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loveanddeepthroat · 3 months ago

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Baby Blues

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - In the first two weeks of being new parents, the dynamic hasn’t been quite what you and Sylus expected. He’s eager to be involved, but your daughter doesn’t seem to have warmed to him.

Word count - 2.7k

⚠️Warning⚠️ - Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Hurt/comfort, fluff, and a little sprinkle of angst.

Your newborn didn’t like Sylus.

It sounded ridiculous, but you know he was thinking it too. You didn’t have the gall to say it out loud—not that it even needed to be said. The fact was definitely lingering between you both.

You never thought much of why she would wriggle and kick up a storm in your stomach whenever he touched the swell of your belly, but you now had an inclination that it was because she didn’t like his hands there.

It was strange and upsetting, but he didn’t seem too hurt by it so far, only silently helpless as he watched you do everything. You were two weeks postpartum, so your emotions were already all over the place. It seemed as though Sylus was holding his own feelings back to make room for yours, and when you had asked him about it, he simply kissed your forehead and reassured you that he was fine. All while your screaming daughter cried for you against his chest.

Not that he opened up to you all that often. You did manage to get things out of him with a push sometimes, but he was like an unyielding gate, refusing to open to anyone.

Your exhaustion was only adding to the toll on your fragile emotions. The baby only wanted your touch, and sleep was almost impossible for you because of that very reason. Only you could feed her. Only you could soothe her. Only you could touch her.

That was one thing that was really getting to Sylus. The bloodshot whites of your eyes as you rocked the fussy newborn to sleep and fed her at all hours of the morning. The barely touched plates of food that ended up stone cold and in the bin. Not to mention the completely non-existent ten minutes you needed to at least have a wash without having to run out of the shower to her aid.

He must have felt quite useless in the weeks where you should be recovering, but he didn’t want you to worry about his feelings by indulging you in his thoughts.

Your pregnancy had been smooth, ending with a good twenty-seven hours of rather torturous labour, and pushing that went on for an agonising two hours. It had all been worth it, though. Your little bundle of joy with tufts of platinum hair had finally greeted you both with a piercing wail, but eased her protests once placed against your heaving chest.

You just wished she would settle with both parents.

It was another day of desperate wailing, your arms becoming so heavy with the exertion of having no option but to hold her. You tried to put her in her pram for Sylus to push her around for a while, but her cries only increased to the point of her little face turning purple. You couldn’t sit and just listen to it, and you absolutely would not ignore her—no matter how much Sylus pushed for you to go and get some sleep.

“She wants me,” you say for what felt like the millionth time that week.

Sylus was evidently reluctant to stop trying, but he wouldn’t keep you from her. He conceded with a defeated huff, watching your every move as you gently lifted your screeching daughter out of the plush pram. Her screams died down quickly as you placed her against your chest, her ear-piercing wails whittling down to soft whimpers.

“Of all the dangerous paths I’ve crossed and violent challenges I’ve encountered, it’s our newborn daughter who finally defeats me,” he mumbles quietly, trying to make a lighthearted joke about it.

You tried to smile at his attempt to add a bit of humour to the situation, but the comment only made you cry. Hard.

“Hey.” He immediately stepped toward you, rubbing a large hand up and down your back soothingly. You had to give it to him, his patience with you in the last two weeks had been immaculate. “Don’t cry, sweetie.”

You couldn’t stop, your ragged breaths and shaking shoulders refusing to relent. “I d-don’t get it,” you bawl. “What are we doing d-differently?”

Sylus sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His hand continued to rub soothing circles against your back to ease your upset. “Well, she did live inside you for nine months. Besides, you didn’t exactly like me either when we first met.”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head down to capture your gaze. Despite the obvious tease, he still seemed to be holding himself back. It was frustrating him more than he wanted to admit to you. You knew he was protecting your feelings, but you wished he would just show some sense of vulnerability.

You don’t dare set your sleeping daughter down in her moses basket, knowing full well that she would just wake straight back up. So the rest of the afternoon is spent with your tiny newborn curled up against your chest, a few feeding and changing breaks in between.

Once the day turned into night, nothing in the world sounded more appealing to you than a hot shower, a hot meal, and a hot cup of tea. But letting her scream and cry while you did that was not an option. It wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t fair on Sylus.

He didn’t leave you unless he absolutely had to throughout the day. You watched him every time he heard a little whimper from the baby, his hands flexing and twitching. Every time you had to get up to do something for her, he was either at your back or side.

He wanted to help.

The chef brought through a very large bowl of marinated chicken and pasta for you, upon Sylus’s instruction. As soon as the bowl was set on the little table beside your recliner chair, you almost began drooling. You hadn’t managed to eat much at all in the chaos, and Sylus wasn’t amused when you didn’t even get the chance to finish the two biscuits he’d brought you earlier in the day.

You reached a careful hand over to the fork, not even lifting it before your daughter began to wriggle and whine in your other arm. Dropping it immediately, you retract your hand, only making it halfway back to the fussy newborn before long, slender fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“No,” Sylus says firmly. “Absolutely not.”

Your initial response is to immediately go on the defence. “She’s cry—”

“I know she’s crying,” he interrupted tightly. “I know. But you’re going to eat while your food is hot, and you’re going to do it without our screaming daughter on your chest.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

He had that commanding look in his eye, the one that would intimidate most, but was only used on you when he was especially adamant on you doing something necessary for yourself.

You were a little relieved to see him so passionate, if you were being honest. He had been treading on eggshells to not upset you or the baby for fourteen whole days, and it wasn’t good for anyone. You felt the tension on him every time you both managed to get into bed together for more than five minutes. He needed this little outburst.

“This needs to stop now. I’m going to figure her out, and you are going to eat. Alright?” His tone left no room for argument, and the more your daughter protested against your intention to eat, the more hungry and tired you felt.

It wasn’t easy, but you handed her off to him carefully, swallowing a lump in your throat. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her distressed little face as Sylus attempted to cradle her.

You were practically twitching, your legs about to push the footrest of the recliner down to retrieve her in the first thirty seconds she was away from you. Sylus noticed immediately, and pushed it back up with his foot before you could close it down fully.

“She’s not in any danger,” he said calmly, but his whole body was visibly tense. “She’s right here, I won’t leave the room. Just eat, sweetie.”

You wanted to protest further, but he wasn’t going to yield this time. His eyes remained trained on you until you finally sagged back into the chair, and it wasn’t until you picked up your fork that he finally turned away, focusing on the distraught newborn kicking up a storm against his chest.

He held her the way you did, one hand cupped over her head to keep it steady while the other hand softly patted her back. Why she didn’t want to be near him was an utter mystery to you, he wasn’t doing anything incorrectly.

You couldn’t eat while the two most important people in your life were quite clearly in a distressing situation before you. “Are you alright?” You asked him gently, hoping that he would answer you.

“I will be if you eat,” he quickly responded, not looking at you.

Sighing, you stab a slice of the chicken onto your fork, just looking at it for a moment. Your brain had managed to kick itself into gear as you forged a new approach to his silence.

This was an opportunity to head in the right direction.

“I’ll eat if you speak to me.”

Blood red eyes shot in your direction, an eyebrow raised. “Blackmail?”

You quickly shook your head. “You were right, this does need to stop. Starting with you shutting yourself off from me.”

“Eat.”

The forked piece of chicken points straight at his unamused face. “Talk.”

He shook his head a little in clear annoyance, the stress consuming him. Your daughter continued to wail, immune to the warmth and safety of his arms. He was basically trapped after promising to remain in the room with you.

Your bleary eyes held his irises of rubies, neither of you conceding. It was a mental challenge to ignore the fragrant aroma of garlic and fresh basil beneath your nose, but you were not eating until at least one of the two beautiful people before you had calmed down.

Sylus visibly swallowed, finally giving in as he noticed your lack of a bluff. “Do you think she knows?” His voice was quiet, barely heard over your newborn’s cries.

“Knows what?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, nodding his head towards the piece of chicken on your fork. You shovel it into your gob, eager for him to continue.

His eyes flicker down to your daughter before he speaks again. “Do you think she knows that I’ve done terrible things? Do you think that’s why she doesn’t like me?”

“I—” you grumble and roll your eyes as he nods to your plate of food again, waiting for you to take another mouthful that you end up having to speak through, “I don’t see how she could. Is that why you’ve been so quiet?”

The corner of his mouth curled upward ever-so-slightly. “Missing my tongue, kitten?”

You couldn’t help your own smile as his shoulders sagged a little from where they were practically touching his ears. It wasn’t often that he opened up to you like this. You almost always had to pry or throw in a proposition to coax him into speaking.

You took another bite of your food, moving the plate from the small table to your lap. “Do you really think she doesn’t like you?”

His smirk faded away quickly, a gentle thumb brushing over your daughter's head. She continued to cry, but the volume had dropped a little. “Do you not think that?” He asked.

You didn’t know how to answer that question. To tell the truth, you did think that, but not for the same reason he was thinking.

“I think she may be a little attached at the moment. We’re very different shapes and sizes. Maybe she feels—”

“Unsafe?”

His tone had dropped an octave—something you didn’t think was possible considering the already bone-chilling vibrations of his voice. Never before had you witnessed him in a state of such vulnerability. He was insecure about this, and it was finally starting to show.

You went to stand up to be near him, but he immediately stepped forward to halt your movement.

“Eat.”

Not wanting to lose this free-speaking Sylus you had barely met before, you did as he said, twirling a fat mouthful of pasta onto your fork for extra brownie points.

You both remained in silence for a few moments, only your fork scraping against the bowl in your lap marrying with the sounds of your baby’s cries surrounding the small sitting room.

Sylus’s gaze didn’t leave the newborn cradled in his arms, a gentle sway in his hips as he tried to keep her moving. All you could do was study his composure, seeing it as it cracked.

After a moment, he looked back at you. “I don’t want to keep failing you.”

You coughed on the mouthful of the creamy pasta at his words, completely in awe of his confession.

Failing you? How did he get to that conclusion?

“You’ve done everything for her,” he continued, not allowing you to immediately reassure him. “I want to be able to do everything, too. For both of you.”

The all too familiar sting in your wet eyes built in intensity by the second, and you quickly found yourself sniffling.

Not only was he insecure about your daughter not feeling safe in his arms, but he felt that he’d failed you both in the past two weeks. It was heartbreaking for you to hear.

“Don’t cry��”

“You’re…fuck, Sylus. You’re not failing anyone,” you tuck your fork back into the pasta with a loud sniffle, ignoring his glare that silently demanded that you continue to eat. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion?”

He looked entirely reluctant to answer, his head dropping back down to stare at his tiny twin. You didn’t want him to stop speaking again, so you quietly picked your fork back up, hoping it would capture his attention.

The silence stretched between you as you made the effort to eat for his sake. Even your daughter's cries became a little weaker—like she was pitying him.

He didn’t look at you as he said, “I’m the bad guy. The boogie man. The kind of monster that parents threaten their kids with visits from in the middle of the night if they don’t brush their teeth before bed.”

“Not in our story, you’re not,” you quickly reassured him earnestly. “You’re the husband and father who keeps the monsters away from your family. That’s the only Sylus she will ever know. The real one.”

He still didn’t look up from the newborn, now almost completely silent in his arms, but you catch a subtle bob in his throat. You didn’t need him to respond to you. You knew you had said the right words to soothe that self-deprecating thought in his complicated mind. You could see it.

“Have I told you how perfect you were two weeks ago,” he asked, knowing full well that he’d told her every day since then.

Your mouth curled into a soft smile. Even after all these years together—after welcoming your first child into this scary, yet beautiful world—Sylus had no trouble giving you butterflies.

“I think you might’ve mentioned it,” you hummed softly.

And on that very note, the baby was fast asleep in his hold for the very first time in two whole weeks. His face didn’t reveal anything, but you knew he was relieved. All he wanted to do was make this easier for the both of you.

Finally, you had managed to figure out what the problem had been all this time.

“You were too tense,” you point out quietly, noticing how openly at ease he now was. “That’s what she didn’t like.”

He hummed in response, unable to tear his gaze away from the sleeping babe in his arms. You didn’t say anything further, letting him enjoy that special moment in peace while you proceeded to enjoy the rest of your meal.

Despite the challenges of becoming new parents, things were going to be alright from that point onwards.

A/N - Hello! I hope you enjoyed this oneshot, thank you so much for reading. Just to let you know, I do take requests ❤️

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parfaitblogs · 2 months ago

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fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni) tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end. word count: 5.7k a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!

Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be.

Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all.

Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.

You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not.

However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide.

And then he was free.

From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished.

But he was free.

And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened.

Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break.

"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.

"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."

"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.

Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again.

"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"

"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit.

"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"

"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"

"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."

"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."

To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was.

Right now, you learned you wouldn't be.

There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry.

Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming.

"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened.

"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."

"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."

"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped.

"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."

"Oh."

Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.

"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."

"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."

"I think I want to."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."

"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."

"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed.

"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."

"Do you want to hurt me?"

"No."

"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."

"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."

"Not funny."

"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again.

"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more.

"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."

"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him.

"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"

You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more.

You couldn't complain.

It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch.

"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body.

"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later.

"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind.

"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you.

"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin.

"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered.

"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."

"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."

"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.

You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.

Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously.

"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face.

"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."

"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up.

"Nope. Forget I said anything."

"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."

"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away.

"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."

"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."

"Yes, but how?"

"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."

"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again.

"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up.

"Lots of people say oral," he defended.

"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."

"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head."

Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping.

Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."

"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping.

"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so.

He nipped at your nose. "It is."

"Can we compromise?"

"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose.

In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests.

"Head," you corrected. "And no."

He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"

"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter.

"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."

You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."

"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"

"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him.

"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him.

Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.

Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have.

Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded.

A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone.

The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat.

He liked to hear you.

Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).

"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either.

"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"

"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"

"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face.

"What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest.

"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"

"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."

"I know," you replied.

"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."

You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."

"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."

Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."

"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?"

Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body.

"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.

"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.

You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time.

And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make.

Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.

Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit.

"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin.

"Touch myself?"

"Mhm."

"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."

"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"

"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."

"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"

You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again.

"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head.

He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again.

"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you.

"Hm?"

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.

"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you.

In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could.

So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more.

Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it.

"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin.

A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.

Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't.

Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling.

Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome.

"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were.

"Please don't stop."

"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to.

Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating.

