#he isn’t a bad guy. what are your thoughts? what do you think? thank you for sending this in. this was so fun.

[goldenboywrites]

Quin moved to the end of the bed, his feet touched the ground, and he held his head in his hands, pressing his fingers against his pounding temples. He had anticipated Beau telling Cesare, but he hadn’t thought Cesare could contain himself with the knowledge. Why had he held onto it so long? Quin had to poke and prod to get him to admit it. Was he just never going to say anything about it? If Cesare had known this entire time, then he knew when he told his father and Maximus he still planned to marry Quin. But how could he even want to marry him after knowing all this? There were missing parts of Quin, parts of himself that were taken from him. He was ruined. Quin laughed bitterly and desperately, his stomach heaving as his body went against his control of it. He moved to wrap his arms around his stomach, tears brimming as he laughed and laughed and laughed. “I don’t care about what happened between you and Beau in that room.” At one point, he had, but it paled in comparison to Cesare knowing the truth.

He wiped the wetness from his eyes and stood up from the bed. He dragged a fur blanket with him, covering his upper body. Quin leaned against the wall opposite Cesare’s bed, then dragged his gaze up from the floor to meet his. “It’s only fair you know the truth,” He said softly, tilting his head back until he hit the wall. “And yes, I imagine Beau wasn’t kind about it. When I was…” Quintus inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment, “When I outgrew my uncle’s taste, he found Beau to replace me so he could have a younger version of me. Though I suspect Beau was too malleable for his tastes. His favorite thing has always been the fight, and I was too young and weak ever to win.” 

“You know the worst part about it?” Quin kicked off of the wall, cutting the distance between them in half. He stopped at Cesare’s desk, tilting a hip against it. “I thought I could endure it while my father and Maximus were at war. I was alone in that castle with him, and I took it; I swallowed it down because I didn’t have any other choice. I was twelve years old when it first happened. No one was there to help me anyway, but then they came back with you along with them, and I thought, ‘thank gods this is it’. I wouldn’t have to suffer any longer.”

Quin sighed, shaking his head. He slashed his arm across the top of the desk, sending the pitcher of mead and the tray of food crashing to the floor. “I was a fucking fool to think that would make a difference. Having them back in the castle made it worse and made him more determined. I suffered at his hands for years, and no one noticed. I was a child coming to breakfast hungover and limping, and no one noticed. Not my father, not my brother, not you.” He gripped the edge of the desk until his fingers turned white, until they ached as he ached inside for years. “The only thing that stopped him was time, and when he no longer possessed the ability to hunt me in my bed chambers, he went after my parents and then my brother and I.” 

“Beau will never be free, Cesare,” Quin said softly. “Just like I will never be free. He will always hold the pieces he took from us. I know you think you can save us. I know you want to save us, but we will never recover what he took from us. Even if he is dead, there will still be days where having hands on me makes my skin crawl and itch. There will still be nights when I dream of his weight and breath on me, and I wake up sick. His hands have permanently tainted me, and it isn’t something that I come back from.” 

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, wishing it would swallow him whole. “You deserve someone whole, and I know you won’t do it because you think you owe me something or because you pity me now that you know, but I don’t expect you to go through with marrying me. I wouldn’t if I were you, and to save your reputation with my brother, I will take the heat and call it off so you aren’t the bad guy. Just…” He sucked in a breath, feeling a knot in the center of his throat. “Please don’t tell Max what he did to me. It will kill him, and I can’t… I can’t,” Quin’s breath puffed out between the words, his chest heaving with movement. “I can’t have him know.”

Cesare felt the air around him still and chill in the same stroke. His eyes narrowed on Quin and all the alcohol he'd drank felt as though it evaporated through every pore on his body. In that moment he couldn't understand the man's tone but he felt the rigidiness just the same. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not really. Had Beau confused him for a few moments? Yes. But nothing more had come of that. And once the prince found out who he was and what he was doing, it wasn't difficult to deduce the rest. But clearly Quintus wasn't ready or willing to do that yet and he'd have to explain in a way that didn't seem as though he were trying to defend the other to him. Wasn't he just the one being made to be made?

"I don't think it's difficult to understand that someone in his line of work." He paused, staring pointedly at the other for a moment before he continued. "Don't always receive the best treatment. And knowing the man that was pulling his strings." Which was partly a lie. Cesare didn't know their uncle well. Or, as well as he'd thought he had. In all the years he'd ventured to the castle in Vivec alone and in his father's tow, he'd never had Richard treat him poorly. The odd comment here and there, with more frequency as he'd grown closer to Quin, but never would he have guessed he was a power hungry man, hell bent on dethroning his own nephews at any cost. "I didn't think it was such a jump to assume that some of what has happened with you may also have happened with him." His brow raised and he sighed out, not ready to admit the next part. "Because you do look similiar enough that I imagine whatever he he wanted to say or do to you he often took out on Beau instead when the opportunity didn't present itself with you."

The prince stretched himself out on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. There it is. The soft, fuzzy feeling of the meade found him again and he breathed out slowly. "You've never told me the extent of what happened with ... Richard." He started, crossing his ankles over each other and his hands folded over and laid against his lap. It was hard to hear that name in his own voice. Until that moment he was fairly certain they'd never uttered his name between themselves. But the threat was very real and not using his name made it feel like he was bigger than they, and that simply could never be in Cesare's opinion. "Beau wasn't kind when he said it." He started, his fingers itching to dig into anything to make this less painful to speak about, less painful to watch Quintus' face when he'd finally gotten it out. "But I started putting it together. The way you don't like to be touched and how you're constantly on top of everything and everyone." He gave a slight shake of his head because honestly this did nothing but show just how strong this man on the bed was to him. And should be to everyone. "He only confirmed the missing piece that I'd been guessing at."

Cesare's tongue swiped along his lips to keep them from drying out completely. "Please don't take my kindness towards him as anything but that." He swallowed hard and fought himself on what he was about to say next but he thought better than to hide it. "When I first came upon Beau in what were suppose to be your quarters I couldn't be sure it was you. The room was too dark." The contents of his stomach churned and he felt odd enough to shift his weight. "He shared a kiss or two but nothing more than that." His cheeks instantly flared to the bright redness of coals and he found himself wanting to sink completely into the mattress. "I realized he wasn't you and threatened him within an inch of his life to get me to you and when that didn't work." He sighed and shrugged again. "I just tried to treat him like a person." He paused, seeing the snide comment coming quick but he cut Quin off before it could be made. "He wants to live. Free. Just like you and I. Just like everyone else. I couldn't imagine the sort of life one leads pretending to be someone else. Never having anything that is truly your own." Cesare gave a slight shake of his head and breathed out through his nose. "I just didn't want to be the sort of person that sees someone in a bad position regardless of their own involvement and not do anything to help. I've never been that way and I won't start now." He was firm on that whether Quin liked it or not. He could only hope his honesty didn't cost him everything else in the process.

[hayakawalove]

I DESPISE GOJO CHEATING ALLEGATIONS SMM OMGG

Can people stop already like please 😭😭

Read on Reddit that people are using this interview question that was asked to gege and he said that “gojo probably wears his sunglasses when he goes out to pick up/meet women” they use this as evidence to back up their bs and say that “gojo probably sleeps with every woman in each prefecture/location in Japan where he has a mission at” 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

And I’m like what??? :|

Since he firstly does not have the time to go and do this as the strongest sorcerer who has so many missions to look after and no time to even eat/sleep…

Also Gege might have said that to troll the gojo fans?? Idk tbh why he said it cuz it doesn’t align with his character.. what do you think?

ALSO there’s this mistranslation line that people are holding onto where it’s clearly stated in Japanese that “gojo can’t open up to his partner emotionally” which makes sense yk since no one understands him a non-sorcerer would think he’s mentally ill and a normal sorcerer can’t be on the same caliber and mind set as him and they turned it into “he’s a serial cheater who gets bored of his partner and would cheat on them”

Do you think gojo would ever get bored of his partner and cheat on them like that’s insanely ridiculous 😭

PLUS the fact that his lover would be used as a leverage and be his weakness and he’s too kind to drag anyone into his dilemma and put their life into a life or death situation CURSES/CURSE USERS ARE ALREADY ENOUGH TROUBLE 😭

And if he were to ever get a lover he would be the most loving LOYAL and caring man ever who would be so clingy to you since he finally found his love and someone he could understand and trust ☹️❤️

NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ABT THESE OUTRAGEOUS CLAIMS PLS!! 💕💕💕

HELLO

I hate those allegations too! He’s just a silly goofy guy…. I haven’t heard that interview about the glasses but thats kinda funny, cause why would gege say that 😭😭

I do see gojo being flirty cause I think he likes attention. I don’t think it ever goes farther than flirting though. He wears his glasses all the time anyway, so it’s not really different that he would wear them when he goes out. You would think he would not wear them, so women could see his eyes and be amazed. Maybe it’s one of those things where he wears them, then lowers them so girls can be amazed. Silly man.

I’ve heard that mistranslation! Well, the one I’ve heard was where gege said he couldn’t be committed to a partner, but the reactions were the same. I wonder if it’s the same mistranslation you’re talking about. Admittedly, this isn’t the best wording gege used, because being committed has a meaning associated to it. Being committed doesn’t always mean being loyal though, and I think this is what gege meant. When he said he doesn’t think gojo would be committed, i think he meant Gojo wouldn’t be focused and “all in” in a relationship. Which I understand. I think it’s fun and sweet to imagine gojo being the perfect bf, I think he would certainly try, but to say he would be that way I think would be to miss aspects of his character. He can’t be all in in a relationship. He’s too busy. He wouldn’t have the mental capacity to give 100% at work/teaching and 100% at a relationship. I DON’T think that means he wouldn’t love you or that he would cheat, it’s just he understands what life gave him so he can’t waste it by living a normal life. I think work would always come first for him, not because he wants it to but because it has to.

The gojo getting bored thing is interesting in my opinion cause. I do think it’d be a bit true. I don’t think he’d cheat or do anything awful like that, but I mean. His entire life has been this big thing so I think he would get bored pretty fast with a lot of different things. I think he would need a partner who could keep up with him and challenge him or offer him something he doesn’t have. I think this is one of the reasons he was such good friends with Suguru, because Suguru didn’t treat him the same as everyone treated him.

I think if Gojo found you/or someone that he would try to give his all, and show his love for you. I think he would be clingy and would be a baby but he would understand realistically that your relationship is never going to be normal. He’s probably gonna be away more than he’ll be at home. He’ll probably cancel on dates if he needs to exorcise a curse. But these things don’t mean he doesn’t love you. I think he would be afraid of you being used as leverage. He does love and care so much! Once he finally finds someone I don’t think he’d ever be able to let go.

People really try to shit on Gojo but not in my house! I am a gojo defender until the day I die

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 7

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader sleep together for the first time

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: loss of virginity, oral f/m receiving, so much praise, pain during sex, unprotected sex, cr**mp**, bit of overstim, soft dom spence, if u don't like that freak shit (love and intimacy) this is not for u, spencer is a nerd, they're both nerds actually and that factors in heavily, you may get more from this part by FIRST reading how they met in this bonus chapter a/n: thank you all for being patient, ilysm, this was the most laborious thing i've ever done for no reason and also this part changed so many times and is not what i expected it to be so pls go in with tempered expectations and keep in mind that this story is more about the characters and their specific relationship dynamic than just being porn. i truly have no idea how you guys will react to this but i sincerely hope you love it and them like i do<3 also it's twice as long as the other parts so feedback would be very very appreciated! again i love u all and enjoy the penultimate part!

Spencer’s lips are on yours, and you weren’t expecting it—hell, you weren’t expecting him to be in your apartment. After all, he’d wished you goodnight and walked out only a moment ago.

“Spencer—wh—” 

But he’s insistent with his lips, kissing you bruisingly over and over like there’s nectar on your tongue and he’s parched for you. Still, he has enough decency to not completely ignore you, exhaling a quick excuse over your flushed lips. 

“I missed you.”

This time, though, you dodge his hungry kiss. Part of you thinks, as he watches you, eyes alight and breathing heavily, that he sort of likes your playing hard to get. It’s not something you do very often, admittedly. 

“We’ve been apart for like, maybe a minute.”

“I didn’t even make it to the parking lot.”

Your face heats.  

“Well you can’t just—you can’t just walk in like that! And I thought you said we weren’t supposed to mix fighting with pleasure.”

“Then start locking your door. And I thought you said we weren’t fighting.”

You roll your eyes in response, though your heart is still pittering in your chest. 

At least his hands move to your arms, stroking up and down relatively chastely—although he has this way of making everything seem intimate. Especially when paired with those amber eyes of his—glowing like a candlelight beacon in the window guiding you home. He speaks in low, appeasing tones and darts his tongue over his lips. 

“I originally said it’s a bad idea for couples to sleep together after an argument. But you know—makeup sex is ubiquitous across culture and time because it works. Anger and arousal trigger a lot of the same hormones, specifically norepinephrine which is involved in feelings of longing and—”

“Spencer.”

“You know what else?” He mutters in a way that feels dangerous. “It tends to feel better than regular sex.”

That earns a shaky exhale from you. Whether from irritation or arousal is anyone’s guess—probably a combination of both. 

“So you came back to fuck me?”

It’s probably evident to Spencer from your choice of language that this already isn’t going exactly as he’d planned. He doesn’t answer right away—just regards you, gaze bouncing between your two eyes like he’s trying to calculate your level of anger. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You push him away and move to walk down the hall. 

“Maybe your window of opportunity has passed.”

A warm hand wraps around your wrist in the dark of the hallway and he pulls you back until you’re falling against something tall and warm and lean. The smell of polished amber and sandalwood overwhelms your senses. 

“What’s wrong, angel? What happened in the minute I was gone to change your mind?” His voice is scratchy like a favorite record. It’s the voice he could hold you captive with. The one you have a very difficult time saying no to. 

“I don’t know,” you mutter, unintentionally leaning back against him. “What happened to change yours?”

His response comes pressed against your ear, half-lost in your hair. 

“You’re upset that I changed my mind. I thought you wanted this, honey.”

“I do,” you admit, letting your head fall back against his shoulder and bringing his arm to wrap around you. “And if you hadn’t walked out earlier I would’ve done it. But… I’m tired of us doing everything on your timeline. You just… you expect me to be amenable to what you want, constantly.” His nose and lips press into your shoulder. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… I’ve been begging you to sleep with me for I don’t even know how long. And you keep changing your mind, and I feel like you’re being really confusing about it. Obviously you don’t have to sleep with me, you never did, but I just feel kind of… jerked around. And you did it again tonight.”

A beat of silence. 

“I understand your frustration,” he appeases, securing both his arms around you. You cling weakly to his wrist, to his warmth, like he’s a tether in a storm. “Would you prefer to wait until you initiate it?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know,” you huff, disentangling yourself from his arms and continuing toward your bedroom. “Now I’m annoyed at you again.”

He follows you right through the door. 

“Just tell me what to do! I don’t want to be annoying.”

“I can’t. I’m being unreasonable.” You flick on your adjoining bathroom light and examine yourself in the mirror. Yeesh. The eye makeup situation is abysmal after all the crying that has taken place over the course of the evening. 

“So choose to be reasonable and tell me what you want from me. I’ll give it to you.”

You frown at your reflection, pushing your hair back and rubbing at some excess mascara. 

“No, you’re not understanding me. I’m not choosing to be unreasonable. My thought process regarding the situation is inherently unreasonable and there’s nothing I can do about it because it’s just the way I feel.”

“The feeling being that I’ve been too domineering over how our sexual relationship has unfolded?”

Spencer watches you in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed as you tip some makeup remover onto a reusable cotton pad. You try not to check him out as you nod, but it’s impossible—with his sleeves rolled up to show defined forearms cradled in capable hands, and his hair all messy. 

When he pushes off the wall you freeze, unsure of his next move—until he’s gently spinning you around and taking the bottle and cloth from your hands. 

“Maybe it would help,” he begins, soft as he focuses on the new task, carefully bringing the round to your right eye so he can remove the bleeding mascara. You allow your eyes to flutter shut. “If I remind you why I’ve been so hesitant.”

“Because you hate giving me joy.”

He laughs, nothing more than one huff from his nose. 

“You’re spoiled and we both know it.”

Point taken, as he gently wipes your makeup away for you. Your silence is his cue to continue. 

“Everything I said about worrying that you would regret choosing me is true. It was especially true when I thought you felt lukewarm toward me. And all of that confusing stuff I said in the phone is true too—having sex for the first time is incredibly intimate and weird and sometimes scary. If you’re not 100% sure about your partner, or if you think your feelings are unrequited, it’s hard to be completely comfortable in such a vulnerable situation and your likelihood of getting hurt or having regrets skyrockets. I know that from experience. I wanted better for you than what I got. Still, I know it was wrong to project my feelings about the significance of sex onto you. In that regard, you’re right. I was being domineering, and I guess… I guess to an extent I’m still deflecting. I shouldn’t be trying to pretend like it’s about you when in reality I mostly just didn’t want to get hurt again. I didn’t want to go through that again, and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have made you feel like it was something you could have changed.”

You try to process that. 

“Go through what?” You whisper hoarsely. Something about having him at such close range while he takes such care with you feels whisper-y. 

“Sleeping with someone who didn’t love me back.”

Your reply is small. 

“Oh. Right.”

How could anyone not love him back?

Spencer’s reply is simple and kind, without a hint of, obviously you dumb bitch—which is pretty much what you’re thinking to yourself. 

“Does that make sense, lovely? Do you understand why I wanted to wait?”

He lets you ponder for a while in comfortable-enough silence as he finishes removing your eye makeup with a characteristically gentle hand. When you open your eyes, he looks genuinely content, screwing the lid back on the bottle as if he’s got an eternity to wait for your answer. 

“Yeah. That part makes sense. But why did you seem so… I don’t know, like, wishy-washy about it?”

Spencer’s eyes dart up to meet yours, brows slightly raised. Then a small laugh bubbles up from somewhere inside him. 

“Because I’m obsessed with you. I thought about you like that constantly. I still do.”

Your breath catches at the casual admission. 

“Oh.”

Spencer hums, setting the bottle down before tenderly thumbing away some excess mascara that he must have missed from under your eye. 

“You didn’t think it was easy for me, did you?”

“Well… kind of,” you admit, tracking his eyes until they meet yours. 

“Not sleeping with you has been among the hardest things I’ve ever done. Especially when you started begging me. That first time, when I picked you up from Penelope’s and you asked me why we hadn’t had sex yet…”

He trails off, still rubbing at your cheek as he loses himself in thought. 

Eventually, you grow impatient, prompting, “what?”

“It’s not a nice thought.”

“Well, you have to tell me now,” you insist. 

He half smiles, thumb straying to your lips. 

“It was just… you had no idea what you were talking about, and you were ready to throw a tantrum in my living room until I gave you what you thought you wanted. Part of me was imagining bending you over the couch right then, since you thought you were so ready.”

It feels like someone has snipped the pulley that keeps your stomach in place. 

“Spencer,” you splutter, convinced your cheek is tangibly heating under his touch as your head reels at the revelation that he could have such a deeply dirty and mildly sinister mind. 

“I told you it wasn’t nice.”

You swallow. 

“Is that… is that still what you want?”

His brows flicker again and he tucks hair behind your ear. 

“To bend you over my couch? No.”

Your face warms even more and you turn to leave the bathroom, sick of his teasing. 

“Okay, goodni—”

“Hold on.” Spencer catches you by your waist and pulls you back into him for the second time tonight. A dangerous smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know what you meant. And no, I don’t want to bend you over my couch.” He laughs, slipping a hand under your shirt to rub your back. “You know what I want. I’m more interested in learning what you want.”

“I want…” Your eyes dance between his, and your heart flutters against the confines of your chest as you realize what you’ve wanted for so long is finally yours for the taking. “I want to stop talking about it.”

His expression neutralizes and you know it’s probably intentional to stop whatever feelings you assume him to be having color your decision. 

“Oh?”

“I just think we’ve talked about it enough.”

Before he can say another word, or ask you another question, you kiss him with such passion there’s no way he can doubt how much you want this. 

Only a moment passes before he allows himself to lean into it, cupping your face between reverent hands and taking control of the pace of the kiss, slowing it down until you can hardly breathe. Your little noise of want has him quickening the process, pressing against you until you’re walking backward out of the bathroom. It’s like the first crack in a dam. After that, everything becomes inevitable. 

Your knees hit the back of the bed and you sit down hard on the mattress, smiling up at him. You skim the front of his thighs with your palms as he smooths your hair.

Spencer groans, leaning down and kissing you til you’re on your back. 

“Don’t make that face.”

An affronted huff from you breaks the kiss up and he pulls back to study your expression. 

“What do you mean don’t make that face? I was just smiling at you.”

“I know you were. And you have such a pretty smile it makes me feel guilty about… defiling you.”

Your brows flicker up and your mouth drops open with an affronted scoff.

“Watch yourself. I’ll defile you.”

“You already have,” he admits with a half-laugh as he kisses you again. “My mind was never this dirty before we met.”

“Hm. Tell me you like my smile.”

He pauses and then chuckles dryly against your mouth. 

“I love your smile. You’re gorgeous. Any more demands?”

Pleased, you shake your head and pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“Not currently.”

“Really?” he murmurs, trailing kisses over your cheek and down your jaw, “I’d do just about anything you asked me right now. You don’t want to take advantage of that?”

The sensation of his lips just below your ear threatens all rational thought in your brain, but you manage a reply with only a slight delay and a hint of a waver coloring your tone. 

“I shouldn’t have to demand things. You should just know to do them.”

His kisses drag lower, warm and unhurried and you’re trying not to let your hyper-sensitivity from going a week completely untouched show—but you doubt he misses the way your breath catches, or the barely audible squeaks, or the arch of your back or the tightening grip on his shirt. 

“Well, for future reference—” he nips at a sensitive spot and you gasp quietly, even as you tilt your head to offer him more access. More room to bite, if he so chooses. “—I happen to enjoy it when you make demands of me. Especially when those demands entail letting me call you pretty.”

“I’ve never not let you call me pretty before,” you huff. It’s a touchy subject, and Spencer can probably sense your hackles rising, but he has you right where he wants you and so he pushes anyway. 

“No. But you never believe me. We’ve had this conversation. You always act like I’m walking you to the gallows when I compliment you.” 

