weakening. When you came, you gave him all you had. Absolutely all you had. He watched it happen. Watched your face, to make sure he remembered it. And he will remember it.

He’ll remember it as the face that laid there, underneath him, and watched him come undone. Your grunts and groans lined up perfectly with each of his final thrusts, reaching their peak as Spencer breathed out a long and life-sucking orgasm, shaking helplessly against you while he rode it out.

Dazed doesn’t begin to describe it -- the feeling of laying there afterwards. You just laid there, looking at him, thinking:

207.

I’m going to fall in love with the guy in 207 if he keeps fucking me like this.

“Oh . . .” Spencer said, noticing you crawling out of his bed. “You’re welcome to sleep in here, I can . . . I can take the couch.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, that’s not quite how the whole booty call thing works. But, um, if you want to see me again . . . you know where I live.”

That, he did.

And he was a frequent visitor. For months. You never did pinpoint where he worked, or what he did. His hours were never consistent. Weekends, late nights, even later nights. The poor thing would be so tired. He’d use the very last bit of all of his strength to fuck you, suck you, make you come until you were too worn out to move. Then, he’d just pass out. He once fell asleep in your arms at one in the morning. You touched the bridge of his nose, ran your finger over his swollen lips, felt the sweat on his jaw.

207, you thought.

God, the guy in 207 is beautiful.

The absolute latest -- or, earliest -- encounter you had was at six in the morning. He woke you out of a deep sleep with a phone call. His contact flashed on the screen, only noted with the initials SR, and it was accompanied by his voice, telling you he was at your door. The sun was rising, shining softly on you two through the window. It was the first time Spencer ever fully undressed for you. He was even more beautiful than you’d initially thought, and you were free to touch every inch of him. Feel the way his skin heated up, and watch how it turned red under your touch.

He pinned your hands over your head while you came, kept whispering to you. “It’s okay, [y/n], let it out. Let it go.”

You did. It was the first night you two received a noise complaint. The first time you saw Spencer hunched over in laughter. After your next door neighbor had returned to her apartment.

“This is funny to you?” You asked, but you couldn’t contain your own laughter.

Spencer responded with a cackle. He was bent over, hands on his knees, dying of laughter. Another noise complaint had to be on it’s way. “God,” he laughed. “I’m so tired. I’m so — I’m —“ he was cut off by another fit of giggles. And all you could do was watch, wait.

He choked out his last few chuckles, and stood up straight, breathing in a deep gust of air. “Can I make you breakfast?”

You raised your eyebrows at him, grinning, “You think you should be allow around an open flame right now? Seriously?”

“Come on.”

The sun was in full bloom, bright and illuminating the space in Spencer’s apartment. You sat at his kitchen table, observing him in a trance. His sweatpants were hanging off of his hips, topped with a loose red t-shirt that stuck out against his pale skin. His hair was still disheveled, and covering his face. Standing over two pans of eggs and bacon, the heat caused sweat to bead on his forehead. Every once in a while, he’d turn his head to look at you. Like he knew you weren’t taking your eyes off him. He’d smile, you’d smile back, and watch him as he continued back to his cooking.

207, you thought.

Fuck, I’m falling for the guy in 207.

But that was the last time you saw him.

The last time he called, the last time he came over, the last time you went to his place. It was the last late night booty call Spencer Reid had to offer.

And it made you feel like shit. Shitty, and angry, and so confused. Shitty, because, well, you were no longer getting the dick you were accustomed to. Angry, because what the fuck? And confused, because . . . because you don’t know what you did. Don’t know how he went from looking at you with that soft glimmer in his eyes, to barely looking at you at all.

From fucking you, every night that he could, to having his number deleted from your phone. That didn’t stop you from sleeping beside it every night, hoping, wishing, that it would just ring. That it was just work keeping him from you.

But after three weeks, you finally came to terms with the fact that it probably wasn’t work. Your mind went into overload, imaging all the things it could be, and the one thing that would not leave your brain: It’s another girl. It had to be. It had to be. Because, as much it hurt, it hurt less than thinking he had just forgotten about you.

The night he finally spoke to you again, was the first night you slept properly in weeks. It was a deep sleep, and for once — for once, in a fucking blue moon — you didn’t dream of Spencer.

So, of course he showed up at your door at midnight.

You awoke like you’d been waiting for the sound. In a lot of ways, you had been, but in no way were you prepared for it. You hopped out of bed, rushed to the door so fast that you were sliding in your socks.

“Wow,” Spencer breathed. “So you . . . always look this beautiful when you wake up . . .”

You went to slam the door in his face, but he stopped it with his palm, “[y/n], wait, please —“

You sighed, and pulled the door open, hand on your hip, avoiding eye contact. From the quick glimpse you caught of him, he looked like he hadn’t sleep in almost a month. His eyes lost their light, his skin lost it’s color, his shoulders were slouched in exhaustion. The wrinkled shirt he had one was buttoned unevenly, and his feet were bare.

“I just . . .” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t know who else to go to, I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms at him, “What’s wrong?” you asked, reluctantly.

“Can you . . . can you just come over?”

“Are you kidding? You ghost me, and expect me to come over and fuck? Are you seri —“

“[y/n].” He interrupted you, his voice stern. It shut you up immediately. “Can you just come over, please.”

The look on his face was full of stress. Aching, longing, tiredness. One month. One month of radio silence, and he thinks you’ll roll out of bed and fuck him?

He’s absolutely right.

The door to his apartment was cracked open, and from the threshold, you could hear the faintest sound. Almost a whine. You stepped in slowly, while Spencer rushed passed you after closing the door. He crossed the apartment, over to his bedroom where he disappeared almost instantly.

And here you thought he was really learning the ropes of the whole booty call thing. You entered the room, with your head hung low, ready to slide into his bed.

“How are you? Does your head still hurt?” he whispered.

Confused, thinking he was talking to you, you lifted your head up, stopped in your tracks. The little girl laying in Spencer’s bed was curled up into a ball, looking at him with a face of pure pain. Their faces mirrored one another’s, in an eerie way. The sadness, the exhaustion, they portrayed their emotions the exact same way.

She gave him a nod, and like she’d been waiting for Spencer to return, she broke into tears. Tears, and loud wails, and writhing around as she coddled her forehead. Spencer held her against his chest, rocking her in an attempt to soothe her. He turned to you, his eyes saying one word: Help.

You were frozen, yet somehow able to move your feet. You took a seat beside the little girl, looked at her, then Spencer, her, then Spencer. Her.

“Cassie, this is my friend, [y/n],” he told her. But Cassie only cried louder.

Her cries were unbearable, sad. You sighed to yourself, looked at Spencer until he gave you a nod.You reached in slowly to pressed your palm to Cassie’s forehead.

“Oh, goodness, honey, you’re burning up,” you said. Giving Spencer one last look, you asked, “May I?”

Spencer said a quiet “yes,” before handing Cassie over you. The little one rested her head on your shoulder, as you cradled her in your arms.

You rose to your feet, and carried her to Spencer’s bathroom, where you immediately cut on the shower. The rush of water was barely loud enough to drown out her cries. You began to undress her, removing her pajamas.

“Do you have any children’s tylenol?” you asked Spencer as you sat Cassie in the tub.

“I—i—it’s cooold!” she wailed.

“I know, I know, give me a second,” you told her. “Spencer. Do you have any children’s tylenol?”

“N—no,” he stuttered, struggling to speak while you removed your shorts.

“Get some,” you ordered. You stepped into the tub, and pulled Cassie into your arms. The coldwater soaked your clothes, and coaxed her shaking body.You rested your back against the wall, and allowed her to sob against your chest. Sobbing. But quieter now.

Spencer looked at Cassie, hesistant. “Go,” you nodded to him. “We’ll be okay.”

He exhaled, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Cassie stayed in your arms for the rest of the night. By the time Spencer returned, she’d let you dress her, brush her hair. And it was you who took her temperature, which had thankfully dropped dramatically since the shower. You gave her a small amount of tylenol, and you both fell asleep with her laying on your chest.

Spencer came to wake you at seven in the morning. He hovered over you, and gently called your name so as to not wake Cassie. You groggily looked down at her, and slid from under her carefully. You made sure she was tucked in before you left the room.

Spencer had a cup of coffee waiting for you. The two of you sipped on mugs, awkwardly standing in the kitchen, in silence. “So . . .” you spoke. “Is she . . .”

“Mine?” he nodded slowly, avoiding your gaze. “Yes.”

You scoffed, set your mug down. “She’s cute.”

“[y/n]—“

“And Cassie. Cute name . . . short for Cassandra?”

He sighed, “Cassiopeia, actually . . . she was, uh, queen in greek mythology. Known for her beauty.”

You almost cracked a smile. “Your doing, I suppose.”

“I may have had a say in it,” he grinned.

“Don’t do that,” you commanded.

“Do what?”

“Look at me, and be all cute, and think that’s going to get you out this. Because it’s not.”

“I’m . . .” he stuttered. “Not trying to get out of anything . . .”

“Well, you should be. All those times you’ve been inside me, and you couldn’t tell me once that you have a kid?”

“It’s complicated . . .”

“No, no! It’s not complicated. It’s four words. A little bit more if you bother to give me an adequate explanation.”

“I don’t owe you an explaination, [y/n].”

You took a step back, “Oh, really? You don’t?”

“No.”

You drew in a deep breath, crossed your arms, and exhaled as you stared at the floor. “Bye, Spencer.”

You turned around, and headed for the front door, the sound of his voice drawing you back in. “What do you want from me?” He shouted. You’d never so much as heard him curse, let alone raise his voice. You turned to him, your jaw dropped.

“What do you want, [y/n]?” he continued, now taking small steps towards you as he spoke. “Hm? You want me to tell you the truth? Fine. I was 20 when River and I had Cassie. 20. I had just gotten my doctorate, I wasn’t ready to have a . . . kid. But I love my daughter. Then it . . . came down to moving for work . . . River wouldn’t come with me, so I left.”

“You left?” You repeated.

He nodded, “I did. Not without a . . . nasty, non-legal custody battle first. Because of my job, I — I couldn’t get Cassie. I couldn’t give her what she needed. Which is why when my . . . crazy, ex-girlfriend showed up a month ago and dropped her off, said she was my responsibility now, I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t . . . even take care of her when she had a migraine.”

Your face had visibly softened at his change of tone. The hint of sadness that carried in his voice. “I’m sorry,” you said. “That you went through that, I’m sorry . . . but that doesn’t change the fact that I should’ve gotten this information a bit sooner—“

“Why?” he snapped. “Why, [y/n]? Because we were having sex? I owed you my entire life story because we were having sex?”

The gust of air that exhaled from your lips was quick and unstoppable. You could hear the hurt. So could Spencer. You nodded, “Guess not.”

You continued to head for the exit, not looking back, not stopping. But when you opened the door, two people were waiting, about to knock on the wood.

“Hi,” the woman said. “Hi . . . oh, we must have the wrong apartment. I’m sorry.”

“Garcia, Garcia, wait,” the man told her, then turned to you. “We’re looking for Spencer Reid, is he here?”

“Yeah, he is. I’m leaving.” You grumbled, pushing past the two of them to rush to your apartment.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” you heard the woman mumbled behind your back.

“Yo, kid,” the man’s voice called. “Where ya’ been? Did you think you could miss two weeks of work and we wouldn’t check on you?”

Oh, good, you thought.

So we’re all finding this out at the same time.

You didn’t leave your place for the rest of the day. The first thing you did was try to watch tv. Then, journaling. Then, yoga. Then, a little online shopping. But when the guy who you began to trust and love has a kid that he’s been hiding for months, brings you into his home to care for her, and then writes you off as a fling, there’s not much that can take your mind off of it.

The only thing that worked was a knock at the door. His knock. You huffed, slammed your hands into the couch cushions, and stood. Marching up to the door, you swung it open with an attitude. “What?” You snapped, enraged. Until you looked down.

“Hi, Miss [y/n]!” Cassie pipped. God, she looked so much like her father.

“Oh, Cassie,” you smiled, bending down to ignore Spencer. “Hi, honey. How are you feeling?”

“Great! I made you something,” she presented you with a piece of paper, graced with a wonderful portrait of a bunny. You smiled as she placed it in your hands.

“Our way of saying thank you, for last night,” Spencer added.

You looked up at him, and gave him a faux smile while you rose to your feet. “Of course. I’m happy to help,” you nodded.

“Would you . . . possibly like to come to the park with us?” his voice cracked. “M—Maybe . . . grab dinner afterwards?”

Now your smile was real.

“Pleeeeease, Miss [y/n], please?” Cassie begged. She leaned in, whispered, “I think daddy thinks you’re pretty.”

You laughed, and the sound mixed in with Spencer’s own laughter. You looked up at him, and there it was: that momentary pause in time. “Sure,” you said to him. Only him. “I’d like that very much.”

Based on this request from @crystalclearwater162: heyy queen! do u mind writing single dad Spencer? But like Spencer from season 1 or 2 and the team doesn’t know he has a kid bc they’ve nvr rly seen him beside work. they only find out bc they show up to his apartment one day after work and see a little girl calling him daddy 🥺🥺.

[neonponders]

I’ve never written Murder Boyfriends before, but @cuepickle ‘s art is just so lovely and powerful.

Based on this and this 💗 💜 🖤 (impending smut ahoy)

• • • • • • •

I just want to help, he’d said.

I just want to make things right, he’d said.

Steve said a lot of things. But he moaned incoherent words and exclaimed sounds he didn’t want anyone else to hear when Billy Hargrove steamrolled into his life, his feelings, and his goddamn morals.

Billy Hargrove wasn’t...right. He was twelve different shades of wrong, punctuated by Caribbean blue eyes and decorated with bronzed waves and curls. Steve knew he had a superiority complex, but he hadn’t known it was this bad.

Thing is, if he’d known, Steve couldn’t guarantee whether he’d change anything. Because knowing Billy Hargrove is a murderer would also mean Steve knew what his lips tasted like, and their softness against his neck.

All Steve had known was that Sheriff Hopper was missing, and his parents, being the upstanding white people that they are, deferred nearly every inconvenience to the police. And the police answered, because fat wallets keep their lights on, like everyone else.

But the Sheriff’s phones kept ringing. And maybe Steve had his own complex after so much time with Nancy, because he parked out front and strolled right into the Sheriff’s office.

The secretary wasn’t there.

Neither were the two deputies.