His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered.

The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after.

His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after.

"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck.

"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter.

"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again.

"Yes."

"Good."

Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there.

"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.

"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking.

A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here.

"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more.

"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move.

"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move).

His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second.

A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled.

"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."

"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little.

Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."

"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."

"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again.

A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).

Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure.

"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were.

"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"

"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."

"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."

Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots.

Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever.

His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that.

There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever.

"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly.

"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared.

"Good."

"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely.

"Help?"

Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone.

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee.

"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub.

"Do you want me to?"

Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."

He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt.

"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless.

You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways.

"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach.

Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh.

"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."

You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"

"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."

"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face.

"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."

"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."

"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."

"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."

"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."

Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort.

"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes.

"Okay."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid hurt/comfort

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arafilez · 5 months ago

Text

MY EXTRA CREDIT ㅤ—ㅤ ﹙★﹚

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ pgw x fem!reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤacademic rivals au, sugg 𓏧 it sucks when you are bad at a subject, but your academic rival helping? worse ㅤㅤ warnings make-out ㅤ﹢ㅤ2.5k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ req

You clutch your head in annoyance as you look at the marks in your Chemistry paper. It is stupid really how you aced every subject this term except this one, the awful one. Chemistry! The other subjects’ mark sheets lie neglected on your table as you go over it again and again trying to make sense of the mistakes in Organic, not that any of that made sense.

You hear a chuckle from behind you and your head shoots up in annoyance. Park Gunwook! The bane of your existence right after Chemistry, the demon that reincarnated from hell itself.

Your other classmates would describe the boy as sweet and helpful, and “too hot for a nerd” which is absolutely brainless of them because he isn’t sweet, he is evil, he isn’t helping, he specializes in teasing you, and he definitely isn’t “hot”. Ever since the beginning of high school you two have been competing in every class and one-upping each other at everything.

And it was fair because you loved competition, you were happy you had a reason to fire up and do your best, especially if you got to see the defeated face and glare of Park Gunwook after every result. It was not that he went easy but you knew your strengths and beating Gunwook just happened to be the biggest of them.

Until eleventh grade knocked at your door and you suddenly dropped in one subject and life has never been happier for Gunwook. His annoying smirks and taunting eyes after each term went by and you still didn’t get better at the said subject. Gunwook was on top of every rank, while you came later because you were too bad at Chemistry.

Agonising glances, and teasing remarks from Gunwook increased and so did the whispers in the hallway about the painful decrease in the ranks of one of the top students.

“How’s being a lesser rank again, y/n?” his voice cuts through your thoughts making you groan in annoyance, if only, if only you can ace this stupid subject you can just show him why messing with you is not fun!

“Shut up,” you grit, angrily slamming the paper back to its place and looking up at the cocky smile engraved on his face which you wish you could slap right off. Your teacher glanced at the two of you once and sighed before going back to his work.

“It sucks I know,” he puts a hand over his heart faking a pouty face and you search for it frantically before picking the compass up and pointing it at him and saying, “Leave my desk or only one of us is getting out of this classroom alive.”

He gasps before deadpanning and slapping the compass out of your hands and it hits the ground with a clink. “Sure, I would know, you Thomson’s model of atom,” as soon as the sentence leaves his lips your eyes widen and you scream, “What did you just say?”

Before you can strangle him the teacher comes up and coughs behind you saying, “You two to my desk, now!” The end-of-class signal goes off and you two quietly walk back to his desk as the other students leave.

“When will you two stop arguing?” your teacher breaks the silence and sighs and you two glare at each other making him groan quietly. “First things first, apologise to each other.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not.”

You two speak at the same time making him stand up and say, “Are you disobeying a teacher?” You quickly shake your head and Gunwook looks down before saying, “Well she started it.”

“Me? You called me the Thomson’s model of atom because you think I am incorrect and useless,” you scoff at him, folding your arms and he snickers, “Hey, you said it, not me.” You gasp loudly before fisting your hands and your teacher puts a hand in the middle and yells, “Enough you are not first-graders.” He was definitely not paid enough for this.

“Y/n, your chemistry scores are not improving and this is the pre-finals of your last year in high school. Your grade depends a lot on the finals, and so do your applications to universities so you have to improve by finals. What is going wrong?” your teacher asks and you shrug looking down. If only you knew what was going on!

“If you must know, Organic Chemistry can’t be done by mugging up, you have to understand the concepts,” he continues and you nod knowing he is right. “I wish I had the time to personally address your issues but since I don’t, I have a better solution, Gunwook will help you!”

Your head snaps in your teacher’s direction who has a determined look on his face that makes your eyes widen in horror. No way had he said that!

Gunwook will help you?

Heck no!

“But Sir, I never agreed to that,” to your relief, Gunwook speaks up but your teacher shushes him saying, “I will give you extra credit.” As soon as the sentence leaves his lips you know you are dead. Gunwook is the type to do anything, anything for extra credit.

“Sir I think I can do just fine by myself,” your desperate plea falls on deaf ears as he says, “I waited for that y/n, so trust me, I wouldn’t take this measure if I saw you improve. You didn’t and you clearly need help, a little can do a lot. I have seen your paper, your concepts are not clear and finals are in two months. If I was in your place, I wouldn’t take the risk.”

He has a point. You hate it, but he has a point. Too bad, you will not need Gunwook in this equation. You nod lightly to an agreement but hatch a plan to get rid of Gunwook.

“I don’t need your help,” you dismiss him as he tries to sit beside you in the library and cocks an eyebrow at your sentence. “Sure you don’t, do lie to someone who hasn’t known you for long,” he makes a face and continues, “Unlike me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” you curse under your breath as you turn towards him and say, “Where’s the harm if you just lie?” A weird noise leaves his mouth sounding like a half-gasp and half-scoff as he tries to calm himself down.

He can’t kill you, then he will lose both the extra credit and his non-criminal status. He is too young to go to jail!

“I am not lying to anyone, you will be tutored by me, whether you like it or not,” Gunwook states and sits down beside you forcefully pushing your bag towards you. Your glares and whines are futile as he takes out his chemistry notes and opens up a chapter on organic chemistry.

“So we will start with Haloalkanes and Haloarenes, you have your class notes right?” Gunwook starts and you smirk mimicking his deep voice, “You have your class notes right?”

“Don’t test my patience,” he states, running his hands through his hair and for a moment your breath hitches as your eyes train on his veins and messy lock before you blink and internally slap yourself. He is annoying, stupid and- god, you need more adjectives to define his annoying habits.

“Don’t test my patience,” you mock him, this time in a high-pitched voice, grinning when you see him take in a deep breath and say, “Real mature.” Rolling his eyes he goes back to arranging your notes and you scoff. He wants maturity, fine, you will give him maturity.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics, you know Darzen’s process right?” He looks at you hoping you have shut up in for good and he can proceed in peace. He was never more wrong.

“Yes, of course, the theory that says organic compounds do not have Carbon,” you say cheerfully as Gunwook chokes on air and looks at you. You fake your innocence and continue, “Or was it the one that says about colligative properties,”

Gunwook’s eyes narrow but he keeps quiet letting you keep up your act and you gasp quite dramatically saying, “Oh then it is the one that says atoms can’t be broken right?” Gunwook snorts saying, “Stop shitting around and answer me.”

“But I am answering you Wookie,” you say in a sing-song voice, batting your eyelashes knowing full well how much he hates being called Wookie from your mouth. “Don’t test my patience,” he warns, his voice dropping an octave before he cocks his head to the side and continues, “Sweetheart!”

You purse your lips and curse yourself as you scan his face, eyes lingering relatively longer on his lips. In what world do library lights make a person look attractive? Probably in Park Gunwook’s world!

“I am asking actual questions though,” you whisper as Gunwook cocks an eyebrow saying, “That mouth of yours does nothing but talk dumb.”

You know you are playing with fire already but what’s the harm you think as the next sentence leaves your mouth, “Do you want to know what else it does?”

Gunwook smirks as he slowly stands up and hovers over your figure all while keeping his eyes locked with yours and says, “Not really, I just want to shut it up.”

“Sure, try it,” you are in too deep to back out and one thing about a competition is you never back out. However petty the competition is you need to win!

Grabbing your jaw, Gunwook says, “Last chance to back out,” and you scoff saying, “What and let you win?” You know you have struck the chord you want to when he presses his lips to yours. Gunwook kisses you with an intensity that blurs the line between reality and dreams and you kiss him back with equal fervour.

The kiss is anything but soft, as Gunwook’s hands press against the base of your neck making him deepen the kiss and you fist his shirt to keep up with the pace. You find yourself gasping for air as soon as he breaks the kiss and looks at you asking, “That shut you right up, didn’t it?”

“Don’t know really,” you take in a breather saying, “I might need some more convincing.” Messy hair, loose tie, unbuttoned collar and swollen lips- you have never seen Park Gunwook this messed up. And to be the reason behind that boosted your ego more than it should.

Gunwook fixes his glasses as he sits down and cocks his head saying, “Sit on my lap.” Your face heats up as soon as you hear that from him. You have never seen this side of Gunwook and to say it is intriguing is an understatement.

You are quick to get back your composure as you stand up and pretend to pick up your bag saying, “What makes you think I will listen to you say?” Gunwook’s eyes train on yours and travels down your neck and down checking you out fully before returning your stare with a boring one of his own.

“Fine, leave,” his voice is taunting you and it makes you curse your past self for thinking he is not hot, clearly, you were out of your mind. You want to walk away, prove to him and yourself you were not attracted to him at all.

“Three seconds,” he whispers staring at you as he mouths the numbers backwards and when you stand exactly where you are he knows he has you right where he wants you. It would be a lie to say Gunwook isn’t equally attracted to you but he prefers to push that thought to the back of his mind.

His fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you and you sit down on his lap, the breath you had held for so long finally being released. He looks up at you, eyes sparkling with anticipation making you roll your eyes and whisper, “I hate you.”

A deep chuckle leaves his throat as he replies, “I wish I could believe that princess, but you didn’t leave.” You hate how much you love cocky Gunwook but you are not a person to back out as you pull him by his collar and say, “Shut up and kiss me.”

When Gunwook’s lips presses to yours, you let out a satisfactory hum tracing your fingers along his collarbones and to the back of his neck. He grips your jaw, deepening the kiss and bites your lower lips earning a surprised gasp from you. His tongue easily roams your mouth exploring every inch of it like a starved man.

A groan builds up your throat when you find him easily taking dominance making you run your hand through his hair trying to tie yourself to the last strands of reality left in your system. How many times have you pictured him to kiss you exactly like this, to finally lose his cool and abuse your mouth leaving you breathless?

Obviously, this was much better than those midnight thoughts! You run your hands through his arms, groaning at the fact that the boy in fact did work out. A lot. A shiver runs down your spine when Gunwook bites and nibbles lightly on your lips making you lightheaded.

Gunwook fingers trace along your jaw and collarbones and he holds your waist with his other hand tracing slow circles on the exposed skin below your shirt. You feel a light haze settle over your senses as he starts leaving open-mouthed kisses down your cheek and jaw. You take in a quick breath when you feel him sucking lightly down your neck and you lean back hoping he has more access.

Hooded eyes, heated glances and fidgety hands. You feel almost blessed to see Gunwook like this.

He attaches his lips to yours and your mind empties everything as it fills with thoughts of him, his senses, his touch, his smell and his everything. If Gunwook wasn’t holding your waist, you surely would have melted to the ground by now especially trying to wrap your head around the intensity with which he is kissing you.

When you part, albeit breathless, silent anticipation fills the air as you look everywhere but his eyes. A red hue adorns Gunwook’s neck and face as he coughs softly to gain your attention. When you look back at him, reality drips back and you manage to croak out a sentence.

“If you kiss me like this after every lesson I wouldn’t mind being tutored really,” the voice is breathy, soft and slightly desperate, very unlike you, but it feels worth it as soon as a smile etches its way into Gunwook’s lips.

“I don’t need tutoring excuses to kiss you like this, princess,” he whispers back and your eyes widen but before you can comprehend he makes sure your brain shuts down again.

Pressing a soft peck on your lips he giggles as you stare at him in shock.

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤtysm 🥭 anon for requesting, not my best work but the picture is giving me a lot of hope lmao ㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ zb1 shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

@haneagerr @slytherinshua @aaa-sia @yeosayang

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some dialogues from @urfriendlywriter & @girlwithherheadinthestars tysmmm, they are awesome !!

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

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capquinn · 6 months ago

Text

Still The Same | Q. Hughes

summary: it’s the day after the canucks playoff elimination and quinn doesn’t want to think about it at all. based upon this quote from quinny's year-end interview :( pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes word count: 987 note: this came to me at 2am last night so its scattered and a lil wordy and doesn't have v much dialogue but nonetheless here it is. godspeed! <3 ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s still the same sun shining through the kitchen window.

It’s still the same hazy sky.

Still the same city with the same bustling streets and his same apartment with the same smells and the same comforts.

The world hasn’t ended.

There is still the same familiar embrace that comes from behind when he stands over the coffee machine bleary eyed and trying to keep his mind from wondering. The same squeeze around his middle and the same kiss to his shoulder.

“You OK?” You whisper, following his lead as he shuffles around and brings you close to his chest. Strong arms circle around you and hands rest splayed against the small of your back.

Still the same person he always wants and needs staring back at him. Still the same eyes and pouting lips. The same hands rubbing his back in the same circular motions. The same smell of vanilla body soap and floral laundry detergent that always reminds him of home.

The world hasn’t ended, he reminds himself. The other team were better and his team was eliminated but things could be worse and life goes on. At least the world hasn’t ended.

Everything is still here.

Quinn shakes his head and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. “Don’t even wanna think about it.”

And the same as always, you take care of him.

After breakfast, you’re both curled up in the same spot on the sofa watching the same comfort movie that you always let him pick just so he didn’t catch a glimpse of the news.

“I won’t fall asleep this time,” he promises, laying his head down in your lap.

You roll your eyes and give him a knowing look, and just as he always did, he smiles sheepishly because, yeah, even he knows it’s a lie.

But there’s the same anxious bouncing of his leg and the same pursed lips as he bites the inside of his cheek that lets you know he’s less than okay.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I love you.”

The world hasn’t ended, he tells himself and relaxes into your body again.

There are still the same fingers carding through his hair lulling him into oblivion and the same slow breaths when he finally falls asleep.