It’s hard to make a defense when he’s leaning his weight onto one arm so he can unbutton your jeans, when he’s looking down at you with sparkling onyx and scorched-earth eyes like you’re something to be consumed. But not violently, no—ardently. Like fruit heavy on the vine. Like you’re a religious rite to the devout and deluded. A sacrament.

But it’s not a blind passion. Spencer knows you; every inch of you and every loose thread on your soul begging to be pulled. He knows you and he still wants you like this. To be perfectly honest, you’d never thought you’d feel comfortable handing yourself over to someone like this—vulnerable and all your layers of armor shed. Never in your life would you have thought you could trust a person so implicitly that you’d hand them a knife and show them exactly where to press, that you’d say, I know once you open me and you see me you’ll not want to change a thing.

You adore him. Cosmically. Enormously. In every dimension. He’s lodged so deep in your heart you have no choice but to love him eternally. 

It’s deep in the midst of all these very profound revelations that you realize Spencer has stalled with your zipper undone. His hand has strayed to your hip, to sweetly push your shirt up and trace love letters into warmed and downy skin with his thumb. 

“I just wish you could see yourself how I see you,” he says softly, the weight of the truth a strain on his vocal cords. 

Sometimes, he is so kind it’s like a punch to your stomach. You’ve never been quite as kind as him. And nobody’s ever been as kind to you as he is. You’ve done nothing to deserve his kindness, but you know he needs a place for it, and you’re here with open arms. 

He studies you a moment longer, swallowing as his eyes trail over your face and lower. You want to reach out and brush strands of caramel hair out of his face, but he seems to be thinking so hard you’re hesitant to distract him. 

“I’ve never told you this, because I know you’d just shoot it down, but… you are genuinely the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

Something twinges in the depths of your stomach—the darker shades who live there and exist solely to whisper not enough not enough not enough to you every minute of every day. 

But they’re simply not a match for the softness you find when you do reach out for his hair, or the way he looks at you. Spencer loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist—not a cuff, but an affectionate hold. 

“Do you believe me?”

There’s so much earnest hope in his voice it almost jars you. He so badly wants you to understand how feels about you—he’s been trying to tell you for months and all you know how to do is refute his praise and insist on your worthlessness. 

Ever since Spencer, you don’t see the faces on magazine covers or in superhero movies, no matter how mathematically flawless they are. Nobody gets close to being as beautiful as he is in your eyes. He’s in an entirely different echelon, and despite how you feel about yourself, you have to accept that he might feel the same about you. 

“I do,” you say, equally soft, and 100% honest. You believe that he believes it, and that’s enough. It’s all that matters. 

The shallow knit of his brow loosens. His lips ease into a suggestion of a smile. But it’s most visible in his eyes—the way smoldering coals reignite, melting the amber glass of his irises until they’re molten. 

The way he kisses you then, you’d think you’d lassoed the moon and pulled it down from the sky for him. But apparently all it takes to make him incandescently, contagiously happy, is to accept a compliment.

There’s a renewed sense of urgency on his breath as he kisses you deeply and quick enough your heart is racing. It only goes faster when he remembers his previous task and begins tugging your jeans down, but he doesn’t even bother to pull them past your knees before his hand is creeping up your thigh. Goosebumps race each other across your body as you try to remember what it feels like—what he feels like. But you can’t, even as his thumb fans over your inner thigh and pushes it open, gently encouraging you to give him more access to you. 

“You’re not wasting any time,” you breathe against him while he traces the edge of your underwear.

“Do you want me to slow down?”

Judging by the way the tips of his fingers only barely shy away from the fabric, he really wants the answer to be no. But you know in his searching gaze that he’d never push you. 

“No, it’s fine. As long as we… don’t go this fast the whole time.”

“We won’t.” The hasty words are of lower priority than the next kiss he plants to your swollen lips. “We won’t. I just missed you so much.”

“Yeah?” You giggle airily as he drags his fingers over your clit through the material, trying to ignore the way it makes your head spin. 

“Yes. Yeah.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, so… desperate for you, as he drops his lips to your neck and presses barely-there kisses everywhere he knows you’re sensitive. Just the feeling of his breath against your skin has you shivering. His hand between your legs only brushes your most nerve-dense spot, but a few touches in and you’re already wound up, like if Spencer doesn’t give you more soon you’ll burst. And not in the good way. 

When he finally commits to actually kissing your neck, you squeak, warmth emanating from that spot just below your jaw all the way to your toes. The frantic energy of earlier is slowly melting away, and he loses focus with his hand, as it begins straying wider, stroking your hip, your inner thigh, your stomach. It’s like your nerve endings are on overdrive, delivering twice as much feedback to your brain as they normally would. Each touch feels like he’s conducting electricity over your body, like you’re a plasma ball. He’d probably like that analogy—you, a core of alternating voltage, and him, the conductor, tracing a path and giving all those electrons an easy release. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d tell Spencer you found a way to work Nikola Tesla into your mutual sex life, and he’d probably propose on the spot. 

But that electricity is building fast—even more so when he drags his lips down just above your collarbone. Your breath hitches, simultaneously trying to crane your neck to give him more room, and curl into him so as to escape the stimulation. Finally he pulls away, and losing the softness of his mouth while the air feels so cold against the places he’d kissed almost hurts. 

“You’re a mess,” he chuckles affectionately, raising his hand to brush hair away from your face before stroking the heated high point of your cheek. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s teasing, but so low and gentle and honeyed it swirls your stomach. 

“Whatever you want,” you admit quietly. It’s a shy confession more than it is a salacious flirtation because he already has you. And you want nothing more than for him to act on that in any way he so pleases. Whatever he does, it will be careful, and kind, and because he loves you. You know that no matter how he takes you apart—he’ll put you back together again. 

“I don’t know if I can. You’re all jumpy.”

God, he has the prettiest smile—even when it’s twisted with sarcasm and a thin veneer of guilt, like he knows he shouldn’t be teasing and just can’t help himself. 

“I’m not,” you defend, face heating further. “I’m not nervous. I don’t know what it is.”

That sticky sweet tone is back, pooling in his eyes and dripping all over you like nectar as he languidly looks you over. 

“I didn’t say you were nervous. Just a little bit jumpy.”

It’s not accusatory—he’s simply stating a fact. Easy, gentle, designed to soothe. 

You shrug helplessly and chew on your lip, unsure of how he wants you to respond. It’s definitely true that excited as you are, you’re slightly on edge. You feel taut as a string on a guitar, tense and waiting to be yanked at any second. 

His expression is serene, and his thoughts inscrutable as he continues lavishing you with his eyes, down to where he’s lying over you and back up. His lips part, but he doesn’t speak for a moment as he formulates his words. 

“Can we try something? There’s this tantric exercise that might help you relax.”

Your brows draw earnestly and you nod up at him, not requiring any convincing even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. 

Spencer directs you to sit up, and you do—kicking your jeans all the way off so you can sit criss-cross with your hands braced on your ankles. 

He’s next to you on the bed, at a slight angle, one of your knees in his lap. You blink at him. 

“Now what?”

“Now you give me one of your hands,” he says, tone tinted with a hint of an amused smile, as if your impatience is funny to him. Of course it probably is. 

Frowning only a little, you unlock your left arm and hold it out for him, watching curiously as he takes your one hand between his and flips it palm-up. 

“Did you know,” Spencer begins, voice low and confidential, “that the fingertips are the second most sensitive part of the human body?”

“What’s the first?”

“Lips,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hand where he’s brushing the tips of your fingers light enough it almost tickles. “They’re both incredibly important for keeping you alive, which is why they’re one and two. But you’ll be particularly sensitive anywhere you’re vulnerable.” His words are trailing off as he brushes his thumb over your palm and to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Like here.”

His knuckles skim up your forearm, to the crook of your elbow. 

“And especially here.”

You’re fascinated as he traces back down the length of your arm and over your inner-wrist, feather light. Then up once more, with the blunted edges of his nails, and your breath catches. You’ve never noticed how sensitive such an innocuous part of your body could be, but it has your stomach flipping—more so when he looses a breathy laugh. “You know, some people are actually able to reach orgasm just by light stimulation to this area.”

Your response is just as airy—you don’t recognize your voice when it comes out like that, hanging in the pitch black between you. 

“Really?” 

An affirmative hum from him, as he lifts your hand and places an intentional kiss over your pulse at the bend of your wrist. Your chest aches and heat is pooling in your stomach as his gently trails them up the delicate skin of your arm. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the reaction you’re having—after all, it’s just your arm. But he treats every part of you like it warrants love and attention and intimacy. Even the parts you typically ignore. Certainly parts you never considered to be sexually or romantically relevant. It’s dizzying. It’s like magic. 

“Arms up,” Spencer finally directs, just as sweetly as he’s doing everything else, and helps you tug your shirt over your head. Every brush of fabric, every seam against your skin registers more than it normally would. Everything is heightened, and despite your state of undress you’re still warm. “Your neck is really sensitive, too. It’s the most commonly acknowledged erogenous zone.”

Erogenous zone. Of course this all comes back to biology. 

“Tilt your head for me, honey.”

Utterly entranced and useless to not abide by him, you do so. Spencer brushes your hair over your shoulder, and if the slip of it down your back weren’t enough, the graze of his fingertips against the nape of your neck has you shivering. 

The warmth of him at your throat feels completely brand new, despite having already had his lips there only minutes before. But now they ghost over your skin with a kind of novelty, and your own lips part in silent pleasure, head lolling to allow him greater access.

“Lie back.”

Without hesitation (but perhaps a bit sluggishly in your stupor) you obey, sliding down until you’re propped up only by pillows once more. Spencer takes his place propped above you once more, thighs slotted with yours as he quickly picks up where he left off. 

The sweet kisses are perfect and feel so much better than you’d ever thought to notice before—but at the same time your core aches and there’s that pressure building again that’s starting to get to you. 

“Spencer,” you try, and it comes out hoarse but you don’t care at all. “More.”

“You want me to leave marks?” 

And the offer is so tempting you’ll wait a few more minutes to ask for what you really need, nodding semi-frantically and ‘mhm’-ing desperately. 

As he gently latches onto a spot that will require concealer later but feels fantastic for now, one of his hands slips down your side, just barely letting his nails skim, and your back actually arches. It’s a shocking amount of stimulation for being nowhere near any sexual hotspots. That tiny caught breath dissolves as his fingers continue down just as lightly over your hip and thigh. Your muscles tense as you chase and run away from the feeling. It’s ridiculous.

There’s no point in trying to keep your eyes open now—they grow heavy and you let them fall shut as he sucks another love bite to your throat. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it? It’s kind of weird.” He says, voicing your thoughts as he eventually decides the mark will be sufficiently dark. 

“Yeah,” you agree, lacking all eloquence as he caresses every sensitive place you didn’t know you had and your hips writhe minutely in a little desperate dance of your own creation. 

“Most people aren’t aware of the potential of the erogenous zones that aren’t actual sex organs. They don’t pay attention to them. You know what else is an interesting function of erotic stimulation to areas that aren’t directly involved in reproduction?”

“Hm,” you hum as his hand skims to your back. You lean into it and he promptly undoes your bra with a single hand—a skill you’re not even sure you have. 

“It releases not quite as much oxytocin as an orgasm but more than sexual pleasure alone. So you’re less tense before sex than you usually would be, and you’re primed to build more trust and feel more connected with your partner during.”

God, he’s a nerd. And it’s so, so hot. 

You roll over on your back again and look up at him through half-lidded eyes. The corner of his mouth flickers as he takes in your expression, before trailing downward, following the path his fingertips make over your skin as they tug the straps over your shoulders. Trying to stop him, to be shy, would be a pointless venture. He’s seen you like this and you want him to see you again. 

A shaky exhale of his own brings a little smile to your face as he pulls your bra away and observes the newly bared skin with a hunger that you can feel. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, eyes cast pointedly down and thumb brushing over the side of your right breast. 

“You mentioned.”

“I’m not allowed to say it again?” He teases, leaning down to kiss you soft. Your lips curve against his. 

“You can say it as many times as you want.”

Spencer hums, finally thumbing over your breast’s sensitive peak. It sends a chill down your back and seeing as you’re already worked up to the point of near insanity, the pleasure from such a simple touch is much stronger than it would be otherwise. 

“Good. Because I missed you a lot.”

After that, he doesn’t waste much time—only toying with your flesh for another minute as he kisses you before his hand is skimming down your abdomen and dipping below the waistband of your underwear. 

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your hips toward him when he doesn’t move to touch you anymore. 

“Please what?”

“Spencer, don’t.”

He smiles at this, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as his hand travels lower. Fingers slip between wet folds and he begins making the lightest of circles over your clit. 

“You’ve probably been waiting long enough, huh? I should be nicer.”

Your answer is a breathy almost-whine as you seek more friction against his hand. 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pressing down harder. The sensation sends sparks down to your toes and you attempt to clamp your legs shut around his wrist. “These need to stay open,” Spencer chuckles, “or else I can’t help you.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words are a sweet sing-song against your cheek as he kisses you there, before hooking his fingers into the fabric of your underwear and pulling down. You try to help wiggle out of them as best you can, gasping when he tosses them away and immediately returns his hand between your legs. He dips his head down, tongue lathing over your breast, and teases you with the tip of one finger circling around your entrance. 

“I need—”

“Shh. Let me worry about it.”

With that, he’s dipping his ring and middle fingers just barely inside of you to the first knuckle, then back out, before pushing a bit deeper, and repeating the cycle until they’re as far as they’ll go. When he slowly starts fucking you with them, still mouthing sweetly at your breast, you’re ready to melt. 

The room is quiet except for your breathy mewls, the lewd, wet sound of his fingers inside of you, and the blood rushing in your ears. Soon your breast pops from between his lips and he finds somewhere else to leave his mark. Spencer is turning you into a work of art, with his fingers, with his mouth. You don’t mind at all. You’d let him sign his name, if he could—but you doubt he’d let you get his name tattooed. 

Soon you stop fighting the perpetual tug of your lids down and let them flutter shut, loosing a freer moan as he brushes over that sweet spot inside you. Even when he’d told you how to find it over the phone, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t like this—maddening enough to have your hips twisting again and that hot bed of coals in your tummy sparking. 

“Spencer,” you warn, leg twitching as he stokes the fire beyond the point where you can passively enjoy it. Either he’s got to slow down or he’s got to let you burn all the way up. You practically jump when you feel his tongue flick over your clit—you hadn’t even been aware of his shifting positions. Maybe you’re more out of it than you’d previously thought. Your eyes shoot open and he does it again. “Oh, fuck.”

The words are simple, quiet, and apparently that’s not enough. Before you can even process the sensation of the tip of his tongue on you he’s latching onto your clit, suckling in a way that has your vision momentarily going out. You cry out and kick involuntarily, hips jumping up, but he captures your leg and presses you down into the mattress so no matter how much you squirm and squeak you can’t get away. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, Spencer I wa—ah—sn’t ready—oh my god.”

He remembers his fingers deep inside you and begins rutting them and you hiss, inhaling sharply through your teeth before letting it all out in a tremulous moan. The orgasm is building up so quickly it almost feels like an attack on your poor body as you try to process it all to no avail. Every sound you make is a vulnerable mess of pleasure and pain, a clear fear of surrendering to something inevitable. Of course, it doesn’t really hurt at all. As usual, he’s blindsided you. Found you unprepared. You rake your fingers through Spencer’s hair, continuing on with your shaky moans that sound half-worried. 

“Oh, please.” Really, you’re just pleading to be put out of your misery. It’s in moments like this, as the black is creeping in around the edges of your vision and your thoughts become threads in the tangle of an existence knotting in on itself with no discernible end or beginning in your mind until everything is completely abstract, that you’re reminded why the French refer to orgasm as the little death.  

Your fingers lace tight enough in the wilds of his hair to pull, and he groans against you, and those vibrations are your undoing. You succumb to the dark momentarily but he continues a loving assault of gentle kisses to your clit—careful enough so as to be inoffensive even after the euphoria abates and you’re hypersensitive, still relishing soft strands of hair between your knuckles. 

You’re breathing hard as you blink your vision back, looking down at him as he looks up at you from his place between your legs and rubs the top of your thigh.

“I wasn’t ready,” you pant, lips flashing into a tired smile that doesn’t hold a candle to his own livelier one. 

“Took it like a champ.”

If you weren’t already so warm his sarcastic comment would inspire more heat in the apples of your cheeks. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid using sports idioms?” You smile as he climbs back up your body. 

“It’s unreasonably sexy that you said idiom and not simile.” He kisses you, grin mirroring yours, and you don’t complain about the slick still on his lips. “And look at that. Not afraid to kiss me when I taste like you anymore.”

“I remember what you said,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, glowing amber pools in the low light. The words echo in your head from the first time he’d gone down on you and you’d been hesitant to taste yourself. 

One day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.

“So do I,” he points out needlessly. “Eerily prophetic, hm?”

“I think you just like going down on me,” you laugh. 

Without the light on, his smile is just as brilliant as usual.  

“You might be right about that.”

Another interlude of quiet begins, but you don’t mind it. Taking this slow, as desperate as you’ve been for it, feels nice. Easy. Waves of burning need ebb and flow, but for now, it feels nice to be bathed in his candlelight gaze, know you’re loved, and nothing else. 

“What next?” You whisper after a long moment, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw. He leans into it slightly, lips brushing your palm. 

“That’s up to you, angel. What’s going to make you feel most comfortable?” 

Your bottom lip rolls between your teeth as you think and he tracks the movement, corner of his mouth twitching fondly. 

“It might help if you weren’t fully clothed.”

“I think we could probably do something about that.”

He pecks the tip of your nose playfully and then he’s pushing off the bed. Your brow wrinkles as you follow suit only partially, sitting up with your legs folded under you and pulling the sheets over your body to combat the chill and the vulnerability of being completely naked. 

“Oh, my god. You had your shoes on that whole time?”

“I got distracted,” Spencer defends, almost tripping over himself in his hurry to slip the loafers off. 

You clutch the sheet to your chest, watching the adorable way he pushes his hair out of his face as he rushes. He’s so clearly excited—it shows in the flush of his cheek and his even worse than usual coordination. 

“But on my bed?”

“I’m sorry,” he says without seeming very apologetic, leaning down to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger and pressing his lips to yours. “I’ll pay to have your comforter dry cleaned. I’ll buy you a new one. I don’t care.”

“How chivalrous.”

“I am,” he insists against your lips, shaped by what is surely a boyish smirk. 

Unsurprisingly, you get lost in the kiss, dropping the sheet to hang onto his shoulders. Spencer takes advantage of the once-more revealed skin, rubbing your thigh with slow passes in a way that has you all lit up again already. It doesn’t help that his tie is skimming right over the recess between your folded thighs as he leans over your seated form, kissing you deeper as the moments pass. 

“You’re distracting me now,” you scold, but your voice is quiet and smiley as your noses brush. 

“Do you want to help me with my clothes?”

You nod, heart hatching like a cocoon and already slipping a finger into the knot of his tie so you can tug perhaps not gently enough. He chuckles, bracing himself with his fists on either side of your lap as you pull and yank until the fabric comes loose and you slip it from around his neck, flinging it blindly for dramatic effect. Then he slowly draws back to his full height, until you’re about eye-level with his chest. His gaze fixes on you, feverish and intent as he finds the buckle of his belt without looking. The slide of leather on leather, the jingle of the metal has the hairs on the back of your neck rising and you fight a chill as he pins you with his stare—feeling rather powerless as he towers over you, still essentially fully clothed while you’re completely naked. 

You probably shouldn’t be as thrilled by it as you are. 

Spencer tosses the belt on the floor and watches on, utterly charmed as you rise to your knees. His hands find your waist, steadying you as you begin unbuttoning his shirt with slow, careful fingers. 

“See?” You murmur bashfully. “Helping.”

His voice is equally as soft. 

“Very helpful. Thank you.”

The tension in the quiet room gets to be too much and you have to focus hard on the task at hand, failing to bite back a twisty smile. For once, he keeps his stupid perfect mouth shut and lets you push the fabric of his open shirt from his shoulders in humid silence. 

Your fingers skate down his torso and you watch the muscles tense. You wonder if he notices the way he pulls you slightly closer or if it’s subconscious as you both track the path of your hands. 

“Your button is on the wrong side,” you note, voice wavering slightly, once your fingers stall at the waistband of his pants.

Spencer chuckles. You feel silly. 

“Men and women’s clothing tend to have the buttons on different sides, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” A beat of silence, before the words come pouring out. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’m still a little bit nervous, I think.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer assures you, hands gliding up and down the soft lines of your waist. “It’s okay that you’re nervous. But I’m going to take really good care of you, okay?”

You nod, not looking away from the exposed skin of his torso. 

“And if at any point you need to take a break or stop, you’ll tell me.”

“I will, but… I don’t need to stop right now.”

“Then you can go as slow as you want.”

You swallow and take a moment to gather yourself before continuing on undoing his pants. With his assistance, you pull them down, and with them his boxers tug an inch or two lower, exposing a subtle v-shape before it disappears beneath the waistband. The fabric is obviously tented. A ball of nervous anticipation spins faster in your stomach, drawing all the heat in your body down between your legs. He’s pretty everywhere. You’d nearly forgotten. 

Spencer’s stomach tenses under your light touch as you drag your fingers down, down, just to the waistband. It’s then that you look up at him for permission to continue, and find his eyes already on you, heated and intense. 

“Go ahead, honey.”

Again you find yourself quite excited to touch him, but you start cautiously, simply letting your hand fall over the shape of him through the fabric. Even that has his chest rising and falling at a slightly quickened rate, and one of his hands finds your unoccupied one, twining them together. That small gesture inspires you to bolden your explorations, becoming more insistent in the way you palm at him. He feels big, which is a concern of yours. But you try not to let that intimidate you.  

Already he’s quite hard, you suspect from going down on you earlier (which is flattering as much as it embarrasses you) and your fingers graze a small wet patch of fabric. You fixate on the shaky little breath he releases as you push down his boxers with new fervor, and his cock springs up. 

He’s still perfect. 

You smear beads of precum down his tip, and he sighs, letting his head fall against yours as you both watch. A few coquettish pumps and he’s humming, kissing your face and dragging his lips down your neck where he makes a home for himself. Apparently the sight of your hand wrapped around him had been too much to bear. 