Steve tucked himself between the desks to pry apart the window blinds. Their cars were still here -

Steve’s head rotated at a sound he knew. He knew it in the way a memory piqued but he couldn’t place where or why. He followed it into the chief’s office...where Billy Hargrove sat at the desk - Hopper’s own chair - and ate a crisp apple from the strange pile in the waste paper basket.

“Billy?”

“Hi, Steve,” he smiled. Ankles crossed on the desk. A perfect, violet crescent framed the side of his eye. An indigo shadow rested in the inner corner of the other one. Either way, Steve’s first red flag was that he ached with concern more than itched for the nailed bat in his trunk.

“What happened to you?”

Steve thought the guy might choke, the way he tipped his head back to laugh while chunks of apple sat in his mouth. Naturally, it took him some time to chew and swallow before he said, “I finally stopped being afraid. And I started being responsible. Not the way he planned, though.”

“Hopper?” Steve frowned.

Billy did not answer immediately. He licked the apple like it might drip juice and beckoned, “Why don’t you sit down? I want to see you.”

The only lights on were in the main room where Steve stood. Ghoulish, fluorescent bulbs while Billy sat in shadow and vague, evening light hatching through the Chief’s window blinds. There was some kind of irony there: Steve in the fake, green-tinged light, and Billy in the natural...honest darkness.

Steve peeked behind him, surveying the room but finding no warnings apart from the negative space where people should be.

He stepped into the office -

“I’ve always liked looking at you.”

Steve paused on the carpet. Billy had said it loud enough to hear, but with enough air in it that Steve couldn’t tell if he was drunk or hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Then he tried to sit in one of the chairs -

“Over here. Sit on the desk.”

“What?” Steve blinked at him, suddenly very aware that the light gave Billy full view of his face but Steve only got the glow in that dark blond hair.

A strong leg pushed Billy away from the desk. The apple tumbled onto its pile of brothers, discarded as he pat the desk. “Sit right here.”

Steve shook his head all at once, beginning to backpedal out of the room. “This is weird.”

“No shit. This whole town’s weird. I’ve been reading some personal files in this room. I guess the Chief thought he was being smart, but...I’ve been hiding my whole life. I know where people hide things. A lot of things make sense in this place, now. The rat pack Max hangs out with. And you. A lot of things makes sense about you, Steve.”

Steve shrugged and his hands clapped against his thighs. “Okay? You’re not special for seeing my report cards.”

Billy’s features froze, but only for a moment, and then laughter burst out of him. “Steve, please sit down. God, I wanna touch you.”

Steve Harrington is a simple person. He’d officially been single for far too long, struck out every time he faced a woman - and a couple guys who were too scared or oblivious to do anything - and he just...

He wanted.

He wanted to be touched and if Billy was offering - Hot Stuff Hargrove, Baby Doll Eyes Billy - then Steve couldn’t help but take. He’d been so patient with everyone. He waited for Nancy to be ready. He accepted defeat when everyone walked away from him with rolling eyes or obligatory smiles.

Billy...talked. He talked and talked. He’d always been a talker; on the basketball court, barking orders as a lifeguard. Always talking, or letting his radio talk for him.

But Steve sat on Hopper’s desk and felt the warmth of Billy’s palms seep through his jeans. He held onto Steve’s calves as he talked. Talked about terrible things. Broken plates and abandoned things. Being the abandoned thing. Being the broken thing. He talked for hours before finally fucking Steve on that desk.

He’d started slow. Just unbuttoning the jeans and then leaving them alone. It would be another half hour before he took off Steve’s shoes. Every time Steve looked behind him - as if asking for someone to come in, to interrupt, to break this dark dream Billy wove around him - Billy said, “Look at me.”

“I’ve been looking at you, Billy.”

A small smile twitched on his lips. “Good.”

It would be another hour before he said, “I think my dad killed my mom.”

Less than a minute before he added, “He had it coming. Feel bad for my step-mom, though. But she was a screamer. So was the tall deputy. Things can finally be quiet now.”

Steve sat very still as arms circled around his pelvis and Billy just...hugged him. Pressed his face against Steve’s soft belly and inhaled his scent. Warm laundry and Steve Steve Steve.

He couldn’t be sure how things evolved into sex. Steve was already trapped in Billy’s web, so all he had to do was decide, to give the web a pluck and Steve felt the vibrations.

He planted his hands on the desk, lifting his ass for Billy to wrench the jeans and underwear off in one go. They got stuck on Steve’s feet, bunched up so Steve had to figure it out himself as Billy pressed himself over top of him.

The green desk lamp fell with an ominous clank.

Steve finally got a leg free and wrapped it around Billy’s ass the same time teeth found his neck. The warning bells that had been ringing since he got here felt far away; church bells too high over the town to actually make a difference in the goings-on.

Billy marked him up like he had paperwork to sign. Steve’s deed was his, and Billy moaned and grunted with every sigh he wrung out of Steve. Every squeeze to his waist made him moan, and he outright whimpered when Billy licked up his neck. For how much Billy gripped, bit, and sucked, he moved surprisingly gently below the belt.

“Gonna get lube later,” he said in that way again, traveling down Steve’s body as his thoughts escaped into the air. “I’m going to have your ass every which way, Harrington.”

Steve could only gasp as his tongue shoved inside him with no preamble. “I-I-I didn’t shower - ”

A guttural, breathy hum ricocheted from Billy’s throat and into Steve’s chest, knocking Steve’s head back like a rock on the way there. Billy’s stubble and gross wetness made Steve feel filthy in the best way. His cock lay heavily on his abdomen, spurting precum every time Billy’s hands squeezed the backs of his thighs.

Steve came like he’d never been touched in his life. His breathing picked up and he rutted against Billy’s face twice before making a mess of his shirt.

Billy took his slowly fading erection into his mouth, jerking himself off almost violently in a matter of seconds.

When Steve stepped outside, the air smelled like the sunrise even though only the faintest bit of blue had begun to dilute the darkness. And as the sun rose, Steve had never felt worse. It was like seeing a demogorgon for the first time, but instead of minutes, it stretched into hours.

People were dead.

Presumably Chief Hopper too.

Billy, he...he...

He showed up to Steve’s house with a smile and freshly laundered clothes. Steve had showered but looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. Billy only tipped his head back toward his car. “I’ve got two bank accounts freshly inherited. Let me buy you lunch.”

Steve wondered if Dustin’s comic book villains drove Camaros.

Billy bought him lunch. Bought him a chocolate milkshake too. Steve didn’t want to think about his ability to swallow those down so easily. Or how he interacted with the waitress like he wasn’t covered in red and brown love bites delivered directly atop Chief Hopper’s desk. He didn’t want to think what having all of Billy Hargrove’s attention on him did to his squirming...pleased...insides.

He didn’t want to think as Billy fingered him in the backseat.

They didn’t even fit back there but Billy moved with what felt like the strength of three men. It was arousing, being manhandled like that; any fear Steve ought to have held in his gut tapped its disapproving toe outside of the vehicle. The way Billy sucked behind his ear, gripped his hips so he could slot himself right in between Steve’s legs and rut his dark pink erection against Steve’s...

The way he bought Steve more milkshakes.

And a fresh tire rotation because his car veered to the left.

And filled him up in the darkness of Steve’s bedroom, making Steve bounce on his cock as he licked the taste of him off his lubed up fingers - 

“You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

It just...came out.

The husky lust cleared from Billy’s eyes when Steve said that. Terror must have filled Steve’s eyes because Billy gently cradled the side of his head.

This is it. This is how I die. Wanting a freaking kiss from a psycho -

“I thought you’d be the one to do that.”

Steve blinked vacantly at him. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat inside his ass and the guy just smiled -

“King Steve. Never thought you were shy - mmph.”

Billy’s bravado melted against Steve’s mouth. He hummed as he felt Steve’s precum on his belly, soaking them both with what he did to him, did to Steve and all of his flawed moral systems.

Steve pushed Billy onto his back with his kiss, tongue desperately tasting and exploring his mouth as his fingers laced behind Billy’s neck.

Until Billy reached up and pulled Steve’s hands apart, just enough for the bases of his palms to sit on both pulse points.

Billy did it himself: made his cheeks go pink and his chest flush red. But Steve made his ass slap against Billy’s thighs. Made Billy’s jaw go slack and his orgasm slow. Made his eyes water and his chest heave when he could breathe again.

Maybe that was his chance. His chance to make things right.

But with an empty Sheriff’s office down the road, and still no one the wiser, Hawkins wasn’t living by any sort of right anymore. The only right that Steve knew, was Billy’s hands making him feel powerful and precious.

[oftenderweapons]

hello 👀 first of all i love your writing. second of all idk if you saw joon’s make up artist reaching up to him to fix his makeup on set but i could think about vixen bc we all know how volatile and jealous she may get.... so may i suggest a joon x vixen jealous sex drabble??? thank u!!!

Hello, dear reader. Thank you soooo much for the compliments. I couldn’t help but deliver, it literally wrote itself. There you go 💜✨

title: yours, truly

pairing: namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

wordcount: 2.7k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

synopsis: Vixen doesn't appreciate the imbalance between her belonging to Namjoon and his belonging to her, and although she understands the limits due to his job, at the same time she's uncomfortable about the way she feels. However, Namjoon is eager to reassure her.

trigger warnings: argument on jealousy and double standards. There is one very specific passage where Namjoon imposes himself physically on Vixen, grabbing her and pinning her while she's trying to get away from him. If this triggers you, please do not read further. On to sexual topics: mention of cunnilingus, masturbation (male and female receiving), unprotected sex (BE SMART!!!!!!), marking, power struggle, several occurrences of pinning and top-bottom shifts.

a/n: Hello people, here's the first of several drabbles I've been working on. Please, stay tuned cause HOPEFULLY Jimin and Princess should be next 💖

Here's my masterlist enjoy 💜✨

⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂

You stormed into the apartment, Namjoon hot on your heels.

“Vixen,” he called, watching you take off your shoes with a frown on your face. “Babylove.”

You lifted a finger, inviting him to keep quiet before you stood and headed to your room.

“Vixen?” he called, once more. He knew what had happened, and he knew you didn't mean to act like that. He knew you didn't like feeling jealous or possessive, but the footage of him wrapping an arm around his makeup artist — even if it was just to keep her from falling — had unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.

There were women who dried his sweat and helped him change his clothes and saw him half naked regularly, and they were out there doing so publicly, while you didn't even own a picture of him kissing you. After being together for six months. After him asking you to be his wife.

To anyone except his friends and family, you were nothing but a stranger to him.

“Vixen?”

You were his. Always. All the time. You wore his clothes and had his marks on you from Monday to Sunday, twenty-four seven, uninterruptedly ever since he'd first told you he loves you — with an unintended pause because of the tour.

But what about him? Did he even belong to you?

He called your name shyly, fearsomely. “Look at me, please.”

“I'm going to take a bath,” you announced dryly.

“I'm coming with you,” he replied, already taking off his clothes.

“I want to be alone.”

He inhaled and did the crudest, most animalistic thing he could think of. He grabbed your waist and made you face him. “Vixen. Look at me.”

You shook your head and tutted.

“Say 'no' and I'll let you go,” he said, his voice booming like thunder.

You stayed silent.

“Look at me,” he repeated, an arm around your waist, his free one coming up so he could grip your chin and force your eyes to meet his. “Like this.”

“I hate this!” you spat, looking away right before he forced you to meet his eyes again. “It's not fair!” You snarled before angrily pushing the heel of your foot against his toes.

He hissed and let you go, only to catch you once more half a second later, pinning you against the wall. “Talk to me.”

Your brow furrowed, your eyes like a dark storm, you looked at the floor as you admitted, “I have no right to feel jealous. And I hate it. It’s not fair.”

Namjoon hugged you to him, kissing your head as you pressed your forehead to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, I just… hate that you make me feel like this. It’s not you, it’s how I feel about what you do. That is, the position you’re in.” You bit your lip nervously, gripping his shirt in your fists.

Namjoon didn’t quite understand what you meant by that, but reversing the situation gave him a quite poignant point of view. The idea of you being chaperoned by other men at all time, of you being in his shoes, with people drooling over you at all times, being backstage and having no privacy with or without your clothes on, people imagining you as their partner, as their hot one night stand, as their one true love.

The thought of having to share you the same way you had to share him all the time made a shiver run down his spine. He knew he would never be able to tolerate all the things you went through for him without batting an eye. “I’m so sorry, love.” He ran his hands to the back of your thighs lowering himself to pick you up, your arms latching behind his neck as he did so. “I’m so, so sorry, little fox,” he repeated, his voice so deep and soothing.

“I’m okay, it’s just that…”

He kissed your cheek as he sat on the bed, placing you on top of him, straddling his hips. “You’re not okay, and that’s alright.” He waited for you to oppose as he let his lips linger one millimeter from yours.

Shyly, almost as if reluctantly, you pressed your mouth to his, feeling his hand on your nape, tangling in your hair, the other one pressed to the small of your back. “Take off your clothes, please,” you whispered in between kisses. Unquestioningly, he took off his undershirt, your body still on top of his while you undid the buttons of your blouse — actually, only a couple of them before you slipped it off from over your head. Namjoon’s hands went around your waist, lifting the lace and satin top you were wearing underneath, pressing his nose to your sternum once your torso was so enticingly naked, your body rising to your knees so he could reach your breastbone more comfortably, your arms hugging his head.

“You’re so precious, my babylove. So strong,” he murmured, “You’re so understanding and I’m so glad when you open up to me.” He inhaled you as he confessed some more of his worries, “I always fear that someday it will feel too much and you’ll leave.”

You shook your head, squishing his face in your palms before standing before him, taking off your jeans lightning-fast, watching him quickly remove his slacks and underwear in one go.

“Come claim it, babe,” he growled, extending his hands to you, making a come-hither motion.

You wiggled out of your panties and smiled sweetly, joining him, sitting on his lap and batting your eyelashes with a cute pout, Namjoon shaking his head at you with a knowing grin. And at that, you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down. “You really thought?”

He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. “I, at least, hoped.” His hands landed on your ass before you could grab his wrists and pin them above his head while you made your way up, your naked fold glistening with wetness already in the unforgivingly bright light of your bedroom.

You knew he had a thing for keeping the lights on anyways.

“Come on, sit,” he said, his arms fighting you only playfully as he ached to grab your ass and make you ride his face.