He’s not thinking about hockey so you let him sleep for as long as he needs.

After he wakes, you beg him to teach you the same card game you are never able to comprehend because you know he is unable to resist a challenge and it ends the same way it always does.

“Baby,” he groans. Same bewildered blue eyes fixing you in a stare.

Your inability to grasp the concept frustrates him beyond belief, and it doesn’t help matters when you’re laughing every time he sighs and mumbles when you get the rules wrong each and every round which makes it difficult for him to stay mad with you. After all, he’s still the same lovesick man.

“How aren’t you getting this? Can you be serious for a second? You need to create groups of three of a kind—,”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you cut him short.

“Well if you stop interrupting me you’ll find out,” he tells you, exasperated. It’s still the same bickering.

The world hasn’t ended, and he bites back a smile.

Fuelled by sheer determination, he reiterates the same rules and is even kind enough to demonstrate it all again but when you repeat the rules back wrong for the hundredth time and interrupt the game with the same bout of laughter…

“You’re lucky I love you,” he tells you as he packs away the deck of cards, finally admitting defeat. But he hadn’t thought about hockey so it wasn’t all bad.

And it’s still the same agonising existential dread that keeps him up at night. The same bouncing leg that wakes you. The same tossing and turning. The same sighs and deep breaths. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed he was doing it on purpose.

You mould your body around his and everything falls back into place. The hurt starts to leave the room.

The world hasn't ended.

Quinn wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, hand nestling in your hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wish you would,” you tell him, desperate to be there for him in any way that he needs.

When he doesn’t respond, you’re angling your body enough so you can search his eyes for a truth. Quinn pushes the hair out of your face and cups your cheek in his hand. A thumb brushes over your pouting bottom lip. He’s unwilling to say anything at all and he hopes you don’t ask him to either.

But you’re still the same woman with the same ginormous heart that worries about him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he mumbles, and cranes his neck to kiss you with the same passion as always. And so the same butterflies flutter around in his stomach and the same hammering of his heart in his chest returns.

He’s kissing you slowly, pillowy lips savouring every moment. Cold hands wander over too hot skin as Quinn drags you closer and now you’re straddling his waist, clawing at the hem of the cotton that covers his body, and when your hands meet his bare shoulders, he finally pulls his lips away from yours. You muffle a moan and paw at his back, trying to pull him closer against you again. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and pecks your cheek until his head dips to place spongy kisses against your neck, tongue swirling against milky skin.

Your fingers curl around the hair at the base of his neck. “God,” you moan. “I love you.”

Having almost succumbed to despair, he’s reminded that the world hasn’t ended.

#ugh i just love the all stars quinn content bc he was the embodiment of cosy <3 #but ofc this is post-playoff elim #and this is how i envision him during this <3 #quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #my writing #quinn Hughes fanfic #Quinn Hughes imagine #capquinn's writing

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jolalibrary · 4 months ago

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there's nothing blue about you

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

summary: javier peña's dreams are haunted by shades of blue, blending his fears into nightmarish landscapes. only his lover's touch anchors him, transforming his dreams into hues of something else.

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v. overuse of the colour blue, like by a lot. this whole this is an angsty bitch, with hopeful/hea. leans close to gothic horror in some ways but not quite, honestly? unsure how to describe what in the hell I've written. third-person reader (she/her). no descriptions, no y/n. an: written for @studioghibelli's fic challenge. (the moodboard is at the end of the fic). i think i leaned very much into painting and blue, and I'm not sure if that at all was what was asked of me. thanks: i'd have likely scrapped this if not for @goodwithcheese who took my weird-poetic-ness and called it lyrical and somehow it made it worth how long I've agonised over this. i hope she knows i love her, and if not, i hope this very public declaration confirms it. shoutout @pedgito who urged me to do this. wc: 2.7k

Javier Peña dreams in blue.

Thick strokes of azure, cerulean, and navy smear the world, forcing it to twist around him. Smearing the world, forcing it to twist around him. Knocking it all on its axis—allowing the horrors to blend into fairytales and happiness to shift into nightmares.

Shifting, changing. His worst fears come alive with brushwork, forcing scenarios to swallow hopeful desires.

Each blot spreads out like tendrils, drawing their tales in wide, brisk strokes, in shades of melancholy and yellow. The latter is a beacon—a spark of hope in a sea of nothing; a beam that guides him back to reality. To being awake, where his heart squeezes tight. Eyes open, struggling for breath before the sun has even risen. Sometimes, even before the stars have stopped sparkling and glittering. Sweat beads at his temple, palm to his chest—gasping, struggling to breathe as he drags his hand down his face, swiping the hair above his lip.

Then, anxiousness embroils. That same hand patting, sliding, eyes blinking furiously as he banishes shadows and forces them to shift back to non-threatening inanimate objects.

He’s able to breathe when he feels her. Alive, asleep.

Blissfully unaware of his nightly torture as her chest rises and falls—soft breaths mingling with ragged ones. Curling close, inhaling her scent, listening to the steady way her heart forces blood around her veins.

Hoping, praying, that when he closes his eyes he dreams of nothing, but knows they’ll be worse now. They always are when he wakes and reaches for her. As though by touching her, they spill to her, ruining her too. Wrap their fingers around her, change her skin to deep shades of blue in his hands as he falls through landscapes and lands in hell.

Then she sobs, pleads; tight little balled-up fists hammering at his chest as she shakes everything in him until she rips like paper, leaving him alone, just like he envisions he should be.

But then, he’d choose those over the ones where his hands are stained in her crimson, blotched, unable to be washed, little beads on his clothes and then a rainfall. Her split in his hand, eyes fading from light to dark. Those haunt him for longer when he wakes and he sits opposite her over breakfast and tries to force a smile.

Sometimes, he worries that his dreams have become the thing she adores. Reminding him of the poster she’s framed in her place—the one with swirls of a night sky.

She stares at it often, loses herself in it—escapes. Javi envies her for it. For being able to lock away the things that plague her, evading them, not to be tormented by them in fields that shift and flutter around him. He thinks it’s because she carves out the parts that make bags appear under her eyes through painting. Inspired, thriving, transforming wicked things into light, taking something that weighs her to something that makes her smile. Each drag of her paintbrush was like a spell, like magic.

“It helps.”

“How so?” he replied, leaning against the wall, arms folded, admiring.

Shrugging, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand before dabbing the brush into the murky water. “Just does.”

He wishes she’d run the brush over him. Run the synthetic filaments over every part of his skin.

But then, if he was asked, Javi would choose not to have the dreams at all. Would rather not be lost in a labyrinth of blues, where a lantern flickers and tries to guide. Instead, they cast ochre-shaded shadows that appear like shape-shifting failures. Each of them dancing, whispering secrets, finding all he can do is follow. Trust in it, hopeful it takes him to her, like his real life.

An accidental meeting, a connection that soothed his bones. One that had him smiling when he sat back in his truck, had him thinking when the darkness smothered the backyard and had him wishing for second meetings.

But, unlike his reality, the path is never straight, always winding, always shifting.

Sometimes, he sees her in the distance, her figure bathed in moonlight, a silhouette against the swirling sky. Sheet falling, curves and all on show. He reaches out, only for her to fade, dissolving into the night, leaving him grasping at the air like he’s chasing a ghost. A thing conjured, never real.

But, she’s real now.

His arm is behind his head when he hears the faint groan as she stretches before a palm slides over the soft curve of his stomach. Her breath fans over his lips, a whispered morning before they press to his. Smooth, velvety, gentle—addled with sleep, yet dripping in need. His name is punctuation in the sentence when she says, want you.

He never squanders the chance to remind himself of actuality. Moving her until she’s on her back, until she’s as bare as she is in his dreams—nothing blue, nothing midnight, cobalt or sapphire. Feeling her, taking the time to as he kneads her breast and grazes his teeth over the bud that hardens against his tongue as her nails scrape red along the olive of his skin.

There’s no making up the way she feels between her thighs, warm, slick, and inviting—or the gasp she emits when he curls two fingers inside of her and her back arches at the intrusion.

A blessing. That’s how he’d describe her when he’d been caught smiling, wearing smitten like an accessory. Questioning on the second date if she could be the sun to his night. Bright, luminous, radiant. The type he’d somehow expect to find shopping in town in a movie, but not in Laredo.

Too perfect—

Made only more so when she’d slid her underwear into his pocket on their third date. Before the mains, after the starters. Too much of the meal to go before he could make an excuse that’d allow him to hear if she moaned as pretty as he had thought.

It’s too pretty the noises she makes. Another thing he yearns for. She emits them in varying shades, but they’re always cried with his name—whether he fucks her rough or gentle, whether he takes his time or bends her over the couch decorated in plush cushions and creased blankets.

She welcomes it, when he hikes her dress up or when he pushes her panties to the side; when his mouth is pressed to her spine or when it’s crashing to her lips. Use me, she says, suave, sultry—each letter wrapped in intoxication as she leaves dye only he can see on his skin and he leaves bruises that he’ll look to replace in a few days.

He remembers when she painted him.

When she made him beautiful on white canvas—saw him, immortalised him with finger marks and paint strokes.

Do you like it?

He answered only by sliding down onto his knees, by pulling the shorts she paints in down her glorious thighs and answering yes against her pussy. His tongue explained it better than words could. His fingers had dug into the flesh of her rear as his nose bordered her swollen clit, her thigh rested on his shoulder and her palms pressed into her workbench, leaning back, for leverage as he fucked her with his tongue, as he drank up every drop she’d give him—as though it healed him, fixed him.

When he can, Javi likes bending her over around her paints—taking her. Likes that sometimes an open can or a left-out brush stains him in a way he can see. Rich oranges and deep greens. He enjoys spreading her out on her workbench as he makes her whine his name which makes all other ways his name is spoken seem obsolete. That there’s more than her sweat on his skin, her scent digging into his bones—evidence, proof of existence.

He has all the evidence now as he slowly slides his cock inside of her. As he swallows her whine, her moan—a gasp tinged with thankfulness. Feeling her stretch around him, take him in one smooth movement as allows himself to glance down and see where they meet. Then, he drags his eyes up, and sees how she smiles, how her fingers are reaching for him, grabbing for him. Needing, desperate, wanting.

But not just for his body, for what lived inside of his jeans. But for him.

Not just the daytime, but the blue version that drapes over him when things get too quiet and his mind gets too loud. No question asked, but an offering of comfort. Like when she had slid across his lap, when she pulled his head to her chest, brushed fingers into his hair. And he wonders like he did then and only ever to himself, how cruel it is that he cannot be something more for her. How unfair it feels for such sunshine to be surrounded by a storm.

He had smiled, though. Half-assed and minimal. Pulled her closer, so she sat more comfortably across his thighs. The grin barely reached his cheeks, never mind his eyes. “How strange, to dream of you even when I am wide awake.”

Her snort loud had punched the air. “Poet now, are we?”

“For you, I’ll be anything.”

More words had surrounded it, not spoken, but there. I’ll do anything, be anything. I’ll try, I’ll—

Unsure how else he could keep such a thing, unsure how he can keep perfection curled up against him, who’ll remind him his demons are only self-inflicted.

“Maybe just be you. You, are plenty enough.”

He had sneered, chin dipped, shame blooming.

“Hey,” she says urgently, fingers hooking under his chin as she drags his eyes to hers. “You are, Javi. And I’ll be reminding you of that until I have no words left in my mouth.”

“Be a while then, with how much you talk.”

Even as she pinched him, he pressed how he didn’t deserve her against her lips, against her cheek, neck and collarbone. Not that she took them. Ripped them instead, shredded them.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Her fingers then glided across the back of his neck, head rested against his. “Because, you know, Javi, there’s nowhere or no one else I’d rather be sat on…”

A beat passed, one he waited for, fingers brushing over her skin. “…crushing.”

He laughed then.

Because she always pulls laughs from him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he’s a soul full of joy, happy. Like he wasn’t a man who had spent a decade around destruction, misery and streets filled with scarlet, weighed down by it.

She makes it lighter. In the same way, she calms him at night and he thanks her for it in the morning.

Like he’s doing now. Licking his thumb before he presses it to her clit, swirling, forcing her pussy to draw around him, to hold his cock as tightly as he needs, sucking him in, gasping for more as her breasts bob with each thrust, and her mouth falls open in a silent moan—

“Close, m’close, Javi. Fuck, baby—”

He presses his mouth to the juncture of her neck, feeling her attempt at vocalisation. Letting it vibrate against his lips, tingle. Proof that he’s awake, that this is real, that in any moment things won’t turn—

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he groans, pressing kisses, dotting them in a pattern like stars in the sky. “Feel so good around me...”

She whines. A noise he banks in his mind, a jar full now—one that sparkles and shimmers.

“You feel good too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, hands sliding around his neck, digging into the hair at the base of his neck. “Always make me feel good,” she slurs.

Javi hooks her leg over his waist. A new angle, one that drives him deeper, as she clenches and he snaps his hips to hers. Feeling her close to snapping, her thighs already shaking, trembling. His chest heaving, her ribs expanding, copious breaths to still the dizziness she inflicts on him—just by being, just by existing.

It’s building, that fire in his veins, the fever that spreads out of him when he releases inside of her and she tugs him close as she comes down from her high. His hips stuttering, his name a symphony that erodes all other noises from his dreams.

And, there’s nothing blue about this. Nothing despairing, melancholy about this, about her.

Not when she flutters and arches when she comes and uncoils. Her fingers dig into whatever part of him she can get to before he smears himself inside of her, groaning into her neck as he spills and thinks of nothing but how much he adores her.

How much he loves her. Because he does. He loves her, he loves her, he loves her.

“I love you too,” she whispers from underneath him, his head pulling from her neck—elbows on either side of her face.

Finding seriousness staring back, her fingers skating over the sweat sliding down his forehead, wiping it on the sheets she lies on.

“Unless you hadn’t meant to say it. Then I take it back.”

He blinks. Thinking of the summer’s day when he’d first seen her; the first rainfall two months later when his arms had wrapped over her front, pressed her back to his chest and they felt the cooling air slide over their warm skin. He remembers the night he’d told her everything, and the new candles that had become stumps as she listened; the stormy afternoon turned night when he’d taken her out of town, and how her hand had slid over his and thanked him.

“I meant it.”

Her lips slide into her cheek, palm pressing to his chest. “Good.”