“So good. Missed this.”

“It’s just my hand,” you whisper, a little insecure that he’s maybe playing it up for your benefit. 

“It’s you.”

His voice is so breathy, you sort of have to believe him. 

“Can I…?”

Too nervous to voice what you really mean, you trail off, but it apparently doesn’t matter to Spencer. He lifts his head like he’s in a stupor but you’ve said something urgent. 

“Anything you want. You can do whatever you want.”

“Okay. Um…”

You let go of his hand (and his dick). Spencer automatically rotates to accommodate you as you end up on your knees on the wooden floor in front of him. 

“This is what you want?” He breathes, already pushing his fingers through your hair and gathering it back as you look up at him and nod. 

Very quickly you have him back in your hand, trying to remember what you learned from the few times you’ve done this. You start perhaps a bit softer, less eager to prove yourself than you have in the past—simply dragging him over your tongue before enveloping his tip in your mouth, and releasing with a pop. Despite being overtly, explicitly, and undeniably sexual, there’s something almost chaste about the way you handle him. It’s a (dirty) expression of love, and you think he understands that as he rubs at your cheek affectionately. 

Eventually, however, you get too excited, and you take him into your mouth in earnest, bobbing your head slowly and seeing how much of him you can take without gagging. 

Spencer makes the prettiest noises—they’re breathy, and not ostentatious, but he’s got such a nice speaking voice it’s like his gasps are bars in a song. You whine around him, wriggling your hips in a rather pathetic display, and then all too quickly he’s tugging your hair so you can’t keep him in your mouth. 

“What?” You ask, closer to pouting than you’d care to admit and voice slightly hoarse. “You said I could do anything I want.”

“Not if you’re that good at it. Come here.”

He helps you up and catches you in a deep, messy kiss before you’ve fully regained your footing, swaying against him, but he holds you fast, pulling away slow like strings of honey trail between your mouths. 

Spencer’s eyes are fixed on yours, lips parted in a sort of wonder before he glances down to your own mouth, wiping the shine from your bottom lip. Any moment you’re expecting him to say something, to tell you you’re beautiful or perfect or that he’s in love with you—but instead he just meets your eyes again, that same wonder-struck look on his pretty face. A tiny, breathy laugh forces itself from his chest like you’re a genuine miracle. 

You feel so observed—seen in a way you’ve never been seen, looked at closer than anyone has ever looked at you before. And he still looks at you like you’re the human embodiment of love, the closest mortal manifestation of the divine, Galatea come down from her marble pedestal. The way he looks at you has your heart pounding and your breathing hastened. Adoration has never been something so physical, so tangible, ever before in your life. Your blood hums at the frequency of his electromagnetic field—an energetic aura that surrounds each person and can be detected from several feet away, as he’d explained it to you. It originates from the heart and if you spend enough time close to  someone, syncs up the beating of your most vital organ with theirs until it’s a perfect match. Maybe that’s why, almost as quickly as your heart had begun to pound, it slows again, and you feel any reservation flush from your body like a fever. 

“Okay,” you breathe, cataloguing every angle and curve of his face to store with all the rest, all the moments that feel important. Of course, you’ll never remember them like he does yours. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try your hardest. 

“Okay?” Spencer asks. He understands the confirmation for what it is, and searches for signs of hesitation on your face while rubbing reassuring circles into your hip. You nod resolutely. 

As he lays you down on your bed, it feels like you’re entering some kind of altered state. Everything is muted and glowing with a watercolor aura in the dark and you really only care about the man on top of you and the way moonlight dances on his skin and the way he smells like smoky amber and rain. He makes sure the pillows are fluffed under you, before sweeping your hair from beneath your shoulders into a corona around your head. All the while his eyes are so soft on you, just like his hands, and his lips when he leans down to touch them to yours. 

One of said hands finds its way to your jaw, trailing down over your neck and collarbone, before settling over your breast where he swipes a thumb over your nipple, lightly, slowly, several times. 

Once again you’re struck with the odd feeling, even with his hand on you like this, that the situation isn’t sexual in the way you’d anticipated. It’s not pornographic, or even very dirty. Everything Spencer does, even as his hand sneaks down between your legs, he does because he loves you. 

“One more like this,” he mutters against your jaw after a moment. 

“Why?”

Your impatience yields a smile you can only feel against your skin. 

“Just want you relaxed and feeling good. That’s all.”

When you assent, his fingers are already slowly pushing inside you. 

It seems you’ve entered some sort of time warp as well, because you reach a gentle peak in what feels like record time, aided by his easy murmurings and saccharine praise.

“Perfect. That was perfect,” Spencer says with a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his fingers from you and you feel yourself literally dripping onto the sheets. “Can I ask you something before we get carried away?”

“Mhm,” you hum, sweet and compliant as pleasure dulls your inhibitions for the second time tonight and your head lolls into the pillows. 

“Baby,” he croons, voice soft as worn paper as your lids flutter and lashes brush febrile cheeks, thumbing over the heated skin. “Need you a little more alert, sweet girl.”

“’M trying,” you whine, though it’s half self-effacing laugh. Spencer chuckles too as you shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to reinvigorate yourself. “Okay. Go.”

“Well… we don’t have any protection.” Before you can groan, loudly, he hurries on. “And that’s… I’m okay with that, if it’s what you still want. I trust you. But there will come… a moment of reckoning. And I need to know where I should… reckon. So you don’t end up surprised.”

Now you’re really laughing—a giggly mess beneath him as your arms loop over his shoulders. 

“Stop it,” he whines, pressing his nose to your cheek as you turn your head in an effort to not snort at your boyfriend to his face. “That was for your benefit, you know. You get squeamish.”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t take you seriously when you refer to it as reckoning.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase. When I come, you essentially have two options. Inside, or on your stomach. Tell me where you want it.”

Your breath catches and your stomach does that tripping-over-itself thing again. 

“Um…”

Another fond half laugh, at your expense, is pressed against your skin. It’s enough to prompt you into answering—he doesn’t have to say anything to make his point about your being squeamish. 

“Inside,” you mutter, shy as you attempt to bring him closer so he won’t be able to look at you quite so closely. You wonder if he’s remembering the conversation you’d had over the phone last week—before he’d accidentally kind of broken up with you—about this very subject. You certainly are. 

“Okay. I want you to have everything that you want.” A few kisses to your neck later, between nips, he speaks again. “Just need to hear that you want this one more time.”

“I want this,” you repeat, obedient and honest, plain and simple. “Now, please.”

Spencer responds by first kissing you, firm and loving. It soothes you, and he punctuates it with a kiss to your cheek, before he’s reaching down and guiding himself between your legs. You feel surprisingly calm, more overcome with love and the light pleasure rolling down your back as he drags himself over your clit than you are by nerves. Still, you pointedly hold his gaze, not looking down in case you psych yourself out. He slots himself in place, tip resting against your entrance. 

“Remember, if you need to stop at any point—”

“I remember,” you cut him off hurriedly. 

Okay. So perhaps you’re still slightly nervous. 

He watches you, sympathetic though you’re not sure what for. 

“I need you as relaxed as possible, okay? I want this to be easy on you.”

You take a moment, scanning your whole body for tense muscles. When you feel sufficiently relaxed, you offer Spencer a small nod, and at that, he begins pushing into you ever so slightly. 

At first, it just feels foreign. He’s going so slowly, so carefully, you’re not sure he’s moving at all—until he finds resistance and the odd full feeling changes to a hint of burning stretch. Your hips jump and your breath catches, and Spencer stops immediately, relieving the pressure with a tiny shift in position. 

“It’s gonna hurt,” you realize, eyes darting between his like he might be able to tell you otherwise. You’d always been aware of the possibility, but you were holding out hope that you’d be one of those people who didn’t experience any pain their first time. 

“Just for a minute. Then it’ll feel good, angel.”

You swallow and nod. At the end of the day, you trust him completely. You trust him enough to let him hurt you. 

“Super deep breaths for me.”

He watches intently as you follow his directions, taking several deep breaths in succession, before he begins pushing into you once more. The pressure builds and builds until he pushes past that point of resistance, and it’s like he’s breaking you in two. 

“Ah,” you gasp, abs twisting as your body tries to escape the sensation without any input from you. 

“I know. I know, baby, that was the hardest part. Breathe.”

He drops his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles with light pressure to distract from the pain.

You nod, lips pressed together tight as the deep ache muddles your brain. It’s an insistent pressure against something does not seem to want to budge. It burns and stretches and is laced with sour, flirtatious pleasure so that you can hardly tell what it is you’re feeling. Mostly, you’re dizzy and hot.

“Relax, just like that,” he strains, looking down. “My good girl. We’re almost there, baby.”

Cries spill unbidden from your mouth and your eyes shut as he continues to open you up deeper, until finally, finally, his hips settle into the cradle of yours. 

Spencer sighs a curse under his breath, so quiet you don’t think it was meant for you. 

He’s inside of you. It’s bizarre. 

You whimper, and he snaps out of whatever revery he’d been in. 

“You okay? How does that feel?”

You take a shuddering breath, closing your eyes and trying to clear your head to no avail—your thoughts are like TV static. 

“I’m good. I need… I need a minute.”

“You can have as much time as you need. It’s a lot, huh?”

“Yeah,” you admit, voice small and weak. 

“I bet,” he agrees, peppering soft kisses all over your face. “But you’re doing so well. Proud of you, brave girl. You’re doing so well and we’re gonna make sure it feels good soon, okay? Whenever you’re ready.”

“Will you please kiss me again?” you whisper, and Spencer’s brow knits with concern.��

“Of course, angel. Of course I’ll kiss you,” he says, and makes good on his promise with his lips on yours. It sweetens the ache. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can have anything. You’re so perfect.”

He kisses you again, just as lovingly, and soft, like you’re delicate. All the praise is only contributing to your lightheadedness, but you don’t mind at all. It feels good. 

“You can… you can move.”

“Okay. We’ll go really slow, yeah?”

He waits for your nod before his hips are pulling back and you arch at the odd sensation. When he pushes back in, eyes carefully locked on yours the whole time, you keen slightly, frowning and brain shorting out as it tries and fails to process this new feeling. 

“Uh-huh. You’re okay, I promise.”

At first it doesn’t feel good. It mostly hurts. But slowly, the pain begins to abate as you acclimate to having him inside of you, and he’s careful the whole time. 

“Spence?” 

“Hm?”

He sounds concentrated on the task at hand—you’re entranced by the sight of him above you, the parted lips, the unkempt hair over the brow furrowed in pleasure and focus. But he’s never too busy for you. 

“Does it… um—” you pause to hold back a whine—“what does it feel like for you?”

At this, he slows even further and chuckles—it’s a strained, slightly breathy sound. 

“For me?”

“Mhm.”

“You feel perfect, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

The slight fry in Spencer’s voice as he curses, which is a rare event in and of itself, flips your stomach, turns you on immensely. The idea that you’re giving him pleasure too—it’s almost overwhelming. That’s when it starts feeling good. 

“Oh—” you squeak, jaw dropping and bucking your hips inadvertently as the first bolt of true pleasure shocks deep in your core. He hums. 

“Yeah, is that it, sweet girl?”

But you can’t answer for a long moment. Your brain is melting as your legs lock around him. 

“Mm—it’s—it feels…”

“I know it does,” Spencer murmurs.

You whine and press your face into the curve of his shoulder as each thrust gently rocks your body. As the pace picks up bit by bit, you feel yourself clenching hard around him. His hips stutter and he hisses. 

“Ah. Can’t do that, lovely.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

He laughs breathily. 

“No, you didn’t hurt me. You almost pushed me out. You have to relax.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. “’M trying.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. I know you’re trying, baby, you’re being so good for me.”

Your nails skim his back—a small expression of a much larger desperation. Once he’s sure you’re relaxed around him, begins going faster. 

Your gasps and soft moans come more often now as he finds a steady rhythm and it feels so different when he’s actually fucking you. It feels like he’s everywhere. Every time your hips meet you feel the sweet shock of it in your teeth, your toes, the back of your neck. In the best way, you feel consumed by him. It’s not at all like you’d imagined, and it’s perfect. 

“Wait, Spencer,” you breathe, struggling to form the words. Immediately he stops again, lifting his head from your shoulder to examine your face. 

“What is it?”

He sounds just as wrecked as you feel, panting and strained and it feels good to hear. 

“I wanna watch.”

For a moment his eyes dart between yours like he’s trying to determine what you really mean—but you said exactly what you meant. Then he laughs, a huff of air from his nose as he presses his head to yours and gives you a quick kiss.

Your toes curl as he readjusts his position, holding himself a little higher and resting your heads together so you can both look between your bodies. 

“There,” he murmurs as he slowly begins to withdraw again. “Like that?”

But you can’t answer, because you’re too busy whimpering at the sight of him pushing into you. The feeling seems to increase tenfold as you watch it happen. Distantly you wonder how the fuck it fits. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Like that.”

Spencer takes this as a blessing to find a pace again, slower now as he seems to be just as enthralled by the sight as you are. 

“Give me your leg,” he rasps after a few moments like that, and you don’t know what he means exactly but you lift your right leg slightly only for him to press his hand to the back of your knee and push toward your chest, effectively opening you up and giving him more range of motion. It also enables him to fuck you even deeper. Again he slows, apparently savoring the feel of you yielding around him all the way down to the hilt. 

Black spots dance in your eyes as he settles at your deepest point—not pain, necessarily, just overwhelming sensation. Your jaw drops and you choke out a moan as he presses into recesses you didn’t know you had, as he shows you a part that you might have gone the rest of your life without knowing existed. He stops there, like that. Everything stops there, like that. If the cars on the road below ceased to drive, if the airplanes froze in the sky, you’d not be the least bit surprised. Somehow, you’ve unlocked a small eternity. There’s no sound but your joint heavy breathing and your heart pounding in your ears. The words just come bubbling up out of you in a little whine. 

“I love you.”

Spencer’s breath pauses for a moment before he’s letting it all out at once, brushing his lips up the ridge of your nose before they settle on your forehead in what seems like a permanent kiss. A few breaths in, you allow your eyes to flutter shut. Your heart rate slows down a touch, and you settle into the moment, never having been quite so content as you are like this—never having felt quite so adored and safe. 

“I love you,” he finally echoes, voice rasping, lips still pressed to your skin, still breathing against your hair. When he starts to move again, drawing back ever so slowly, you hiss softly. He raises his head from yours, and you look away from where he’s pulling out, meeting his eyes just in time for him to push back in, just as deep. They shine in the mostly-dark room and you moan unabashedly. It’s a high-pitched, sweet thing, nothing that will have the neighbors complaining—but so clearly true, from the depths of your soul, an expression of everything you’re feeling—not just the pleasure. 

Although that’s good, too, as Spencer shapes you to him again and again, the head of his cock kissing places nobody’s ever been and places you hope nobody else will ever venture to. This is all you need. Him. 

“Jesus,” Spencer groans, eyes fixed on your face as he fucks you slowly. But you can’t bring yourself to talk, too new to this kind of pleasure to find it anything other than mind-boggling and world altering. Your lips are still parted, allowing each sound to pass without filter. “Listen to you, beautiful.”

When he stops again, just to look down and marvel at you, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you can taste the pleasure on the back of your tongue and he keeps taking it away when it’s so close. But on the other—you’re just as overwhelmed as he said you’d be. Your body has never had to process this kind of sensory information before, and you’re exhausted, but it’s so good. 

“Spencer,” you manage. He looks up, pupils blown and eyes lidded where they’d normally be wide. “Please don’t stop.”

He swallows, spurred into action again as soon as you say it. 

“Good?”

You nod and whine again as he picks up the pace bit by bit, remembering to push your leg back once more so he can get as deep as you need him. 

“So good,” you exhale at the top pitch of your voice. Your brows pinch and you release a fuller moan as Spencer finds a speed that’s fast enough to constantly feel good no matter where he is. You’re gasping for breath, back arching—and he finds a new angle, catching against the spot inside you that renders all those years of human evolution that gave you sentience and intelligence a waste. He chuckles airily at your series of series of affronted moans and halted gasps. 

“Right there? That's a good spot, isn’t it?”

“Oh, go—fuck, fuck!”

It feels so good it almost hurts, and your eyes are stinging to prove it. Your legs clamp tighter around him and you realize there’s a very lewd wet sound and you can’t believe that’s you. 

“Spencer, you’re—oh my god, I love you,” you whine, and it sounds like you’re pleading for your life. At this makes his own sound of pleasure, and hastens his messy circles on your clit as if in reward. 

But it’s too much all combined. 

Your hand claps to your mouth to obscure the loud, licentious moan that comes out—but Spencer immediately moves his hand from between your legs to grab your wrist and pin it gently to the bed, intertwining your fingers. 

“Don’t do that. Let me hear.”

You nod, and he lets go of your hand to return his fingers to your clit. If possible you get wetter around his cock—you can feel yourself gushing. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as if pained. 

“Yeah? Gonna finally let me feel you cumming, angel?”

He has a filthy mouth when he wants to. The words hit like high voltage to your core and the very pit of your stomach. You can’t even respond beyond a desperate sob. 

“Show me, baby. I’m right here. Let go.”

You cum around his cock with a broken cry and it’s like a purge of every drop of angst you’d felt over the past week or so—hell, it’s a purge of all the insecurities that had bubbled to the surface since you started dating him. None of it matters anymore. How could it matter when you have him? When you have this?

The orgasm washes you out like a tidal wave, taking everything with it. It’s strong, and it’s so good, so intense, your body is overwrought with sensation and it’s too much even though it’s perfect. Your brain is drawing a blank as it tries to react to the feeling, and it’s like every button on the damn panel has been hit. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” Spencer grits, and you feel it in the way he adjusts his position, shifting as he grips at the edge of the mattress for leverage and the thrusts become messier, needier. You gasp as his other hand tangles in your hair, turning your head to ghost your lips over his forearm. It’s not entirely surprising when his own lips find your shoulder—but the feeling of him finding his release just as his teeth sink into your skin does come as quite a shock. It doesn’t hurt, and you’re sure there’s no skin broken, but it’s an undeniable fact that he has grounded himself in the throes of passion by biting down on you.

Inside you, he feels hot. Searing, almost, as his spend tries to fill space that doesn’t exist. There is absolutely no room for anything else inside of you. Stars dance in your eyes at the overstimulation, but long after he’s finished he’s still fucking into you—albeit much slower and with far less technique. Spencer moans like a two bit whore, like he’s reached pain to a point of ecstasy, and to you it’s as good, as special as the singing of the planets. If he’s as sensitive as you are now, it’s no small feat for him to keep going on like this. It’s a testament to how much he doesn’t want it to be over. The pleasure is carrying him away, but you’re beginning to feel how soft you must be and how if he continues on like this you may bruise like an overripe peach. 

“Spencer,” you manage, skating your hand up and down his back in what you hope are soothing lines. “Baby.”

He whines as his lips detach from your shoulder, but his hips finally slow to a stop, nestled inside you. 

“Jesus, fuck, I'm sorry,” he breathes, opting now to bury his face in your neck (with significantly less biting this time).

You’re still reeling, toes still curled, still struggling to breathe as your head spins and spins and spins. His chest pushes against yours with every heaving breath, hot and heavy on your skin, and that’s the only sign he’s still alive until his hand eventually reanimates in your hair, scratching your head tenderly. 

For a span of minutes, you stay like that—silent, twined together like caducean serpents. His weight on top of you is perfect. This, the lack of differentiation between your body and his, is perfect. You don’t know where he ends and you begin and you don’t need to. It’s a blissful moment. 

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, lifting his head to look at you with flushed cheeks and messy hair and sparkly eyes. 

“Hi.”

He smiles. 

“You’re so pretty.”

“You too,” you murmur, moving your hand from his back and pressing your thumb into the hollow of his cheek. His eyes map the curves of your face as he pushes your surely askew hair back. 

“How do you feel?”

It takes you a moment to seriously consider his question, scanning your body for any undue pains, but for the moment, you find none, beyond a dull aching throb that you can manage. 

“Good. Tired.”

You wince at the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. Spencer hums sympathetically and presses a sticky kiss to your lips which makes it a little better, though you can’t ignore how uncomfortable all the previously pleasant wetness has become between your legs. 

“Here—stay here, I’ll get a wash cloth and—”

“It’s fine,” you insist, holding on even as he tries to roll off of you. “I just need… will you stay here for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he promises, now pressed close to your side and propped up on an elbow, “whatever you want.”

You lavish in his gaze, warm like a spotlight, as he strokes your cheek and plays with your hair. Very quickly you’re lulled into a doze, eyes fluttering shut. Minutes stretch. You feel drunk on waking dreams, and perfectly at peace. Safe. 

“Angel girl,” he christens you fondly. More than anything, it’s an observation, so lovely it sinks into your skin like a balm, soothing every tired muscle and little mark he’d made. Even half-asleep, it makes you smile. 

“You’re an angel,” you slur, reaching blindly for him, and he chuckles, catching your wrist and helpfully settling your hand on his cheek. 

“I thought you were asleep.”

You hum, “mm-mm,” looking up at him with just as much adoration as he has for you. Those cuddle hormones must be kicking in because soon you’re attempting to pull him back on top of you. He doesn’t quite comply, probably for fear of crushing you—rather he settles next to you, gathering you in his arms. 

Silence blankets the two of you, but it’s not unpleasant as you just watch each other with barely-there smiles curling your mouths. This kind of intimacy still manages to give you butterflies, even after everything else you’ve done. This kind of satisfaction, reverie in the sound of each other’s blood flowing and lungs filling. Setting aside words because you don’t need conversation as a pretense for wanting to be around each other anymore. You don’t need an excuse to look at him like this. You don’t need words any more than you need clothes. It’s enough to just be. 

“I love you,” he says, a soft reminder, and entirely redundant with the way he’d already been looking at you, touching you. 

“I know. I love you too.”

The smile flickers brighter on his face. 

“And thank you.”

Your eyes narrow minutely as you consider what he could possibly be thanking you for. 

“For what?”

“For loving me. And trusting me. It’s…” your heart squeezes as you realizes tears are pooling in his eyes. He takes a moment and clears his throat. It’s incredibly endearing. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

You look down, thumbing at the sheets where you’ve hoisted them over your bodies. 

“You do realize how lame we are if we have sex and both immediately start crying, right?”