“No.” Your reply was lapidary as your free hand began to tease the skin around your sex — not yet your folds, nor your clit,

“Vixen.” Your name sounded like a warning.

“Maybe you’ll learn I can do without you.”

“Enough,” he growled before his arms escaped your weak excuse of a grip, his jaw locked and his eyes stern in what would be nothing but his hard dom look. “You think you’re funny?”

The way he pushed you with your back to the mattress, your arms trying to save you from losing your balance, made your heartbeat flutter.

“You think I don’t know that already? You think that doesn’t scare me to the bone?” He hissed as he laid on top of you, holding back his weight only slightly. “We know who can do without who here,” he said, his eyes so tormented you wanted to comfort him. “I’m half a soul without you.”

You wrapped your legs around him, rubbing your pelvis against his hardening cock. “Stay with me, then. Remind me.” You placed your lips against his neck, licking up the curve of his throat before bringing your lips to his ear. “Are you mine, Joonie?”

His eyes rolled shut, his head moving in a nodding motion. “I only want to be yours. All the time. I wish we could be naked and alone every single second.”

You giggled and moved your hand between your bodies. “Can I stretch a little? I need you inside.”

“Do you want me to do that?” He asked, right before you shook your head. “Fuck, ____, you're fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your body, licking your nipple, sucking it briefly. “I'm so in love.”

“Do you remember what I told you that night?” you asked him, purring as you pushed two fingers inside you.

“That you're gonna be my wife, someday?”

You chuckled and nodded. Sometimes it felt unreal that he had proposed to you. Already.

And that the ring around your right fourth finger was not your family ring.

“I told you I'm dedicating my life to you. That I want to live by your side for as long as we can. That I believe in you.”

He found solace in the crook of your neck, his lips searching for your collarbone before his teeth nibbled at it gently. “Don't stop. Ever.”

A third finger entered your hole, stretching your inner walls until you were comfortable. Still, you were too impatient to wait any longer, grabbing his cock and placing its tip against your folds. “I won't,” you promised, a loud gasp leaving your mouth as he sank in. “Fuck, too big.”

Namjoon backtracked as quickly as possible, but your hands stopped him just in time. “No, no, stay inside, please. I can get used to it.” Your nails sunk into his ass. “Don't go. Please.”

Namjoon inhaled, trying to keep his cool as much as possible. “I should have prepped you.” He groaned and pressed your face into his neck. “Hold tight, love. I need to shift just a little.”

You loved when he pampered you like that, when he treated you like his delicate porcelain doll. With a loud exhale, he fixed his position until he could rest more easily and resist your tight squeezes as you adjusted to him filling you to the brim. In maybe a minute, you shifted your hips, whispering, “Okay, move, please.”

“That's my good girl,” he replied, smiling at you before giving one slow, smooth stroke that made you purr and throw your head back, his tongue drawing the arch of your throat. “My jealous little thing, mh? You're so adorable.” He gave another deep, slow thrust, watching you writhe below him, legs shaking as they tensed up in pleasure. And then again, pulling out and pushing in making your toes curl, your entire mind malfunctioning into bliss.

“I love it when you're jealous,” he taunted you. “Makes me feel so wanted.” He drew the shell of your ear with his lips, your body drowning in sensations, too small to handle all he had to offer. “Almost as sexy and as desirable as you are. My little fox.”

“Joonie…” you almost sobbed, clawing at his shoulders before remembering you must absolutely not, throwing your hands off him and tugging at the sheets.

Namjoon nuzzled his nose against the side of your face. “Scratch, mark, bite. I don't care. I'm yours, Vixen.”

You whimpered and forced yourself not to. Maybe you just wanted to see who would cave first, maybe you were still feeling too petty about all the times you had been denied.

“Do it. I know you want it,” he tempted you. “Take what you want, little fox.”

You shook your head and brought yourself not only to pin your hands in place, but also turn your face away.

Namjoon rammed into you aggressively at your act of defiance, causing you to gasp and flinch. “Claim me. Do it, ____. I belong to you. Won't you acknowledge that?”

Lips sealed, eyes closed, you fought him, knowing you were absolutely hopeless the moment he pulled you on top of him. “See. This is what you do to me. Look at me. Look at the mess I become for you. For you, alone. No one else in the whole world, Vixen. Only you.” He led his hand on your belly, rubbing at your clit with his thumb, letting you grind on him with your own pace. He only wanted to make you feel good. “Vixen, please, baby. Look at me.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your hands on his pectorals, your hips moving on him so naturally, so comfortably. He looked beautiful. Grandiose. Magnificent.

He looked like the only man you would ever look at. You knew there was no way you would look at anyone else if he was in the room.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked fondly, placing his hand atop of yours, lacing your fingers together.

“That you're the only one for me. That I need something of you that belongs to me alone.”

He shifted your hands slightly, his engulfing your own on top of his beating heart. “Here. Yours. All yours. Take it.”

You started going faster, needing for the messy ordeal to come to an end so you could sleep the afternoon away wrapped up in his arms.

With quick swivels of your hips, you changed your angle, making sure that he rubbed against your sweet spot, deep inside you.

“Guess what else is yours?” he teased, looking down, keeping his finger steady against your sensitive nub.

“Your exceedingly large dick?” you suggested with a gleam in your voice, sending the both of you into a tumble of laughs.

“Exactly,” he replied playfully. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you replied quickly, feeling your high spiral out of control. “Cumming.”

“Let go,” he reassured you, catching you with his arm once your body collapsed, his thumb still teasing you while he started thrusting from below, making sure that your orgasm peaked and extinguished in pleasure before he finally climaxed, knowing all too well that your final squeezes would trigger his own ecstasy.

“Doesn't it feel good to cum on your favourite dick, mh?”

“My one and only,” you stated openly, watching him get increasingly worked up. “Show me who you belong to, Joon. You say you're mine? Then cum inside me.”

He shut his eyes tight. “Come on. Gimme all you've got,” you taunted him.

He grit his teeth and shook his head. He needed better leverage to go harder.

You understood that immediately. “Wanna get on top?”

He was conflicted, but in the end you found yourself with your back once more to the mattress, his cock pushing inside you so hard and fast that you were ready to start all over again if it weren't for the numbing sleepiness pulling at your mind.

“I'm yours,” he gritted out, in between strokes, like a mantra. “Get it into your pretty head that I'm yours. That I only want you. For the rest of my life,” he breathed out the final part. “I'm gonna—” and with a wildly erotic growl you felt him swell inside you before his release flowed into you, his body too sensitive to handle the high for too long.

Once he was done, there was nothing but spent, panting bodies, your hand in his hair as you helped him calm down.

“Are you feeling better, little fox?” he asked, taking your joined hands and bringing your knuckles to his lips. “If we swapped roles for a day, you the idol and I the normal person, I don't think I would be able to face it like you do.”

With your eyes closed, you waited for him to pull the two of you on your sides, your head on his chest, legs tangled together as he rubbed his feet against yours lazily and lasciviously.

“I know you don't like feeling jealous and I'm sorry that I made you feel that. You always say it's part of my job and you're understanding, but we both know it's hard to stop these emotions from happening.”

You nodded, inhaling his scent, so deeply mixed with yours. “It's worth it though. Because of the man you are, and what you mean to me.”

He kissed your head.

“I need to clean up. I want to sleep with you.”

He nodded. You were both more than happy to cancel the date and just sleep in, wrapped up in light sheets on the late September day.

Once washed and ready for sleep, Namjoon found your perfect position, your right hand in his left one as he toyed with your ring, pushing it around. Even though he had proposed, he knew the wait would be long. Still, he tried. “How much time left?” he asked, the question a cliché between the two of you by now. You always knew what it meant to him.

“A while,” you replied — your usual answer.

He nodded and pulled you closer. “Sleep tight, baby fox.”

“Sleep tight, big bear.”

[buckyownsmylife]

Them - Chris Evans Smut

The one where Chris is your professor.

Warnings: smut, professor au, reader is a postgrad student, so no underage business, but definitely some age gap, reader is very clear about what she wants here, lots of dirty talk

Chris’ P.O.V.

Looking out of the window of the fancy bistro I had been waiting on, I just couldn’t believe my luck. Y/N, the woman I had been thinking about for the last three months, that one that had made me accept this stupid idea of a blind date to try to get over her, was standing just outside the restaurant, looking from side to side, clearly waiting for someone that was nowhere around. 

I pondered over what to do, weighing the consequences of what I truly wanted, but in the end, I said, “Fuck it,” and jumped out of my chair, explaining to the host that I only needed a minute.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I knew I was grinning from ear to ear, but that was just the effect she had on me. When her eyes widened as she took in who was talking to her, I had to laugh. “What? Not used to seeing me in more casual clothes?” I was convinced her chuckle was enough to end wars. 

“I don’t think that can be considered casual, Professor Evans,” she said, but with the cutest teasing smirk on her face. Right. There was a reason why coming out here to talk to her could possibly bring severe consequences to my life. She was my student, after all, and even though she was pursuing her PhD and we weren’t currently in an academic setting, her politeness served to remind me of the distance that remained between us.

“Well, I’m not sure I could consider what you’re wearing casual either, but I must say, sweetheart… You look beautiful.” I took pride in the blush that spread through her cheeks, making her almost as red as the dress she was currently wearing. Fuck if I didn’t want her desperately.

“Thank you, sir.” I was convinced she knew about the effect those words had in me, but then again, it wasn’t like I could call her out on it. Clearing my throat, I decided to change the subject before I brought more difficulty for my own situation.

“So, what brings you here on this delightful friday evening?” I forced myself to look away from her as I spoke, mostly because I felt like I’d been staring for too long. But I’d happily look at her for as long as possible, if I didn’t fear for what she’d think of me.

“I’m guessing the same thing that brought you here, Mr. Evans.” To my raised eyebrow, she simply responded with a shake of her head, her delightful giggle going straight to my pants. “C’mon, you’re dressed like this, on a friday night, and waiting for someone in a bistro? You’re obviously on a date!”

Well, I was most definitely impressed, but that didn’t serve to distract myself from the disappointment that pierced through me at the realization that she had dressed up so pretty to go out on a date with someone other than me.

“If that’s the case, then where is the lucky gentleman?” That seemed to be the wrong thing to ask, by the way her beautiful face fell.  Immediately, I felt terrible for being responsible for sucking the light out of this woman.

“Oh… I guess he’s not coming. I’ve been waiting for him for at least an hour, it was supposed to be a blind date. My friend thought he’d be perfect for me or something. Guess he didn’t agree, huh?” She tried to chuckle, but the fact that she couldn’t meet my eyes was enough to demonstrate how embarrassed she was by the whole ordeal.

“Sweetheart…” I itched to touch her, to pull her body to mine and comfort her anyway I could, but she continued to avoid my eyes, keeping up with her own monologue almost like she couldn’t physically stop.

“And the worst part is that I can’t stop thinking about how he probably walked in, saw me and decided to go home. God, this is mortifying. Why am I even telling you this?” At that, she finally looked up to find me looking back at her, and whatever it was she identified in my gaze at last made her stop.

“Come eat with me,” I offered, not even thinking about what I was saying, although capable of admitting that it was all I truly wanted. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but she wasn’t able to structure a proper sentence, looking up at me with those big bright eyes.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I didn’t know what to say. I was completely taken by surprise by his invitation, but I couldn’t really say it made me uncomfortable. I wanted nothing more than the chance to spend some time with him, away from the university environment.

It was no secret that he was attractive, of course. I knew that, but it wasn’t because of it that I wanted the chance to share a meal with him. It was for all of the little things I’d managed to learn over the course of our meetings, the bar trivia he liked to share randomly over cups of coffee when it would make more sense if we were sharing a beer. It was the fact that his mind fascinated me, and I’d never met anyone who had captivated me so much, so easily, in such little time.

Even with so little to go off on, he occupied my mind. And perhaps half of the attraction came from the taboo of it all, but I couldn’t deny that it was there. I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to say yes. Didn’t I deserve it, after such a lousy night?

“We shouldn’t,” I decided to remind us both, but he only smiled, reaching out for my hand. The touch surprised me even more, but I found myself accepting it easily, even smiling as I looked up at him from underneath my eyelashes to see an answering grin in his handsome face.

“No one has to know. Come on.” He tugged me in the direction of the restaurant he was in, apparently, some place definitely fancier than where my date was supposed to happen, and with a curt nod towards the greeter, he quickly took me to the table he’d been occupying before pulling the chair for me.

Such a simple gesture, not at all romantic, really, but it sent butterflies all over my stomach, and I bit my lip to stop the giddy giggle that wanted to break free. “Thank you,” I recognized, and he only flashed me another perfect smile in return.

“It’s my pleasure. Would you like some wine?” He gestured for the waiter, his eyes barely leaving mine before returning to me again. “It’s okay if you don’t. Choose whatever you want, I’m usually more of a beer guy myself, but with this being an italian restaurant and all…”

I waved his fears away, rejecting the menu the waiter was offering and pointing to the glass of wine that was sitting in front of Chris. “I’ll just have the same, please.” The waiter nodded, already turning to grab me a glass when my professor called him over again.

“Wait! Just bring us the bottle, would you?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk making its way into my face. If there was one thing I had already learned about the man I was about to have dinner with, was that he loved to be teased.

“Planning on getting me drunk, professor? That’s not the right way to keep me quiet.” His eyes grew big at first, before he caught on to the teasing nature of my comments, and then he laughed, a hand going over his chest as he threw his head back and closed his eyes, fully in the moment.

Chris’ P.O.V.

Fuck, this was exactly what I’d hoped for when I took the chance and invited her over here. She was just so damn *funny. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to spend some quality time with her.

“Oh, believe me, sweetheart. I really don’t want to keep you quiet.” Shit. It was only after it was out in the open, and her eyebrows were raised high, that I realized just how weird that sounded, given the context. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was, I really want to hear you.”

By now, she was pressing her lips tightly, clearly trying not to laugh about my awkwardness, so I saved her the trouble by breaking into a fit of laughter myself. “That’s okay, Professor Evans. If it makes you feel any better, I really want to hear you too.”

… Was she flirting with me? The idea caught me by surprise and sent a jolt of thrill up my body, making me sit up straighter in the restaurant’s chair. I pressed my lips tightly together in an effort to suppress my laugh, and looked up at her from under my eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she teased, and it was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

“Why not?”