He wonders over morning coffee, when she glances at him and smiles if his dreams are merely a reflection of his fears—rather than anything that could come true. A manifestation of his fears of losing her, fearing the day when the blues will no longer be just dreams. Because good things don’t always, least of all to those who don’t deserve it.

He blinks them away when she tells him she has something to show him, hearing her bare feet on the floor until he doesn’t, counting, reaching twenty, before she appears, a new canvas in hand.

And when she turns it, letting it face him, his breath is stolen—feet forcing him to stand.

Her hand held it, the brightest shades that could ever be. Mixed brushstrokes into something that heals a crack in him, one that he’s never asked for. Because in every shade but blue is him and Pop outside the ranch, a place that had never felt like home, but now feels like the only place he could ever call such.

“Where are you?”

She blinks, the slightest frown in her brows. “What… what do you mean?”

“You belong there too, cariño.”

And if she hadn’t believed him in bed, in the things he’s not said, he thinks she believes them now. Leaning the canvas against the counter, feet padding towards him before her mouth is on his—different, more necessary, as his arms slip around her waist.

Something else slid back into place, able to fill his lungs a little easier.

Not a shade of blue in sight, not indigo, powder or sky.

And he worries it’s temporary—a thing that’ll change come nighttime. But he smiles all the same, right against her hairline when he presses a kiss there too. Feeling her hand sliding around his waist, becoming an anchor, a rock, a crutch.

He loves that about her too, that she does that for him. But he’ll tell her that tomorrow.

A silent promise, one beginning to stitch with a smile. And, then, when nightfall comes, and the painting rests against the wall of his room, Javier Peña finds—for the first night since he’s been back—that he doesn’t dream in blue.

Instead, he dreams in yellow. In honey, citrus and sunshine.

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña smut #pedro pascal character #javi peña #javier peña #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javi peña smut #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic

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bluetimeombre · 3 months ago

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✧˚ · . 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞,

✧˚ What if Logan had a nightmare about your death and swore that he would never let anything happen to you. But what if, him trying to save you is what gets you killed in the first place?

(I’m back!! Trust me to find a hot guy to obsess over and immediately get to writing. Yes, I’m on the X-men, Logan, Wolverine band wagon and honestly, couldn’t be happier to be here. Binged all the movies, have read all the smut (and don’t tempt me, I want to write my own) but for now enjoy this pure ANGST. Also this is low-key inspired by when Anakin dreams of Padme dying)

Warning/ disclaimer: angst, death, grief, sexual innuendos made, made up scenario, Evil Jean and sad Rogue and very sad Logan. Angst. Not proof read.

You- unlike many if your unfortunate mutant friends- rarely had to deal with nightmares plaguing your peace. Once the moon came out and all the children were safe and tucked away, you took yourself to bed, maybe read a book or a theory Charles wanted your opinion on. On the rare occasion you'd go to the kitchen, see Jean or Scott up after a particularly bad dream.

It was even more rare for you to hear yelling down the corridor. But when you did, you recognised it immediately.

'No!' They yelled out and you shot up in bed, heart racing as if it was your horror you'd woken from.

'No! Not her, please...'

You pushed back your covers and rushed out as the screaming became louder and agonising. Students were already peeking their heads through their doors, or lingering in the doorways. Everyone knew that when he had nightmares, somebody else usually paid off it. 'Back to bed everyone,' you tell them all, trying to keep some composure whilst only in your night gown. You cleared your throat and shooed them all away. 'Nothing go see here.'

You stood in front of his door, blocking students from the door and waiting until they all disappeared back into their rooms.

From inside, you could hear him tossing and turning, claws sheathing and unsheathing. He called your name, more so cried it.

You rushed inside and locked the door behind you, creeping in.

Logan was bare chested (and dare you suggest, completely naked if it weren't for he covers pooling around his waist). He tossed and thrashed his arms out. The sheets were already torn up, blood marking them from where he must have cut himself.

With everything he'd endured it wasn't unlike him to wake up screaming, but in such pain and your name was new.

'Logan!' You crept closer, settling on the edge of his bed. You knew the risk as you watched his claws gleam in the moonlight. 'Logan, wake up!'

He tossed, face contorted in pain. 'Y/N!' He screamed.

As his hand wiped out, you grabbed his wrist before he could accidentally strike you. This seemed to alert him as he shot up, his other fist coming for you.

You stopped him again, with your powers that you'd never been more thankful for.

Logan's eyes cleared from their haze as he slowly realised it was you. His breath moved with his deep and ragged breaths as he stared, taking every part of you in. His eyes searched, as if he couldn't believe you were in front of him.

You gulped, dreading to think what he must have seen.

'Y/n,' he sighed. His claws drew back into his knuckles and he winced. You were reminded how it hurt for him, every time. So it hurt to see him hurt. It always had.

It was an old and tumultuous relationship the two of you shared. Way before he joined the X-Men. The two of you met out of order, always one knowing more about the other. Still, there was no word for what the two of you meant to each other. You didn't need a word. Everyone knew, they just decided to call it different things:

A fling. Love at first sight. Enemies to lovers. Soulmates...

Logan pushed himself back until his back was to the headboard. 'Bub,' he still held onto your wrist, as if afraid you'd disappear if he let you go.

You cupped his rough and large hand in your own. 'Nightmare?'

Sometimes they were memories, painful ones. But the screams, the growls, you'd never heard that reaction from him before.

'You died,' he whispered. He looked her over again. 'You died in my arms.'

'I'm right here,' you said.

Logan looked into your eyes, shaking his head. He was trembling.

You grabbed his cheeks. Any other time, he would have turned away or growled but he only stared at you. Your thumbs soothed over his cheeks, begging him to see you. 'I'm safe. You're safe. Nothing is going to happen to us.'

As if the words instructed him, he knelt, the covers clinging to cover his decency. He held onto your shoulders, a grip worthy of leaving bruises. 'I won't lose you like I've lost everyone else, bub. I won't.'

You nod. 'Ok.'

Logan slowly shrunk back, tucking his covers closer to him. His hands fell between the two. 'Did I... get you?'

For a moment you wondered what he meant. His claws. He was afraid he'd hurt you.

'What? oh, no. No. I'm fine. You must have got yourself though,' you said, gesturing to the blood on the sheets like blood against snow.

'I heal,' Logan grumbled, glancing back up at you. Without saying it, you knew he had the dark images floating in his mind again.

'I'm fine, Logan. You don't need to be so afraid.'

He gulped, his jaw clenching. There was something he wanted to say, but wasn't.

Your hand itched out to reach his but after years of experience, you knew too much physical touch or affection would scare him away. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No,' he denied immediately. 'I don't want to think about it.'

You nod slowly. 'Ok.'

The door was still locked and the night was still going.

'Do you want me to stay?'

Logan looked at the door and then at the wrecked sheets around him. He sighed at the sight but his eyes glanced up to you. God, you saw the pain fade to something else. Something softer. 'Come 'ere.' He pulled at your shoulder until you were tucked into his side, warmth spreading over your skin as he tugged the blanket over the two of you.

Your arm slid over his chest and you sighed at the feeling of him. Your legs hiked up, until you were a ball in his side. 'Oh thank god, you're wearing boxers.'

He huffed a laugh, your head moving on his chest. 'I can take them off, if you like?'

You hummed, fingers tracing circles on his chest. 'Don't tempt me, Wolvie.'

✧˚

Logan had always battled against his dreams.

On one hand, he knew they were tricking him. He knew what nightmares were memories played ten-fold to make them worse and he knew which ones were playing on his fears. Like you dying.

But, the less reasonable part of himself (and the part he favoured) couldn't stop thinking about your death. It was the first dream of the sort. He'd had some where he hurt you, his claws sinking into your skin. He'd have other dreams where he was sinking himself into you in a different way.

Your death was new. And it scared him. It scared him so bad he went to Charles to try to calm him.

'Our minds have a way of tricking us, Logan,' said the professor. 'Y/N is a string mutant, level five at that. And she is sensible, good for you in that way.'

'It was Jean,' he admitted. 'In the dream, it was Jean that killed her.' Knowing how much you loved the woman, he hadn't wanted to tell you. You were close enough to sisters, with similar enough powers to grow up together and help each other. For days, he'd looked at Jean with anger and grief. He couldn't help himself, even when Scott threatened to hurt him.

When Charles hesitated to talk him down, to comfort him and tell him Jean would never, it set Logan on edge for the rest of his days.

Now, he feared it was less a dream and more a prophecy.

Jean had lost herself to the Phoenix, that power inside of her that had always threatened to break out. She'd killed the professor, she'd got rid of Cyclops.

Her eyes were set on you.

Logan had done all he could to talk you down to helping. To fighting but you'd distracted him and come along anyway. He'd tried to take down Jean himself with little effort.

The only other person who stood any chance, was you.

He was slouched on the ground, a slab of metal crushing him down as he watched you creep closer to Jean like she was a ticking time bomb. 'Y/n,' he tried to call.

Maybe you didn't hear him, or perhaps you didn't want to. 'Jean, please! Listen to me.'

Logan grunted, trying hard, trying so hard to get free. 'No!'

You raised your hands to the redhead. Her eyes were dark, black like ink and beyond recognition. But she was still your friend, in there. 'Let me help you. I want to help you.'

'Go away,' she growled, trying to push you away with her power, but you blocked with your own.

'Y/N! Don't!' he yelled.

His voice irritated Jean, who's neck cranked around to get rid of his voice. 'Stop!' she yelled.

'Jean, you can stop this. All you need to do is come back to me,' you said, every step getting closer and closer to her.

'Stop!'

Logan grunted, straining against the junk. 'Y/N.'

You reach out a hand to her. 'Jean, come back to us.'

'Leave me alone!' she threw out her arms and you were thrown from your feet, from the junk, tumbling down and being thrown out of sight.

But you couldn't be dead. No, you'd survived worse. But Jean had hurt you and whatever inside of her wasn't Jean.

Logan found the strength and threw the junk off him, running to end Jean and not you.

It was a mistake. If he had known you were in your final breaths then he'd have fought thousands of Jean's to reach you.

But no, whilst he dealt with saving the world, Rogue fell to your side. She gasped at what she was seeing. Metal. Metal pieces thrust through your chest, marking your suit with blood. Too much blood. You didn't heal. Getting out of there was a no go.

Rogue cried. 'Oh god.'

'Hey,' your eyes were barely open, as if so sleepy you couldn't hold your eyes open. Your hand reached out to grab her, but she seemed so far away. 'It's ok. I'm ok.' Both knew it was a lie. A comforting lie. Your head lulled to the side, to look toward Rogue. 'Is Logan alright?'

As you asked, the chaos around them ended. Logan threw his claws into Jean and laid her down gently, knowing you'd want to treat her with the last bit of respect she deserved. He did it for you. All for you.

Rogue watched as everything around you fell. She looked back over her shoulder, seeing a wounded Logan heal at remarkable rate. 'Yes. Yes, he's alright-'

When she looked back at you, your eyes were closed. It was so peaceful, so quick and easy it was as if you were sleeping. But Rogue gently touched your hand with her bare skin and there was nothing. Nothing.

'No!' an animalistic roaring echoed around them, shaking the earth. Logan fell next to you, hands hovering over your body, afraid to touch. 'No! No!' finally, he touched you, ripping away any little part of metal he could get to.

Rogue backed away, crying silently as the X-men gathered to see Logan cradle his own heart to his chest.

Slowly, he takes you in his arms and pulls you from the metal that had stabbed you. Your body slouches, arms falling out and not wrapping around him, not comforting him like he needed you to. He shook your body, tears blurring his vision and sliding down until they splashed on your cheeks. But you didn't flinch.

'Y/N? Y/N? Bub, c'mon,' he cried, shaking his head. 'Don't do this to me, no.'

It was just as he'd seen. Your blood. His body. Your death. His arms.

Logan growled. 'C'mon!' he roared. It was a moment of fury. Blind anger raging as you left him when you promised you never would. Suddenly, he remembered how much you hated his anger. How you'd shriek away from his yells. 'Oh, baby, i'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' Logan cradled you close, kissing the top of your forehead. You were so cold already.

Nobody touched him. Nobody comforted him. That was your job. But you were dead. His dreams had come true in the worst way possible.

Logan, held you close, rocking you both, finally realising what it felt like to lose everything.

(If anyone has any ideas for a Logan request please let me know, I’d love to try to write more about him!)

#logan howlett #wolverine #hugh jackman #deadpool #deadpool and wolverine #x men #reader insert #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you

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daydreaming-in-letters · 5 months ago

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Hi! Is it possible you could do one shot about Andrew x reader having an intimate moment and him sharing his favorite poetry with her while they’re relaxing? Something sweet and fluffy (could possibly turn into something steamy totally up to you)

Please, please, please, send me more pictures, writing these ficlets is giving me life.

I kept this one fluffy. Enjoy!

The unhurried caress of gentle fingers slowly pulled you from your light slumber. You had not moved an inch in the time you had been gone, your head still resting against his chest, the steady drum of his heartbeat right next to your ear. The rest of your body lay safely secured between his legs, a blanket draped across the both of you to keep your joined heat close.

It seemed he also had not moved an inch, probably not to wake you, and the thought warmed your heart. You did not dare to stir in his arms either, afraid he might stop the absent-minded movement of his fingers in your hair. But your own body chose to betray you, the lure of his warm form underneath your own too tempting. And so you let your hand glide along his stomach and chest before it slid down to his side where it squeezed the pliable flesh affectionately.

“Welcome back, love,” he whispered, his lips finding the crown of your head in a tender kiss mere seconds later.

“Still deep in the Heaney, hm?” you deduced as, from the corner of your eye, you spotted the book that was sitting in his other hand. As it had been ever since the two of you had cuddled up on the sofa together.

He hummed in affirmation, the guttural sound rolling through his chest and spreading onto your drowsy form, as if you had needed to be soothed further. As if that was even possible.

“Will you read to me?”

There was no chance you could have seen the blissful smile on his face without moving, but you could hear it, loud and clear, in the fervent, “Yeah!” that followed your request promptly. He was always so happy to share his beloved poetry with you and you basked in his enthusiasm, his melodic voice and passionate recital. It was heaven.

But as his hand left its destined spot on your head to turn the pages, you almost regretted asking. An agonised whine broke from your lips upon the loss of contact and he could not help but chuckle at your antics, making his attempt to shush you not nearly half earnest.