At this he laughs loudly but not loud enough to pop the little bubble you’re in, and you look up just in time to catch the brilliance of his smile, the way it changes his whole face and he becomes superhuman in his beauty, the lines that form by his eyes and the way they narrow and crystalline tears bead his lashes like precious gems. 

“Don’t cry,” he requests gently, hypocritically as your own eyes sting. The way his smile fades is like the sun setting. Gorgeous, like everything else he does. “You’ve cried so much, honey. Please don’t cry.”

You sniffle, gathering yourself. 

“I’m not. That would be pathetic.”

Spender leans forward to kiss you tenderly a few more times. Ordinarily you’d worry about coming across as clingy when you hold onto him so closely and so insistently like this, but for now you don’t care. Neither does he, it seems, as he seems unable to get you close enough. Eventually, you end up curled against him, head tucked under his chin and dozing on and off as he traces shapes into your skin. 

“What are you writing?” You mumble some time later, cheek smushed against his shoulder. He only responds with a soft hm, like he was lost deep in thought. You clarify, “it feels like you were writing something.”

“She Walks in Beauty.”

Your lips pull into a sleepy smile. 

“The Lord Byron poem?”

The first time you’d met Spencer, he’d inadvertently caused your painstakingly annotated copy of Lord Byron’s works to go flying all over a cafe, and then kindly helped clean up the pages and reorder them for you in record time. Among the poems had been She Walks in Beauty. 

“Yeah. I was trying to figure out when exactly I fell in love with you, and as someone who is deeply skeptical about love at first sight, I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I keep coming back to our first conversation. I mean, I believe in genetic compatibility, and how that contributes to attraction and what we think of as chemistry, but—”

“Wait, what about our first conversation did it?” Your cheeks ache from smiling as you speak. “As I recall I was being a bitch and I was covered in coffee.”

He laughs dreamily, still tracing letters over the small of your back. You wonder what part of the poem he’s at now. 

“Yeah, mean to me and covered in coffee is pretty much exactly my type. But I think it was actually the annotations on that copy of Lord Byron’s works. They were so insightful, and personal, I—it kind of took my breath away, and I know I shouldn’t have read them all but I couldn’t stop. You were compelling, and charming, and funny and wildly intelligent and beautiful and… and I didn’t stand a chance.”

Everything aches. It’s a good ache. Despite being seconds from tearing up all over again, you snort. He never told you about that first day.

“You thought me writing ‘sister fucker’ in all caps every time he mentioned Augusta was charming?”

“Oh, obscenely so. But now that I’m looking back, I feel like… I feel like I can’t remember not being in love with you. I mean, I remember when I realized I was, and that was later. But it was like I met you, and then I was just… waiting for you to catch up.”

You grab his hand and interlace your fingers, watching the way the ambient nighttime light from the window and the bathroom dips them half in color. 

“We were pretty much on the same page. I was debating courthouse versus small intimate ceremony as soon as you left.”

You watch him watching your joined hands, features soft and relaxed, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly as he speaks. 

“Definitely small intimate ceremony. I have too many friends who would kill me if they weren’t invited to the wedding.”

You giggle and pretend the thought doesn’t give you butterflies. You imagine a ring on your finger, the one he’s got between his own. Marriage had never been something you’d considered. Not when you had no reason to. It seemed like something for other people. But maybe one day, it will be for you, too. 

“Did you know Lord Byron had a daughter who is regarded by many as the first computer programmer? She wrote the first algorithm for a theoretical machine that was so complex it couldn’t be built with the technology available at the time. It was called an Analytical Engine.”

He sounds almost wistful as he gives you the utterly unprompted, but still welcome, abridged version of her life. The description is ringing a bell—but you can’t quite place her, sleepy as you are.  

“What was her name?”

“Ada Lovelace. She was exceptionally gifted. The odds of parent and child being so extraordinary in their respective fields are incalculable, but from a purely theoretical perspective, negligible. I mean, they’re both massive historical figureheads. That’s extremely uncommon.”

You adore it when he goes off on these tangents—the passion that stains his voice, the ardor that grips him until he has no choice but to tell you exactly what’s got him so excited. You could listen to him talk for hours. It means he’s here with you, and he wants you to love what he loves. 

Since he met you, that’s all Spencer has wanted—for you to love what he loves. 

You want the same. 

“Pretty name,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me more.” 

-

part eight

[capsi-cuminme]

Blowing Off Steam

summary: in which you're very stressed, and sparring is the only way you can destress. you're having trouble finding a partner though, so logan volunteers to help.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mild swearing, fingering, some dirty talk, lots of horny thoughts, 18+ MDNI

author's note: ahhhh sweaty logan on a fighting mat is all i need. anyways, thank you guys sm for the response on my other fic, as a gift i bring you smut ;)

•──✦──•

You’re stressed. You’ve been overworking yourself, you know it, and you need to relax, destress. Your body feels wound up with tension and energy, and you’re unable to release it. It’s not like you have super complicated abilities that mess with your mind and make you lose your shit, no - that’s Jean’s set of troubles, not yours. Your ability is simple enough - super strength. 

So what is it that isn’t simple then? Right. Someone you can actually truly train with and exert yourself out with. There aren’t a load of people who can physically keep up with your strength, not except Colossus, and even he’s just a kid. So when, at times, you want to blow some steam by training, you have next to no one to do it with. 

Or, you didn’t, not until Logan came along. You’ve sparred with him a couple of times, but only for excessively short periods of time, due to you not being able to keep your shit together because of his overwhelming attractiveness. Honestly, you don’t think it’s your fault that you’re unable to focus; his arms look like he could rip apart logs of wood with them, his shoulders are so wide that they’re practically made for people to rest their ankles on, and his demeanor - his understated, wolfish demeanor makes you go insane. 

And as if all these things weren’t bad enough on their own, they tend to get exponentially exemplified whenever you guys spar. Obviously, fighting makes him breathe hard and stuff. So your life becomes even tougher. 

Really, you aren’t trying to be horny around him all the time. But that’s the thing. You’re pent up, stressed, overworked. Being a member of the X-Men means that it gets really hard to get laid due to several factors, and then when your coworkers are so hot? God help you. 

As you sit on the gym’s bench, staring at the sparring mats, you strain your mind to think of someone to spar with. You could ask Colossus, the kid’s always more than ready and could give you some competition on one of your bad days. But there’s too much of a risk. You’re already restless with energy, itching to let yourself go; in case the kid isn’t prepared or you get too excited, you’d end up hurting him, which is something you can’t risk. 

You could maybe go to Ororo and Scott, ask them to come at you together? The two of them together would successfully tire you out. Maybe they’d become a bit more than you’re mentally willing to handle. You don’t want to have to strategise at every step. 

God, you just need someone who can handle whatever you throw at them without having to think too much. Unfortunately for you, there’s only one person in the mansion who can do that. 

“Oh hey Bub, what you doing here? Got no classes to teach?” The somehow smooth but gravelly voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you turn to look at Logan, entering the gymnasium. 

Internally rejoicing at his choice of clothes - the white wifebeater under the oversized jacket - while simultaneously praying that he isn’t here to stay, you get up from your seat to speak to him. “Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“And you’re blowing off steam by… sitting on the bench?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. 

You sigh through your nose, smiling exhaustedly. “No, genius. I was confused about what I should do to destress.”

Your prayers go down the drain as you notice his eyes light up at the prospect of a sparring partner. Nodding to the mats, he asks, “You wanna go?”

Tongue in cheek, you review your options for a moment. Go to bed frustrated and stressed, or fight an extremely attractive man who’s also able to keep up with you. 

“Sure, let’s go.” 

And that’s how you find yourself attempting to elbow Logan in the face. He dodges and takes a step back, but not too far. Turning, you see the grin etched on his face. Taking it as a challenge, you feign a movement to the right, but attack from the left. Your arm aims for his face, but he deflects it by pushing your momentum to one side, stepping away and behind you and putting you into a headlock.

“What’s up?” he murmurs into your ear. “Can’t figure out what to do? Are you really that tired, huh?” 

You felt his chest heave from behind you, his warm breath tickling your ear. Body humming with excitement and mind buzzing with the thrill of finally being in an equal match, you grit your jaw, throwing your head back against his. As much as you enjoy the tone of his voice, you hope it hits him in the mouth just so he can shut up, because being aroused is not something you’re looking forward to. 

Yes you’re horny, maybe even a little perverted, but you truly don’t have any ulterior motives. 

Logan hisses as his grip on you loosens. Shimmying your way out of his grip, you lunge at him, arms ready to swing, but instead of throwing a punch when you get near, you use your leg to swipe at his legs, resulting in him landing on his back.

Silently rejoicing, you straddle him, pulling your arm back to land a punch on his jaw, but unfortunately he grabs hold of your arms before you can do that. As a result, you’re left heaving on top of him, arms immobile, face right above his. You don’t miss the way he breathes, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes glinting with something you can’t fully identify. You also don’t miss the dampness of your underwear, the electricity you feel where you’re sitting on him. You realize you’re playing a dangerous game. Just as you’re about to make a move to get up, Logan suddenly moves you by the grip he has on your arms, slamming you onto the mats with considerable force. He looms on top of you, looking down. You squeak in indignant surprise, but he pins your arms on both sides of your face, lodging his thigh between yours. You gasp, not expecting the sudden escalation of events. ���Darling, you know I’ve got a heightened sense of smell, right?” he asks, drawling. “I can smell your arousal, practically feel how you’re soaking down there.” Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stare up at him, not sure what to say, how to apologize. “Logan, I- I’m sor-” “Don’t have to say a word, Darling, I’m the same as you,” he emphasizes his point by rolling his hips against yours. You whimper quietly, feeling his erection pressing against your clit. “If I’m not interpreting this correctly, you can stop me,” he hums, getting closer to your face. Waiting for your approval, he looks at you. You close the distance between the both of you, borderline moaning as you feel his tongue grazing against your lips, asking to enter your mouth. More than willing, you grant him entry freely, whimpering as his tongue explores your mouth. You break the kiss, short of breath, but your distance doesn’t last long. Logan is sloppily making out with you as he grinds against you. Your bodies move hurriedly, in urgent need of release. 

“Lo,” you gasp between the kisses, “need you so bad, please.” He complies, hands leaving your arms as he gets on his haunches and quickly unbuttons your pants, pulling them down. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb pressing against your clit, gauging your reaction. Your eyes widen due to the unexpected movement, and you gasp. Satisfied with your response, he rubs short, quick circles against your clit, stimulating you as he slowly pushes in one finger. You moan, hands reaching down to stop the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so your body’s sensitivity is at an all-time high. Logan doesn’t care, swatting away your hands, slipping in another finger. He moves them in shallow thrusts, stretching you out while looking for the spot that’ll finally get you wound up enough for his liking. You bite your lip to keep yourself silent, staring at the way Lo’s fingers pump in and out of you, making a mess out of your cunt. Suddenly, his fingers press into that spot that you’re never quite able to reach yourself, making you let out a loud moan. “Lo, Lo please, right there please, don’t stop-” you break your own voice off with an even louder whimper, eyes closing due to the pleasure. Logan watches you with keen eyes trained on your face. He speeds up his fingers and thumb, enjoying your reaction thoroughly, as it ignites something deep within him. He palms himself lightly, hissing as he realizes how hard he is. “Shit, darling, you make me insane,” he mumbles, guiding one of your hands to the bulge in his jeans, making you feel him. Your mouth falls open with a little “oh,” as you feel him. You try to palm him to relieve some of his tension, but fail as his fingers pump in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “O- oh God, Lo, I’m cumming, please please please-” you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes over you, thrashing on the mat. Logan holds down your hips, continuing his languid movements, easing you out of the feeling in waves. As you finally relax, catching your breath, you look up at him, unsure of what comes next. Usually by this point, guys tended to take their own pants off. Logan’s were still very much on. Before you could verbalize your confusion, he speaks. “I think we’ve blown enough steam off in the gym,” he chuckles. “I don’t want Charles to gim’me looks the entire month. I say we take this upstairs bub, what d’ya say?”

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s even asking, when there’s only one possible answer you could make out through the haziness of your mind. “Yes, let’s go.”

[sadhours]

kinktober day two • accidental stimulation

aka: melting

steve harrington x fem!reader

kinktober masterlist

cw: 18+, minors dni, dry humping, public sex (kind of), slight humiliation, p in v

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

Scoops Ahoy! is the bane of your existence. Shilling ice cream for bratty kids and old classmates is a real pain in the ass. Especially on days like today, when you have to work with Steve instead of Robin. Steve’s annoying, always has been. You were once paired up with him for a biology project in high school and he didn’t do a goddamn thing but took credit and you’ve been holding onto that grudge for years. At the time, Steve treated you like the dog shit under his shoe but times have changed.

You’d sprouted tits and actually learned how to take care of yourself— how to wear makeup and style your hair. It’s landed you in a weird spot with Harrington. He hits on repeatedly, almost on the hour during hour six hour shifts. Maybe if he’d hadn’t been such a dick to you in high school, you’d consider it because let’s face it; Steve Harrington is a babe. A stupid, arrogant babe. It’s kind of fun, turning him down. Feels like you’ve won something. Even though, you ponder what would happen if you gave into his incessant flirting.

However, today, you wanna sock him right in his beautiful face. He’s been incredibly annoying, complaining how he hasn’t felt the touch of a woman since Nancy and how the uniform really isn’t helping his case. You’d beg to differ. He unfortunately looks… attractive in it. But he’s fallen off the social ladder and that’s why the girls reject him.

It’s closing time, you’re bent over into the drop ins. Covering the big gallons of ice cream when Harrington tries to sneak behind you to close up the topping bar. His crotch grazes your ass and he freezes. Pathetically, makes a shocked noise and presses his hand against the small of your back.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice echoing inside the drop-in freezer.

Steve doesn’t move, keeps his crotch firmly pressed against your ass and even rolls his hips. You can feel his cock hardening behind his polyester shorts and your eyes widen. Why the fuck isn’t he moving? And worse, how did he get hard just from barely grazing against you? He’s really down bad.

You try to look back at him but then he’s grabbing your hips, rolls his again and you stare stunned down at the tub of U.S.S Butterscotch.

He jolts back, you can hear his body making contact with the counter behind him as he exclaims, “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to…”

You pull your head out of the freezer and turn to him, a sly smile spreading across your lips, “Did that make you hard?”

“No,” he lies but the proof is staring you in the face, those little blue shorts doing nothing to help him hide it.

You laugh, soft and shocked and fine, okay— flattered.

“Wow,” you exhale, “I didn’t realize it was that dire.”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head and tries to look nonchalant, but his cheeks are red, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Another laugh, your eyes trained on his erection straining through his uniform and then he moves his hands to cover it. His eyes everywhere but on you. You hum, pout and tilt your head, “You’re not as suave as you think.”

He swallows hard, “I need to, close the topping station… I uh—“

“Yeah… and I need to finish covering the ice cream. I’m gonna bend back over and do that…” you tell him, feeling bold because well, it’s been a long time for you to and you can’t deny you enjoyed the feeling of him against you. “If I feel something… I’m just gonna keep doing what I’m doing.”

You spin back around and get back to covering the tubs. Steve’s not as stupid as you thought, because when you duck back into the freezer, his crotch is pressed against your ass again. His large hands wrap around your hips, holding you steady.

Thank god you guys were behind tonight. The mall has to be empty, gates all closed and the whole food court is quiet. You wiggle back against him and Steve lets out a sound you hate to admit is pretty.

Keeping true to your word, you act as if nothing is happening as you cover all the tub while Steve grinds against you from behind. And you let him. Welcome it, actually. Feel pretty because of it. You even grind back against him, feeling your thighs heat up. This is dangerous yet it feels like maybe it was bound to happen. A part of you thinks that maybe if you give Steve this, he’ll stop being so insufferable. Like he needs to have this kind of interaction with a woman in order to stop seeking it out so desperately. You want to give Steve what he wants— what he’s been begging for for months.

The pair of you keep grinding into each other for a while. Until you start to feel uncomfortable from the coldness of the freezer. So you pull yourself out of it. Move over to the register and bend over the counter. Steve follows you, presses himself up against your ass again and drags his hands down your back.

So you reach behind you, pull the skirt of your uniform up and then push your underwear down your thighs.

“Fuck,” Steve exhales as he watches and you can hear him undoing his shorts and shoving them down. “I’ve had dreams like this.”

Yeah, that’s a big inflation to your ego. And you can’t help but admit, “Me too.”

Steve groans lowly, brings his fingers to your cunt and rubs them up through your folds. He scissors your clit and then brings them back down, circling around your entrance. “I’m kind of big, I should probably get you ready,” he says and sinks two fingers into your pussy.

You gasp and moan, rolling your hips back on his fingers. Part of you wants to look back, see if he’s exaggerating but from what you could see in his shorts, you don’t think he is. Steve thrusts his fingers in and out of you slowly, spreads them while they’re deep inside and you have to bite your lip to keep quiet. You’re sure you’re alone in this mall, aside from the security guards but they don’t hang around the food court this time of night. Better be safe, though.

“You dream about me?” you ask, voice shaky.

“All the time,” Steve breathes out, pulling his fingers out but circles the tips of them along your hole. “Didn’t know it’d be so easy like this.”

You giggle, pushing your ass back against him as you tell him, “Me either. You’re a pain in my ass, but you are cute.”

“Am I?” he asks, leaning over you and kissing against your neck just as he slides his fingers back inside you.

A groan pours from you as you close your eyes, “Shut up, Harrington, you know you’re hot.”

He licks your jaw, then nips at it gently before pressing his lips against your ear, “I know I am. I didn’t know you thought so, too.”

God, you wish you could see his face— to remind you how much you really think so. You know he’s still wearing that dumb sailor hat he hates so much and you haven’t had the guts to tell him he looks cute in it. He adds a third finger and the stretch of it has you crying out. Steve fucking tsks, tells you, “Just wait until I get my cock inside you.”

“Do it,” you plead, pushing your ass back against him desperately.

He nips at your jaw again, fingers leaving you abruptly as he grips his cock and guides his tip towards your hole. Once you feel it prodding, you inhale sharply. He slips the tip in, stretching you beautifully— almost has you in tears but he goes slow. Allows you to adjust to every inch as he mouths at your jaw and neck.

You feel like you're melting, hands gripping the counter as he sheathes himself inside you to the hilt. He’s completely inside you, hands clinging onto your hips as your walls grip and pulse around his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine out, “You’re so fucking big.”

He groans, right against your ear and mumbles, “I told you…”

Everything is fuzzy. Scoops Ahoy! doesn’t exist. You’re in space with Steve’s impressive cock buried inside you, not in the mall where there’s a potential to be seen. He thrusts forward hard and deep, making you yelp. He grabs your jaw, turns your face towards him and kisses you sloppily, silencing your involuntary noises. He tastes sweet, like the maraschino cherries he snacks on. You wonder if you taste like the ice cream sundae he made you for your break. You try to think about when he slid it to you and said he made it with love. Which is easy to forget as he rolls his hips, cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

“You’re so tight,” he babbles out.

You reply with, “you’re so big…”

“Feel good, yeah? Me stretching you out?”

“So… fucking… good,” you give in, gasping into the sideways kiss as he delivers a hard and deep thrust.

Steve’s hands reach around, cupping your breasts over your uniform and you wish you weren’t at work— but somewhere where he could feel you up, completely exposed. This will have to do, though. He kisses your neck sloppily, repetitively across the expanse of it that his lips can reach. Small, quiet moans falling past your lips, hopefully muffled by the tinny speakers playing easy listening throughout the mall.

“Oh, god, Steve…” you whine, hips jutting into the counter from the force of his thrusts.

His hands knead against your chest as he presses his face against the crook of your neck and breathes, rugged and heavy. He picks up his pace a bit more and you know he’s close, so you shove your hand down between you and the counter. Get your fingers pressed to your clit and rub circles, mirroring the rhythm of Steve’s thrusts. The feeling of his breath against your neck is surprisingly pleasant. You focus hard on reaching your climax, luckily getting there before Steve. Unfortunately, you can’t keep your volume under control as you moan. Feel too good to really care, even. Steve whines from the sound, pulling out of you quick and then you feel thick, hot ropes of cum landing on your exposed ass.

Then the pair of you stay still, awkwardly— just panting. You turn your head to look back at him as he uses his apron to clean the mess on your skin. It makes you laugh, which causes Steve to smile and laugh. He’s got his shorts back up and he moves to pull your underwear up. Then you turn and look at him. He chews his bottom lip, staring back at you.

“I uh, forgot to ask you earlier but, could you give me a ride home tonight?” you ask, cheeks red in embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” he nods, looking as awkward as you feel.

You grab onto the collar of his uniform and suggest, “Maybe we could hang out at your place for a bit, first?”

Steve grins, gorgeous white teeth on display and he puts his hands on your hips, leans down and says, “Yeah, that could be fun.” before he plants a kiss on your lips.

[charliemwrites]

A Thought™️ that I had yesterday after watching those AITA videos and babbling in the discord:

(This is also babble to be clear. I’ve been writing this throughout the morning so it might be a bit incoherent)

The 141 is shopping for a new team member, someone to round out their four person squad into five. They have a dozen candidates, pick one that looks promising, and transfer him over under the military equivalent of “probationary” status.

Pretty quickly they decide his personality alone might not make him a good fit but whatever, if he’s good at his job, they’ll suck it up. The “alpha male” posturing bullshit is kind of amusing in the meantime at least.

Well, first mission comes and goes. The guy isn’t too bad, honestly — apart from almost picking a fight with Gaz. Skills-wise he’s as advertised, so he gets to stay a bit longer while the 141 decides if they can stand him.

Post successful mission, though, they go out for drinks at the guy’s insistence. He invites his girlfriend — who he dragged along with him — to the bar to meet his new squad. (Because he thinks there’s no way they’re not making him a permanent teammate.)

And the 141 may be barely tolerant of him, but they decide almost instantly that they adore his girlfriend. She’s incredibly charming and bubbly, doesn’t even blink at Ghost’s mask. One of the first things she does is thank them for the opportunity they’re giving her boyfriend and for keeping him alive.

Which is about the time the real issue starts.

The boyfriend says some rubbish about “an alpha doesn’t need protecting, he does the protecting. He looks out for his pack.”

And you smile a bit awkwardly, looking embarrassed, and try to usher the conversation along.