“It makes me nervous.” The answer surprised me. I never considered that I could affect her in any way, much less that one, and so I found myself leaning in her direction, my elbows on the table so I could talk more quietly and she could still hear me.

“Why are you nervous? It’s just me. We’ve been alone in smaller environments than this one,” I reminded her, watching with delight as she giggled but avoided my eyes, opting instead to play with the glass of wine that had by now been delivered to us. I knew she was thinking about the tiny office we shared and all the times we had to ignore this sexual tension as it filled the air between us. When her eyes met mine, the mischievous glint in them was unmissable, and so I braced myself for her answer, knowing it would definitely be something as out of the ordinary as herself.

“Yes…” She started, leaning closer to me and lowering her voice, and while I was sure I didn’t want to miss one single word of what she was saying, it was impossible not to look down at how her breasts threatened to spill from her dress. “But this time it’s harder to ignore just how much I want your cock down my throat.”

I was stunned to silence for a minute, staring back at her with my mouth opened as I felt my cock unmistakably harden at her directness. This was so different from the reserved and polite woman I had to work with at the university, and if that one was already enticing, I had no words to describe the minx that stared back at me with deviousness in her eyes.

“Well, now I feel bad,” I settled on saying, eyes dropping to her cleavage before meeting hers again, making sure she saw just how hypnotized by her body I was. “And here I’ve been, picturing you on your knees all this time.”

I *knew she was hot and bothered by my comment, it was pretty obvious by the way she fidgeted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, I was certain. There was nothing I wanted more than taking her away from here, and just… well… *take her. Preferably more than once, but it didn’t even have to be on a bed. I wasn’t sure I’d hold back enough to get her close to one, even. Especially when she stepped it up a notch, her heeled foot caressing my leg under the table as she whispered, “I think I made a smart choice when I decided to wear this dress tonight.”

Inevitably, my eyes fell to her breasts once more. It was obvious that I agreed, but still, I licked my lips to be able to agree, “Yes, I’m very fond of it as well.” The corners of her lips twisted up, a clear indication that I’d fallen right onto her trap.

“I’m glad you liked the choice. Wanna know why I’m happy I ran into you while wearing it?” I just nodded, dry swallowing at the thought of what she was about to say. “Because I can’t wear anything underneath it.”

My knuckles turned white as I held onto the edge of the table, practically urging myself not to leap out of my seat. “Careful, sweetheart…” I tried to warn, the months of restraint and tension taking a toll out of my patience and control. “You should think about what you’re saying. *Pay attention to what you’re asking of me. I’m not exactly great at resisting something that I want. You have to be sure,” I murmured, eyes never leaving hers as I watched her breathing grow more laboured.

She let the silence simmer the anticipation between us, until I felt like *I was about to collapse.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“I think I’ve made my desires clear.”

That was all it took for him to dart out of the chair, fishing out his wallet and throwing some bills on top of the table before reaching for my hand. “Come.”

I followed easily, body buzzing with excitement as I accepted this first touch from a man I believed to be unreachable only a few hours before.

Nothing was said as he directed me towards his car. Once inside, I took advantage of the few seconds it took for him to reach his own door and took a deep breath, both to calm my nerves and take in the delicious scent of the familiar cologne that seemed to be ingrained in the vehicle. How many days had I spent clenching my thighs as I tried to focus on my research because his scent took over our tiny office? Too many to count. But now he was right here, ready and willing to take care of the mess he made of me.

A shiver went through my body when he finally made his way inside the car, and instead of turning on the engine, fixated his gaze on me. It was heavy with lust and primal need, that much I could recognize - mostly because I knew those two feelings all too well when it came to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” It wasn’t a question, and immediately after he was done speaking I was already leaning over to meet him halfway. 

Chris’ kiss was nothing like I expected it to be. While I imagined a gentle lover, he was more on the eager, almost desperate side. I was surprised how much I liked it that way. He took control of our kiss so easily, it made me feel small and under his spell. Like I’d do anything he wanted me to, just as long as he kept devouring me like this.

I lost myself to the kiss, to *him, to the taste of wine and something that was undeniably just him, but then a hand fell on my lap and I gasped, instinctively opening my legs to feel more of his touch. It made him grin, but he didn’t stop kissing me, instead cradling my face between his hands before returning one of them to the spot that was throbbing for him.

“I just really need to feel you, only for a second,” he whispered against my lips, and I could only nod, too lost in his eyes to care about the implications of his words. “Maybe if I have your taste on my lips I’ll feel motivated enough to drive all the way home, instead of just taking you right here.”

Needless to say, paired with two of his fingers curling inside of me before they were gone and wrapped by his lips, the fires of desire had grown to such heights I could no longer control them. “Hmm… Delicious,” he hummed, dark eyes opening to meet mine only for a second before he was turning the engine on. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Chris’ P.O.V.

The second we were inside my apartment, I had to unbuckle my belt and curl my fist around my member - that’s how badly it hurt from the lack of attention. At least I wasn’t the only one desperate to get things going, her dress was on the floor just as I sat back on the couch, moaning both at the feeling of my jerking motions and the sight of her naked body.

“Come here, Miss. Y/L/N,” I instructed, beckoning her over while keeping my other hand occupied with my cock. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Join me.” She didn’t seem to need any further invitation, small frame quickly making her way over to where I was sitting before she dropped to her knees in front of me, right between my thighs that she held to support herself.

“God, you’re sexy.” She smiled up at me from underneath her eyelashes, hands reaching out to take my member from me before she began to lick at my already weeping head, and I had to take a deep breath in order to control myself. “Fuck.”

She was a tease, alright - but that much I knew, already. Instead of immediately starting to suck me off, she opted to get acquainted with the taste of my cock by licking it like a damn ice cream cone, until every inch of it was wrapped in a coat of her saliva and I was trembling underneath her attentions, hands curled into fists in an effort to let her keep her own pace but desperately wanting to gag her on me.

“You taste so good,” she teased, but it did sound more like an absentminded comment. It was just my need that made me believe she was doing it on purpose, trying to get me to break, but I wouldn’t let her win.

“Put it in your mouth, then. I promise I’ll give you more to taste.” If I had been worried I’d scare her away with how open I was about what I wanted, the smirk she gave me assured me it was well received, just as the way she finally wrapped her perfect lips around the head of my cock, tongue swirling over it briefly before starting to slowly suck more of it.

“Shit, yeah. Just like that. Swallow that cock, darling.” She did just so, all the while making sure to keep eye contact with me, which only added fuel to the desire I felt for her. I knew I couldn’t resist for too long, so I reveled in the feeling of her warm mouth, the sloppy blowjob easily the best I’d ever had, before I pulled her to me, making her climb my lap so I could fill my hands with her fantastic ass.

“God, I’ve dreamt about this ass,” I groaned, palming it and using it to rub her pussy over my member, that twitched at the slight contact, making us both gasp. “And this pussy…” the connection was obvious. Of course I’d imagined it too, but the little mynx wanted to hear it for herself.

“Did you think about it at night?” She asked, taking control of the motions I could no longer direct as she rubbed her wet cunt over my member, making me growl on her ear.

“At night, in class…” Maybe I should have felt embarrassed to admit it, but as it were, I didn’t. I couldn’t, not when it was the truth, and not when she was right here, ready to sink down on my cock, looking at me with those sinful eyes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She bit down on her lower lip to stop the grin from taking over her face, I could see that, but it didn’t stop mine as I watched her rub the head of my member between her lips before finally starting to sink down on it.

“Fuck!” My head fell back on the couch, and I had to hold on her hips to keep control of myself, but still, she was being too slow. Opening my eyes, I saw by the smirk on her lips it was purely to tease me, but two could play at this game. 

“Keep going,” I ordered, slapping her ass before sinking my fingers on it again, for good measure. She gasped, momentarily losing control and falling further down, which was really all I needed to fuck up into her until I bottomed out.

“God, you’re so big!” She really did know how to get a man going.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Once I relinquished the control to him, there was really nothing else I could do but to hold on tight and enjoy the ride. He fucked me like he was trying to cherish every single second of this act we were sharing, probably conscious that we’d never be able to do this again.

“Such a fucking great pussy,” he groaned, fingers now probably bruising my skin as he used his grip on my hips to force my movements to match his. “I bet I can make you even louder.”

I hadn’t even realized I was screaming until he said that, feet raising to the sofa so he could find even more grip to fuck me silly. “Hold tight, sweetheart.” My hands slipped from his shoulders to the back of his neck, as I tried to keep my chest glued to his despite the brutality of his movements.

It didn’t take long for his thrusts to lose their rhythm, and I was dancing on the edge of my own orgasm too, watching a single drop of sweat make its way from his hairline until his jaw, where I leaned down to collect it with my tongue.

“Fuck.” His eyes met mine, holding my gaze hostage as the next words that fell from his lips brought me to my release. “Oh God, please tell me you’ll be mine. I need to know I’ll be able to have you like this whenever I want. Please.”

The aftershocks of my orgasm, paired with the way my pussy clenched around his member, milking his own release, had him cumming as hard as I had, eyes closed tightly and beautiful mouth hanging open as I tried to catch my breath and not lose the show at the same time.

“Do you mean it?” I had to ask, once both of us were able to speak again, still tightly embraced and deeply connected. I could feel his cum slowly seeping out of me and into his own lap.

“Of course.” His eyes searched mine for any inkling of my own feelings in regards to the revelation of his. “You’re worth the trouble it’ll be trying to keep this under wraps. Besides, Professor Stan had mentioned he’d like to seduce you, and I can’t imagine having to watch you be with another man.”

A giggle and a kiss sealed the deal, but we renegotiated the terms of our agreement a dozen of times before finally falling asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace. Thank God I was stood up today.

[thetriggeredhappy]

day 1 let’s fuckin’ go. everyone listen to butterflies by samsa

Day 1: Pursuit

“You seriously don’t have any better games than this?” Scout complained, looking back down at the board, doubtful. “Not even, like, a deck of cards? To play poker or somethin’?”

“Rather not play two-person poker, and I don’t like gambling anyways,” was Sniper’s reply, not glancing up from shuffling the cards.

“I mean, maybe Go Fish then, or Old Maid, or—or somethin’, not fuckin’… Trivial Pursuit.”

Sniper seemed to mull that over for a moment. “If you don’t want to play,” he started to say, hesitant, and Scout sputtered to cut him off before he could finish that thought.

“I, I mean, I didn’t say that,” he managed, still half-glaring down at the board. “Just, y’know.”

Sniper probably didn’t know, actually. Truthfully, Scout wasn’t much for… book smarts type games. Games that needed quick reflexes, talking quickly, theatrics, those he was a champion at besides his eternally bad luck, but facts and numbers and geography? Those he tended to sort of… fuck up beyond recognition. And he really, really didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of Sniper.

Kind of the worst case scenario, actually. But the worse worst case scenario was driving the guy away before even getting to hang out with him, here, the first time he’d ever agreed to one of Scout’s dozens of proposed hangouts.

Hell, he’d honestly gotten used to Sniper always saying no. ‘Nah’ and ‘Not this time’ and ‘Afraid not, sorry mate’ were three phrases Scout had heard at least three and four times a week for months, now. He’d started brushing right through it, stopped letting it hurt his feelings even, although he couldn’t help but get his hopes up, still. Invitations to team drinking nights and poker parties and carpooling with the guys to the movies or a bar or a casino, or more overt invitations to listen to new albums or go out to get fast food or to fairs or to concerts, he’d long since gotten used to those standard, polite rejections.

So he was surprised, then, when he’d delivered his offhanded invitation—“Hey, Snipes, all the other guys bailed on the rec room game night tonight, you wanna be there anyways?”—he hadn’t expected Sniper to hesitate for a few seconds before shrugging and saying sure.

Hell, he was halfway through his ‘yeah no problem no worries man’ before he even realized Sniper said yes, then it was fumbling the whole rest of the way.

Better to be an idiot friend than a distant acquaintance, maybe. That’s what he told himself.

A brief mumbled rundown of the rules went in one ear and out the other as he got preoccupied with looking over one of the cards, mind boggled by what the hell the letters and colors were supposed to mean. A short summary was nodded at vaguely, and apparently his poker face had been terrible all along, because Sniper shrugged and said that they could just play first to six questions right and tally up wins from there. Then they rolled a dice and Sniper, apparently, would go first.

“Alright, uh,” Scout said, squinting down at the little card. “What does a… he-leo-logist, study?”

Sniper thought about it for a second. “Er… the sun,” he replied.

“Yep,” Scout nodded, nudged a piece towards him. Sniper took it. “So, uh, you go again?”

“Yeah. Er… geography, this time,” Sniper mumbled, shuffling some pieces around in a way that probably made sense to people who actually knew how this board game worked.

“Sure. What’s… the country that has South America’s highest and lowest points?”

Another pause. “Bloody… Argentina, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Damn. Okay, next one,” Scout said, less concerned about the fact that Sniper was doing well and more worried at the fact that he was gonna do awful.

“Geography again,” Sniper determined.

“What natural… breakwater, is off the north… eastern, part of Australia?” he read, a little stilted, squinting at the letters, like that would help, for once. Silence, for a pause, then for longer. Scout breathed an internal sigh of relief, smiling a little. “C’mon, it’s your own fuckin’, uh… country, continent, thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s both,” Sniper said, and paused. “It… it’s not talking about the bloody, er… Solomon Islands, is it?”

“Great Barrier Reef,” Scout replied.

Sniper muttered a swear. “Overthought it,” he sighed, nudging the dice over to Scout, who rolled it. Sniper glanced at the number, moved the pieces, looked at a card. “Right. What craft uses a… kiln, and a kick wheel?”

Scout could’ve cried. “That’s, uh, pottery, sculpting,” he said, relieved.

A nod from Sniper, a piece scooped onto his side of the table, the dice rolled a few seconds later when he realized he was supposed to do that. “How many colors are in the rainbow?” he asked next.

Scout had to count off on his fingers for a second. “Uh, seven,” he said, and fist-pumped when Sniper nodded, scooping up another piece. “Even though it’s, uh, kinda bullishit. There should be six.”

Sniper’s eyebrows ticking up in confusion probably was a sign he should drop it, but instead he found himself spouting off.

“Because, uh, like, y’know, there’s—there’s the kinds of colors, right?” he said, backpedaling at his response of furrowed eyebrows. “Like, the basic ones, the, uh, primary colors, that’s red and yellow and blue, y’know? And then the other three, that you get from mixing those, like, uh, red and yellow is, uh… is orange, and then like, green, and purple, you combine ‘em, right?”