“Sh, love, focus now. This is a beaut.”

“I can’t!” you protested. “Not as long as your hand is not back where it belongs.”

You knew he was shaking his head in amusement, still his fingers catered to your needs immediately and it was only then that you felt yourself relax against him again, ready to hang on every little word he would grace your ears with.

“Scaffolding, by Seamus Heaney,” he began, the heat of his breath wafting through your hair, and you were home.

“Masons, when they start upon a building, Are careful to test out the scaffolding;

Make sure that planks won't slip at busy points, Secure all ladders, tighten bolted joints.

And yet all this comes down when the job’s done Showing off walls of sure and solid stone.

So if, my dear, there sometimes seems to be Old bridges breaking between you and me

Never fear. We may let the scaffolds fall Confident that we have built our wall.”

He paused for a moment to let the words sink in, but it did not take long for his enthusiasm to break loose.

“Isn’t that a lovely one?”

“It’s beautiful,” you confessed, feeling compelled to lift your head and glance up at him. The most genuine, heartwarming smile awaited you and his happiness about your approval was everything. How on earth you deserved this man was absolutely beyond you, but who were you to question his choice? All you really could do was enjoy every single moment the two of you were granted together. He must have thought the same, even if he did not tell you so. It was evident, written all over his face. In the softness of his eyes, the placid smile upon his lips, in the touch of his hand as it ever so gently cupped your cheek, the book lying abandoned somewhere on top of the blanket now.

“Come here,” he whispered, but he did not wait until you moved, his head already leaning down, eager to meet you halfway. Still, when his lips finally touched yours, there was no hurry in their movement. You had all the time in the world. And hidden within his sweet taste on your tongue, there was a truth so plain and yet so absolute, that whatever storms there were to come, the two of you had built your wall.

#hozier #hozier x reader #hozier x you #request

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animeyanderelover · 7 months ago

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Could you write “Close your eyes so it’ll hurt less. for Satoru Gojoı with non-sorcerer reader.

It can be nsfw or punishment scenario <3

thanks in advance!

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, overprotective behavior, manipulation, clinginess, isolation, abduction, paranoia, Satoru breaks s/o's wrist

Words: 3.1 k

Prompt 192

'Beauty is deceiving. It hides who the true monster is.'

You couldn't quite recall when and where you had stumbled upon this phrase, if it had been spoken by someone or if you had read it in a book. Most likely because you had never given this analysis much thought when you had received it for the first time. In hindsight, you should have probably given those two sentences much more thought. Perhaps, but only perhaps, then you wouldn't have fallen so easily prey to a man whose powers and appearance resembled old folklore of ancient and powerful gods.

Satoru indeed, as you had learned the longer you had been with him, thought of himself as someone blessed and special. If anyone else would have said those words to you, you would have thought of them as delusional. Yet when Gojo Satoru said those words, they were no mere gloating fantasies. Instead those words were reality, a reality you had been exposed to ever since you had gotten involved with him.

A reality that frightened you and one that you still couldn't comprehend. Worst of all seemed to be that Satoru refused to expose his world to you. You had only pieces of the puzzle, an unfinished picture of the whole situation that left you with a strange mixture of fear and agitation.

"Even if I were to tell you, you wouldn't be able to do anything. I would only scare you unnecessarily."

Partially he had spoken the truth and you knew that. You wouldn't be able to do anything against whatever it was that his world held in store for you. Yet Satoru was mislead in his assumption that keeping the truth from you would spare you from unnecessary stress. It only amplified it as the fear of not knowing had become a familiar chain that restricted your mind. You had started viewing your surroundings with more caution and wariness, unaware what it was you had to look out for but on edge nevertheless. A feeling of constant alert had overcome you whenever you were conscious, one that had cost you.

No longer felt you able to relax or take joy in the simple things. What you didn't know was constantly on your mind, the nagging fear a festering tumor that spread inside your mind the more time you were forced to spend with him.

His constant presence did not do anything to soothe your growing anxiousness. On the contrary, it fueled those feelings inside of your chest only more. It was unclear to you whether he was oblivious to this fact or if he chose to ignore it and if you had to be truthful, you did not know which was worse.

There was only one thing he often felt the urgent need to remind you of.

That he was the good guy.

---

Your hold on the book tightened, your heart clenching in rapidly growing frustration as you tried your best to blend Satoru's presence out of your mind and focus.

"Don't ignore me, (y/n)!" He whined and his voice, one you used to perceive as a pleasant and delightful sound, made you cringe the same way the sound of nails against a chalkboard would have done. It was borderline agonising and you just wanted it to stop. Your jaw clenched, your head pounding as the anger piled on yet you tried to push everything down as you didn't want to lose your composure and, accompanying your composure, the grasp of control over your own emotions.

When you felt soft lips traveling down from your temple to your neck, you shut the book loudly before you stood abruptly up. Your fists were balled to fists as the pounding in your head seemed to intensify. You felt the urge to scream, to cry or to let your feelings vent out in any other way but you knew that you couldn't do that in front of him. Your feet stomped away from the scene in an attempt to get away from him. When you noticed that he stood up and followed you, you had to bite your tongue in your best attempt to not yell at him.

"Am I not even allowed to go to the bathroom alone?" You growled at him before locking the door to the only room where you could have at least a few minutes for yourself. You scowled at the hurt pout he gave you before his face disappeared from your sight. In the very same moment you locked the door, separating you from Satoru, it felt like someone had unlocked your ability to breathe properly again. The air tasted fresher and your chest felt lighter now that you were away from his smothering presence.

You drew water from the tap and splashed the cold liquid against your face in an attempt to soothe the burning pounding that had tormented you for the entire day already. You took those moments to let the silence and appreciated loneliness sink in, your face still buried in your head as you made no attempt to remove it from them.

As much as you would have wanted to stay like this for a while longer, you knew that you only had so much time before Satoru would grow impatient. You'd rather destroy this moment of peace due to your own will rather than to be thrown out of this tranquility by his own actions.

You turned the tap off and dried your face with the towel before you unlocked the door and turned the knob, expecting to hear his voice immediately calling for you or to even see him standing there.

Instead you heard his hushed voice from the living room and although you couldn't clearly hear all of his words, it sounded like he was talking to someone. For a split second you debated whether or not to use this chance to return to the bathroom or go somewhere else. On the other hand you knew too well that he would demand for you as soon as he was finished with this conversation so instead you opted to just head back to the living room as well.

When you peaked inside through the opened door, you could see that he was having a phone call with someone. Brilliant blue eyes darted up as soon as they saw you and a smile graced his lips for a few moments. You could clearly hear how his voice turned to a mere murmur as he suddenly turned his back on you and you knew instantly that the call must have been related to his job which is why he didn't want you to hear what he was hearing. You felt your curiosity urging you to step closer, so close that you would understand everything no matter how silent he might try to talk.

From previous experiences you knew that if you were to try that though, he would end the call instantly and merely tell the other person on the line to text him all the information before hanging up. So you just stood there and waited, feeling the frustration bubble up inside of you again.

As soon as he had ended the call, he turned around to you. A silly pout was on his face as he walked over to you before a dramatic sigh escaped him.

"Seems like I have to head out for a while. Something just came up."

Obviously he was clearly unhappy, you on the other mind felt like your soul was rejuvenating with the mere thought of having a few hours to yourself. Like everything else though, you also were smart enough to not gloat about those news so you gave him a curtly nod as your only response.

Large hands cradled your face as blue eyes looked at you.

"I'll be back as soon as possible. Just wait for me in the meantime, 'kay?"

You didn't return the kiss when you felt warm lips meeting your own but you also knew that with his grip on your face, you couldn't pull away so you just endured the feeling as your body visibly tensed up. Only when you pulled away did you dare to unclench your jaw again, your lips slightly parted as you looked into those otherwordly eyes.

"Maybe I'll buy you something nice if I find something." He continued to speak as he pressed quick kisses against your face as if quickly tanking some affection before he had to leave.

"Would you like something specific."

You merely shook your head.

"Just surprise me."

Really, you couldn't have cared less.

---

Satoru had returned far too quickly for your own taste. On the other hand he might as well have been gone for weeks and you would still bemourn his absence as too short.

With him he had brought bags full with clothes he had bought for you, in high moods as he had asked you to wear some of them so he could see if they would look as good on you as he had hoped them to be when he had wasted his money on them.

In an attempt to delay this event and prevent him from getting handsy, you had insisted on cutting off all the price tags first as you had assured him that you would like to keep everything that he had brought.

So now here you were, searching for the price tags on every piece of clothing before cutting it off with scissors. It was a lot of work but less because it took much physical exertion and more because of the sheer amount the white-haired man had bought.

Really, you could have enjoyed this task though as it was rather nice to do something.

So why couldn't he have just sat back and remained silent instead of touching you and talking to you? You just wanted some time for yourself.

You knew that he was trying to get you to talk to him by annoying you with questions and touches as he simply longed to hear your voice and to force you to interact with him. This was precisely what you didn't want and so you had to silently chant a mandra to calm your nerves as you hung up all the clothes in the wardrobe. You were surprised that you even had any space left considering that you had so many clothes already.

It was tedious to ignore him but you were normally somehow able to pull through with it. However, on this evening Satoru seemed to have finally enough of your dismissive attitude which was why he exactly spoke something that he knew would get your attention.

"I met your friends whilst I was shopping."

You froze, unable to control your reaction as you heard his words. A strange flood of emotions came over you and you caught yourself swallowing audibly as you tried to maintain some sort of control. You had already failed though and you knew that Satoru would try to use it to his advantage.

You wanted to ask him more but you knew that you couldn't as it was exactly what he wanted you to do so with slightly shaky hands you tried to focus on the task at hand.

Obviously he wouldn't drop the subject that easily though.

You felt his warm breath fawning the side of your face as he leaned closer to you, his eyes taking in the way you had pursed your lips and how you had furrowed your eyebrows as you weren't able to hide your feelings. You were missing your friends and family after all and the bastard knew it.

His own feelings rose up as he saw your face but not because he felt pity for you. Instead he felt his jealousy stirring slowly awake as he saw how affected you appeared by merely hearing him mentioning one of your friends. He envied the feelings you reserved only for them without giving him anything at all.

Why was that?

"Satoru..."

Your voice resembled more of a guttural growl when one of his hands grabbed your shoulders, clearly feeling how tensed your muscles were as you slowly cut off more price tags from pieces of clothing, your mind barely held together as you were trying in a last effort to hold back.

His name was spoken as a warning from your side as he knew that you were at your limit and that only from hearing from him about one of your friends. If he would have been a better man, he would have acknowledged how petty and low he was acting right now. However, Gojo Satoru wasn't a good man as jealousy started getting a hold of him.

"They all seemed to have quite a good time without you. It didn't really look like they were bemourning your disappearance. Perhaps you are the only one in the belief that they are missing you as much as you miss them."

You paused for seconds that seemed to stretch more than they should have before you put the shirt you had held in your hand down. Your head turned around as your own eyes met his blue ones. You didn't say anything at first, there wasn't even a trace of anger on your face as if you couldn't believe his words.

Then your pupils started quivering though and he saw how your gaze suddenly got poisoned with anger you had kept buried deep inside of you for the last few weeks.

You acted before you could even think as the one hand that had previously held the scissors suddenly flew towards him, fully committed to stab at least one of those cured blue eyes so that his gaze could never torment you again.

Only that the scissor never reached his eye. No matter what you tried, you couldn't move your hand any further, the sharp edge of the scissor only lingering close to his blue orbs.

It was that inability that caused you to snap out of your spiraling anger as you realised what you had just tried to do. You instantly withdrew your hand, visible shock on your face from your unexpected outburst. You felt your blood pumping through your veins and felt shame and frustration heating up your entire face as you had just lost your temper completely.

You ran your other hand through your hair as you took some shaky breaths to regain your control. When you finally managed to look up again, an apology lingering on your tongue for your reckless action that could have seriously wounded him, you found the words quickly dying down before they could even leave your mouth.

Normally already quite intense blue eyes were staring through you and your soul with a new weight to them that had you breaking out in cold sweat as you felt a cold sensation going down your spine.

You felt no relief when briefly his eyes darted down to look at your other hand which was still clutching the scissors on your palm, although you quickly dropped the object when you noticed his stare.

You flinched when one of his palms wrapped around your wrist and lifted your hand up. At first his touch was soft but within only a few seconds he tightened his hold until it felt like he was squeezing your bones.

You let out a short hiss when you felt the pain as you started squirming uncomfortably, trying to get him to let go of your wrist.

"You were about to stab me."

You shuddered when you heard the icy tone that seemingly matched his hardened and cold stare that he gave you right now, vastly different from what you were used.

You wanted to defend yourself. He had taunted you first and he had been the one who had brought you into such a situation were you would lose your self-control in the first place as you hadn't consciously intended to potentially hurt him seriously.

Yet he didn't let you utter even a single word as he pulled you closer to his body, his other hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look right into those glowing eyes.

"You wouldn't hurt me, right? You care about me after all, even if you don't want to show it."

There was something in his tone that gave you the chills. It wasn't anger or anything similar to that emotion though. It was a tremble, a barely audible tremble of an emotion akin to denial that made him look dangerously much like he was about to break down in front of you. Whatever you had just done, it seemed to have triggered something dangerous inside of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I just lost control of myself for a moment."

You swallowed as you uttered those words quickly, your honest tone only slightly tarnished by the pain you felt as he was still squeezing your wrist. You found your own breath stopping as you looked at his face, praying for whatever had possessed him to stop.

"I knew. You wouldn't want to harm me. It's alright, darling. I forgive you."

You felt no relief when he cooed those words at you as he pulled you closer, giving you a kiss on your forehead. Instead you foud your stomach churning as you felt the stress rising inside of you, warning you that something was about to happen.

"Close your eyes so it'll hurt less."

You knew what he had done when you heard the sound yet you didn't instantly feel the pain. Instead your widened eyes stared into his own blue ones with a mixture of shock and betrayal.

You stumbled back in shock, cradling your broken wrist against your chest as the pulsing and cutting pain finally began to settle in. Tears instantly started to gather in your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks and choked sobs started leaving your lips as you slid down to the ground.

"I know. I know. It must hurt quite a bit."