It doesn’t take long for him to quickly fall out of what little favor he accrued. You’re a bright spot in their group, laughing and chatting with them all like you’ve known them for years. Incredibly sensitive to asking any hard questions and sort of forcing the conversation through the weird patches where your boyfriend interjects with some inane comment.

Eventually, your boyfriend gets sick of your chattering and tells you to fetch them more drinks. Soap instantly sits up, saying you don’t have to do that, but you gently wave him off. Chirp that you don’t mind doing it as a thank you for their service, and weave into the crowd.

The table goes uncomfortable quiet — apart from your boyfriend, who makes some ghastly comment about how you have a pretty face but an annoying laugh. When you get back, drinks expertly balanced in your hands, Ghost goes out of his way to drop puns that get you giggling like mad.

As the night ticks later, and your boyfriend gets drunker, he reaches the point you always dread.

“Garrick, le’s arm wrestle.”

“Baby, I don’t think that’s…”

“This is between us men.”

You groan a bit and sit back. Gaz looks befuddled but shrugs and agrees. It’s not even a contest; your boyfriend’s arm is flat to the table in all of ten seconds. Flustered, your boyfriend demands a rematch. And when he loses again, scoffs and demands a go with Soap.

You practically sink deeper and deeper into your seat before the secondhand embarrassment starts to weigh and you have to excuse yourself to the restroom. When you get back, the impromptu arm wrestling seems to be over, though your boyfriend is sulking in his corner of the booth.

When you gingerly slide back in, Price nudges you with his calf.

“Would you like a go, luv?”

You grin and shake your head. “I don’t fancy a broken wrist, Captain.”

“C’mon luv, you might surprise yourself,” he teases and you can’t resist the playful glint in his eye.

So you lock your thumb around his, elbow on the table, and push. And his arm incrementally goes down… down… down…

“Well would you look at that,” he muses.

You burst into laughter, flattered and endeared by his indulgence.

“That tough, eh?” Soap muses, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s see it, then.”

So you roll your eyes, fully expecting to get trounced. But just like with Price, he starts to relent when you put up resistance, making a show of straining and panting as he “loses.” When you’ve won, you finally play into the joke.

“Serves you right,” you tease.

By your side, you hear your boyfriend huff derisively. “Oh, come on.”

Before your fun can be ruined, though, Ghost is offering you his hand, dark eyes sparkling. You bite your lip, but it doesn’t hide your grin as you accept the unspoken challenge. His hand is huge around yours, but shockingly gentle. He goes down easiest of all, whistling in amazement.

“Look’it that, you’re a pro,” he says, “think we should all be buying you a drink.”

“She doesn’t drink,” your boyfriend interjects.

You huff and settle back into the booth. “Maybe some other time, Lieutenant Riley?”

“Count on it.”

You get into an argument with your boyfriend that night. He thinks you were “challenging his dominance” and “stirring the pot,” trying to sew discord and strife amongst the men to get them fighting over you. He says something about being the alpha of the group and that he would win but it’s insulting to him as your “provider” that you would question his authority.

He’s tipsy as he says it though, working himself up. You just follow the usual routine of soothing, reassuring, simpering — and then considering leaving when he’s finally asleep. But you’re far from home, don’t have the means to leave, and besides, you won’t be finding any support from your family on this front so…

Well, it’s not so bad, you remind yourself. He can be an asshole, but so can you and it takes two to fight. Besides, he only gets really bad when he’s been drinking and that’s only once a week? 1 out of 7 isn’t a bad ratio.

—

The 141 pretty much collectively decide that they adore you though. You get regularly invited to team outings, wherein your boyfriend keeps challenging (and losing) arm wrestling, while the boys coax you into “winning.”

They’ve also become rather adamant that you don’t bring them drinks anymore.

“You’re not our personal beer wench, yeah? We’re able to get our own pints,” Gaz soothes.

Your boyfriend chuckles and shakes his head, imparts his “wisdom” that it’s a female’s job to serve her man and his friends. As a sign of respect or something. You know it’s not an argument worth having and just sip at your drink in silence.

But you love going out with them. Love knowing the men keeping your boyfriend alive and they’re a good bunch. Respectful and funny and disciplined — you’re kind of hoping they snap your boyfriend out of this weird “alpha male” phase he’s been going through. On the other hand, you’re thrilled to be making something like friends. Sure, your boyfriend has made it clear that the 141 are his friends, but they’re always so conscious of keeping you involved and comfortable.

Then one night your boyfriend mentions what a “good little cook” you are and that instantly has all the boys perking up. Smiling, you offer to host during the Saturday League matches. They gleefully accept over your boyfriend’s protests about other men in his territory or something like that.

But when they do come over they’re horrified by the unspoken expectations. You tell them to sit, that you’ll bring them all drinks, with snacks on the way. They’ll be having none of it.

Ghost helps you with drinks, Gaz chops the veggies for snacks (and dinner). Soap pops in to keep you company while you babysit simmering pots. Price helps to tidy as you go, despite you’re fussing that he really doesn’t need to, he should be enjoying the games!

They end up spending more time with you in the kitchen than out in the den with their own teammate. You barely notice, swept up in the busy currents of playing hostess. When your boyfriend shouts that he needs another beer, you come back to find Price getting plates and utensils for dinner. It’s so thoughtful you could cry.

Even worse is when they help you clean up afterwards. Each of them taking and clearing their own plates. Soap on washing big dishes, Gaz on drying. Ghost is packing up leftovers. Price is turning over the dishwasher, asking you where dishes go and tutting when you insist you should be helping.

All the while, your boyfriend stands in the doorway telling you all the ways you could improve the meal next time. And how you definitely ate too much for your body size, etc.

He only stops when Price makes a pointed comment about standing around looking pretty.

When they leave, they each sweep you up in a hug and drop a kiss on your cheek, praising your home and cooking and hosting. Soap promises that he’ll get you a little souvenir on their next mission as a thank you.

And sure enough, three weeks later, the boys are coming by. Except your boyfriend is nowhere to be found — out with some other guys from the base that he says he hit it off with. The 141 insist that he agreed to a football watch again, the empty headed muppet.

And of course you’re not going to turn them away! They’ve brought you flowers, a little matryoshka set from their last mission, chocolates and wine. Not one of them is empty handed.

“Do you even like the game?” Gaz asks as you put it on.

“My favorite team isn’t playing until tomorrow but I don’t mind watching,” you answer, shrugging.

But somehow no football is watched at all. Instead they convince you to tell them your top three favorite movies, then claim none of them have ever seen any of them and they have to watch all of them.

Which is how your boyfriend finds his whole team enjoying a little movie marathon with you. You’re on the ground with Johnny (it’s Johnny now, for you) doing his eyebrows. Gaz is braiding your hair. Ghost (Simon) is sharing a bowl of candies with you. You’re sat against Price’s shins, the captain sitting in your boyfriend’s chair, lounging like a king.

When you welcome him back, telling him the boys are staying the night, he tries to throw a fit about it. How dare you let four strange men stay alone with you?! You calmly remind him that he promised he’d be home by 11 and it’s already nearly 1. And besides, he trusts them with his life, you’re allowed to trust them to be polite in your own home.

With all four of his teammates watching, tense and nearly hostile, he mutters something about being tired and storms off to bed. You end up falling asleep on the couch with ghost despite yourself.

And your boyfriend becomes absolutely haunted by his team’s (is it even his team? It feels more like yours!) affection for you.

They always invite you out even if he doesn’t plan to invite you. (When did you get any of their numbers?! Never mind Ghost’s. He doesn’t even have Ghost’s number.)

They stop by the flat constantly, sometimes dropping in. Other times staying for hours. Soap tells him that they’re all one big family; that includes you. (“Alright then why don’t we go hang out with one of your girlfriends?!” He had an actual nightmare about the laughter that gets him.)

And the fucking gifts. It’s not just soap bringing you things anymore. It’s all of them. Magnets, mugs, sweets, pretty rocks. Just garbage to your boyfriend but you treat it all like treasure. They’ve even got you sending them on hunts for specific things. Something blue, something with nuts, something with the flag.

Then there’s the base.

They bring you on one day — Price picks you up, the boys greet you at the barracks with coffee and breakfast. You’re put into a big 141 hoodie that says “Riley” on the back and toured around. You’re supposed to be “surprising” your boyfriend, but he’s busy with recruits and generally seems uninterested in being around you.

Not to worry though, the 141 is happy to show you a good time around base! Gaz and Johnny walk you through one of the obstacle courses, Simon lets you sit on his back for pushups during the last of his workout. Price takes you to the range and shows you the basics of shooting, then lets you catnap through the adrenaline drop in his office.

Your boyfriend only bothers to find you when Johnny and Simon are teaching you basic self-defense. Your boyfriend scoffs that you’re plenty protected by him, but you point out that he’s away too often to be of any real help — at which point Johnny tags you and bolts before your boyfriend can get all up in arms.

You only recognize that this little hurdle in your relationship has become a chasm when something happens. A big argument with your parents over the phone — you barely even remember what about. But instead of calling your boyfriend afterwards, your first call is to Gaz. (Because you know he’s the most likely to be free and paying attention to his phone.) You’re almost shocked when he picks up on the second ring. Your boyfriend has never answered on the first call.

When you try to explain through poorly-restrained tears, he coos at you to find a warm coffee shop and that they’ll be right there. “They” ends up being him and Johnny, since Simon and Price are locked up in an important meeting. They buy you hot chocolate and pastries while you vent to them, and end up leaving feeling better for once.

But you can’t break up with your boyfriend. Because if you do, the 141 will surely stop hanging out with you, and you value their company enough to put up with it.

At least until you come home one day to find all your little gifts gone. When you ask through a tight throat where everything is, your boyfriend says he was just making space. That you’ve been complaining that you two need a bigger flat, but now he’s solved the problem without wasting money.

You actually raise your voice for once, throwing an entire fit because this. This is the last straw. You storm into your bedroom, slam and lock the door, and call the 141.

A small part of you expects they’ll take his side or something. But nope. Simon soothes you on the other end, that the whole squad will be there in fifteen and to pack your stuff.

You do so while Price takes over and keeps you level. Reminds you of essentials to pack and explains that you’ll be coming to stay at his place, since he’s got off-base housing. It’ll be quiet and cozy and safe while you recover.

Five minutes away, they promise to be right there and end the call.

You could absolutely scream when your boyfriend — ex boyfriend — starts banging on the door. Demanding that you open the door to him. That you’re being over dramatic and blowing everything out of proportion. Using the “your emotional and irrational” line that you’ve heard a thousand times and are just about sick of.

Your heart stutters with relief when you hear the knocking at the apartment door, confused silence as your ex goes to see who it is. You take that moment to slip out, packed suitcase in hand.

You startle a bit at some commotion, round the corner to see your ex’s shirt bunched up in Johnny’s fists, looking ready kill him. No one seems inclined to pull him away; neither are you.

“How are you holding up, luv?” Gaz asks gently as Simon takes your bag.

“Been better,” you admit, sniffling as Price wraps you up in a hug.

“It was just things, luv,” he soothes, “we’ll get you a million more, if you like.”

You pull back to give him a miserable look. “But they were my things and they didn’t have to go anywhere. He just threw them out.”

Johnny snarls something out, but Gaz is already ushering you out the door. You tell your family about the break up through text and then shut off your phone, bundled into the backseat of an SUV with Gaz in the backseat. Price is in the front, all of you waiting for Simon and Johnny to come down.

“What now?” you ask quietly.

“Well, about time we cut that knob loose,” Price muses. “But that’s not your problem anymore.”

“Oh…

“And you, luv.” He looks at you through the rear view. “You get whatever you want.”

[supercutszns]

Hi!! Just had to drop in and say I LOVED your Luke fic and I can’t wait for more. I would love protective Luke with hurt/comfort, if that sounds interesting at all. Thanks for sharing your writing!!! 🌸

fighting chance; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 4.2k, luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader

synopsis: when an enemy takes advantage of your kindness during capture the flag, luke intervenes with a sword in hand.

warnings: a creepy boy👎, threats/harm to reader, she’s going through it, blood/injuries (nothing major), angry ANGRY luke, violence, lots of fluff/reassurance at the end<3

notes: thank you SO much for your kind words & your request!! hurt/comfort is my bread and butter my favourite fic genre of all time i think. & protective luke is just a bonus bc he’s already crazy so it can go as far as i want🤭 i’m not exactly sure what this turned into but if i fix it any more i'm going to go insane so hope you like it!

You’re not much of a fighter.

That alone is a normal thing to admit—plenty of people don’t like violence, the frisson of a challenge, the bruises that come with them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Unless you’re a child of Ares.

People at camp often ridicule your gentle nature when they see you with your half-siblings. They’re all gritted teeth and sharp edges, born warriors that take up all the space they can get. You, on the other hand, are lousy with weapons and even lousier with your fists. You’re quiet, attentive. While your siblings charge into battle without second thought you stay back, flitting around to adjust armour, change out weapons, oversee the terrain. Planning isn’t Ares’ style so you’re pretty much useless but nobody wants to admit it. You’re usually mistaken as a child of Hephaestus or Athena.

Unfortunately, you are a child of Ares, through and through—just in none of the ways that matter.

There are rare times your father’s influence peeks through. Not with bursts of rage or fists flying, but with thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts turn into words. Well, not sometimes. One time. This one.

The evening before the camp’s Capture the Flag game, every cabin gathered around the bonfire past dinner. To burn offerings, to chat, or in Luke Castellan’s case, to admire.

He watches you laugh with Clarisse from a distance. The Ares cabin leader always had a certain fondness for you. When Luke first started dating you he had to ask Clarisse for her blessing beforehand just to be sure she wouldn’t kill him. He’d do it a million times over just for the moment you look back, your face warming when you catch his stare. He rolls his eyes at you to lessen his smile, but he’s not sure it works. You giggle and turn back to your friend.

He’s always loved your softness; your capacity to defend and not attack. Your body rejects any skill you could possibly develop for violence. Believe him, he’s tried to teach you sword fighting, but the last time he gave you a lesson you nearly impaled yourself thirty seconds in. He loves your wit and your tenderness, your proficiency at preventing conflict, your refusal to argue. But a selfish part of him loves the fact that he’s your protector even more.

The night wears on with the flickers of fire and friendly banter. One of the times Luke looks back at you, his brows wrinkle. There’s a guy talking to you. A group of them, actually, but there’s one clearly leading the pack. Some Aphrodite kid. Luke’s jaw twitches.

“Hey, princess,” the voice makes you pull away from your talk with Clarisse, but you’re confused. Luke is the only one that calls you that.

“Um, me?” You ask when you see the boy in front of you. He’s tall, chest puffed out. It’s not an endearing silhouette. “What’s up?”

“You wanna be on my team for Capture the Flag tomorrow?” He asks nonchalantly.

You laugh politely, “Sorry, but I don’t think we’re allied with Aphrodite tomorrow. That’s your cabin, isn’t it?” You feel bad that you can’t remember—his face is so … plain.

He chuckles back, but it’s a lot less nice. “No, doll, that’s not what I mean.” He steps a little too close, and even though you know Clarisse is behind you it feels like she’s a thousand miles away. “Well,” he drawls, a smirk drawn out, “you meet me in the forest after we start, and then we can … you know. Confer.”

“Confer?”

“Yeah. You get what I mean, pretty girl, don’t play dumb.”

A revulsion coats your gut. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” you say as firmly as you can.

“What, pretty or dumb? Why not both?”

It’s demeaning, the way he says it, and it stirs a temper in your stomach you know you inherited from your father. You’re not big on confrontation. Or embarrassment. But this weirdo is talking to you out in the open and people are starting to stare. He wouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it, right?

“I’ll pass on your offer. I have a boyfriend and I’m actually on his team tomorrow, so I’d rather confer with him, sorry.” Your hands wring together but you do your best to quell them, imagining it’s the string of Luke’s camp necklace, threaded between your fingers. You try to look for him out of the corner of your eye.

He snickers, even though it’s common knowledge you and Luke have been together for months now. “So you are dumb, huh?” He tries to smirk and you assume is supposed to be sexy, but it’s just gross. His hand tries to slide around your waist.

“Don’t touch me, please,” you hit his hand away. Your skin is crawling and the knot inside you tightens.“Just leave me alone. People are looking, you know.”

“We could go somewhere where nobody looks,” he sneers, and the grin on his face is so sleazy that you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pray to your father for strength. And to yourself for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, are you stupid or something? I told you, no.” You snap. “Maybe you’re the pretty dumb one, but for a child of Aphrodite it’s shocking how little the first one applies.”

His eyes are wide, and the posse he’d assembled behind him has attracted quite the view. You almost feel like crying, all these eyes on you, but you’re so sick of people thinking they can walk all over you just because you’re not like your siblings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice—” He grabs your wrist as you leave but you yank it hard.

“Don’t. Touch me.” People are staring at you now, but the only one you care about is Luke, who looks equally ticked and equally proud, and all you want to do is kiss him. “Hope the only time we confer tomorrow is if somebody’s sword is at your throat.”

It’s the last thing you say to him. He starts to go after you but Luke is already at your heels. “Back off, man.” You can spot how all his muscles are already rearing themselves for a fight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, and he meets your eyes. Not now.

The altercation is lost the second the two of you leave the bonfire. Nothing matters when Luke has you in his arms, kissing you outside of your cabin, telling you how damn beautiful you looked.

You’re fixing a new Ares boy’s armour when Luke finds you. “Hey, angel,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He relishes in the way your face heats up. “You ready for battle?”

You smile, “Always.” You pat the kid on the cheek and send him on his way. He gnashes his teeth and roars, joining his siblings at the front. Luke catches the longing in your expression.

“All good?” He asks gently.

It takes you a second for your eyes to meet his. “Mmhm,” you swallow. “Just hope his armour doesn’t fall off.”

Luke sighs for a moment, then wraps his arms around you. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Be safe, okay? Stay close.” He kisses your temple, rubbing circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes sir,” you reply against his chest. His insides flutter.

He pulls your face up to his and kisses you, tender and wanting. “Let’s show these hooligans who’s boss,” he quips.

“You’ll show them. I’ll hide in the woods until some idiot comes along and tries to ambush you.”

Your dulcet tone has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. “You’ve always got my back,” he croons, kissing your brow.

“And you’ve always got our flag.”

You kiss him again and he lets you slip out of his arms no matter how badly he wants to keep you there forever. He watches you vanish into the trees, and his heart goes with you.

He gears up with his team and the horn sounds. Game on.

There’s yelling, sweat, adrenaline, and Luke embraces it all like a man starved. This is his chance to be ruthless, to let all his untapped rage cycle through him. This is why he’s unstoppable. This is why he’s the best.

Clarisse is unusually cooperative today, but competent as always, and whenever someone’s weapon breaks or they lose their team she just barks at them to go find you. You, the smartest person in Ares, who can mend a weapon with nothing but blades of grass and determination. Luke is pretty sure your cabin would be lost without you. He wonders if you know.

The groove of the game has fully enthralled him. He’s alert, his wrist nimble, his sword a living, breathing part of him. There’s almost nothing that can take him out of his victory path until he hears one of the younger campers tell Clarisse he can’t find you anymore.

Whatever nincompoop he’s dealing with is left groaning on the floor. “What?” He barks, hand flexing around his sword. “Where is she?”

“Probably just moved,” Clarisse grunts as she kicks back an opposing camper. “She knows where everything is. Maybe she’s—oof—safer.”

“But how am I supposed to fix my spear?” The kid frowns.

Luke runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, dry and laden with salt. He told you to stay close. Where would you go? “I’ll find her,” he decides, already sheathing his sword to walk towards the trees.

“Luke—”

“I’ll find her!”

He barely pays attention to the calamity going on around him. With a flick of his wrist he knows he can take out any person he wants. The second he gets to the trees, where the air is cooler, it’s startling how much quieter it is. No wonder this is your preferred hiding spot.

He thanks the quiet a thousand times over because if it had been any louder he wouldn’t have heard you scream.

It’s so short it’s almost indiscernible, but he knows it’s you based on how his body movies before his brain does. It snaps something in him, the adrenaline transformed into something acerbic, determined.

“Don’t fucking scream again.” A cluster of boys are stationed around you. You’re leaning back in the dirt. You barely feel the earth sticking to your skin. Just your heart jostling madly, your fingertips shaking in the ground beside you. “Okay, I won’t, just put the sword down—”

The snarling Aphrodite boy from last night takes a swing at you, and you scramble back just enough to avoid it. “No can do, doll.” His face is twisted with rage. The lackeys he had when you told him off are there too, cornering you against a cluster of trees like you’re some caged animal. There’s a dagger clenched in one of your dirt-ridden fists but you know it won’t do you any good. You can’t fight; you don’t have it in you. But these boys do. And they’re angry.

“Tell me where the flag is,” he orders. The tip of his blade comes under your chin, fogging up with the labours of your breath, your head pressed against the trunk of a tree.

You stutter, “You’re not—You’re not supposed to threaten like this—”

“You embarrassed me in front of all those people yesterday,” he cuts you off. “Thinking you’re so fucking smart. I didn’t even say anything that big a deal but you run your mouth to the entire camp and make me look like the idiot. I thought you were nice.”

The words are laced with poison. You know from the wild look in his eyes that this isn’t about the flag at all.

Tears sting your eyes and the sword grazes your throat. Of course this is happening to you. The one time you feel your father’s rage, when you exemplify the thing you’re told to be, you are punished.

You are never going to be the right kind of daughter.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you try to say it evenly, but your breath is so ragged it’s barely audible. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.” You mean it, but they won’t care.

The boy’s face looks pleased at your tears. It makes you inexorably ashamed. “Some fucking Ares kid,” he snorts. “Can’t even fight, can you? Can’t even pretend to.” His sword leaves your throat and travels up to your quivering jaw. You’re wordless, white-knuckling the dagger at your side, praying that Luke is somewhere nearby.

“No wonder they stash you back here. You’re useless.” His eyes scan every part of you, and the idea of him knowing what you look like forever is so revolting it makes you want to vanish. “Too bad you’re alone, though. Nobody’s gonna know I was here because nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Your eyes get wide, and something in your mind rumbles through you like an engine. An urge buried in your blood.

Your dagger tears into his leg just as his sword dashes your arm. The pain is sharp, stinging, but the boy winces and you know you hurt him too. It gives you just enough time to roll out of the way as he lurches forward. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He swears.