Sniper nodded slowly after a moment.

“But then you got, uh, fuckin’… indigo. In the, uh, in the list of colors, fuckin’, Roy G. Biv? Red orange yellow, green, blue indigo violet? And I know it’s, like, blue and dark blue, but I think that still sucks. If we’ve got indigo we’ve gotta have like, the other in- between guys. Know what I mean?”

“Don’t have much of an opinion on it, but, sounds like you’re making points,” Sniper said, and Scout shrugged, glanced down at the table, tapped his fingertips against his knees out of sight to try and let out some nervous energy. “Bloody, er… your turn, or mine?”

“Uh, mine,” Scout said, scrambling to roll the dice.

“Right. Sorry. Er…” Sniper read over the card. “Patron saint of Scotland?”

Scout swore under his breath, deflating a little, coming up blank. “Uh… hey, Demo!” he called, and heard a vague ‘aye’ from the kitchen. “Who’s the patron saint of Scotland?”

“My mum,” Demo called back, and Sniper snickered, at least, which softened the blow to Scout’s confidence considerably.

“Ah, fuck off,” Scout called back, and looked back at Sniper, smiling. “Saint Scrumpy, fuck, I dunno.”

“Saint Andrew, apparently,” Sniper shrugged, rolling the dice. “Sports question. The orange one.”

Scout tried to read the question before starting to say anything out loud, and found himself completely lost anyways. “Who was the first… Ch—Check-uh-slavarian… to win, the… Wimbleton…”

“No idea,” Sniper said outright, shaking his head at himself. “Don’t follow, er… what, the Olympics?”

“Tennis, I guess,” Scout shrugged, rolling the dice.

“Sports for you too. What did… bloody hell. What did second baseman Bill… Wambsganss, do all by himself in the, er… 1920 World Series game?”

“Oh, shit,” Scout laughed, “guy did, like, a triple play, and then hit into a double later that same game. That was the year some guy got hit in the head with a ball and fuckin’ died.”

Sniper was staring at him, clearly shocked.

“What?” Scout asked, rolling the dice. “I know baseball. And it was a whole thing.”

Sniper seemed to shrug it off, shaking his head. “What’s the Taj Mahal made of?”

“Fuckin’, I dunno, chocolate? What, that some kinda dessert? What’s that?” Scout scoffed, trying to play it off.

“It’s… it’s a place. Looks a bit like a castle? Like, er, like the Eiffel Tower, or Big Ben, tourist sort of thing?” Sniper tried, and Scout shrugged, and he shrugged back, rolling the dice. “Fair enough. One of the, er, Science ones. Green one.”

Scout looked at the card for a few seconds. “I… dunno how to say this word. Glue… glay… what’s that?”

Sniper leaned over, and Scout turned it towards him. “Glaucoma. Hits your eyes,” he said, and Scout nodded, and he took a piece, rolled again. “Brown one.”

“What are… catalogued, under the Dewey decimal system?” Scout asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Books, library books,” Sniper mumbled.

“Jesus, are you—where’s the mirrors, seriously? How are you doing that?” Scout asked, and Sniper huffed something like a laugh, taking the piece, rolling again. “No, no, seriously. How the hell do you know half of these?”

“Geography, blue,” he prompted.

“Alright, I swear to god.” Scout held the card close as he read it, first to himself, then out loud. “What national capital is heated by underground hot springs?”

Sniper, to his credit, paused for a moment before answering. “Iceland’s. Reykjavik, it’s called.”

“I swear to god.” Scout flipped over the card, read the answer. “Oh, what the fuck!”

“I’ve bloody been there!” Sniper defended.

“Nah, fuck off, hold on—“ Scout picked up another card, reading another question. “Where in a tree does photosynthesis happen?”

“Leaves.”

“How do you know that so fast!” Scout demanded.

“That’s just science class in school!”

“Fuckin’—who, fuckin’, rode on the raft with Huck Finn?” Scout asked next.

“The, er… runaway, Jim.”

“Oh, what!” Scout all but shouted.

“Scout, I read.”

“Nah, nah, you’re way too good at this game, either you’re like, cheating, or you on purpose picked this game because you’re, like, weirdly crazy good at it or something!”

Sniper’s expression went from amusement to that blankness again, and it only made Scout even more infuriated.

“I mean, seriously, did you pick this game on purpose because you just know all the cards? Did you just wanna do the game where you’d for sure win?” he demanded.

Sniper was fidgeting with his glasses, now, and to be honest, Scout wasn’t even particularly mad, just confused.

“I mean, shit, you’d think you just wanted too play this one so you could look smart and cool and shit like that,” he said. and saw the way Sniper shrank a little, and the lightbulb went off way too late.

A pause.

“Dude,” Scout said, fighting down a laugh.

Sniper mumbled something he didn’t quite hear, sinking in his chair.

“Alright, seriously, if you wanna look smarter than me, you really don’t gotta pull out the trivia questions. Pretty much any game works, you know that, right? I’ll make an idiot of myself playing, like… Uno,” Scout said. Sniper shrugged, still not looking him in the eye. “Okay. Here’s an idea. How about we play, uh… I dunno, Crazy Eights. And while we play I’m gonna keep grilling you on this random trivia shit because seriously, that’s totally nuts, man.”

Sniper hesitated for a few seconds before he finally nodded and straightened up, and in a way, they both won. Scout because he now at least knew he wasn’t the only one who was a total mess and way too worried about what other people thought, and Sniper because he could keep being impressive about random trivia knowledge. Apparently, he knew a bunch about geography and books and nature, and not a single thing about sports.

Scout accused him of trying to memorize the cards. Sniper laughed, properly, for the first time all night.

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Find my masterlist here. Requests are Open.

Based on a wonderful song fic request I received from @itsametaphorbriansblog for the song Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat by Del Water Gap. I'd never heard the song before but trust me when I say it's awesome and my head was full with these lyrics. And yes, Alice in Wonderland is my favorite book.

Requested: Yes l No

CW: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of smut but nothing too explicit, some angst but happy ending.

Plot: Spencer wants to believe he can have a casual relationship with you. But just the thought of someone else touching you the way he does sends him into a tailspin. He wants you all to himself.

WC: 3.9K

—————————————————————

I do not want to fight this anymore

I just want to lay back

And watch you pin me to the bed

How he ended up here was somewhat of a mystery to Spencer but he had no intention of complaining.

He was sure he’d have time to think about it later, but right now all he was focused on was the way you pinned him to the bed, your soft hands wrapped around his wrists.

He was too enamoured taking in every beautiful curve of your body, the swell of your breasts and hips, the feeling of your silky thighs pressed against his own much hairier ones.

He drank you in as you kissed him, your tongue tasting like coffee and vodka. Your lips against his felt as though they’d found their rightful place in the world.

And when you finally lowered yourself on his throbbing member, everything else slipped away. The only thing in the world he could focus on was how fucking good it felt to have you wrapped around him.

It was as though all the stars had aligned and all his birthdays and christmases had come at once.

He never thought he’d have a shot with someone like you. This was better than even his wildest dreams.

I used to call you my best friend

Way back before you were my everything

Now I’m sucking on your neck

You’d worked together for several years and quickly became best friends. But there was always something more between you. Lingering glances, a few too many casual touches.

An odd tension that Spencer had never been able to put his finger on until the first time you saw each other naked and it vanished.

It had started after a few too many drinks at Rossi’s and ended in Spencer’s bed. That had been six months ago and since then the two of you spent all your free time between the sheets together.

It just made sense.

But you had made it clear it was simply sex, a means to an end. You were seeing another guy who knew about Spencer too. You told Spencer he was free to see other women.

He didn’t want to see other women. He only ever wanted to see you. He wanted to see you all the time, preferably naked and sitting on his cock.

He had agreed this was fine. He was ok with this arrangement. He’d told you he was fine with this other guy you were seeing if he was fine with you seeing Spencer.

Fine. Everything was just fine.

And you wrote my favorite song

Now I’m fucked up and carrying on

I do not know the words yet, oh

It had been a lie.

He thought he could separate the physical from his feelings but he wasn’t that kind of man. He wished he could be. But the idea of not having you all to himself made him feel sick.

And it hits me

I don't want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

He thought he was ok with it until he was lonely in his apartment one night. He text you asking you to come over.

Your response told him you were with your other man. And he spiralled.

He couldn’t help his mind wander over the things you would be doing together.

Did he kiss you on your neck the way you loved? Did he know the way you liked to be touched?

Did he make you feel the way Spencer did? Did he make you come the way Spencer knew how?

The thought of you naked being pleasured by another man made his heart ache. Images of you touching him, being fucked by him, screaming his name; it was too much.

He wanted to be the only one who got to touch you like that; to see you at your orgasms peak.

It really wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to share you. He didn’t want to be left alone in his room wracked with sadness at the thought of you with another man.

Is it okay?

That I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

Yeah

“What did you get up to with Matt last night?” Spencer asked as he made you both coffees the next morning.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mark.” you sighed as you spoke. You knew Spencer knew his name, he had an eidetic memory for god sake. He was doing it deliberately.

“Matt, Mark same difference.” he shrugged, pouring sugar into his cup.

“We just hung out.” you took the other mug he’d filled and twirled your spoon around in it. “You know, usual stuff.”

You leant back against the counter, holding the warm mug between your hands and inhaling the smell.

Spencer turned to look at you.

You had a noticeable hickey on your neck, one he certainly hadn’t left. You must know he could see it.

“The usual stuff you and Morgan would do when you hang out or the usual stuff you and I do when we hang out?”

You rolled your eyes again and pushed yourself away from the counter and headed back towards your desk.

Spencer followed close behind you.

“Just because you don’t speak doesn’t mean you didn’t answer.” he whispered as he caught up with you. “Nice hickey.”

He practically stormed to his desk and threw himself in the chair.

You sighed to yourself. You should have known Spencer would be this way.

A little while later Morgan passed by your desk as you had your nose buried in a case file.

“Ohhh looks like pretty girl got some loving last night! The size of that mark on your neck Miss thing!”

You looked up at him, your cheeks stained crimson.

You made brief eye contact with Spencer. If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes were filled with tears.

He pushed his chair back and stormed away from where JJ and Emily were now getting a good look at your hickey too.

“What’s up with him?” Morgan frowned.

“I don’t think he’s feeling too good today.” You replied.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Tell me that nobody else touches you

Like I do, like I do

Oh, tell me that nobody else touches you like me

Tell me that nobody else touches you

Like I do, like I do

Oh, tell me that nobody else touches you like me

There was no case to take you out of the state and you were looking forward to going home.

Spencer caught up with you as you stepped in the elevator and shoved his way inside just before the doors closed.

“Do you want to come over?” he asked the second the doors shut behind him.

“Not tonight Spence, I’m exhausted.” you stifled a yawn as if to prove your point.

“Did you use all your energy on Mike?” he sounded so bitter.

“I did not use all my energy on Mark. I’m tired from dealing with a whiny, jealous baby all day.” you rolled your eyes yet again.

“I’m not jealous.” he scoffed. “Or whiny. Or a baby.”

“Sure you aren’t.” The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.

You patted Spencer on his shoulder as you stepped out.

“Goodnight Spencer, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He pouted a little as he watched you go.

Maybe it was time to just let you go entirely.

You’re pulling on my habit lines

The more I smoke the more I find

I can’t just fall asleep instead

One am and Spencer’s phone startled him awake. He was used to being called in the middle of the night for work so he was wide awake in an instant.

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and put it to his ear.

“Reid.” he spoke, expecting it to be Hotch calling about a case.

“Hey,” your voice was low and sultry.

Spencer swallowed.

“What?” he knew what. He knew exactly what you were calling for.

He had to say no. He had to stay strong. He couldn’t keep giving in to you. Not anymore.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb Spence, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“Well I’m touching myself.” you moaned softly. “But I do wish it was your hand between my legs.”

You heard a breathy sigh leave his lips. You knew that was enough to make him hard.

“Fuck Y/N,” he groaned. “I’ll be over in a half hour.”

You grinned as you hung up the phone.

Spencer wished he wasn’t so weak. He wished he could say no to you.

He wished he could tell you it was him or Mark. You had to choose.

He would if he didn’t fear the answer.

And you’re not my protector

I hope you know it wasn’t her

That kept me off your side of the bed, oh

He put his all in that night. He wanted to make you feel the best you’d ever felt so the next time you saw Mark you were thinking of him.

He made you come seven times, you honestly didn’t think you would walk for days after. By the time the sun came up you were so sensitive you didn’t know if you’d be able to dress for work without your clothes flustering your sensitive skin.

“Jeez Spence, I hope we’ve got another office day today.” You ached all over. “I don’t know if I’m going to be any good in the field like this.”

He felt an odd sense of pride. You’d remember this, you’d remember how good he’d made you feel.

He hoped he’d fucked Mark right out of your head.

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

“Jesus pretty girl, your hickeys have hickeys!” Morgan chuckled as you walked into the BAU with no sleep and only one coffee in your system.

Spencer tried to hide the smug look from his face.

“Another night with your lover boy aye?” Emily nudged you in the arm as you made a beeline for the coffee machine.

He felt very good about himself right now.

“Speaking of your lover boy,” JJ piped up. “You had some flowers delivered this morning.”

Spencer’s face fell. No. No that wasn’t fair.

You forgot all about the coffee and headed to your desk where a beautiful array of red roses awaited you.

Spencer wanted to take them and stomp on them. The way you were stomping on his heart.

“Oh wow.” You smiled as you read the note. “How sweet.”

“If you ask me he’s trying too hard.” Spencer tried not to sound bitter or sad as he spoke. He failed miserably.

“Well good job no ones asking you.” You shot him an annoyed glance.

The tension suddenly grew thick. You and Spencer glared at one another while Morgan, Emily and JJ stared on in confusion.

“We have a case.” Hotch’s voice broke the stare off.

Thank god you thought. Saved before you had a chance to say something you’d regret.

You put the flowers down and headed towards the round table room. You heard Spencer shuffling behind you.

“What was that about?” JJ frowned.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Emily shrugged.

“I think I’ve got an idea.” Morgan smirked as the three of them started to follow. “Pretty boy has a crush on pretty girl.”

It is okay?

That I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

You barely said two words to Spencer in the four days you spent in Missouri unless it pertained to the case.