His voice was sweet and soothing as his arms embraced you, one of his hands wiping away your tears as you continued staring at him with unbridled shock and terror as you felt soft touches on your face from the same hand that had just moments ago broken your wrist as if it was a mere twig.

The fear grew and grew until you felt unable to look into his eyes again, turning your eyes elsewhere as your lips started to wobble.

He had never hurt you before. Perhaps that's why you had felt so entitled to ignore him as he had been only ever acted like a clingy and whiny man around you.

Clearly you had been wrong though.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yandere x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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ikinremu · 3 months ago

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Veryyy Dark with Emmett please. He can't take his hands off from her . He likes it rough intense and add more & I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO SO MUCHHHH TAKE LOVEEEE😭💕💕

Hi anon! First of all, thank you so so much for the support, it really means the world, I’m so glad you enjoy 🫶 Secondly, thank you for requesting, I really enjoyed writing this one tbh so tysm for the ideaaa ;) !! Enjoy <3

Anything could happen

Emmett x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: P in V, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Hair pulling, Degrading, Praise, Spanking/Slapping, Marking, Manhandling, Light choking

Emmett had been utterly obsessed with you since the moment you two had crossed paths. The scent of your skin, the way your clothes hugged tight at your body, it took everything in him to keep focused - to keep to himself.

And now, you two had finally found yourself alone with only the company of one and other - and best of all, safe, away from danger. Anything could happen.

The fire crackled between the pair of you, freshly ablaze and illuminating the fireplace. Somehow, it felt rather like Emmett's eyes were burning into yours more intensely than the fire itself. You watched as he took a small swig of his beer, one of the two you shared.

"Alright?" He spoke, and you gave a simple, soft nod in return. It was odd, speaking with freedom again, rather than the choice of complete silence or barely audible whispers.

"Mhm." You smiled, although the air felt thick, full of frustration.

You didn't once hesitate in sipping at your very own bottle, it was refreshing - despite its unpleasant taste - reminding you of your new-found safety.

From the opposing side of the blazing fireplace, Emmett watched intently as your lips wrapped slowly around the bottle head. God, he was a man starved. Despite everything, he couldn't help it; the way his cock twitched in deprivation beneath his jeans. The plump of your lips, the manner in which you swept away the droplet of beer sliding down your chin. It was such a common, innocent act, although coming from you, it had his length rising against the denim. It drove him wild. It'd been agonising, being so drawn to you without the chance to act.

The heat from the fire tickled your skin, not quite enough to break a sweat, but a slight sheen. But the wind decided to ruin the warmth, much to your annoyance, the gust whistling through the window and sending an unwelcome chill over your skin.

"Dammit." You huffed, no longer finding it a pleasant breeze, standing and ambling over to the widely opened window, reaching for the handle in a way that had you leaning over the deep windowsill.

As you wrapped a single hand around the distant latch, you felt two unfamiliar grips on your hips. You flinched a little, taken aback, but continuing nonetheless.

"Just a little more.. there you go." Emmett whispered from behind you, angling you further forward, his mouth lingering right beside your neck.

You couldn't quite assure yourself if you felt correctly, it felt as though the strain of his jeans was pressing against your ass as you tugged the window shut, letting it click together. It locked, and you were faced with an undeniable, rather large, pressure against the denim of your shorts.

A flutter spread through your stomach, catching you off guard, you'd been deprived of such contact in a while - and you certainly weren't anticipating it from Emmett.

One warm, callous hand trailed up your torso, making you shudder beneath the breath against your neck, where his hand suddenly stopped. The pad of his thumb pressed directly under the crook of your jaw, his vacant fingers seizing your chin, turning your head just enough to send your eyes wandering back to his own.

Heart beating rapidly against the wall of your chest, you felt Emmett's lips reach a slow parting, brushing ever so gently over your ear. Something about the situation felt so right, but impossibly wrong too.

"Are you going to behave for me?" He whispered, breathing heavily.

His grasp tightened, giving your hips a teasing squeeze through the denim of your shorts.

Mind scrambled, you gasped, "Emmett-"

"Are you?" He interrupted, tone riddled with expectancy.

Your breath hitched within your throat as you mulled it over. You couldn't deny the brewing arousal between your thighs, the way your skin flushed, you wanted this. You nodded.

The very second he was granted the nod, Emmett let out a low, satisfied groan, grabbing you immediately and positioning you infront of him atop the window sill, swinging your legs round his hips. Using both hands, he tore your top clean from your torso, your eyes wide as a shiver ran down your spine. You hadn't at all pinned such strength to him, though you weren't complaining.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to have you like this?" He practically grumbled, hungry gaze falling to your bra, which he made light work of disposing.

You whimpered upon the feeling of his grasp on your exposed breasts, the way he delved against them the second they were bared to his touch, rolling his thumbs over your nipples, pebbling them under his touch.

"Look at these fucking tits, begging for attention." He scolded, giving them a rather possessive slap, drawing a shocked moan from your lips, "Making my cock so fucking hard seeing them under that little top of yours, huh?"

Your cheeks burned hot, arousal fuelled by the sting of his palm against your naked chest.

Emmett brushed his thumb in warning over your mouth, muttering, "Open." You obeyed, parting your lips, however clearly not to his satisfaction. "Wider."

God, his tone of voice was unbelievably different; demanding, expectant even. But the harshness of it had your underwear sodden.

You presented your mouth to him, allowing his thumb to slide gradually inside. He pushed the thick digit slowly atop your tongue, making you splutter a little.

He leaned in, face looming a mere inch from your own, his voice hushed to a breathy whisper, "Suck."

Your skin felt hot, although an excited shiver coursed through your spine. You hadn't anticipated such behaviour from Emmett - it seemed like frustration, as if it had been building for quite some time. You inhaled sharply, knowing your panties were growing soaked as you wrapped your lips around the digit.

"That's right, baby." His lips curved, and suddenly his face was driven eagerly to your chest, pressing his open mouth to the fragile skin, sucking ferociously as he ran the tip of tongue over your nipples.

His exhales were humid, ragged and heavy against your skin as he spoke, swirling his thumb against your tongue, "These are gonna look even better all marked up, hm?"

Your eyes flickered together, nodding gently around him as your lips stroked over his thumb.

"More, c'mon, show me how you'd suck my cock." He encouraged, landing yet another smack to your chest, making the sensitive skin tingle beneath the strike of his palm.

You released the dampened digit with a little 'pop' before slipping it within your mouth once more, this time applying more pressure.

One of your hands was suddenly blanketed by a far larger, slightly rougher one, practically encasing yours as Emmett guided your touch down to his crotch slowly, ghosting your palm over the peak of his worn-out jeans.

"Feel that?" His words poured out as a broken, ragged breath, "It's just for you."

Holy shit, he was impossibly hard against your skin, twitching beneath the material. Just for you. The effect was mutual. Instinctively, you acted on the signal, unzipping the trousers as he assisted in tugging them down, boxers centring his arousal.

Your nipples hardened under Emmett's skilled fingertips, the stimulation making you moan timidly round his thumb, which rested firmly atop your wet tongue, "So responsive.."

He drew the digit from the warmth of your mouth, slick with your saliva, satisfaction painting the canvas of his face.

"That put that mouth of yours to good use, huh sweetheart?" He chuckled, hoarse and low, pointing the focus of his thumb to the button of your shorts.

He planted a light slap to your breasts once more before seizing your hips, merciless in his desire as he hauled you up, hands caressing the underside of your exposed thighs, gripping tightly at your ass as he carried you with ease to the sofa.

You gasped as he shifted you along, "Emmett!-"

"Quiet." He merely chuckled upon your surprise, swiftly bending your half naked body over the sofas back, positioned directly behind you, hips grazing yours.

Emmett snatched the waistband of your shorts, fingertips digging into the material, "You know how hard these little fucking shorts got my cock? Making me think about what's under there?"

You whimpered, feeling the - now familiar - impact of his palm striking your behind, making you jolt forward a little.

"This fucking pussy is gonna make it up to me, sweetheart." He mumbled, yanking your shorts down with the firm hold he maintained, a rather gravelly groan escaping his throat as his gaze drifted to the sight of you.

Your underwear was completely soaked through, and exceptionally thin to begin with, providing almost no modesty.

Emmett's hand came down once again, this time planting a significantly rougher spank to your sensitive flesh, "I knew you were a little fucking whore, just look at this."

Beyond your control, your stomach twisted with arousal as the comment slipped his tongue, and you stumbled messily over your words, "I'm not-"

"Oh, yes you are." He corrected, gentle fingertips taunting the sodden patch between your clenched thighs. "Only sluts get this wet from being treated like this, huh baby?"

You released a small, airy whine, feeling the thick of his bulge rub against your bare cunt, making you quiver against him. Pressing his digits to your sensitive clit, Emmett traced supple, teasing circles through the fabric. Ridding his pelvis of his boxers, he exhaled in utter relief, thrusting a single hand over the couch, looming a short few centimetres before your face, "Spit."

Your cunt clenched around air, shamelessly desperate to be filled. There was something so very thrilling about the manner in which he treated you - and he clearly knew that.

Without second thought, wetting his open palm with your spit, which he wrapped quickly round his bare, deprived length, "That's a good little slut, doing what you're fucking told."

The thick of his tip grazed over your sopping folds, already leaking with pre-cum. A loud, inviting moan left your mouth, impatient to feel him inside.

"Beg for it." He chuckled, "Beg for my cock in your pussy."

Emmett words were filthy, gruff and demanding as he spoke. Your cheeks fizzled with warmth in the absence of your words.

He planted yet another harsh, punishing smack to your bare behind, no doubt within your mind that’d it mark, handprint staining your skin. Abruptly enough, he seized your hair, tugging it up a little, bundled between his fingers as he kept a firm hold, “Didn’t you say you were gonna behave? I said beg, sweetheart.”

Your back arched upon the spank, instinctual although riddled with craving, arousal running down your thighs.

“Please.. Emmett, I need to feel you..” You heaved, breath hitching as the head of his cock prodded at your cunt again, purposeful in every aspect of his teasing.

“There you go, attagirl.” He praised, sliding one tightly packed hand over your upper thighs, clenched in a plea for friction, he swatted them lightly, “Spread them for me.”

Your teeth punctured your bottom lip, feeling each spark of impact he left, parting your legs as he desired, his fingers still intertwined in your hair.

Without warning, Emmett slid his thick cock inside your cunt, finally fulfilling what it’d been begging for from the moment he first touched you. In time with one and other, you slipped a satisfied noise, jaw falling open as he buried himself within you.

His vacant hand found no hesitation in grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing rather roughly, fingertips digging into the flesh with possession as he slowly pulled his hips back, then forward, beginning to thrust against you.

Your very own fingers curled into the couch for stability, feeling his naked hips bucking against yours at a quickly increasing pace.

"Fuck, I've waited so long to have my way with you.. With this sweet fucking pussy." He muttered, overcome by the sensation of you, body slamming against yours, your hair still unbudging in his clutch as your ass grew tender from the previous swats.

"Oh, shit!-" Your jaw fell open, and you fought to clam it back together, biting down into your lower lip. His pace was unrelenting, granting himself what he desired, as if he’d never let it slip from his watch again. Suddenly, his tip met your g-spot, reaching impossibly deep, ticking your back to arch even further, “Emmett."

"I know, you love my cock buried in that pussy, huh sweetheart?" He teased, practically panting as he continued his merciless grip upon your ass, pounding deep inside you, "Being bent over and filled like a good whore?"

Your breaths were swarmed by heated pleas, exhales shaky and ragged as his hips smacked against your behind, kneaded hungrily by his palms.

“Aren’t you just the perfect little fuck doll, mm?” He groaned from the pit of his throat, leaning over so abruptly, never relenting in his rhythm as he latched the heat of his open mouth to your naked shoulder.

You attempted an, admittedly feeble, nod, limited by the hold Emmett maintained through your hair, his mouth providing such ferocity to your skin it left a faint mark in its path.

“Tell me how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, mouth perfectly aligned with your ears.

You couldn’t begin to muster the words, not in this very moment anyway, on the verge of crumbling beneath him.

“S-So good, please don’t stop..” You babbled out as he straightened himself behind you once more, offering your hair a little tug; somehow appearing quite rewarding.

Finally, Emmett shattered his contact with your scalp, instead snaking his hand to your chest, toying hungrily with your exposed breasts as he continued his relentless thrusts, shaft twitching eagerly inside you.

“I know, baby, doesn’t my cock just feel so good stuffed in your cunt?” He taunted, bordering on a mocking tone as he trailed his thumb teasingly over your nipple, flicking quickly at the hardened peak at the very same rate as the sofa rocking beneath your quivering bodies.

"Yes.." You breathed, gripping far more intensely at the cushioning as you felt your release approach, walls clenching desperately.

"Fuck, you feel even better than I imagined.." He groaned, hips snapping against yours at a sloppier rate, "You gonna cum? Cum on my cock like a filthy whore?" He breathed, once more planting a harsh spank to the swell of your ass.

You nodded frantically, clit over-sensitised and pulsing as the build of your orgasm threatened to tear you apart.

"You can do it, I know you can. Let go." Emmett demanded, hand trailing suddenly toward your neck, pressing at your throat gently, making you babble out brief, eager sounds. "Cum on my cock like a good fucking slut."

The possession of his fingers cradling your throat was just enough to tip you over the edge, senses flooded as his length filled you, hands squeezing at your skin, playing with your body however he so pleased.

Your orgasm struck, and your back only arched further, backside pushing against his flushed pelvis as your thighs trembled, an especially loud, pent-up moan fleeing your mouth as you released.

In similar time, Emmett snapped, sporting a sharp curse under his breath as he felt you spasm around his pulsing cock, “Fuck-”

Utilising your hips as a steadier, he slipped out of you with a blatant noise of defeat, and you were met with the new-found sensation of his hot release painting your thighs.

With just as much ease as ever, and impressively so, he flipped your frame, soothing your neck with the support of a single hand, finally pulling your lips into a searing kiss.

"Let's clean you up, hm?”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! I’m working through a lot of requests so thank you for your patience if you’ve sent one in <3

#smut #smutty #drabbles #oneshot #emmett #emmett the quiet place #emmett x you #emmett smut #emmett x reader #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #cillian #cillian x fem!reader #emmett cillian murphy

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elrielbaby · 3 months ago

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The hope I carry with me.