Blood drips onto your shorts, splotched with tears. You know you can’t go anywhere because his friends are here and you’re almost certain you’ll be maimed, but you tried. At least you tried.

The Aphrodite boy picks his sword back up, stalks towards you, and then freezes.

Because Luke has just spotted you. And he’s spotted the boy that has you on the ground.

And he’s the best fucking swordsman Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years.

“If you don’t get away from her right now I’m putting this through your skull.” He emerges from the foliage, his sword raised, sweat dripping down his face. You have never seen anyone look angrier. He has never felt angrier.

The boy blanches, and Luke sees how easily his lapdog friends shrink in his presence. Good.

“Woah, easy,” the boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and tries to flash a smile but it’s just fucking pathetic. His arms are shaking and his throat bobs about a million times. “We’re just playing the game.”

“Like hell you are,” Luke spits. “You gang up on my girlfriend and you expect me to believe this is fair play? Want me to tie you all together and push one of you off a cliff to keep the spirit going?”

“Didn’t know she was yours,” the boy tries to shrug but again, it’s a miserable attempt that only makes Luke feel stronger.

“Not that it matters but yes, you do,” Luke chuckles thickly. “I beat your ass in sword training last week. You know exactly who I am. And I’m sure you know who you are, so it’s obvious you’re playing out of your league here.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still cowering, blood dribbling down your arm. He wants to tear the world apart. “Apologize and maybe I don’t send you to the infirmary.”

“We just want the flag, man,” the boy swallows.

“And I want your head on a stick. Want to see who gets what first?”

It’s too provocative an insult for a moron like this to ignore, so soon Luke has the pleasure of disarming five bitter boys that have clearly never been good at a single thing in their life. He tears through them like sheets of paper, knocking them to the dirt, ripping their clothes. He thinks of you, just you, your honest heart and patient hands, and it’s enough to fuel him for a millennia.

The last boy, the leader, is at Luke’s mercy, and he has none to give. The flat of Luke’s blade is pressed horizontally against the boy’s neck, an angering similarity to the position he had you in earlier. “If you ever do this again, I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re—fucking—crazy—” The boy wheezes, the length of the blade squeezing his throat against a tree trunk. “I’ll—I‘ll tell Chiron.”

Luke has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from doing something he regrets. “Oh yeah? You want me to tell Chiron how you harassed and terrorised a girl in the middle of the forest all in the name of play? Want me to tell him what you said to her last night at the campfire? Because I’m sure it won’t take much for him to get rid of your ugly face as it is, and I’m a camp counsellor.”

He knows it’s not the most morally correct use of his title. He knows he might be stepping over the line. But he also knows you’re always being ignored or trampled over and he’s tired of pretending like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired of people trying to force you into something you’re not. Of you crying in his bed at night because they’re trying to drag a violence out of you that isn’t there. Always in the name of fucking play.

Luke takes the sword off the boy’s neck and shoves him backwards. His calf is bleeding, not a deep wound, but a wound nonetheless, and Luke is full of pride when he realizes you did that. The boy’s bad leg makes him wobble and fall at the force of the push. Luke enjoys watching the scramble. “I—I was just trying to be nice, it’s not my fault she took it the wrong way!” The boy flails his hands in the air, rising to his feet again, and Luke shoves him down twice as hard. A piece of his shirt tears off in Luke’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop talking or I really am going to kill you,” he seethes. “Don’t touch her ever again. Go.”

Luke is sure he looks homicidal right now because the guy finally tumbles his way down the hill. His body fades into the distance, swallowed up by shrubbery and sweat.

The second he’s gone Luke tosses his sword and armour and gets back to you. “Shit,” he mutters, kneeling down. You’re still shaking, your head in your arms, and all his hatred morphs into a love so desperate it terrifies him. “Angel, come here. Let me see.” He lifts your face with his hands and scans you rapidly. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Anywhere?”

“Just my arm,” you whimper. “My arm.��

He knows it’s not the cut that’s hurting you; it’s long, but thin, and it’s not bleeding too thickly. He takes the cloth from the Aphrodite boy’s shirt and wraps it around your arm, knotting it at the end. “All right, that should be better.”

You look at him with watery eyes, and he knows all you need is for him to hold you. He folds you in his arms and leans against a stump. You can’t get close to him fast enough. The tip of your nose buries itself in his neck and he feels the dampness of your cheeks on his skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt swaths over him for a brief moment; he wonders if he shouldn’t have done all that, if he should’ve been more sensible. Then your lips form a ‘thank you’ against his skin and all is forgotten.

You feel so small. The shock is still running its course, so all you can do is cry it out. Your hands still shake when you thread your fingers through Luke’s necklace to steady them. He soothes you the best he can, running his hand along your spine, all the sharpness of his voice softened just for you. “You’re all right, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that for a while. The sounds of the forest return to you; leaves in the wind, birds chirping, Luke’s breath tickling your hair. You crane your head up to nuzzle your nose against the faint stubble of his jaw. “My hero,” you murmur, and feel his skin shift as he smiles.

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Saw the cut you gave him on his leg.” He kisses your temple. “I hope it gets infected.”

You giggle weakly no matter how you try smothering it in his chest. “Gods, you’re awful.”

“He deserves it! I probably should have killed him!”

“You came pretty close, didn’t you?” You mumble. Luke’s expression is wary, but you smile to yourself and it dispels everything. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Good. Serves them right, messing with you like that. Fucking idiots.” He kisses your face again for good measure, “You sure they didn’t get you anywhere else, princess?”

You nod but you know you look wounded. You nudge into the crook of Luke’s neck again. “They … you know, it’s just … the usual stuff.” Every word weighs a pound as it comes out. Your heart feels sore.

Luke tenses again instantly. “What usual stuff?”

“Um, just—” The shame gets caught in your throat. “They all think I’m useless, Luke. Why can’t I do this right?”

You start to cry again, but he just holds you closer. Sometimes it surprises you how much patience he has. He prides himself as the harsher one between the two of you, but you don’t know who he’s fooling with the way he always knows how to comfort people.

“I don’t know what to do,” you continue, blinking back tears, “I’m not—I’m just not good at this, I don’t know why I’m in Ares, I don’t know why I can’t … be that. Why is he my father? I’m no good at being angry. I want to be angry.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment. Nothing changes except his hand rubbing circles on the nape of your neck again. Then he sighs deeply and says, “You don’t owe your father a damn thing. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He’s resolute, firm, a sharp contrast to his gentle kiss on your hairline. “You’re the smartest, most generous person I know. You need those people in battle. You’ll lose if you don’t.”

The warmth of his skin prompts you to look up at him. He looks different so often, the way he can shift between so tough and so gentle. Sometimes, like now, he’s caught in the middle, the remains of a furious sweat hardening his face, but his eyes are nothing but tender. You think it’s how you like him best.

“Besides, we’re not our parents, right? Who cares about Ares anyway?” Luke shrugs.

“Luke! Don’t say that!” your tears turn into a giggle. “The Gods might punish you!”

“I’ll handle it. There’s enough fight in me for the both of us.”

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter with a weak smile.

You’re still sniffling. He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, and his gaze softens. “You’re an Ares kid because you are a fighter, angel. You just fight a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. Best one I know. Well, other than me.”

It makes you smile. “So second-best?”

“Tied for first.”

He kisses you with that stupid roguish smile. It’s salty with tears and sweat, but it mends your heart anyway. There is nowhere in the world you’d feel safer.

“I love you,” he says against your cheek. “Be as sweet as you want. If anyone has anything to say about it I’ll mess ‘em up good.” Your face warms as his voice drops to your ear, “And I know you’re an Ares kid because you’ll encourage it every time. You might not have a violent bone in your body, but you sure don’t have a problem with me using mine.”

“Diplomatically, Luke. Diplomatically.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re not entirely sure why he loves you so much, why you love him so much, but you never feel quite as secure as when you’re with him.

Cheers boom from the other side of camp. Luke’s head perks up like a dog, and you turn back to search for spots of red or blue. “Did we win?” You ask, craning your head to get a better view.

“Don’t care,” Luke says.

You look back at him. His anxious face says it all. “Yes, you do.”

“Okay yes, I do, and I need to see if those douches found our flag so I can choke them out with it.”

You laugh, standing so Luke can jog off to see the state of your team. But before he goes, he picks you up and smothers you in kisses, holding you like you’re his prize.

You are not a fighter, but your boyfriend sure is. And you’re perfectly okay with that.

[zweigsangel]

ex fratboy! chris. smut-angst. 1.8k words.

it’s one of those late nights, and you’re standing there in the middle of a way-too-crowded, kinda messy party that, honestly, you only came to ‘cause your friends dragged you here. the air's thick with too many people, bad beer, and random songs blaring loud enough to drown out any thoughts you might’ve had. and that’s when you see him: chris. the ex you swore you were over. but like, really, are you?

it’s weird though, ‘cause he’s just chilling across the room, laughing too loud, his arm around some guy you don’t recognize, talking animatedly about god knows what. he’s got that same stupid, loose stance, shoulders relaxed, wearing that hoodie he always wore, the one you’d stolen a million times. you think— hope, he hasn’t noticed you, so you kinda try to blend in, sticking close to the wall, pretending to check your phone.

you weren’t always like this, all distant and tense. you’d meet up after his frat meetings, and he’d tell you all these wild stories about his brothers, like the time they tried building a slip n’ slide down the staircase and ended up getting written up by their advisor. you’d just sit there laughing so hard you’d cry, and he’d look at you like nothing in the world could ever compare. and for a while, it felt like he was it. but it ended, kinda messy, mostly because chris was…well, chris. he’d blow off plans, flirt with people at parties, and honestly, it just felt like he didn’t know what he wanted. or maybe he did, and it just wasn’t you. he’d show up late and drunk, ramble on about his deep thoughts on the universe, and then disappear for days, leaving you feeling like some kind of afterthought. eventually, you got tired of being the whenever person, so you cut it off. even if it hurt.

it’s been a few months now, and you’re doing your thing—focusing on classes, seeing friends, trying to move on.

but nah. of course he sees you.

“yo, wait up,” he calls, weaving his way through people, looking right at you. you try to act casual, like this isn’t a big deal, like you don’t feel your stomach flip. he stops in front of you, that grin still hanging on his face. “hey,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “long time no see, huh?”

“yeah, well, been busy,” you reply, shrugging. it sounds casual enough, but he’s still looking at you like he’s trying to read something on your face.

“you look good,” he says after a pause, and it’s so out of character for him to just say something like that, straight-up, that it throws you off for a second “uh...thanks?” you laugh, awkwardly. you know he’s probably just trying to be friendly, but you can’t help wondering if there’s more to it. “so...you still doing the same old chris thing?”

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away for a second. “i guess so,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. and then he kinda sighs, like he’s tired of the frat boy act, or maybe just tired of himself. “been, uh…been thinkin’ about you,” he admits, his voice low. “more than i probably should.”

you try to brush it off, folding your arms to keep your cool. “oh, yeah? that’s, uh, new.”

“i know, i know, i messed up,” he says, sighing. “just…never got you outta my head, y’know?” you can feel yourself softening despite everything. “yeah, well, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

he looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s this vulnerability there, like he’s finally ready to admit something he’s been holding back. “you think i didn’t? trust me, i tried. i just…i dunno. couldn’t do it.”

you don’t want to care, don’t want to feel that old pull, but it’s there, creeping up on you. he steps closer, barely an inch between you now, his gaze never leaving yours. “you want me to back off?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. “just tell me, and i will.”

you could tell him to go. could shut this down, walk away, stay done with him. but instead, you shake your head, just a tiny movement, and he lets out a soft breath, like he’s been holding it in. before you can think, his hand’s on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over your hip, pulling you closer.

the kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips brushing over yours like he’s testing if this is real. then his hand moves up, slipping around your back, and it’s like something inside you snaps. you grab the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he lets out a low sound, his grip on you tightening as he presses his body against yours, his mouth moving over yours with more intensity.

“missed you,” he whispers against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. you barely register the words, just feel the heat rising between you two, feel his hands sliding lower, pulling you against him, his fingers firm on your waist, his mouth moving along your jaw, down to your neck, sending shivers through you. you tug him toward the hallway, away from the crowded room, and he follows, his hand gripping yours, letting you lead him through the maze of people until you push open the bathroom door, dragging him inside.

the space is cramped and a little dingy, but you don’t care. the second the door clicks shut, his hands are on you, pushing you gently but firmly against the door. his mouth crashes into yours, hot and urgent, and your hands find their way under his hoodie, slipping over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. you tug the hoodie off him, and he lifts his arms to help you, tossing it aside without a second thought, his hands already back on you, roaming down your sides, exploring every inch.

he kisses you harder, more intense, his lips pressing down your neck, his hands slipping under your top, that quickly joins the hoodie on the floor.

“god, i’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. “yeah? thought you forgot about me,” you tease, but there’s no real bite to your words. it’s playful, but you both know the truth behind it.

“never forgot. couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he admits, his hands sliding up to your bra, deft fingers working to unclasp it. you feel a thrill of excitement mixed with nerves as it falls away, and his hands are on your bare skin, exploring, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

“you’re, uh…sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice low, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. you don’t even hesitate. “yeah,” you whisper, barely able to keep your voice steady.

he lets out a soft, almost relieved sound, and his mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, like he’s been holding back and can’t anymore. his hands slide down, finding the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down, his touch steady and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. you step out of it, your pulse racing as his hands explore you, pulling you closer, pressing you against him.

you tug at his belt, fingers fumbling, but he’s already helping, working the buckle loose, kicking off his jeans. he’s back against you in a second, his hands on your hips, his lips trailing down your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers in their wake.

he lifts you, setting you on the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist. “you okay?” he asks, checking in, “yeah, jus’ do it,” you whisper, barely able to hold back the urge to pull him closer, “please.”

he’s kissing you again, his mouth moving against yours as you feel him press against you, hot and hard, and you let out a soft gasp. “need you,” he murmurs, almost pleading, and that raw honesty sends a thrill through you. you nod, breathless, and he positions himself, sliding inside you slowly, giving you a moment to adjust. it feels incredible, every inch of him fitting perfectly, like he was made for you.

“god, you’re so tight,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, and the sound of his voice makes you moan softly. as he starts moving, the rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, and you feel every thrust, every movement building inside you. he’s murmuring your name, breathless, and the heat between you is consuming. you wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him in deeper, urging him to go faster.

“yeah? you like that?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin as he quickens the pace. it feels electric, every thrust sending shockwaves through you, and you nod, lost in the sensation.

“so good, chris,” you moan, the words tumbling out as you feel that familiar coil tightening deep inside you. he leans back, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes, and it drives you wild. “gonna make you feel good, okay?” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart race.

with each thrust, the world outside fades away. it’s just the two of you, the heat of the moment enveloping you, and you feel that sweet pressure building, your body responding to every touch, every whisper, until you’re trembling around him, ready to fall apart.

“come on, babe,” he encourages, his voice low and rough, and you can hear the strain in it as he moves faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “can’t hold on much longer,” you breathe, feeling that familiar rush as he hits just the right spot, sending you spiraling.

“let go for me,” he says, his voice thick with desire, and the way he looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, pushes you over the edge. with a loud gasp, you’re coming undone, waves of pleasure crashing over you, and he follows right after, burying himself deep as he lets go. the sound of his voice, mixed with yours, fills the tiny bathroom, and in that moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, together again in a way you thought you’d never be.

as you both come down from the high, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. he doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence settle between you, a quiet, unspoken apology wrapped up in the way he looks at you, his eyes softer than you remember, like maybe he’s finally realized what he’s been missing all along.

and for now, it’s enough to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

[bigfatbimbo]

Take a Bite

1.5k words,, Bill Cipher x Reader

summary — Bill and the reader have sex, which has proven to be very difficult seeing as he isn’t doing anything, and, of course, things are never easy with that insufferable brat.

warnings — SMUT, bill being annoying and toxic, dom!reader, sub!Bill, heavy pain kink, bill’s human form, the fat fuck not the twink

a/n — Admittedly, this fic only happened because I never see Bill sub in fanfics and i’m very interested in what the dynamic would be. You’d be like… domming with a risk of death.

“Well, slick,” Bill leaned back and gestured up and down his body, “Give it your all.”

Amusement was thick in his voice, along with bubbling giddiness. He fumbled with the seams on his pants, not out of nervousness, but as if he had forgotten how to take them off and was looking for some kind of zipper. One, admittedly, that he would not find on slacks. 

“Wow, human clothes are just as bad as the fleshbags. So needlessly complicated,” He sounded on the verge of a laughing fit, “Oh, and toots? Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.” 

His amusement was not matched on your part. The situation invoked dull curiosity at best, in your opinion. The idea of harboring a wanted criminal, ex-overlord, god-like demon in your house challenged your idea of a good time. Having sex with that demon was even harder to swallow.

Then again, any situation with bill warranted an ungodly amount of stress. 

“Whatcha’ thinking about over there, sweet-cheeks?”

You smiled at that; of the few advantages you have, being in gravity falls for weirdmageddon proved to be one of them. You know of his powers, and with that, vague guesses on how to prevent them.

Tinfoil-lined bobbie pins were one of them. A guess, granted, but a good one at that. Really, not that complicated when you recall every alien movie you’ve ever watched. 

“Upset you can’t tell?” 

He laughed, “Upset for you, maybe. Trust me, it’d be so much easier for both of us if I could just read your thoughts. I’m already your roommate, how much closer could we ge- Ah.”

You brushed his pants crotch, and began to unbutton. For all his mightiness, the guy couldn’t work pants. “Careful, human body’s are touchy.” 

“Touchy,” He repeated, “Tell me about.” 

Getting his pants off was a task harder than it should have been, no thanks to Bill, who seemed to have taken to just lying there, occasionally flicking you, and then himself. 

When you finally peeled all of his clothes off, you warned him to brace himself, to which he ignored you. On top of that, the entire time Bill had been talking, droning on about ‘the last time he’d been in a human body.’

You wondered vaguely if he’d ever done this with someone else. In the time he’d been at your house he’d mentioned some ‘sixer’ ex-thing-ish of his. But you doubt he’d done anything with him.

As he’d mentioned, he hadn’t perfected his human form until very recently. Perfected is a strong word, he was pudgy and short, remanisent of a human peanut. And his teeth were terrible. 

Either way, you’d gotten him ready, and began your work. Laying a light finger on the tip of his dick, and running it down the base of his length, you got Bills first reaction: a short sniff.

Recovering fast, he adjusted his seat, “Yeah, tick tock, toots. This better be good.” 

It was his idea, you thought, but continued. Your fingers wrapped around the entirety of his cock and you began to stroke it. 

A sigh left Bills mouth, “Oh, this does have a kick to it. Maybe you’re not so bad, after all.”

Over the course of the next few minutes, you’d grow angrier and angrier. Although you were clearing making him feel good, he’d never shut his snide mouth for two seconds. 

“Jesus, slow down, pal— I just perfected this flesh-bag, at this rate your gonna break something—“ 

You didn’t realize how much your hand sped up. You thought for a moment, before completely stopping. Bill looked taken aback.

“Hey! what’s the—“

Without warning you grabbed his dick with full force and squeezed. He yelped, before giggling at the hurt.

This made you more mad, “God, do you ever shut up? I wish you’d lost your voice when you lost Gravity Falls.”

He stopped giggling. “I’d watch what you say, if I was you, kid.”

You threw your head back and laughed, running your hand slowly up his dick and then slamming back to the base of his cock. Finally, a reaction other than knowing bliss: anger. Weakness.

“Oh dear god, rearrange the features of my face then, Billy. See if I give a shit when you don’t have a place to live.”

His face turned red with rage, and he recoiled at the mention of your upperhand. And then, finally, at the slowing of your hand, a small, wavering whimper. 

You both caught it, and he was quick to put a hand of his mouth, “Sensitive human bodies - Hey, don’t look at me like that, that was not my fault.”

“God, you’re such a brat.”

“Oh please, what are you gonna do about it?” And he was completely serious.

Without much hesitation, you took the moment as an opportunity to abruptly sink yourself onto his dick. He sucked in a breath but you didn’t give him much time to do anything else.

“Ah- Now we’re talki—“ You slapped him hard across the face, and grabbed his cheeks with your hand, squishing them together, mockingly. Stifled laughter from Bill. 

“This is the form you spent all that time perfecting? I can barely feel anything. It’s worthless!” You sped up riding him, loosening your face to give the illusion you were bored, “You’re worthless.” 

His eyebrows arched down and his eyes widened, “I can kill you with a snap of my fingers! You think I need this sex— You think I need this hous— ah, ah—“

The unknown pleasure was getting to him, making his brain foggier than usual, and it was showing. Human senses were a key factor in your ability to keep the high-ground. Just as long as it felt good enough, he wouldn’t go back to his original form and… well. 

You wondered vaguely if you were actually going to be in mortal parole after this. But then again, the look on his face was almost euphoric, despite the anger. Thankfully, Bill was selfish, he’d probably chase the high again

You sighed, “Oh, you do need this house, Billy. Where else would you go? Everyone else in town has already forgotten about you, and your little maniac friends are no where to be seen.”

You sped up once more as your hands danced up his body, and continued, “With this whole out-of-sight-out-of-mind routine, i’m giving you something you won’t be getting anywhere else: attention.”

“You— Ah, curse this feeble human body! I’ll make your life a living hell-“ He whined, actually whined. 

Slamming yourself down on him, he cried out and then scowled. You raked your nails down his chest, deep enough to bleed, drawing out a  giggle from Bill as he felt the littlest bit of blood start to pool.

“You’re lucky this meatbag is— ah— funny enough—“ He was cut off with a gargle as a your hand sharply wrapped around his throat, and squeezed tight. 

“It’s not luck, i’m good at what I do, Billy. Not that you would know what that’s like, you pathetic shitbag,” although that insult wasn’t particularly true, you didn’t give him a chance to snap back, and instead put your other hand on his neck as well. 

You rode him with more speed than ever now. His eyes fluttered open and shut slowly, and he leaned into your hands. 

His face flushed, but a dreamy smile spread to the edges of his face as you made sure to leave bruise marks on his throat, still slamming against him. 