Everyone could tell something was amiss between the two of you. The team was so used to your playful banter and inside jokes you had with one another. It was painfully obvious something was going on.

It was late when you arrived back at Quantico so Hotch sent you all straight home.

Spencer caught up with you in the parking lot.

“Y/N, can we talk?”

“No.” You didn’t turn back to look at him as you headed to your car.

“Y/N please we need to talk.”

“I’m sick of this.” You groaned as you reached your vehicle. “You said you were ok with us seeing other people Spencer.” You spun back to look at him.

He was playing with the strap of his messenger back in an awkward fashion.

“Well...I’m not.” He shrugged.

“No shit.” You scoffed. “I’m sorry Spencer but I can’t do this anymore. I like Mark, he’s nice. We have fun.”

“So I’m not nice? You don’t have fun with me?” He stepped a little closer to you.

“You’re draining Spencer.” You confessed. “I once thought maybe you and I could be more than, whatever this is, but it’s exhausting Spence. With Mark it’s just easy. We spoke yesterday and he said he wanted us to get serious. No seeing other people. I told him I’d like that.”

Spencer’s heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. He felt as though you had punched the air from his lungs.

He fought for a breath, stumbling on his feet a little.

“You’re...you’re choosing him?”

“Yes.” You chewed your lip guilty. “I’m sorry Spencer but honestly, you’re too much like hard work.” You turned away from him and opened the drivers door, closing it quickly behind you before you changed your mind.

You watched Spencer in your rear view mirror as you pulled out of your parking space.

He hadn’t moved. He just stood there, dejected and sad staring in your wake.

You were barely out of the parking lot before your first tear fell.

You’re in his living room

And it may not mean much you

But your plates are in his sink

And your sweaters on his bed

Won’t you text me when you’re home?

My baby, spare me all the rest

It had been little over a month and Spencer wouldn’t make eye contact with you. He wouldn’t speak directly to you. He wouldn’t even be in the same room as you if he could help it.

At this point the whole team knew something was up. Hotch had pulled you both up on it but you’d both lied and said everything was fine.

Everything was far from fine.

Every night for just over a month Spencer had cried himself to sleep. He’d spent his waking hours in his apartment imaging what the two of you were doing.

Were you laughing at movies? Reading together? Having romantic dinners or walks in the park hand in hand? Were you making love over and over again?

His sleep was haunted by thoughts of you too. No where was safe. He’d started wondering if he could even work with you anymore. Maybe it was time to go into teaching?

Being around you every day just didn’t seem like an option anymore because every time he saw you, his heart broke all over again.

Please just tell me

That nobody else touches you like I do

Oh tell me that nobody touches you like me

It wasn’t just that he’d lost the woman he had started developing feelings for, he had lost his best friend too. He wanted to talk to someone about the heartache he was feeling and usually that someone would be you.

He wanted his best friend back. It was killing him.

He didn’t know how to deal with losing you so he didn’t. He didn’t know how to talk to you anymore so he stopped talking to you altogether.

The flower deliveries stopped after a few months which made it slightly easier for him to forget about you dating another man.

After about seven months your demeanor shifted a little. You stopped talking about Mark as much and were more vague about your weekend plans.

By the time it was coming up to a year you stopped talking about him entirely. When Spencer overheard you speaking to JJ or Emily about your weekend plans it was always along the lines of “TV and pizza for one.”

For Garcia’s birthday the whole team was going out for drinks at a local bar. Since you ended things with him Spencer avoided hanging out with the team outside of work when you would be there. He would always come up with some kind of excuse.

But Garcia was not the kind of person to take no for an answer.

So reluctantly he went along. Emily helped him pick out a gift for her, a unicorn charm for her bracelet. Certainly not something Spencer would have chosen but Emily insisted the tech analyst would love it.

Whilst in the jewelry store a delicate silver necklace had caught his eye. It had an intricate charm of a bottle with a little label with the words “Drink Me” etched into it.

It had taken him back to a conversation from years past.

You were still new to the team and trying to keep your head down and not get in anyone's way. The team was all so close and you didn’t want to step on any toes.

On the way back from your latest case in New York you didn’t sleep like the rest of the team. You were wide awake, probably on a high from the adrenaline brought on by the case.

You sat at the back of the jet alone with your head buried in a book. You didn’t notice someone watching you or approaching you until you heard the leather seat opposite you squeak a little as your company sat down.

You looked up to see Spencer smiling softly at you.

“What are you reading?” he asked with genuine interest.

You blushed a little chewing your lip, turning the book over in your hands.

“Alice in Wonderland.” you slid the old book across the table to him.

He picked it up cautiously and turned the worn pages.

“First edition.”

“Yeah.” you nodded as he looked back up at you. “It was my dad’s. He used to read it to me when I was young. He passed away a few years ago and it helps me feel close to him.” it was the most open you’d been since joining the team.

Spencer smiled at you sadly and handed you back the book.

“I’m sorry about your dad. But that’s nice you have that.”

“Yeah I suppose it is.”

Emily had stepped out of the store to take a phone call and he had found himself purchasing the necklace. He didn’t know why. He couldn’t help himself.

Garcia had loved her charm, she’d squealed and hugged him so tightly Spencer felt the air being squeezed from his lungs.

She opened the rest of her presents while the rest of the team drank. You and Spencer kept making accidental eye contact and each time you would both smile awkwardly at one another.

You got up from the table to buy a round of drinks. Spencer watched you go. It would be his perfect chance to get to talk to you. He needed to know what was going on. Had you and Mark split up? And if you had, did that mean there was anyway he still stood a chance with you?

He’d wanted to ask for so long but every time he went to say something, the words got stuck in his throat, refusing to leave.

But this time he was determined. He needed to know where he stood once and for all.

At the very least could he get his best friend back?

And it hits me

I don’t want anybody else touching you

Like I do

Like I do

Like me

“Thought you might need a hand.” Spencer sidled up next to you. It was the closest you’d been to one another in almost a year.

“Thanks.” you smiled softly, a little awkwardly.

You looked at each other for a moment, neither of you sure what to say to each other.

Not so long ago the two of you could talk about anything and everything until you were blue in the face. You never ran out of things to talk to each other about. So much had changed.

Spencer reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the small jewelry box. He turned it over in his hand a few times before he held his hand out.

“I saw this when I was getting Garcia’s birthday present and I couldn’t help myself.” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

You chewed your lip as you cautiously took the box from him. You ran your fingers over it for a few seconds before you slowly opened it.

Tears immediately sprang to your eyes as you looked down at the little Alice in Wonderland themed necklace cushioned inside the box.

You looked back up at Spencer with a sniff.

“Spence,” a small tear escaped your eye. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you.” he shrugged again.

You sniffed back any more tears that might fall and gently lifted the necklace from the box.

“Could you help me?” you held it out for Spencer who nodded and took the necklace from you.

He unclasped it as you turned around. He gently draped it around your neck and secured it.

You turned back to face him, you fingers on the necklace charm.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled. “I hope Mitch doesn’t mind you wearing it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“We broke up.” you didn’t bother to correct him on his name. “A few months ago.”

“Oh.” Spencer tried not to look too pleased about this. “Do you mind me asking why?”

“I think you know why.” you stepped a little closer to him. “He wasn’t the right man for me.”

“Oh.” he squeaked a little. “That’s uhm...I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No you aren’t.” you laughed, stepping even closer to him.

You placed your hands carefully on his shoulders and you felt him practically melt into your touch.

“Anyway I’m the one that should be sorry.” you whispered.

“For what?” he croaked, feeling weak at your proximity.

“For choosing the wrong man. I should have known better.” you wrapped your arms around his neck, your body so close he could feel your warmth. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but I have a guilty pleasure for rom-coms.”

“You’ve definitely never told me that before. I would have remembered giving you a hard time for that.” he laughed a little and so did you.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” you nodded. “Anyway, with my extensive knowledge of rom-coms I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“That the girl always ends up with the best friend.” and with that you pressed your lips against his.

Spencer immediately took hold of your face in his hands and deepened the kiss.

You didn’t care that your whole team was probably watching. You didn’t care the whole bar could have been watching. All you cared about was Spencer.

When the kiss broke you both had tears in your eyes. You kept your arms around his neck and he wrapped his around your waist to keep you close.

“I never want to have to think about someone else touching you the way I do again Y/N. I want to be the only person who gets to touch you.”

“Ok.” you smiled brightly at him. “But only if I get to be the only person who gets to touch you.”

Spencer laughed, kissing you again.

“That my love,” he smiled. “Is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Is it okay?

That I don’t want

Anybody else touching you like I do

Like I do

Like me

—————————————————————

Taglist (find my tagist form here if you want to be added) -

All ships and genres -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl

@measure-in-pain

@ptrs-prkrs

@sexy-dumpster-fire

All SR x Reader -

@boxofsparklingmuses

@frickin-bats

@reidandhisgourd

@ukai-hoe

SR x Reader one shots -

@seasonfivereid

@willowrose99

[gothgirlmahi]

Tight Fit

Summary: This is just porn. You’re a receptionist that gets stuck in an elevator. Everyone is very happy about that.

This was just an excuse to write my faves :) Masterlist

No beta, I live on the edge.

Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader

Warnings: All the smut. Very corny porn with no plot. One line of implied Stucky. Minors DNI

The situation you found yourself in was altogether ridiculous. You had to deliver some documents to another floor. The information could have been handled by a phone call but bureaucracy. After hitting the button on the elevator, you realized you left one of the documents at your desk. A quick jog back to grab them left you running back to the elevator, scrambling to get between the doors before they closed. Then it happened.

You were stuck.

Somehow, you managed to get caught around your waist. Your upper body and head faced the inside of the elevator while your lower half was still stuck facing your desk. The papers you held spilled to the floor inside the elevator. The doors were tightly cinched around you, giving no leeway as you tried to wiggle your way out. You could feel your skirt riding up with the effort you exerted.

Steps coming down the hall caught your attention. Someone could help you!

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

Judging by the voice it was Captain Rogers. America’s golden boy. Gorgeous Steve Rogers. You went weak in the knees at the sound of him and if you weren’t being held up by the elevator, you were sure you’d be swooning.

“Uh,” you tried your best to look behind you and through the doors, “can you help me out of here? I kind of had a little incident.”

“Oh?”

With your head turned, you watched as he came closer and put down his shield. The angle soon became too much for your neck and you turned back around, sighing and dejected.

“How bad is it?” you asked. He was silent for a moment.

“It doesn’t look bad at all. Maybe I can help.”

Steve came closer and firmly held you by the waist. The first attempt to pull you out was unsuccessful but he was undeterred.

“Maybe if I just...get closer.”

He stood right behind you to ground himself. His crotch was pressed up against your behind and your eyes widened.

Was he hard? That very much felt like an erection.

He pulled again, with a little more force this time. You may have budged by about an inch but no more.

“I don’t think it’s working,” you told him. He didn’t say anything. His hands began to wander along your lower back and down the sides of your thighs.

“Uh, Captain Rogers? Is something wrong?” you asked.

“Sorry, I just...your ass is so—I mean. I think maybe if I pull your skirt up I can get you out.”

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But if Captain America wanted to ogle your ass you’d be a willing model for him. Even if he wanted to do a little more than that, it would be alright with you.

“Go ahead,” you urged him. You heard him sign in relief behind you before bunching your skirt up at your waist. He made a pained noise behind you.

“Your ass is amazing.”

“I thought you were getting me out?”

“I will, but consider this. You want to get out. I want to get off. Maybe we can help each other out.”

This was better than any wet dream or any fantasy you crafted. Captain America was asking to fuck you.

“Yes, yes, a million times yes.”

Steve spanked you lightly before rubbing his hands all over your ass. He massaged it tenderly, kneading and appreciating the supple flesh. One of his hands lifted your thong and held it by the string.

“You always wear these to work?”

“Every single day,” you answered him. He chuckled behind you before pushing the material to the side.

The sound of his belt buckle excited you. How many people could say they got fucked by Captain America, one of the hottest people on the planet? How many people knew Captain America was an ass man?!

You both let out groans as he entered you. He was big, but you were ready. Plenty of sleepless nights riding dildos and imagining it was him had you prepared for anything he could give you. He slammed into you hard and you let out loud moans into the space of the elevator.

Steve’s hands never left your ass as he fucked you. Pinching and squeezing while he rammed into you. Soft groans of pleasure left his mouth, spurring on your own enjoyment. You bit your bottom lip, trying to keep your screaming to a minimum and braced one of your hands on the wall even though Steve was doing a good job of keeping you in place.

“Steve, it feels so good,” you cried out. He cupped your ass cheek, shaking it in his hand.

“I love watching your ass jiggle. Everyday you come in wearing these skirts. I’ve wanted to fuck you for months.”

The idea that you could have had this months ago made you want to kick yourself. You could have been fucking Captain America months ago?!

Steve sped up the rhythm of his hips, eagerly fucking you. Your body was alight with pleasure, happily taking everything he gave you.

“Such a tease, sweetheart. It’s like you’ve been taunting me all this time. Is this what you wanted?”

“Oh fuck yes!”

Steve laughed at your reply and reached his hand under you to play with your clit. Your legs shook at the stimulation and you cried out, clenching around him. Steve slapped your ass hard and had you coming all over his cock, moaning and squirming as much as you could in your position. He touched you until you were overstimulated and soon he was filling you up while a low moan of your name escaped his lips. He pulled out and let some of his cum spurt over your ass. You let out a deep sigh at the feeling of him dripping out of you.

Steve stood straight behind you and you heard him shift his weight while he fixed your underwear in place and pulled your skirt back over your ass.

“I’ll be back. Maybe Tony has something that can help.”

You sighed as you heard him step away and enter the stairwell. Sure he was fast, but he’d have to find Tony first. And there were how many floors in this building? Even with the elevator it was still a sizable ride from the first to top floor. You would probably be stuck for a while.

With nothing to do, you twiddled your thumbs before trying to wiggle around and get out. No luck. You were really jammed in there.

You perked you when you heard the door to the stairwell open.

“Steve?” you called out.

“Hey—whoa, what happened to you?” Definitely not Steve.

“Sergeant Barnes?” you asked. This was an embarrassing position to be caught in. Never in your life did you think you’d be greeting the Winter Soldier ass first. Oh well.

“Are you okay?”

You had just been fucked by one of the hottest men you’d ever met. Things could certainly be worse.