Alright, folks. This is the first thing I’ve written in bloody years. It’s rough, I did it in about 20 minutes and I did it on the notes app on my phone bcos my laptop doesn’t get here til Sunday and the idea was literally not leaving me alone so I had to get it out - so I apologise in advance if there’s any spelling/grammar issues, I did go through it but the notes app is not the best thing to write in 😆 it’s based on a headcanon I have that Elain & Az will have to bathe after their secret rendezvous, in order to hide the others scent. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

As the sun rose over Velaris, Elain lay her head on Azriels chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The gossamer curtains of the four poster bed were drawn around them, swaying gently in the breeze. They wore nothing but their skin and even in sleep, Azriel held her as if she might slip from his grasp at any given moment - gentle, but with a hint of aggression that threatened anyone who might take him from her.

Elain had begun to stir as the sun rose. She knew what was coming, and she hated it. She wanted to live in this moment for as long as possible, in the peace and quiet with the one who understood her best, the male who had captivated her heart and soul. A change in his breathing let Elain know that he was awake, so she began to draw light circles on his ribs and pressed a kiss to his chest.

“Good morning, my love” he murmured, resting his cheek on her head “what time is it?”

“It’s still early” she replied “we have time.”

A wicked gleam entered Azriels eyes and with that his hands were in her hair, his mouth was on hers and she was on her back as they began to make love for the fourth time since they’d reunited the previous evening.

The sexual appetites of the Fae had shocked her, but none more so than her own. She had wanted as a human, yes, that much was clear by her short lived connection with Greyson… but turning Fae had turned her hunger to starvation, and no one made her feel as famished as Azriel. It was one of the many reasons their relationship being a secret was so painful.

She wanted him so much it was agonising to be apart, to pretend at family gatherings. She ached for the day they could be together openly, with nothing and no one standing against them. She yearned for the mundane, Azriel coming home after a long day, or her returning from work to find him working on reports from their home. She longed to make dinner plans, for them privately but also for their family, where they could be open and honest about their love. She wanted nothing more than to be able to make small plans and decisions with him - what they should get Nyx for his birthday and solstice, if they should go on a couples retreat with Nesta & Cassian, what they were having for dinner, what colour they should paint the walls in the hallway, where they should place the portraits and where to plant the flowers in the garden.

After a particularly emotional reaction from the pair of them at the prospect of leaving each other again, Azriel had been ready to let the world burn for her. He had been ready to march into Rhys’ office and tell him everything - Elain had stopped him. It was too soon, after the birth of Nyx & the politics of Prythian were still all together too precarious. They couldn’t risk alienating Lucien, although she was sure he wanted as much to do with her as she with him, she needed to be sure, and to minimise the potential fall out.

“I love you” Azriel whispered, his eyes brimming with emotion as he looked at her.

“I love you” she whispered back, and with that they were both falling over the edge, coming together.

They lay entwined, sweaty, breathless, their foreheads pressed together.

“It’s time” he said, his thumb stroking her cheek.

She sighed as she heard the bath tub filling in the bathroom adjoined to their room. They had to do this every time they lay together. Scrub every inch of their skin, in order to remove the scent from the other. Azriel wasn’t as much of an issue, he could somehow hide much of his scent from others although he’d never explained how he was able to do that. Elain however, was covered in him. She loved it, and that’s why she hated this part. She was desperate for the world to know they belonged to each other, that they had chosen to be together - as mortifying as the prospect of her family knowing just exactly what she’d been up to actually was.

Azriel scooped Elain into his arms and walked her through the doorway to the bathroom, placing her gently in the water. The temperature was perfect, soothing the aches from their more fervent couplings, and it was scented with cherry blossom & tea rose, her favourite. Azriel sat on the floor, his head resting on the tub watching as Elain scrubbed at herself half heartedly. The sadness in his eyes wrecked her, and she knew that she wore a similar expression. Once she was done, hair and body washed thoroughly, Azriel gestured for her to stand as he wrapped her in a towel and drained the tub. He carried her back to the freshly stripped bed, and set her down gently.

“This never gets any easier does it?” She said, her voice thick with emotion.

“No,” he replied “it gets more painful with every passing day. I don’t have your powers of foresight, Elain. But if there’s one thing I know for certain it’s this - we won’t be doing this forever. At some point, the pot will boil over, neither one of us will be able to stand it anymore and we’ll tell everyone. Or, we’ll stop caring so much about what everyone thinks, or how everyone else feels, we’ll get sloppy and they’ll figure it out. I hope it’s the latter, but I don’t really care which way it happens, so long as this road we’re travelling ends with me being able to call you my wife, to love you openly. So long as it ends with us loving each other in the small moments and the big ones, and all the moments in between I will be happy. That is the hope I carry in my heart every day I’m forced to be without you”

The tears Elain had been keeping at bay spilled over, Azriel catching them with his thumbs.

She once again pressed her forehead to his and said “that is the hope I carry with me too”

#elain archeron x azriel #elriel #pro elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #elriel fic

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 7 months ago

Text

Lover Be Good to Me

This is the first thing I've finished in forever. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Contains: Mild violence, protective Graves, fluff, smut (fingering, P in V)

Masterlist

Song inspo

1.6K words

Be as you've always been (lover, be good to me) - Hozier

Phillip was all Southern gentleman, all Ma'am and Sweetheart and Darlin' and pulled out chairs and opened doors and hats and shoes off inside, all please and thank you kindly. But you were under no illusions, he was still man, and a violent one at that, he's soft like a guard dog or a thumb on a pulsing jugular, gentle only for you.

You wondered as you stood there, hands clenched by your side as you watched his fist make with the face of the man who was dumb enough to follow you to your car after you turned him down if he saw this as the declaration of possession that it was. He must have because, with each punch, he was scolding the man for bothering his woman.

"Phillip, Honey, that's enough."

He dropped the man's collar the moment the words left your mouth, and a second later, he was pulling him up by his face to admonish him one final time. "If I ever see you around again, I'll finish the job, understand?"

The man hurried away with a terrified nod, and Phillip walked over to collect the grocery bags and placed them into the truck bed like his hand wasn't bloody and bruised before opening your door with a smile. "Sorry about that Darlin', I should have gone in with you."

You shook your head and climbed in, hoping this wouldn't turn into him drowning himself in guilt. "I think the phone call about Mattews and his broken leg took precedence over everything," he went to correct you, and you raised your finger to stop him. "I'm a grown woman, Phillip, and I can look after myself so I don't want to hear it."

He sighed and reached over to place his hand on your knee as he drove towards home. "You're right, I just want to keep you safe."

You nodded and took his hand in yours. "I know and that's why I'm going to be gentle when I clean those cuts on your knuckles."

He chuckled, his smile warm and bright as the mood lifted. "You are an angel sent from heaven Darlin'."

****

Phillip didn't flinch as you cleaned the cuts on his knuckles; rather, he took in the look of concentration on your face with a dreamy smile and adoration filled eyes. "How did I get so lucky?"

You sighed. "I don't think it was luck, my love, or are you telling me all that wooing you did was just you throwing shit at the wall hoping it would stick?"

He pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and plucked the cotton round out from between your fingers before taking your hand in his hand and lifting it up to his lips. "Oh no, Sweetheart, I agonised over every flower."

His lips moved from your fingertips to the back of your hand, then to your wrist, slowly making their way up your arm until they met the edge of your sleeve. "Phill, your hand, I need to finish cleaning it."

He chuckled against your skin as his eyes flicked to yours. "It was clean five cotton balls ago." The hand that wasn't holding yours curled into the hem of your T-shirt as he moved to pull it upwards. "Now, are you going to let me appreciate you, or am I going to have to work for it?"

His lips were at your neck now, soft and sweet as he worried a spot into your skin. "I need to put dinner on."

He kissed a path to your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he spoke. "I'll order in while you soak in the tub after we're done, whatever you want and dessert."

There was no point in arguing, not that you wanted to. You took his head in your hands as he grinned and pressed your lips to his as he wrapped his arms around your body. He pulled back, pecking your nose as he pulled you further into his lap. "I'll take that as a yes?"

You nodded. "How could I say no to that?"

You let out a yelp as the world shifted, and you found yourself lying on your back on the couch while he hovered over you. His body rippled as he sat back on his heels and pulled his shirt over his head, and he flashed you a movie star smile as he watched you drink in the sight of his firm torso. "Like what you see Darlin'?"

"You know I do." You reached up to run your hand up his body, and he took your seeking hand off his pec to press it to his lips again. He settled between your legs, smiling as you pushed yourself up so you could pull off your shirt.

He took a breath to just look, his eyes heavy with lust as a bludge grew in the jeans. He watched with a clenched jaw as you took off your bra and chewed the side of his cheek out of habit as he reached down to remove your jeans. "God, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on."

You pulled your top half up using his belt loops, and he met you halfway, the kiss messy and forceful this time as you rushed to free him of his pants. He groaned as the pressure let off his cock, and his eyes fluttered closed as you ran a single finger from base to tip. "Are you planning on making beg Darlin'?"

He would if you wanted him too, he would cut his own heart out and hand it to you bleeding if you asked, but you shook your head. "No, I don't want you to beg."

His face crinkled with a smile, and he yanked your panties down your legs before running a hand from your knee to your inner thigh. "Can I?"

"I would like that very much." He groaned as his fingers made contact with your flesh, his eyes set on your face as he shifted downwards to be closer to you. He was slow and careful, seemly more focused on the pleasure slowly building in your face than actually progressing the rising heat in your core. "Are you going to make me beg my love?"

There was a hint of villainy in his smile, but he shook his head. "No, even though I fucking love the sound of you begging." His fingers became more insistent as he buried his face in your neck to nuzzle your flesh, growing like an animal as you bared your jugular to him. He let out an appreciative grunt at your moan when he slid two of his dextrous fingers inside you, and his eyes were back on your face, taking in each twitch and shift as this thumb found your clit, and his fingertips pressed your G-spot.

He was close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath on your face, but any attempt to kiss him was met with a quick peck before he returned to focusing on your expression. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made you feel like you were going to catch fire, and before you could utter another word, your back was aching off the couch as the rush of pleasure took you by surprise.

His voice was all gravel and lust when he finally spoke. "We're getting a fucking mirror for our bedroom tomorrow and you're going to sit on the bed naked while I hang it so I can fuck you the second I'm done."

He cut off your reply with a kiss, sealing his lips to yours, and he slicked up his cock with your wetness before shifting before your legs and notching himself at your entrance. "You want me Sweetheart?"

You threw your legs over his waist and sunk your teeth into his lower lips, and he chuckled. "I hear you loud and clear gorgeous." The side home was slow and pressed as much of himself to you as he could as his hips began to rock.

His forehead fell on yours as your eyes met, and he smiled softly. "I love you so much y/n."

You moved your hand from his back to his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm. "I love you too Phillip." The kiss was softer than his quickening hips, and he didn't seem to care that you were still sensitive as he worked you towards the second orgasm of the night. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit and he took full advantage of your gasps, swallowing them down like a starving man as he slammed into you.

You dug your nails into his back, but the spark of pain only served to spur him on, and you knew he'd be wearing the red crescents tomorrow at training with pride, in fact, it seemed that he'd take any excuse to show off the marks when you left them on his flesh. He proved your point when he all but roared as you sunk your teeth into his shoulder as you came.

His hips stuttered, and he reciprocated your bite, his teeth your skin as he pulsed inside you. "Fuck I love you."

You giggled and pressed your cheek to his. "You said that already."

He smiled, it was all boyish and sweet. "And I'll say it again. I love you."

You rubbed his nose with yours and pecked him. "I love you too."

You sighed as he slowly moved off you, and the air suddenly felt chilly without his heat. He extended his hand and gestured up the stairs. "I believe I promised you a bath and takeout?"

You nodded. "You did. I want French."

You took his hand, and he pulled you to your feet and into his arms. "Whatever you want."

Fin

@chaos-4baby @candy616

#phillip graves smut #phillip graves/reader #phillip grave/you #phillip graves x reader #call of duty mw3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mw3 #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty smut #mw2 #mw3 #phillip graves

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chiefdirector · 7 months ago

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I love you, it's ruining my life | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

I love you, it's ruining my life

The first day was the easiest of all. His world has come crashing down around him and yet he was still standing amongst the rubble. Tim didn't know what was true anymore, the love of his life has disappeared right before his eyes and he was helpless to change that.

He spent the entirety of the first day on the streets of Los Angeles, he rookie by his side, searching for his wife but it was fruitless. He returned home alone.

The second day was worse. Just as he returned home by himself, he woke to an empty bed, her pillows still indented from the last time she had slept there. He didn't make the bed, instead he shoved the sickening feeling that had begun to grow back down and left for work.

The second day of searching for his wife turned up the same results as the first. She was a detective of the LAPD, and yet not a single officer could offer a lead as to where she had gone. She had been taken away with the wind, never to be seen again.

He didn't want to admit it but as the days and weeks passed by, Tim oculd feel his hopelessness return. He was a police Sargent, he knew the statistics on missing persons cases. And it wasn't like she was without her enemies, there was a never-ending list of people who would want to harm her. It was a risk of the job, but yet he never thought it would effect them.

All my mornings are Mondays stuck in an endless February I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary

Despite only a year passing, there was more evidence leading to declare her to be dead rather than another name on the missing-persons list. Tim thought that her funeral would have been the hardest day; watching the empty coffin be lowered into the ground damn near killed him too, but his heart kept beating. It was agonising but he kept on living, he couldn't stop living.

The worst day came only a few weeks later. The memory of the day was fleeting; hazed by the rush of emotions and the actions taken. One moment he was in Sargent Grey's office, and seemingly in the next, he was running through the woods watching her run towards him also.

They crashed together, his arms wrapping around his body, bringing her warmth closer to him. Not matter how close she was, she needed to be closer to him; he didn't want to be apart again, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.

I love you, it's ruining my life

He never wanted to feel that pain again. To love someone as much as he loved her could only leave one of them suffering. He knew that he wouldn't survive loving her and losing her again. He needed to protect himself this time.

He knew that despite everything that happened she wouldn't step back from danger, instead she would come up with a million and one reasons why he was being unreasonable. He had only one option, to make her believe something untrue.

So the worst day came around the following morning, as he sat her down at the breakfast table they had once spent their days laughing over.

"I can't do this anymore," He said, hating himself as the words come out, "I can't live like this, waiting for the call to find out you've been hurt - or worse. I've lived through it and it nearly killed me. I can't do it again."