Although, you didn’t want to actually break him, so when his face began to turn purple, you let go. He gasped for air and let out a raspy, crazed giggle that went on for too long, and ending in a moan.

“I’m— “ Bills eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to decipher what the amusing thing the human body had planned next, “Somethings— somethings happening.”

His voice was broken, neck bruised, cheek red with a slap mark, eyes foggy, and chest bleeding from your nails. 

Before you dig in, remember to leave marks. I wanna see how durable this thing is.

Clearly you’d kept your end of the deal, and from what you’ve gathered it was time for the finale. You chased your own climax now as well, even though, admittedly, you hadn’t been thinking about it the whole session.

Annoying as it was that Bill still managed to make something all about him —and he definitely knew, mind reading or not— you still kept up your pace. 

“You’re close?” 

He smiled blissfully, and nodded.

What the hell. You smiled, “Good boy.”

His reaction was… startling. He leaned his head back, let out a small half-whine half-laugh, and arched off the bed. Finally, he released.

[zyhkoo]

🌊 love.

fluff, f!civilian. inspired by @mostly-imagines ‘ fics, slightly ooc i think..

( how jason’s stone heart softens around you. pt 2 )

Love was a very foreign concept for Jason. He has read books, watched movies with the batgirls and watch the corny love shows Dick binges but nothing seems to him show him how to love.

Sure, there are some things he likes. He likes a few things, but nothing seems to be ‘love.’

Love? It was only for the naive and the vulnerable. He had seen too many people get hurt, including himself. Love makes a person weak, those feelings would lead to mistakes and pain. So he thought he was better off without it. How could he love something, when he doesn’t even love himself?

It was a snowy night, he was leaned over some random apartment’s wall holding over his wound. His hand was pressed against his side as he felt the blood seep between his fingers. He grits his teeth in pain, the cold nipping at skin.

It was a bad night, he had been caught off by a group of criminals who ambushed and destroyed his earbud for communication. He had no choice but to seek refuge, the nearest safe house was 30 minutes away and he couldn’t make it. As the footsteps grew closer, Jason tensed up, his hand instinctively going for the gun strapped to his hip. But before he could draw his weapon, the figure came into view, wrapped in winter clothes for warmth.

Jason's eyes narrowed, trying to make out the figure's features in the low light. He had no idea if this person was a friend or foe, and as he was in no condition to fight, he would need to be cautious.

“Uh, hi?” you said, concerned about the guy on your porch. You had just come home from an odd dinner date and things couldn’t just get weirder.

Jason's eyes softened as he heard the voice addressing him. Despite his usual cold demeanor, he didn't want to startle or scare you. After all, he was in no condition to fight right now. "Hey," he responded, his voice strained from the pain. "Sorry to bother you. I just... needed a place to rest for a bit."

You looked at him, he had a damaged red helmet over his head, brown jacket and a wounded side.. isn’t this the vigilante guy? You stepped closer, but not too close. “You’re hurt.” you said, as you then looked around then back to him “D-do you need an ambulance or..?”

Jason huffed weakly, "Nah, I'll be fine. It's just a scratch" he said, trying to play it off. However, he knew he needed to do something about the wound soon. "Do you, uh, mind if I come inside for a bit? I won't be a bother, I promise."

You slowly nodded “Yeah.. yeah of course let me help.” you said as you reached out to him. Jason nodded in appreciation. He winced slightly as you reached out, still feeling the pain from his wound, but he knew he couldn't refuse any help he could get.

He leaned on you for support as he slowly stood up, his legs feeling like jelly. "Thanks," he muttered quietly. "I owe ya one, doll." You propped him on your couch, you looked down at his bleeding wound. “I can help.. uh, I know a bit of nursing.” you said.

He looked up at you, his eyes studying you intently, trying to gauge your intentions. He didn't know you, but he had no other option at the moment.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Yeah, wait, let me find my first aid.” As you came back with the kit in your hand, you kneeled, lifting his shirt up to see the damage. As you looked at his wounded side, you could see the deep gash across his abdomen, with blood slowly seeping from the edges. It was a nasty wound, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with basic medical supplies.

Jason winced slightly as you touched his sides, hissing in pain. "It's not as bad as it looks." he muttered, trying to sound tough. You gave a skeptical look at his comment but continued to tend to his wound. As you pulled out some gauze and antiseptic, you couldn't help but notice the numerous scars that covered his stomach and chest.

Jason noticed your curious glances, and a flicker of unease passed through his eyes. He was used to the scars by now, but he still felt a sense of discomfort whenever someone would glance at them. He knew they were hard to ignore, but he preferred keeping them hidden whenever possible. He didn't like showing weakness, and the scars were a clear sign of his failures.

You continued on your work as you placed the antiseptic “This will sting.”

"Just do it," he said through clenched teeth. "I can handle it."

You proceeded to gently wipe the area around the wound with the antiseptic, making sure to clean out any dirt or debris that might have gotten inside. He tensed up, groaning slightly as the antiseptic stung his skin. You knew he tried to hide his discomfort.

“Sorry if I stared.” you said as you started to wrap the bandages, “That was rude of me.”

"It's fine," he said, his voice gruff as he spoke. "I know I'm not the prettiest sight to behold." you couldn't help but frown at his comment. There was more to him than just his scars, you thought. But you knew better than to say anything about it.

You wrapped the final knot as you dusted your hands, “I’m done.”

"Thanks," he tried to sit up straight, wincing slightly as he put pressure on his wound. You tried to make him sit “Woah woah, okay, don't push yourself.” He allowed you to gently push him back down onto the couch. He wasn't used to being told what to do, but he couldn't deny that he was still fairly weak from his injury.

"I'm fine," he muttered.

“What are you exactly?” you asked, brows furrowing. He paused for a bit, thinking on his answer " I'm a vigilante," he said, "I patrol the streets at night and take care of the bad guys."

“Do you… kill people?” He looked away, unable to meet your gaze. "Sometimes," he said quietly, his tone distant. "When there's no other choice."

"I don't enjoy it," he continued, "But sometimes violence is the only language criminals understand." You tell your name as he nodded in response, “Call me, Red Hood.” he said. You looked at him, pointing at his head “But that’s a helmet.” you said. He huffs “Well, I don’t exactly go around telling people my name sweetheart.”

Jason looked out the window, noting the late hour. He knew that he should get going— the night would not wait for him. He shifted on the couch, wincing slightly as he jostled his wounded side. "I should probably get going," he said, slowly getting up from the couch. Your eyed widened as you stood up as well “What? Are you sure?”

Jason nodded, gritting his teeth as he tried to stand up straight. He could already feel the pull of the stitches in his side, but he didn't want to worry you any more than he already had. "I'll be fine," he said, even though he was still somewhat wobbly on his feet. "I've had worse."

You watch him open your window and left to the snowy cold city. You walked towards your window, hands on the railings as you saw him leave, “Stay safe!” you yelled out. He turned slightly and nodded, giving you a small wave before disappearing into the shadows of the city.

About 2 days passed, somehow.. he felt this itch. He wanted to return the favor. It was a foreign feeling for him— he wasn't used to caring about anyone besides himself. But something about you just wouldn't leave his mind.

Like why does it even matter? You 're just some rando who treated his wounds.

…And so, on the third day, he decided to pay a visit to your apartment.

He didn’t know how to approach this situation, he landed on your fire escape. The steel slightly shook from his weight. He paused as he reached your window, peering through the glass with hesitance in his eyes. The blinds were closed, but he could see your silhouette from the light.

Jason tried to get a better view of you through the slits in the blinds. He wasn't sure why he was being so cautious— after all, he was the one who had decided to come here.

God this was so stupid.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the glass, signaling his presence. You were in the middle of making yourself a cup of tea when you heard a knock on the window. You were confused, and a little creeped out. Who would be knocking this late at night?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you walked towards the window and pulled the blind strings, white lenses widening at the sight of a figure standing on your fire escape. You let out a surprised noise as you saw him. You opened the window as you felt the cold air come in “Red Hood? Why are you here?”

Jason hopped into your apartment, his boots making a soft thud as he landed. He looked around for a moment, taking in the cozy space before focusing his gaze back on you. He shrugged, as if his presence here was no big deal. "Just thought I'd return the favor," he replied.

Your eyes darted around the room, “Er, by how?”

…Shit, he didn’t even think of what to return. Jason cursed under his breath, fuck why didn’t he thought this through?

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to come up with something quickly. “I could uh, keep an eye on you. Make sure no one bothers you.” he says “If I see a shady guy sneaking around your fire escape i’ll shoot em’”

Jason mentally facepalmed at his own words. That was stupid, he thought. You probably didn't need him lurking outside your window like some kind of oversized bodyguard. You looked at your table with your tea set and back to him “Do you want tea?” you invited.

He paused for a moment before nodding slightly, “Yeah.. yeah sounds nice.” he said as he took a seat.

You then remembered he wore a helmet, “Wait— I can just drink in another direction while you…” he takes off his helmet and saw him with a domino mask. He had a white streak on his hair and he looked younger than you expected, about your age actually. “…drink.”

"Yeah," he snorts, unable to hide a hint of amusement in his voice. "I can't exactly drink with a helmet on." You sat in front of him as you poured the warm tea in his cup. He picked up the cup, wrapping his fingers around the warm porcelain. The aroma of tea drifted up towards him, and he took a small sip, relishing the hot liquid as it warmed his chest.

“Are you really here to return the favor?” you asked, looking up at him. “Yeah, I am,” he replied, “I don’t like owing people favors, much less owing one to someone I just met.” he added, "But I also wanted to check on you. Make sure you're alright."

“I’m alright.” you replied “You don’t have to return the favor, you know.” Jason shakes his head "I'm a man of my word," he retorted, "I don't like leaving things unfinished."

He took another sip of his tea, the hot liquid giving him a moment to think. "Besides," he continued, "It's not like I have anything better to do." you raised your brow, “You probably do.” you said as you sipped your tea.

“Well, yeah maybe so. But still.” Jason leaned back slightly in his seat, swirling the tea in his cup as he tried to find the right words. He knew you were right— there was always something for him to do out there on the streets. “I’d rather be here, to be honest,” he darts his eyes away from yours.

You warmly flashed a smile “Sure, you can come over anytime.” he raised his brow, "You sure about that?” he asked, a touch of humor in his voice. "You don't even know my real name."

You hummed “True, but I don’t really have any company.”

Jason studied you for a moment, trying to gauge the sincerity in your words. It was hard for him to believe that someone would be so carefree about inviting a masked vigilante into their home. But there was something genuine in your expression, a loneliness that mirrored his own.

He took another sip of tea, mulling your words over. "What, no boyfriend?” he lets put an amused scoff. Your hand moved across your neck with a bitter expression. He knew that look all too well— the look of someone with a bitter past.

"Bad breakup?" he asked. You sighed as your eyes darted down, “Yeah, it was really messy.” you said, sipping some tea.

He didn't push you for more details, knowing that you would share only as much as you were comfortable with. Instead, he simply nodded, "I can imagine," he said quietly. “It happened two days ago actually, when you sat on my porch injured.”

Jeez, how he felt terrible.

"It was that recent?" he asked and you nodded. Jason felt guilt as he realized the timing of his visit. You had been dealing with a breakup when he had shown up randomly on your doorstep. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Bad timing, I guess." you chuckled “No, it’s fine. I guess it’s better than sulking to myself. I mean it's.. really weird but, hey.”

He let out a soft scoff, his lips curling into a slight smirk. “Yeah, I guess I’m better company than crying alone in the dark.”

Over the next few days, He would find himself returning to your apartment. Even though he was very hesitant at first, he found himself unable to stay away. He tells himself… it was just a matter of returning a favor, but he knew there was more to it than that. Your apartment had become a sort of like haven for him, a place where he could let his guard down and be himself.

Every two nights, he would make his way through the city, cloaked in shadows until he reached your window, slipping through your window without a word and settling on your couch. Each time, he would sit in silence for a few moments, as if checking to see if he was welcome or if you would turn him away. But you always seemed to accept his presence without question, offering him a cup of tea or a light conversation.

Was it stupid and dangerous for the two of you? Yes. Does he still visit you anyway? Yes.

It was another night, and Jason found himself making his way towards your apartment once again. He had gotten used to this routine, this quiet comfort of slipping through your window and finding a place on your couch. As he landed on your fire escape, he took a moment to scan the area, making sure no one had followed him. Satisfied that he was alone, he let himself into your apartment, as usual.

He entered your kitchen in his usual stealthy manner, taking off his helmet and setting it on your table. As he did, he caught sight of you sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone.

You looked up at him, “You’re a day early.” you said. He gave a soft scoff, “Am I not welcome here anymore?” you shook your head, “No, no, no, you are.”

“Good,” he replied, taking a seat on the couch. “You know you shouldn’t treat other randos like this if I’m gone.” you rolled your eyes as you stood from your seat and shuffled in your cabinets, “I know, I’m not dumb.” you replied. "Just making sure,” shrugged, you could tell that he was teasing you a bit. “Wouldn’t want some sketchy guy taking advantage of your kind heart.”

"Oh, shut it,” you retorted, turning to look at him. “I’m not that easy to take advantage of.” Jason let out a huff “Oh really? Seems to me like you're letting me waltz into your home every other night without complaint.”

You let out a huff, trying not to let your frustration show. He had a point… but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"That’s different,” you protested. "You’re not some random creep." Jason smirked, enjoying your reaction. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looked up at you. "But you barely know me," he said, "For all you know, I could be some criminal mastermind, pretending to be a nice guy."

You took a box of macaroni and turned back to him with a glare, “Are you asking to get kicked out?” you don’t actually mean it, but he could be right. Jason knew you weren’t being serious, but the hint of truth in your words made him tense.

"No, I’m not asking to get kicked out,” he assured you, "I’m grateful for your hospitality, honest." You did a smug smile, “That’s what I thought.” you said as you started to cook some macaroni.

He huffed as he leaned back on the couch, watching you work. He couldn’t help but find your confidence amusing.. the way you weren’t afraid to stand up to him or tease him back.

He shifted in his seat, feeling uncomfortable with his own relaxed behavior. He couldn’t quite figure out why he was so at ease around you. Maybe it was the fact that you accepted him without question even though you shouldn’t, or maybe it was something else entirely. He couldn’t quite pin it down.

But.. either way, he admits he enjoys this.

Jason was used to bantering with his siblings, it came naturally to them. Here, it felt lighter. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

His next visit was odd, it was a different visit from the usual. Jason arrived slightly later than usual, a scowl on his face and a heavy air of frustration surrounding him. As he slipped through your window, you could immediately tell something was off. He didn’t offer his usual greeting, and his shoulders were tense, as if he was carrying a weight heavier than usual.

He didn’t even take his helmet off, you can’t help but be worried so you walked over to him, “Are you okay, Hood?” you asked, testing the waters. Jason’s eyes flicked up to look at you as you approached him. Yet he still felt cold.

He let out a scoff, his gaze somewhere else. “I’m fine,” he muttered. You took a cautious step closer to him, your eyes studying him carefully. "Something happened?" you asked quietly, keeping your voice gentle.

Your hand hovered in the air, unsure what to do. You didn’t want to piss him further, you don’t know what he was like when he was angry. He knew that he was giving off an intimidating aura, but part of him couldn’t help but wish you would reach out.

He let out another sigh, trying to reign in his temper. "You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me," he muttered. Okay, well now you felt a little relieved at his words. You weren’t sure how he would react if you pushed further, but you also knew he needed someone to talk to.

You sat in the couch beside him, your hand finally landing on his shoulder. “You know you can talk to me, right?” you said softly. You could feel him tense up slightly, but he didn’t shrug you off.

He let out another sigh, the tension in his body slowly starting to uncoil. “It’s just family stuff,” he admitted, his voice quiet. Your eyes softened as your hand moved to his back, “You wanna talk about it?” you asked. Jason looked at you for a moment, his eyes fixed on your face. The sight of your soft, empathetic expression made his walls crumble slightly, and he found himself nodding.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” he said gruffly, setting his helmet down on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just family issues, nothing new. My siblings all drive me crazy, and everyone’s got their own drama going on. Can’t seem to catch a break.”

You pulled your legs up on the couch, “Big family?” you asked. He looked over at you, a hint of humor in his eyes. "Have you ever tried dealing with seven stubborn people under one roof?" you softly chuckled with a small smile, “Yeah, I get it.” Jason's lips tugged into a slight smile at your response, "Yeah, I figured you might.”

Your hand left his back, “You want tea?” he nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” It was oddly comforting, how you offered small acts of kindness without asking anything in return. He watched as you placed the tea set on the coffee table, the aroma of the tea starting to fill the room. He found himself strangely at ease, the tension from before slowly seeping away.

“Here you go.” you said as you handed him a cup. Jason accepted the cup of tea from you, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

You watched as he took a sip, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "Feeling any better?" you asked, your voice gentle. Jason paused for a moment, taking another sip of tea before answering. For him, it was nice to have someone to talk to, someone who didn’t judge him or try to fix his problems.

"Yeah," he replied, "A bit. Talking about it helps, I guess." You softly smiled, “You can always talk to me Hood.”

Jason studied your face, noticing the way your soft smile and kind eyes almost made him want to spill all his deepest secrets. He couldn’t quite pin it down, but there was something about you that made him feel comfortable. Like he could trust you with his thoughts and feelings.

As he took another sip of tea, he found himself questioning whether he should reveal his real identity. It would certainly make things easier if you knew his real name… He placed the empty cup on the table, his mind still conflicted. It was a big step, revealing his identity to you. But something inside him urged him to take the risk.

“Jason’s fine.” he mumbles. You looked up at him with a curious glance, “What?”

"Forget the whole Red Hood thing,” he repeated, his voice a bit more clear this time. “You can just call me Jason.” You were stunned for a moment, you didn’t expect him to tell his name so soon— or at all for that matter. Jason could hear his own heartbeat in his chest as he waited for your reaction. Finally, you broke the silence “Then.. you can always talk to me, Jason.”

"Thanks," he replied quietly, the words holding a weight he couldn’t quite explain. "Really."

Over the next several weeks, Jason continued to find himself seeking out your company, the comfort of your presence soothing his troubled mind. Every time he dropped by, he found himself slowly letting down more and more of his walls. The rough exterior he wore like a protective suit was slowly replaced with a softer, more vulnerable one.

In all his years of being Red Hood, of being a vigilante, he had never allowed himself to get close to someone in that way.

But as he spent more time with you, he found himself slowly questioning that belief. The more he got to know you, the more he realized that maybe he was wrong. Maybe love wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. Maybe it was something that could actually make him feel alive for once.

Jason avoided the idea of love, convinced that it was something to be feared and avoided. He had witnessed the pain and heartbreak it could cause, both in his own life and in the lives of others.

And yet, as he got to know you better and better, he found himself gradually starting to question this belief. Your presence had begun to erode the walls he had built around his heart, revealing a vulnerable side of him that he had long thought dead.

He felt his hard stone heart soften around yours.

You opened the blinds on your window, looking at the snow up ahead. “I wonder when spring will come.” you commented. He leaned back in the couch, stretching out his legs in front of him. "Spring can't come soon enough," he muttered, his voice slightly gruff but lacking its usual edge. "I'm getting tired of freezing my ass off every night."

“Well, it’s already the start of the year.” you said.

Jason let out a scoff, his eyes drifting towards the calendar on your wall. Sure enough, the first month of the year was already marked off. "Yeah, and spring is like three months away," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's still a long way to go."

You sighed, “Right.” you said as you closed the blinds. Jason watched as you closed the blinds, shutting out the snowy landscape outside. The room seemed oddly devoid of color without the light filtering through the glass. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "At least the days are getting longer again," he pointed out, a hint of optimism in his voice. "The nights will get shorter eventually."

"Yeah, that's true," you agreed, "Soon we'll be complaining about how it's too hot instead of too cold."

"Yeah, and then we'll be wishing for winter again," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Never satisfied, are we?" You then remembered something, “Oh, by the way— look what I got for Christmas.” you pulled a box and opened the lead to reveal the record player. "A record player, huh?" he said, a "Who gave you that?"

“My dad,” you replied, “my mom gave me vinyls too.” you smiled as you pulled out a few of them. He leaned closer, peering at the titles you had pulled out. "Let me see..." he said, reaching out to take one of the records from your hand.

You handed him the record, and Jason carefully examined the album cover, running his fingers over the worn edges. He let out a soft scoff as he saw the cover. "Aerosmith, huh?" He said, ”I see your parents have good taste."

You chuckled at his comment, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, my dad's a big fan," you replied. "He's always saying that '70s and '80s rock is the best music." you took out some jazz records, “There's these too.”

"Jazz? Your parents really know what they're doing. Good taste in music, that's for sure." he said. You smiled, “I didn’t take you for a jazz guy.”

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he scoffs, his eyes flickering back to you. You took the record from his hands, “Do you want me to play it?” you asked.

“Go for it.” he replied.

You crouched as you carefully placed the record on the turntable, setting the needle gently down. The soft crackle of the vinyl filled the room before the smooth, melodious sounds of the jazz instrumental began to play. You stood back up and looked at him, “What do you think?” Jason listened to the music, a thoughtful expression on his face as he soaked in the mellow tones. "It's nice," he replied.

Your expression softens, “My parents loved dancing to this, I’m glad they gave it to me.” Jason looks at your expression, "You must have a lot of good memories with them.”

"I remember watching them dance to this in the living room. They were so in sync back then, like they were made for each other." Jason listens to your words and pauses for a bit, he then stands up. “Do you want to dance?”

You sheepishly smiled “Oh— no I’m good I don’t know how to dance.” Jason extends his hand, "Dancing isn't exactly rocket science, you know," he said. "I'm sure I can teach you a thing or two. I’ll take the lead.”

He wasn’t lying, he had a lot of experiences dancing in Bruce’s Galas. "C'mon," he extends his hand further, "It's easy, trust me. I've had plenty of practice." You were complementing to take his hand or not, you then gave up as you took his hand.

Jason smiled as you placed your hand in his. He gently pulled you closer to him, his other hand finding its way to your waist. "Just follow my lead," he instructed, his eyes darting to you.

The music continued to play in the background as Jason slowly began to move, his feet guiding you through the steps. He kept his grip on your waist light but firm, his body slightly brushing against yours with each step. “Like this?” you asked sheepishly. Jason nodded, "Yeah, just like that, doll.”