“I’m okay, but I’m stuck. Steve was here and he went for help. Do you think you can get me out of here?”

He had a metal arm for crying out loud. If he couldn’t get you out, who could?

“Hmm, let’s see.” You heard him approach and stop a bit behind you. He made a thoughtful noise.

“You have something on your skirt.”

Oh no. Now this was embarrassing.

Found stuck in an elevator covered in Captain America’s jizz.

“Oh, I must have, err, sat in something earlier!”

“I’m going to try to pull you out, okay?” he asked.

“Sounds good to me!”

Bucky placed his hands on your hips and pulled, receiving the same result as his friend.

“Geez, you’re really in there. How did this even happen?”

You shrugged as best you could in your position.

“By all means it doesn’t make sense and yet, here I am.”

Bucky chuckled behind you.

“Okay, I think I get what’s going on here.”

“Huh? What’s going on?”

“If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have just told me. You didn’t have to do some elaborate scheme.”

“But I’m not—“ you stopped yourself as you realized what he was saying, “umm, yeah. You caught me. Was it that obvious?”

It was really your lucky day. Getting laid by two Avengers? What could be better?

“Steve is such an overachiever. He covered you. God, I want to taste you.”

You perked up, suddenly not very keen on your escape plan.

“Then do it! I mean—that would be great! Do whatever you want to me!”

Bucky pulled your skirt up from where it clung to your skin. He groaned at the sight of you before getting to his knees.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I gotta get my tongue in that pretty pussy. Clean you up. Stevie really made a mess.”

You were nearly rabid from excitement.

Bucky pulled your thong down your legs and you happily stepped out of it. He lowered his face to your pussy and licked a stripe from your clit to your folds. He sucked on your lips sloppily before pulling away.

“Oh yeah. That’s definitely Rogers.”

You quirked an eyebrow.

“How would you—oh fuck!” Bucky took your clit between his plump lips and sucked hard, leaving you gasping for air. He moved his mouth up, pushing his tongue inside you and moaning as he cleaned you up.

He ate you like a starving man. Within minutes your legs were weak and ready to give out while he pressed against all your sensitive spots. His tongue began to circle your clit and you squirmed, pushing back against his face desperately. Bucky pushed a metal finger deep into your cunt and you moaned his name, still trying to push your hips even further against him. When he pressed another thick digit into you and curled his fingers, you were a goner. Vision blurred and body convulsing while he continued through your orgasm. A little burst of liquid from between your legs had your face heating up in embarrassment as you came down from your high.

Bucky pulled away from you and sat back on his heels.

“That was the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen in my entire life.”

“That’s never happened before,” you confessed. You could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“Didn’t know I was that good, but glad to be of service. When I get you out of here, I want you to sit on my face.”

“No complaints from me. That is, if I ever get out of here.”

“Hey, don’t worry. We’re going to get you out of here. I’m going to go find Steve and we’ll figure this out.”

He pulled your skirt back down and skipped off into the stairwell. You couldn’t help but notice he kept your underwear. You supposed it didn’t matter at this point, you weren’t exactly doing great at keeping up an air of modesty. You were starting to get sore around your middle from the cinch of the elevator door and hoped they would be back soon.

When the door to the stairwell swung open and someone else stepped out, you could tell by their gait it wasn’t either of the men you had already encountered.

“What is this? Who has done this to you?” Thor bellowed at the sight of you.

“No one did this to me,” you explained.

“This is strange. Some sort of Midgardian tradition?”

“No. I had to deliver some files and I got stuck in here.”

“A helpless maiden. This is certainly a problem I can solve. I’ll have to hold on to you. I hope that is not indecent?”

“Go ahead. Might as well try,” you encouraged him.

Thor circled his hands around your waist and pulled at an angle. To your surprise, you moved just the slightest bit. An idea hit you and you called out for him to stop.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in concern.

“No, uhh—“

You had one chance to get this right. If Thor could actually get you out of here, maybe you could wait just a little longer and request something else.

“Thor, if you want to, we could do something else before I get out of here.”

“Oh? What could we do in this position?”

“I don’t mean to be forward, but if you want to fuck me you can.”

Thor was silent for a moment. You wanted to hit yourself for sounding so slutty. But you’d be crazy to set aside the opportunity. This wasn’t just anyone, there was a literal god standing behind you. It would be ridiculous not to even offer.

At east that’s what you convinced yourself.

“Well, who am I to deny a beautiful woman her carnal pleasure? I would love to fuck you,” he nearly growled.

You felt like you won the lottery.

Thor pushed your skirt up and gasped at what he saw.

“Oh, you are absolutely dripping. A very welcome sight.”

“Oh, yeah. Steve and Bucky are to blame for that.”

“Ah, they arrived here before I did. This won’t do at all. I’ll have to fill you with my godly seed.”

“You are more than welcome to do that.”

Thor pressed his thumb against your clit and you sighed, reveling in his touch. While he touched you, you heard him fumbling with his armor with his other hand. Thor pulled his hand away from you. Before you could complain, the head of his cock was pressed against your clit and rubbing in mesmerizing circles.

“Ah, that feels good,” you told him.

“I have something that will feel even better. Are you ready?”

“I can’t say yes enough.”

When he pressed against your entrance you realized just how thick he was. Certainly larger than Steve and bigger than any man you had ever been with. He pushed slowly into you, opening up your tight channel for him. Your inner walls clung snugly around his length as he fed you more and more of his cock. Just as you felt like it would never end, his hips were pressed firmly against you.

You let out a shocked gasp.

He stayed there for a bit to let you adjust but you wiggled your hips in protest. You wanted it now. His first thrust had you arching your back and holding onto the elevator door to keep yourself upright. It was like he was touching all of your insides at the same time. Brushing past every single sensitive spot you had and driving you crazy.

You were out of your mind as he fucked you. Absolutely drunk on his cock.

This is it, you thought. My hoeing is going to get me killed.

But what a way to go.

Thor grunted behind you and placed a hand on the back of your neck while the other firmly kept hold on your hip.

“You are breathtaking,” he complimented.

“Yeah,” you managed to get out, “we’ll have to do this again some time.”

“You’ll have no complaint from me,” he assured you.

This experience would probably ruin normal men for you. Nothing could compare.

Thor made you cum so hard your legs went limp. He was pressed deep inside you, leaving you clenching hard around his thick length. Thor fucking growled as he came, thrusting so hard that both of you were pushed through the elevator doors and onto the floor.

His quick reflexes were the only thing stopping him from landing directly on top of you, instead landing beside you at your back. Sometime during your fall his cock had slipped out of you, leaving cum dripping down your thighs.

You had to laugh. The situation was too insane. But you were free! You turned to Thor with a bright smile.

“I could kiss you!” you yelled in excitement. Thor looked intrigued and opened his arms for you.

“I encourage it!”

You fell on top of him, smothering his lips with yours. Neither of you noticed the doors closing and the elevator ascending.

The doors opened to a shocked Tony and Pepper, looking down in horror at the mess of papers you and Thor were lying half naked in, still making out.

“How the hell are we going to explain this to HR?”

.

Important Author’s Note: I really wanna make out with Thor.

[mmvalentine]

The Pianist pt 10 | Jurdan

Modern AU. I know I've been lax on the smut warnings; I've been reluctant for spoilers but this time you already know where we're going ;) Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 The bed frame hit the back of Jude's calves, and then she was going down on her back. It was all happening so fast it made her head spin, and then suddenly Cardan's mouth left hers and she was gasping for air while the ceiling tilted above her. While Cardan's lips made their way down the side of her neck and onto her chest, while his gorgeous fingers fumbled over the buttons at the front of her dress, while a black curl of his hair tickled her between her breasts as his face moved lower, Jude tried to catch her breath, and took stock of Cardan's movements. The frenzy of it all, the shake in his hands and his unfocused eyes might have another time made her think he was drunk again, had he not just delivered a flawless performance. Besides, she could taste his breath and he was just all vanilla and oak, and nothing of the expensive vodka she knew him to be so fond of. So what had gotten into him, then? And why did he look like shit? Cardan had all the buttons down her dress opened now, and he pressed a kiss to her stomach that had his tongue flicking into her navel, and the questions emptied out of her mind.

"You're back," Cardan murmured. "I've missed you."

"You said that," Jude panted, as his hands reached up her body to palm her breasts while his teeth hit her hip bones.

"I meant it," Cardan said, and pressed his lips to her underwear before hooking his thumbs under the waistband and dragging them down. Jude shivered. Cardan dropped down between her knees, at the edge of the bed, and carefully lifted her legs over his shoulders. His hands curled back around to stroke at the tops of her thighs, and when he spoke Jude could feel his breath against her bare pussy. "I fucking missed you," he said, and then, surprisingly slowly, licked his tongue up all the way up the centre of her.

Jude arched up off the bed and bit back the moan that clawed in her throat. Cardan's lips moved unhurriedly, languorously over her clit and inside her and then back again. Her fingers tightened against his scalp, hips moving to seek more friction, but he would not be rushed. Just moved at his own pace until Jude was writing beneath his lips, her body begging him for things she couldn't find the words for. And then, when she thought she might have to actually beg, Cardan moved back up her body and she whimpered at the loss of contact.

"And you, Jude dear?" he asked. His fingers found the spot his tongue had left, and Jude would never admit to him that after weeks and months of hearing him play the piano she had always wondered what his hands might do to her.

"Me what?" Jude gasped as his fingers slid inside her. Cardan watched her face intently as he moved in and out of her. Her head tilted back on the mattress, and he put two fingers of his free hand into her mouth. She sucked against them automatically, and Cardan shuddered. It had not escaped Jude's attention that he had now gone down on her twice and not gotten off himself.

"Did you miss me?" Cardan trailed his fingers from her mouth down to her nipple, the wet trail they left down her chest suddenly cold on her naked skin. He rolled the hardened tip as his other hand moved between her legs, and Jude's answer was a moan. Cardan placed a suckling kiss against her collarbone. "Did you think about this, about the last time I made you come?"

"I..." Jude's mouth moved but the words didn't arrive. Cardan put his chin on the top of her sternum, and the heel of his palm grazed her clit with every stroke of his fingers.

"Did you think about me, when you were gone?"

"Yes," Jude groaned.

"Yes?"

"Yes, oh god, yes..."

Cardan's eyes hardened, and he seized her lips in his.

"Tell me," he said against her teeth.

"I missed you," Jude said, falling apart in his kiss. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed- oh!" Her eyes flew open as Cardan pinched her nipple, and when he sucked it into his mouth straight after to sooth the hurt with his tongue she was coming suddenly on his fingers. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and only half a moan escaped her before she was screaming silently, throat working but no sound coming.

Cardan eased her down, and then rolled them so that he was lying on his back and she was catching her breath against his chest. He pulled her chin up with the crook of his finger, and making eye contact was so intense it ached in her chest. Jude bore it for just a minute before letting him tug her lips back to his.

////

Cardan was dizzy with the taste of Jude. With her straddling him like his, her hair fell over her shoulder and the scent of her surrounded him. His hands traveled down the length of her body and squeezed handfuls of her backside. After weeks of sleep eluding him and food tasting like cardboard, Jude was warm and rich as the sun.

Jude sat up a little and pulled at the buttons of his shirt, but Cardan was in no mood for delicacy. He yanked the fabric open and sent buttons skittering under the bed. Then immediately he was dragging her back down to him, and when her bare chest hit his, soft breasts on his too pale torso, he shuddered hard against her. This much was new territory.

Cardan pulled off the rest of his clothing as Jude kissed him, reaching for more and more skin contact. Their stomachs breathed against each other, their legs tangled, their hips kissed. And then the soaking heat of her pussy slid over his cock and Cardan choked out a groan.

"Cardan?" Jude asked. He could barely answer. He was unraveling and she was asking idle questions.

"Uhh?"

"What did you mean when you said you couldn't sleep without me?"

Jude's hips rolled above him, and it seemed the more Cardan was losing control, the more she was at ease.

"What?" Cardan panted. He couldn't keep more than one word in his head at once, and right now the word was her name.

"I said," Jude's fingernails trailed down his chest. "What did you mean, about not sleeping without me?"

Cardan swallowed, as his cock twitched hard between Jude's legs. He was slick with Jude's wetness and it made her slide smoothly up and down the length of him.

"I... Jude..." His hands fluttered over her thighs and backside, torn between craving more touch and being so over-sensitized he'd snap if she didn't start fucking him right this second.

Jude leaned up and pulled a condom from her bedside drawer, tearing it with her teeth and sliding her hand over him a couple of times before rolling the latex down. Cardan was breathing hard at the feel of her fingers moving over him. And then she was sliding down onto him and Cardan gripped Jude’s knees a little too hard to prevent himself from grabbing her waist and shoving her right down on his cock.

“Fuck you’re tight baby,” Cardan groaned, and indeed Jude was pausing on the way down as she adjusted to him. It was the sweetest torture, and by the time she was sitting all the way down on his lap, he had left purple crescents where his nails had dug in to her thighs.

Cardan looked up at Jude, and found her flushed and lust-glazed as he was. She breathed there for a second, and then started moving on him. Up half way and then back down, and Cardan hissed through his teeth. His hands slipped up to her hips, pulling her back and forth while he lifted his own hips to meet her, and finally Jude moaned for him and the sound was heaven.

“Ride me, Jude,” Cardan panted. “You look so good up there.” Jude’s hands fell against his chest, and her eyes closed as she started to rock on him the way she needed it. Cardan reached up and hooked his thumb on her bottom teeth, and Jude looked at him as she bit down.

“That’s it,” he breathed. His other thumb hovered over her clit, and moaned again as her hips moved faster, trying to rub against the small pressure he put there.

“Cardan,” she groaned, and that was better than even her lullaby. Cardan fucked up into her harder.

“Say it again,” he begged.

”Cardan.”

He sped his thumb on her clit, and when her fingers curled into claws on his chest the pain was delicious. “Keep moving just like that,” he told her. “Say my name and come on my cock.”

Jude pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and her breaths were coming in sobs. Cardan tugged the lip free.

“Come on baby, say it,” he crooned, and then Jude started to shudder and Cardan fucked her faster as her movements lost cohesion.

”Car-dan holy fucking shit Cardan, Cardan, Cardan...”

Cardan didn’t wait for her climax to slow. He surged up and kissed his own name from her lips and then flipped them around so he could pound her until she was screaming and he was coming so hard his head spun.