Panic crossed her face, as she tried to process his words, "Tim, what do you mean?"

"I can't keep waiting for the worst to happen. I love you, and it's ruining my life."

And for a fortnight there, we were forever

-------

Masterlist

Tags: @rookietrek @kmc1989 @fluentmoviequoter

Let me know if you want to be added to my Tim Bradford/Rookie tag list

#tim bradford x reader #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford imagine #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #chiefdirector #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #fornight #post malone #fortnight taylor swift #ts11 #Spotify #songfic

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luvrodite · 1 year ago

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TWO STRAWS JASON TODD

↳ first date with hopeless romantic jason who really is trying to impress you but is just a fool when it comes to you

Jason hopes you can’t tell his palms are sweating. He’s only just executed what he’d once heard Bruce teach his brother when Dick had started dating–his arm hangs loosely around your shoulder, hand limp in the air after pretending to stretch. He’d put a worthwhile performance into it too, and there’s a flush on his face which makes him thankful for the dark of the theatre.

You’re soft and relaxed under his arm despite the seat divider between you both that digs uncomfortably into his side, sipping at the drink he’d insisted on paying for with an intensity bordering on desperation. Gentlemen always paid, and he’d been the one to ask you out, how could he not take care of everything? He closes his eyes momentarily, mortified, recalling the way your eyes had widened in surprise before you’d acquiesced and a shy you didn’t have to murmured as you accepted the cup.

Still, you seem unbothered about his earlier outburst. At a lull in the movie, you shift in his arms and tip the cup his way. He looks down and you raise your brows as you offer it to him. On screen, the light shines onto your face brightly, and he’s drawn to the raspberry stain it’s left on your mouth.

“Do you want some? I have an extra straw.”

He swallows. You fish it out of your jacket pocket, looking immensely pleased with yourself. He’d laugh, but all he can think is that you’re sharing your drink with him.

“Sure,” he whispers back and you smile–his breath stutters in his throat like he’s in high school all over again. You fiddle with the lid, carefully prying it off and poking the extra straw into your slushie. He accepts the cup with his free hand and you settle into the seat again, eyes forward. He’s glad for it, worried that he might have choked under your watchful gaze and made an even bigger fool of himself.

The drink settles on his tongue, artificial and too sweet, but he takes another sip anyway before passing it over. His throat is dry, and the bubbles tickle a little as the iced soda melts in his mouth. You bite your lip to stifle a giggle as he coughs lightly, and he smiles weakly, trying to play it off. So much for not choking.

“You okay?” you whisper, and he nods.

The movie ends with no other mishaps and Jason doesn’t know which wins out: his disappointment that the night has come to an end, or his relief that he can go home and nurse his pride. Still, he opens the door to his car and makes sure you’re comfortably settled in before shutting the door and driving you to your place.

You look pretty in his passenger seat, he thinks, daring to steal a glance over. Your eyes are luminous in the dark as you look back at him, and he looks away, gripping the steering wheel tighter. You let out a little breath, and ask him what he thought of the movie. He doesn’t know how to tell you that he missed half of it, hyperaware of the press of your arm against him, agonising over how to impress you. The flowers he’d gotten you sit in your lap, a small bouquet of bright tulips he’d handed over shyly. They rustle as the car moves, and when he looks over, your finger is skimming over one of their petals.

When the car comes to a stop, Jason is unbuckling his seatbelt–slower, now, but still breathing out a “Let me get your door.” You offer him a quiet smile when you step out, flowers nestled in your arms gently. He walks you to your doorstep, and lingers on the step below you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “for coming out tonight.”

“Thanks for asking me,” you say. The front light flickers slightly above you, crowning you in a halo of dingy yellow. Jason thinks you’re divine. “I had a good time, Jason.”

“Really?” he laughs out tiredly, a little surprised when you nod. Time is slower than it has felt all evening. He’s been dialled to eleven all day, movements charged with electricity, jerky and anxious. On your doorstep, time slows to a dreamy haze, and he can look at you clearly.

Your lips part, a little shiny from your lipbalm, and he can smell the faint scent of your perfume. Little hairs curl at your temples, and your eyes–are on him.

“Good enough to let me take you out again?” he asks, feeling very much like one of those actors in the old movies he’d watched every Saturday morning growing up, gazing up at his date with stars in his eyes and his heart in his hands–it’s yours, if you want it. But he doesn’t say that, only waiting for your answer.

You blink slowly down at him, and a slow smile pulls the corners of your mouth upwards.

“I’d like that,” you agree, and Jason feels as though he’s conquered the earth. You turn to open your door, throwing him another sweet grin ovear your shoulder. “Goodnight, Jason.”

“Goodnight,” he says, dazed.

He lingers on that doorstep after you’ve shut the door, and allows himself to hiss out a satisfied, “Yes!”

first date anon i hope it's okay that i tweaked it a little, and i hope i did your idea justice. i think the idea of jason on a first date, nervous because he really likes you and wants to make a good impression, is so so cute.

this is the second request i wanted to work on because i just went on a date yesterday and i thought it lined up perfectly hehe

#jasonsmirrorball #jason todd x reader #jason todd reader insert #jason todd imagine #jay my heart

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shitouttabuck · 8 months ago

Note

hi hi nina!! may i prompt number 20? (absurd terms of endearment)

rae!!! thank you mwah (also requested by an anon & @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove <3)

be there on the next train

buck/eddie | 1.7k | rated t | prompts: absurd terms of endearment | ao3

The day Eddie calls him that for the first time, Buck’s tearing through the hospital at top speed, narrowly avoiding mowing down nurses as he stumbles toward Eddie’s room.

He’s okay, Buck knows he’s okay, he’s just here on concussion watch and because he needed a doctor to reset his shoulder when it was dislocated at the house fire earlier. He’d been talking and coherent when Hen and Chim bundled him into the ambulance, reassuring them all that he felt fine, terribly unconvincing given the grimace, but no cause for major worry either.

Still, Buck couldn’t ride with him to the hospital, having to finish their shift and wash off an inch of soot before hurrying to pick up Chris from school. Even rushing through his shower and haphazardly pulling on his civvies so not to alarm Christopher didn’t feel fast enough, and when Chris had started to kick up a fuss about being dropped at Pepa’s instead of coming with Buck to the hospital, he’d nearly torn his hair out.

He’d placated Chris with the promise that he’d try and get Eddie released this evening, happy as ever to volunteer to spend the night keeping watch at the Diaz house. Thirty minutes and several agonising red lights later, he’s here, barging right into this hospital room before any orderlies can stop him.

Hen blinks at him from her seat beside Eddie’s bed, eyebrows raised.

“You’re loud enough to wake the morgue,” she informs him, sipping her paper cup of coffee. “Bull in a goddamn china shop.”

Buck frowns at her good-naturedly, rounding the bed to Eddie’s other side.

He’s sat up against some pillows, bleary-eyed but smiling at Buck. “You came.”

“Of course I came,” Buck huffs, squeezing his arm gently.

“You always come,” Eddie agrees. His eyes are glassy from the mix of pain and painkillers, voice slurring ever-so-slightly. “Mi patito.”

Hen chokes on her coffee, coughs turning into laughter. “Your what?”

Eddie’s lips turn down at the corners as he looks at her, pouting. “He’s got the little tail, look.”

He gestures at Buck’s ass, and Buck cranes his head back to see what he’s pointing at. His shirt isn’t tucked in properly at the back, sticking out of the waistband of his pants in an upturned fold of fabric.

“Patito,” Eddie says again, nodding. “Little duckling.”

Hen snorts, dissolving into laughter as she doubles over in the tiny plastic chair. Buck shoves the hem of his shirt into his trousers properly, disgruntled by their amusement.

“Duckling, huh?” Hen grins. “I guess he does follow you around enough.”

“He followed me into the house today,” Eddie says, leaning back heavily into his pillows. It’s true—Buck had ignored Bobby’s shouts to stay put and raced back into the burning building after Eddie’s pained grunt had come through the radio, a badly-secured beam glancing off him as it fell. “Stupid as hell, but would’ve had a lot worse than a fucked shoulder if he hadn’t.”

Buck’s not sure if that’s a compliment or an admonishment, but it’s absolutely soaked with affection, so he doesn’t let himself dwell on it, smiling wryly back at Eddie.

Eddie’s studying his face, serious even if the corner of his mouth is tugging up on the right, smile inevitable.

“He’d follow me anywhere,” he says, confident, to Buck or to Hen or just the room at large. “Patito.”

Buck feels a sudden wave of embarrassment, caught out and called out on this thing that was never meant to be a secret but he hadn’t planned on saying out loud anyway, hoping no one would draw attention to the bottomless well of devotion he houses for Eddie. That he’d do anything and everything if only it meant he’d be beside Eddie for it. He’s scraped raw, naked under fluorescent lights for everyone to see.

Hen, perceptive to a fault, stands, ignoring Buck’s flaming cheeks and whatever shame is rolling off him right now.

“M’gonna check with the nurses about when he can be discharged,” she murmurs, leaving the room quietly.

Buck swallows, ducking his head as he sits. He doesn’t look directly at Eddie, instead fiddling with the scratchy blanket on the bed.

“Buck?” Eddie asks. Buck doesn’t look up. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, ’course not,” Buck says, shaking his head and smoothing out the blanket. “You’re right, I-I do follow you everywhere.”

“Okay,” Eddie says carefully. “Is that bad?”

Buck huffs a laugh. “No, no, it’s not. Just—revealing, I guess.”

Eddie’s silent for long enough that Buck chances a glance at him. His brow is furrowed deeply, and he’s frowning at Buck.

“I would follow you anywhere too, you know,” he says.

Buck’s heart flip-flops. He does know this, and it’s nice to be told, but he thinks all his endless adoration, the entirely unshakable loyalty with which he follows Eddie, comes from a considerably different place than Eddie’s. The roots of his wanting wrap around his heart and clench tight in ways Eddie’ll never be familiar with, steadfast friendship being the only thing he’s ever wanted from Buck.

“I know,” he says anyway, moving one hand to grasp Eddie’s briefly. “I know, Eds.”

A nurse bustles into the room, patient chart in hand.

“Alright,” she says, “hello there. Are you Mr Diaz’s partner? Will you be taking him home today? He needs regular monitoring tonight, but Firefighter Wilson mentioned your line of work, so he should be good to be looked after at home by his significant other.”

“Oh,” Buck says. “Um, yes. And no. Yes, I’m taking him home. No, I’m not his significant other—I’m just his, uh, work partner.”

“Oh! Sorry for the misunderstanding,” the nurse says cheerfully. “Shall we go over the concussion protocol before we get him discharged?”

Buck lets her run him through what to do and what to watch out for, well-versed in this rodeo but nodding in all the right places anyway. When she leaves to sort out the paperwork, he turns back to Eddie, who’s be quiet for this whole exchange.

“Actually, speaking of,” Buck starts, pulling the words out of his throat like barbed wire, “do you want me to call Marisol and, uh, let her know what happened?”

Eddie scowls at him. “Marisol? Why the hell would you call her?”

“Because she’s your actual significant other?” Buck says, frowning at the unreasonable amount of derision Eddie’s throwing his way. “And she might like to know that you were hurt?”

“She is not my significant other,” Eddie says, looking deeply unhappy.

Buck blinks. “What? Since when?”

“Since…” Eddie screws up his face as he thinks, and then screws it up in a different way when the pull of his muscles must aggravate the headache concussions so generously come with. “Since two Thursdays ago. The 14th. The day we had the fighter jet call.”

“Oh,” Buck says.

His heart isn’t sure what to do—glow bright at the thought of Eddie’s relationship crashing and burning, because Buck’s not as good a friend as he wishes he was, or sink even further at the fact that Eddie, even hopped up on heavy-duty drugs, can pinpoint with such precision the exact day they ended things, his unhappy face only further proof that the break-up was probably not his decision, if he’s so cut up about it. Which—

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buck asks. “I’m sorry, man.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. Why are you sorry? Also, you didn’t tell me when you broke up with Natalia, so…”

“I did,” Buck protests. “I told you that day in the locker room, that day that—”

He cuts himself off, breathless for no reason.

He did tell Eddie in the locker room, the day that they had the fighter jet call. The 14th. Two Thursdays ago.

“Eddie?” he asks.

“I texted her from the station parking lot,” Eddie confesses. “After Chris’s date went home, I, uh. I went over to her place and broke up with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buck asks again, infinitely more hushed.

“’Cause you’d follow me anywhere, patito,” Eddie says softly, and his voice is so brimming with sadness, Buck’s chest aches. “Didn’t—didn’t know if this would be something you’d—actually want, or if you’d try anyway just because I asked.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, a quiet and desperate thing. “Eddie, you have to know—”

“I know you love me, Buck. And—whatever way that is, I’ll take it. Okay? I just—I couldn’t pretend that that thing with Marisol was anything more than me trying to—trying to—fill some gap while you were with Natalia. And I was a dick, but—you broke up with Natalia and I’m so tired of pretending. I’d follow you anywhere, patito, but I—I wish you’d follow me home.”

“Okay,” Buck nods, heart whirring with this new revelation and taking upon itself to glow, not in petty vindication, but with sweet, sticky happiness, honey-gold and sun-warm as it spreads from cell to cell, his whole body alive with it. “Okay. I’m following you home.”

“I know you are now,” Eddie frowns. “You have to make sure I don’t die in my sleep.”

“Jesus, Eddie, first of all, dark,” Buck laughs, “and, secondly, no, I mean I’m following you home. I mean I love you in every way. I mean I broke up with Natalia because everything was always about death and I want things to be about life and—that’s you. It’s been you for a long time.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, still frowning. “Does this mean you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight?”

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch tonight?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I’ve never wanted you to sleep on the couch. You’re always falling asleep on that damn couch. I want you to fall asleep in my bed.”

Buck laughs again. “I think we can make that happen.”

The nurse comes back in with discharge papers, Hen at her shoulder, and Eddie asks, “Hey, what’s the medical advice about making out with a concussion?”

Hen says, “Oh, for the love of God.”

And, Buck thinks, if you’re hand-in-hand with someone the way the two of them are, who’s following who doesn’t really matter, because they’re getting there together.

#listen. i know i posted fic yesterday. i am so sorry. here is another one #911 fic #buddie fic #911 #buddie #writing tag #mine

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