Cardan slid his tongue against Jude’s while his hips stuttered and she pulled his hair in her fists. When he finally slid out of her and collapsed on the bed, he rolled her into his chest so he wouldn’t have to stop touching her.

Jude pulled the condom off and then nestled into his neck. She sighed contentedly, and Cardan’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Things had never been this good before.

"Cardan?" Jude mumbled.

"Yes?" he whispered.

“Why couldn’t you sleep when I was away?”

Cardan glanced down, and Jude had her eyes closed like she was falling asleep.

“Because,” he said very quietly. “I had no one to sing me to sleep.”

“But I never did,” Jude said.

“Every night,” he confessed. "I always heard you."

“Oh,” said Jude. She opened her eyes then, and the melting chocolate of them was to die for.

“Shall I sing you to sleep now?” She asked.

Cardan could have wept. He tightened his arms around her, and managed to nod his head.

And Jude, lovely, sweet and fiery Jude, started to hum his favourite song. Cardan buried his nose in her hair as the words slipped over her skin. He couldn't quite make them out, and then he realised that they might not be in English.

Cardan didn't have many thoughts on the matter beyond this though, because for the first time in weeks, his brain had slowed and quietened to listen to the song, and by the miracle that was Jude, he was falling asleep with her in his arms.

"Jude?" Cardan said, consciousness slipping fast.

"Yes?" she said, pausing the lullaby.

"Can I keep you?"

"Only if I can keep you, too," Jude whispered. And then she started singing again, and the last coherent thought in Cardan's head was how strange it was that Jude didn't know he was already hers.

****

And that's the end x

Yes, yes this was just a chapter of pure smut and after writing Fifty-Six I feel like this blog needs a bath or sth. My deepest thanks to everyone who has stuck with me through this one, I love these two dummys. Also everyone who reblogs is an angel and you make my life.

JURDAN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish @story-scribbler @thebonecarver @realbookloverproblems

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.24, FINAL)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Twenty Four, FINAL) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,768 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior, drug use

Author’s Note: This took a couple more days than I planned. I had started writing and got to like 1,200 words and then I was like mhm... abandoned that doc and started another. I was grappling between two different paths and I went with the happier one. We’ve had enough angst!

Part Twenty Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

ALT ending (not complete, will not be completed)

Balancing the bowl on your stomach, you laid back eating grapes in silence. You were alone in the apartment. Again. Tony had been acting more distant now that you were really starting to show as you came into your sixth month. It smaller things at first, like you caught him staring at your protruding stomach and he looked away quickly when he noticed you saw or sex being from behind more often than not now. But now it was apparent something was wrong. He slept at home half the week now.

It should not be a shock; he had voiced his opposition to the whole thing from the start and you knew that is what was driving the wedge.

The grapes were doing little to satisfy your craving for French fries. You had just had some yesterday and you were trying to be good today. It was proving to be very difficult when you could just have them delivered and Wylan could bring them up for you.

As if on cue, the apartment door open and the smell of fried food hit your nostrils. You moved the bowl and sat up with some difficulty, spotting Tony walking towards the kitchen with a bag. Your mouth was already watering.

He tossed a look over his shoulder and asked, “Still having the craving?” He took in the look on your face and he cracked a smile. “Looks like it. I see I’ve brought you over to the dark side with it being a comfort food.”

“I don’t want this to last,” you said as you stood up, leaving the grapes behind on the coffee table. “I’ll be hundred pounds heavier if it keeps up.”

You sat down at the table, thankful that you had ordered the pillow covers for the chairs; they were far more forgiving on your backside than the plain hardwood. Tony placed a plate in front of you and handed you the ketchup and mustard before going back for his plate. He sat back down at the table in the chair across the table and began to eat.

Silence fell over the table as you ate some of the fries, paying more attention to them than the burger.

After a little while, you could not stand it anymore and you had to ask.

“Are... are we okay?”

Tony stopped eating and looked up at you with a concerned look. He placed his burger down and gave you his full attention. “What do you mean?”

“You seem… off. You have seemed off. The last couple of months. Like you kind of don’t want to touch me.”

He sighed, rubbing at his face. He looked like he was gathering his thoughts and you stayed quiet.

“It bothers me.” You looked at him expectantly, wanting him to say more when he paused. “You’re pregnant, for one. It’s a... thing for me. Just thinking about the baby in there and my dick around it.” You did your best to not crack at that, even the slightest of smirks. You wanted him to explain himself and not interrupt. “But you’re also pregnant with Steve’s kid. It... it makes me uncomfortable.” He paused and chewed on his bottom lip before meeting your eyes. “I don’t like watching him watch you. At the appointments I mean. He’s just... I know how he is and it’s not a good look that he’s giving you. And he’s so touchy feely about it and it makes me angry. Yeah. It makes me angry. That’s it. I hate it. I hate what he did. And he still wins and gets what he wants.”

“He doesn’t have to suffer through any of it and meanwhile you’re over here with body aches and looking down the barrel of the gun of childbirth. And it stresses me out because Steve told me he wanted to be there at the hospital, and I don’t think he should be in the room with you. He doesn’t deserve to be. Because I was done dealing with him after I learned what he had done.” He hesitated and saw you were still listening with rapt attention. He swallowed sharply before his eyes softened and he said calmer, “And it made me angry you gave him this satisfaction. Rewarded him for his behavior in a way. I wish you would have listened to me and just let me pay him out so this wouldn’t be a thing. And now we both have to deal with.”

You were quiet, staring down at your hands.

“I... I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I think about it too. He didn’t even ask if he could touch me when I was on the table the first appointment, he just did it. And I didn’t make a scene. And he just ran with that as permission for whenever he was around me in the room at the appointments, he could touch me however. And still, I didn’t cause a scene because there was a nurse or a doctor in there all the time, and he seemed to know them all, and I didn’t want to have any bad blood with them myself. Just for the baby’s sake. I might not be keeping them but this whole thing isn’t their fault and I want them to have good treatment.”

“And as far as you paying him out… I didn’t want you to do that. I wanted it to be me. I wanted him to get that payment from me so he couldn’t write it off as someone else just taking care of me. And not take me seriously when I said I wanted to be done. It means more coming from me. It sucks, this whole thing is not a cakewalk. But, I think it’ll be worth it in the end. I didn’t have control of the situation at the beginning, but I do now. I made the decision.”

Tony was letting what you said sink in. He grabbed a fry and ate it slowly, looking lost in thought. He finally leaned back and met your eyes again.

“I get that,” he said sounding sincere. “It always means more if you’re the one that made the effort. Not just for them but for you.” He nodded and then said, “And I’m sorry for making you feel lonely.”

Trying to joke, you said, “I’ve got Luna.”

“I hope I’m not that easily replaced.”

“No. You’re not.”

He smirked briefly before saying, “Only three more months.”

“Or less.”

“Or less. Way to be hopeful.”

<><><>

You had had false contractions before, but these were stronger. And they were going on for longer than they had before. Gritting your teeth, you wobbled to the door and opened it.

“Terrence!” you called down the hallway. He was there quickly, and you leaned against the doorframe. “It’s bad.”

“What’s bad?” He asked sounding worried.

“The contractions. They’re longer and hurt. I think it’s time!”

“Let me call Tony.”

He whipped out his cell phone and dialed. He was speaking to him quickly. “Hey, Y/N says she thinks it’s time? I’m not sure. She said they’re longer and hurt more?” You gasped as you felt a pop internally and then wetness. You grasped at your crotch and felt dampness. Terrence had followed your hand and he looked slightly more pale. “Anddddd, I think her water just broke. Do you want me to take her?”

<><><>

A soft cry greeted you as you woke up. When they had brought you into the room, you had fallen asleep almost immediately, exhausted. How long had you been sleeping? You turned your head to the right seeing the baby next to your bed, fussing weakly. There was a nurse there and she noticed you were awake.

“Perfect timing, momma. I think he’s hungry.”

“It’s still here?”

“Yes?” The nurse said looking completely confused by your reaction and probably more so that you called him ‘it’. She watched you closely, looking suspicious.

Clearing your throat, you adjusted in the bed and asked, trying to sound calm, “Has... has the father come yet?”

The nurse shot a look in the corner, looking even more confused than before. You did not have time to follow her gaze before Tony’s voice sounded, “I only texted him five minutes ago.”

He was sitting on the built-in bench along the window. You had not even noticed him, all your focus on the small life next to you.

“He’s probably trying to get away from whatever he’s doing and get through traffic,” Tony continued.

So, Tony had not called Steve while it was happening. You had been in labor for five hours. Steve was not going to be happy that Tony had not contacted him, and he had missed the birth while Tony had been there instead. But you were relieved that Steve had not simply blown it off; when you had been in the delivery room, the thought had flashed through your mind.

The nurse raised up your bed and helped you open your gown. She adjusted a pillow to rest on your stomach and went back to grab him. You were hesitant but you held out your arms all the same, taking him gently from the nurse. She helped push his blanket so he was bare against you. You were trying to not be stiff feeling the contact.

“A little closer. The skin-on-skin contact is good,” the nurse encouraged.

Doing as she said, you forced yourself to relax more. His mouth was wet, and you shivered, causing the nurse to chuckle softly, saying to not worry, you would get used to that.

No you wouldn’t, you thought instead of saying it out loud.

Your finger traced along his cheek as he sucked, his little hand resting on your breast next to his mouth. He was calm now, serene in his eating.

“Looks like you’re a natural,” the nurse commented happily. “Be thankful for that!”

“He’s fine, then?” you asked her, looking up.

She nodded, “Healthy as can be.”

“Good,” you said quietly, looking back down at him. You searched his small face, trying to see any part of Steve. The nose maybe, but it was a little wide. His eyes had not been open long enough for you to see and you were not going to disturb him, choosing to keep him comfortable as he fed.

<><><>

You were woken again when you heard people speaking. Blinking awake, your vision cleared to Steve and Tony talking in low voices by the door.

“You fucking prick,” Steve was saying, sounding pissed. “I told you—”

“I was a little preoccupied as you can imagine,” Tony retorted quietly.

Steve spotted you were awake over Tony’s shoulder, and he sucked his teeth before clearing his throat. Snapping his head back to Tony, he said in a dangerous voice, “I’d like the room. If you can find it in yourself to back off for just a while.”

Tony looked over his shoulder, seeing you watching, and sighed before walking back over and grabbing his coat, sunglasses, and phone. He leaned over you and said, “I’ll be back.” He gave you a quick peck on the top of the head before moving past Steve, the two of them sharing a cold look.

Steve walked further into the room, and you were fixated on him for a moment before you turned your attention towards where the baby was sleeping. He approached and looked down at them, a small smile painted on his lips. Reaching out, he touched their cheek, his smile growing.

“Look at him,” Steve said quietly. “Perfect as can be.” He met your eyes and asked, “No complications?” You shook your head. “Good. And he fed?” You nodded again. “Look at you. Perfect as can be too. Though I am not surprised about that.”

Always with the flattery.

He collapsed into the chair beside the little bed and yours. He looked disappointed when he said, “I wanted to be here.”

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I was a little busy.”

“I’m not blaming you. I should’ve known Tony would be an ass about it. Always has to get a jab in. This one was taking it a little too far but I’m just glad everything went okay and you’re alright.”

“I was surprised he was still here when I woke up afterwards,” you told him honestly.

Steve told you, “I’ll take him when you are ready to discharge. It would look odd for me to take him before. Would raise a lot of questions that I don’t feel like getting into with the hospital.” That made enough sense to you. “Plus, let him get as much milk as he can from you before he switches over to formula and my wife’s. I’m worried he won’t take to hers but maybe he won’t be picky.”

He had never told you the specifics about what was going on with her child and you had not asked. You were sure you did not want to know.

“Well, he latches well enough to me. I hope she doesn’t have any trouble,” you said sincerely. Steve was watching you intently and you asked slowly, “What?”

His voice was soft, “Don’t you want to know what his name is?”

“No,” you told him sharply.

“Don’t want to get attached? I know a name can do that.”

“I don’t want to know,” you repeated firmly.

Steve looked sour for a brief moment before he remarked, “I’ll fill the paperwork out then, so you don’t have to see it. Have they dropped it off yet? The birth certificate paperwork, I mean.” You shrugged and he said, “I guess I’ll have to ask one of the nurses when they come in.”

“I’ll be staying here,” he continued on. “Just to make sure I get that paperwork and I’m here when you discharge. Won’t be leaving that up to Tony again. Unlike him, I’ll text him when you’re ready to go so he’s here to get you and you aren’t stranded here upon discharge. I’d take you myself, but Cecile is going to come to be able to go home with me and… the baby.” He had almost slipped up and you had a feeling he had done it on purpose.

He sat forward again, pulling the little bed closer to him, peering over at the little bundle.

“You did good, dove,” he murmured, his eyes fixated on his son. “I never doubted you for a second.”

<><><>

You stood up from the wheelchair and stood up, stretching a little. “Now that that’s over,” you muttered as Tony opened the passenger door. You had been annoyed they had insisted that you had to take a wheelchair out of the hospital. You had been in there for two days and you just wanted to walk more than just around your room, although that had not been recommended. You needed to take it easy while your body healed.

Steve’s voice sounded from behind you, and you turned your head, seeing him walking out with a woman. Your eyes snapped down to the bundle in her arms, seeing the little boy she was cradling. As if she sensed you, she looked over, locking eyes. You saw her eyes flick to Tony and you saw in real time the realization wash over her features before her eyes snapped back to you.

“Come on, Y/N,” Tony said at the same time as you tore your gaze away from her. His hand was around you, guiding you into the car.

The door closed behind you, and you waited for him to get inside. He was quiet when he did, pushing the start button on the car.

You snuck a glance in the side mirror and saw they were gone, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Could’ve done without that,” you exhaled.

“I’m sure she could have too,” Tony replied as he pulled away from the curb.

The city passed by as he weaved in and out of traffic. Your hands rested in your lap, watching the buildings go by. Your hand slipped up and you felt a small pang of loss at the flat abdomen you were greeted with. Your fingers flexed in, trying to force yourself to remember this is what normal was.

You startled slightly, pulled from your thoughts as Tony’s fingers slipped around yours, coming in between yours and your stomach. He closed his grip, holding your hand tight, bringing it back down to your thigh. He was quiet but he squeezed your hand reassuringly.

It was going to be okay, you told yourself.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16 @last-saturday-night @woohoney

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good