He moved a bit closer to you, adjusting the position of your other arm.

You huffed, “Last time I did this was like.. high school prom.” Jason huffs, finding your comment amusing. He twirled you around slightly, the movement fluid and elegant. "I'm honored that you're dancing with me instead of some prep school kid.” You stumbled slightly at the unexpected twirl, laughing as you clutched onto him for balance. "I think I prefer dancing with you over some sweaty teenager.”

He huffs, "And why's that?"

“Because I like you.” you simply said.

His heart lurched in his chest at your words, your casual confession sending a flutter through his entire body. "You do, huh?" he asked quietly. “Why would I lie?” you answered. Jason let out a huff, his expression softening as he looked at you. "I don’t know, people lie all the time,” he said, as he looked down. His grip on you grew firmer, his hand on your waist pulling you closer. "But you sound sincere enough."

The air between you felt thick, the music now almost background noise. Jason's eyes were locked with yours, his expression unreadable yet somehow more open than you'd ever seen before. He took a step closer, his chest now touching yours as he gently continued to move you both in time with the music.

Your head then moved to lean on his chest. He held you close, his heartbeat steady and strong under your touch. Slowly, he leaned his head down, his chin resting on the top of your head. It was a vulnerable gesture, one that somehow felt more intimate than the dancing.

The only sound in the room was the steady thump of his heart against your ear and the soft, soothing tones of the instrumentals.

This was love. The feeling of your body against his, the way you leaned on him so trustingly, the sound of his heartbeat in your ears. It all felt so... right. He held you close, his arms encircling your frame as he continued to move with you to the music, his heart full and conflicted.

But there was fear there too. Fear of losing this, of losing you. The thought of something happening to you, of losing this quiet moment filled him with dread. The final notes of the song faded, leaving the room in a silent, intimate embrace.

Jason continued to hold you against his chest, his chin still resting on the top of your head. He didn’t want to let go, his arms around you not loosening even slightly.

He swallowed hard, his voice a low murmur as he broke the silence. "You're a good dancer." you hummed against his chest, “Mm, thanks.” you responded.

🌊 part 2. please like and reblog!!

[leclarifies]

birthday boy

✰ max verstappen x !bestfriend reader ✰

summary: max doesn't like it when it's race week and you're not there. he's been trying to convince you to quit your job and just come to his races full-time, offering to pay for the expenses but you've refused every single time. you end up surprising him in the singapore gp for his surprise birthday party the grid had arranged for him.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: hi there! this is my FIRST ever published fic and i'm super nervous about posting hjawdhbawjhbdbhawd i've had this idea since maxie's birthday in september but kept it in the drafts and re-edited some things around just to make it cohesive. i have requests open and my masterlist is currently an ongoing wip. thank you for reading!

edit: hello, here's my complete masterlist for anyone who wants to view my other work. thank you for 350 notes btw! i really appreciate it <3

a ding rings through your phone and at first, you ignore it. 

it’s usually a work text which is why you’re not more alert. it’s a weekend and you genuinely just want to enjoy yourself while watching the race that your best friend is participating in and starting from pole position. 

then another ding, two more follow after that.

your furrow your brows confused, if it was a work text then they wouldn’t be spamming unless it was an emergency. 

you open your phone and you’ve realized you’ve been added to a group chat. 

lily m: hi guys! i’ve created this gc bc some of the boys wanted to surprise max for his birthday!!!!! so i’ve invited most of the drivers and their wags here in case you guys wanted in as well charles: Yes, hello everyone :) kika: yes! we’re so excited <33 all of the wags and respective drivers should be in this groupchat :D 

seeing this groupchat made you confused, yes you were max’s best friend but you were certainly not a wag and very certain that you weren’t a driver. so, you sent a text.

you: hi guys, i appreciate the gesture but i am not a wag and certainly not a driver HAHA

lily m: oh yeah! alex told me to add you bc we thought that you would want to surprise max  considering you guys are best friends HAHAHAH my bad i should’ve clarified

alexandra: welcome y/n! it’s great to have u here :]

you: no worries guys, but max’s birthday isn’t until almost two weeks from now were you guys planning a big party?

charles: I’m not sure what we want to do but considering it’s Autumn break when it’s his actual birthday, we wanted to start early.

lily z: we *could* plan a big party, but what do u think y/n? u know him best

you: i think a big party could suit him best lots of gin & tonic must i add

carlos: HAHA Of course.

the chats continued to flow in as all of the wags and some of their drivers tried to plan what felt best for max’s birthday party. it was a few hours before the race and you had assumed not all of the drivers had their phones on them which explained the lack of texts coming from them, it wasn’t abnormal. they were usually busy with their last minute content for their social media platforms or doing pre-race interviews.

then your phone rang, it was an incoming call.

“hello?” you spoke softly into the phone after picking up, knowing exactly who called.

“hi,” max breathed out softly, you could hear the hustle and bustle of the paddock in the background. max always made it a habit to call you a few hours before the race start, and it warmed your heart to think that he always thought of you before the races.

you didn’t know when the feelings started, was it his seventeenth birthday where he kissed you before his race? was it the promise that he would always be by your side and support you when you got your first job? was it when he convinced you to move to monaco and helped you move in with your sister? was it the soft glances he would shoot your way when you were at the paddock? or was it the small touches he would give when you guys were watching a movie? you didn’t know. all you knew that he was your best friend and you didn’t want to fuck this friendship up. 

“hey, how are you?” you replied, “the pre-race nerves getting to you maxie?”

“never. how’s it in monaco? how are jimmy and sassy?” max had asked, he had asked you to babysit his cats for you and you accepted. you loved nothing more than to watch over his cats while tending to your work.

“s’good. the cats are well-behaved, and i’m lounging in your sim racing gear about to turn it on and experience the race myself,” you joked, knowing that you were nowhere near the sim racing setup that he had for himself.

“i told you not to touch that,” max warned, you could tell he was walking around just by the sound of him talking and being slightly out of breath, “i miss you being here on the weekends, when are you off work?”

“i’m kidding,” you laughed as you got into a more comfortable position on his couch, “i dunno when i’m scheduled for time off again. i also do not have the money to continue to travel around the world to watch your races, max. i am comfortable with watching your races from monaco.” “how many times do i have to tell you that you can fly with me and stay with me while you’re out?” max reprimanded you for even thinking about the expenses, “you could even quit your job and do nothing and i could still have money leftover.”

you hated when he brought that up, he had always brought up the idea of you quitting your job and him helping you through your family’s struggles. you didn’t want to feel like a leech, you knew that his job was stressful enough, you didn’t want to be a stress on him and affect his job. “i am not a leech–”

“you are not leeching if i’m telling you to quit your job and come accompany me through my race schedule. it’s nice to have a support system around…” max’s voice trailed off, “seeing the other drivers with their girlfriends– friends makes me jealous.”

you were quiet for a bit, you’ve had this conversation one too many times with him before. he had told you to just live life and be with him, to stop thinking about the expenses and just be there for him but something about having your entire life being paid for by an extremely rich dutchman just didn’t sit right with you.

“i told you i’d think about it, plus you can invite all of the friends you want. it doesn’t have to be specifically me,” you sighed, rubbing your temples, “it’s not a nice feeling having to rely on someone 24/7 you know. you should understand how i feel as well.”

“i understand,” max sighed as well through the line, then you could hear him a bit farther away talking to one of the staff walking with him, you were assuming that they were on the way to the motorhome, “anyways, i’m on my way to film some content and i just wanted to see how you’re holding up at home."

you hummed back a response, listening intently to what he had to say, knowing that he would want to talk to you more before having to begrudgingly film content for the red bull racing’s social media platforms, “can you at least promise me that you will give me an answer after autumn break?”

you knew that autumn break was after the race he was at right now, which was in singapore. 

“max…” your voice trailed off, you didn’t know if you could make that decision in less than a month, “look, i said i’d think about it–” “but you’ve been thinking about it for three months, isn’t three months enough to make up your mind?” max cut you off, he hated it when you were stalling even though he knew that deep in your heart you would never come and just live off his expenses.

“we’re not having this conversation now,” you huffed, almost feeling frustrated now from max’s persistence, “how about you focus on the race and we can talk about this when you’re back?” “you always shut me out when it comes to hard decisions,” max replied back with the same attitude, “it’s such a bad habit, it pisses me off and it’s not like i’m asking you for a hard thing–” “just focus on the race. it’s your job. let me focus and enjoy mine, please. we can talk about this later when you’re back and you’ll have your answer then,” you almost begged him, you heard him say his goodbyes before shutting off the line. it was too early in the morning for him to be bargaining with you about your job– it wasn’t even bargaining anymore. he was practically begging you to quit your job to come to races with him full-time.

you didn’t necessarily have a hard job, sometimes you would attend the grand prix because you were working under a marketing firm in monaco and that would enable you to come to the races but it wasn’t all the time. your marketing firm worked closely with formula 1, but they had their main focuses and it didn’t allow you to attend and take time off work all of the time.

you estimated that it would be around 3 pm at singapore, which meant it was 5 hours to go before the main race. 

rubbing on your temples was a habit you had when you got stressed and it made you stressed even thinking about quitting your job. you liked your job and your co-workers and the pay wasn’t bad. 

you had basically promised him that you would give him an answer after he got home in monaco which made you make a decision under pressure. a ding from your phone distracted you from the problem at hand.

lily z: @/you how long would it take you to come to singapore? you: woah so suddenly?

kika: we thought we would just celebrate his birthday after the race, since we all can’t be in monaco at his exact birthday date what do u think y/n?

you: i dunno… okay kinda tmi but max has been bugging me about quitting my job to come and accompany him to the races fulltime but i told him i would give him a decision after the race i don’t think i’m ready to make a decision that quickly

alex: damn… we thought that it would be easier to celebrate in singapore instead of planning the party in monaco

you: it would certainly be easier all around but idk if i can face him so soon

lily m: i mean… is quitting ur job to hang out with us 24/7 rlly a bad idea HAHAH

you: honestly i would love to just hang out with u guys and just make it my job but i don’t wanna make it seem like i’m leeching off of max yk…

carmen: hi! i just caught up w everything but honestly, do what u feel comfortable with doing x if u don’t feel comfortable w cmg to singapore, then we’ll make ourselves available at an agreed date in monaco <3

alexandra: yeah, i agree ^^

lily z: honestly it all comes down to u y/n we all want everyone to b comfortable!

you: i don’t wanna be a nuisance, so i’ll take u guys up on that offer

alexandra: yay! so… book ur flight now..?

carmen: u better be ready bbg  HAHAHAH

rebecca: wait what’s happening i just checked my phone

you stifled a laugh at rebecca’s late response but sighed, you guessed it was now or never. 

you booked the first earliest flight from monaco to singapore, not forgetting about max’s cats and leaving them to your sister who lived together with you a few doors down.

but being on a flight to singapore meant that you had to miss watching the singapore gp altogether, only arriving in singapore at 8 am the next day. 

you yawned and stretched as you got off the airplane, not forgetting to turn your phone back on to see a barrage of texts from max and from the group chat.

maxie <3: P2 Y/n :)  Were u watching? Wish u were here :( 

maxie <3: Hello? Is ur phone off? Why are my texts green?

maxie <3: I’m starting to get worried I texted your sister and she said she had no idea where u are

maxie <3: Can u please answer me, I’m really worried.

you giggled a bit from max’s flood of texts, but you and the girls had discussed that it would be a good idea to surprise him with your arrival in singapore. you told your boss that you were taking paid time off for the week as you knew that you would be traveling with the wags and drivers for the week to celebrate the autumn break.

alexandra and rebecca were the ones to pick you up from the airport, all three of you catching up and gossiping about what happened at the track while you were in the air. 

“honestly, it was crazy to see mclaren finally starting to dominate the track this time of the year. usually we would see ferrari and red bull fighting but i guess they had the better car,” alexandra mumbled as you all sat together in the car.

“i expected max to win, but that’s a bit biased isn’t it?” you laughed, “he complained about the car a couple of times throughout the free practices but i wouldn’t know shit about the car. i’ve never driven one.” “yeah, carlos does it to me all the time and i’m sitting there pretending i know everything about the cars,” rebecca added onto that thought, “like yes babe, i know exactly what you’re talking about because being an f1 wag dictates that you know everything about the car you’re driving.” the three of you laughed.

it wasn’t long before you guys reached the club that you guys planned to have the big surprise party, lily z and m were there with kika and carmen. the boys were keeping max busy for the day.

it wasn’t long before the club was decorated and fit for the surprise party, you had booked out the entire club for the night to celebrate. it was nearing the time that max would arrive with the party of drivers.

“okay, so lando told max that they were celebrating his win again tonight so max shouldn’t be suspicious about what’s going on. considering lando’s quite the party animal,” lily z had told the group as they were sitting around the booth, you nodded and listened along well while guests from the teams were shuffling into the club.

honestly, you were a bit nervous facing max. you didn’t know if you were ready to completely quit your job, but you told yourself that you would talk about it later once the time comes. there wasn’t a point to stress about it now when max was nowhere in sight.

maxie <3: Y/n? Are my texts going through? Where are you?? I’m gonna call your phone flashed to see max was calling you. you picked it up and the first thing you hear was max panicking, “hello? where the hell have you been the past day? why haven’t you returned any of my calls or texts?” “well hello to you too,” you laughed, “i’m sorry about not responding to you, i’ve been busy with work. i’m currently at a work event. congrats on p2 by the way, i couldn’t watch the race because i was at the office.” “don’t ever do that again, you scared the shit out of me,” max breathed out, you could faintly hear the chatter of the drivers behind him.

“what are you doing right now?” you asked, feigning innocence, acting as if you didn’t know exactly where he was and what he was doing right now.

“lando wanted to celebrate his win again tonight so we’re going to a club to party,” max explained, “we’re arriving now, i’ll talk to you again later but you better respond straight away or i’m flying straight home.” “okay, okay. stay safe max,” you clicked the phone off before you signaled everyone to turn off the lights and get into positions to surprise max.

the doors of the club opened to reveal the drivers of the grid.

“why are the lights off–” “surprise!” everyone had shouted as max was front and center, the lights switched on to reveal the birthday balloons and you were there in front of the boys with the wags behind you. his face was priceless, the shock and the realization all hitting him at once. the realization that you were there and you weren’t at a work event but here, in the flesh, in front of him. it made him ecstatic.

you flashed a bright smile to max as he ran and hugged you almost instantly. 

“you’re so sneaky,” max breathed out, you could feel his hot breath next to your ear, making goosebumps rise in its wake, “you made me so worried to only show up here…” you could only laugh and hugged him back tightly, his hug, his touch, it made you feel alive. his touch was electrifying– in a good way. his touches, whether light or full blown hand holding or his arm around your shoulder always lit you up like a lightbulb. 

“i wanted to surprise you– well, everyone did. they thought it would be more convenient for me to come here and surprise you,” you laughed, “so, are you surprised?”

“hell yeah, let’s get this fucking party started!”

“so, about you quitting your job,” max tried to sneak the conversation in as the both of you were walking to his hotel, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. they just had a really good fucking party and both of you were quite tipsy but sober enough to navigate your way through the streets of singapore (with the help of google maps).

“you’re a very persistent man,” you laughed as you walked alongside max, shoulders brushing against each other. it was almost 4 am, but you didn’t feel unsafe or scared at all. spending the night with max was what you really enjoyed. he made you feel things that you were scared of addressing, so for now you were going  to enjoy the moment.

“seriously, you told me after the race and this is definitely after the race. so tell me, did you decide what you’re going to do?” max grabbed your wrist to stop the both of you from walking, you guys could see the hotel from this distance but he wanted to sincerely talk to you, “are you going to slave your life away, working from paycheck to paycheck and only coming to my races when you have the time? or are you going to agree with me and just ‘leech’ off of me?”

you sighed and turned to look at max, you couldn’t lie that the life he offered was enticing. not having to work a day in your life and still coming to these flashy grand prix and partying almost every week was a dream for most people and you were most people. “i dunno max, i told you i would give it a thought but you know how i feel about me living off of your money,” you locked eyes with max’s bright blue ones and he stepped closer to you, landing a hand on your cheek endearingly. the way he looked at you full of unconditional love, you couldn’t tell whether it was romantic or platonic anymore. you knew max and you knew that max would do anything for the people you loved and you were included in that list.

“if you’re thinking about family back at home, you know i can always send over some as well right? i know that’s your biggest concern,” max looked deep into your eyes and you could almost feel like he was looking into your soul, “i know you’re scared of leaving your work behind because you still need to support your family back home and you wanna know something? they’re my family too, i would send them money even if you didn’t ask.” max’s other hand found its way to hold yours, “please… just do this one thing for me. i always see the other drivers with their significant others and it pains me to see that you’re the only one not there and breaking your back to work. i just want you to support me and have fun while doing it…”

“max…”

“i’m serious,” max’s face grew ever so close to your own, you couldn’t tell whether the heat on your cheeks was from the proximity of the both of you or from the lingering alcohol, “you know i’d do anything for you and i don’t do that for a lot of people– you’re not a lot of people.”

“if i say okay, will that make you happy?” “the happiest man in the world.”

“consider this a birthday gift then birthday boy,” you breathed out and as you finished you sentence, you felt his lips on your own.

the kiss was electrifying– he was electrifying. his other hand that was clasping your hand softly was now on your other cheek, deepening the kiss. your hands found their way wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

to a rare passerby, the two of you were just a sweet couple sharing a kiss at 4 am and maybe, that’s what you were.

“you don’t know how long i’ve been wanting to do that for.” “ditto.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“When I said I owed you,” you whisper and look over your shoulder. 

“Talk as quiet as you want, he’s got super hearing. Can’t even squeak out a silent but deadly with this guy,” Sam chuckles. 

“Wow, that’s gross,” you crinkle your nose. 

“I can be a nasty boy.” 

“Not better,” you give him an apprehensive look as you face him. “I saw him on the news.” 

“Hey, I was there too,” Sam chirps. 

“I know that but...” 

“He got a bit trigger happy. We’re just waiting for things to blow over. He needs a calming personality.” 

“So not you,” you retort. 

“No, not me. I’m into choking but not by him,” he snickers. 

“I can hear you,” the man leaning on the car hood snaps back as the sucker in his mouth hits his teeth. 

“Oh, I know,” Sam shoots a finger gun in his direction. “Also, he’s giving up smoking so he’s a bit testy.” 

“No, I spent eight hours in a car with you so I’m pissed off,” the grumbly sidekick hurls back. 

You look between them. Sam Wilson, the new Cap, superhero, avengers, comedian, and Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier, assassin, and... mystery. You should refuse. You owe him but that much? A near-fugitive in your house? 

“Sam, I don’t exactly got a guest room,” you cross your arms. 

“Look, if the dame don’t wanna take me, don’t twist her arm,” Bucky sneers and bites into the sucker, scraping the stick with his teeth. “I can figure myself out.” 

“That’s what you said before the explosion. I’m not falling for it again, man,” Sam shoots back and shakes his head. He puts his hands on his hips and faces you. “You’re not just doing a service to me, but to America.” 

“Yes, okay, but this is Canada.” 

His eyes drift in realisation and his lashes flutter, “right, but we’re allies.” He looks at you again and smiles, “I thought Canadians were nice.” 

You roll your eyes. “Goddamnit. Fine.” 

“Like I said,” Bucky approaches, “I can go somewhere else. I don’t wanna be a burden.” 

“It’s not you,” you assure him. “There isn’t much space, that’s all. If you’re fine with that, so am I.” 

“I told him, it’s not a big deal,” Bucky huffs. “But he insists.” 

“I have to insist. I’m the Captain now.” 

“You keep saying,” he turns on Sam. “So why don’t you get that shield and we’ll see if you’re really up to that title.” 

“Alright, alright,” you step between them. You’re not a fan of conflict. Sam knows that and that’s why he brought him here. “No need to argue. You got a couch,” you look at Bucky then turn to the other man, “and you have a long ride home.” 

“Wait, you’re kicking me out?” Sam says. 

“If you stay any longer, I won’t stop him. I said he could stay, I said nothing about mediating whatever this is,” you wiggle your finger between them. 

Bucky snorts. He’s just as bad as Sam. They seem to only know how to goad the other.  

“Fair. I mean, you don’t want this guy getting any grumpier. He’s already such a treat,” Sam smirks. 

“Enough, I just told you,” you wag your index at him. “Well, nice to meet ya,” you turn and offer your hand to Bucky, “welcome to Canada.” 

“Thanks,” he says, though you can sense him staring down the other man. 

“Sam, have a safe trip. You need water or anything for the road?” You offer over your shoulder. 

“Nah, I think I’m good. A nice ride home alone. With good music. Think I’m set.” He cackles. 

“You wouldn’t know good music if it shot you in the face,” Bucky growls. 

“Dude, go get your bag out of my car,” Sam snips. “Good riddance, is what I say.” 

“Drive safe,” you shake your head as you walk toward the house. “I was in the middle of something.” 

You climb the porch steps and leave the inner door open as the screen door snaps shut behind you. Out of sight, you stop to shake off the adrenaline. You only realise then how the unexpected rival stirred you up. You weren’t ready for Sam but especially not a houseguest. Still, the only reason you have this place is because of that man. You can do this. 

You take a breath and go back to the kitchen. If Sam trusts Bucky, you can too. You’re not one to welcome in strangers, especially men, but this is different. And even if he asked, it wasn’t much of a choice. 

You wash your hands and dry them before pushing your sleeves back up. The striped button-up isn’t exactly your Sunday best. You add breadcrumbs to the bowl of raw beef as you hear footsteps on the porch. The door opens slowly and gently hits the frame. You listen to your guest as he sighs in the entryway. 

The house is small. One-floor, a single bedroom, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen with a small dining table that doubles as your workspace. It isn’t much, but it’s yours. And it’s history. Your family’s. 

You sense him hovering just outside the doorway. You glance behind yourself and hang your hands over the brim of the bowl. You still need to chop the veggies but that can wait. It isn’t his fault Sam decided this would be the balance in the scales. 

“Let me show you around.” You cross the kitchen as he peers through.  

His beard is dark, his hair overgrown and pushed back behind his ears, and tugs at the bottom of his denim jacket. He looks skittish as you approach. He has a duffel bag in his hand. 

“Look, sorry if I came off short. You know how Sam can be,” you say. 

“I do. He assumes a lot,” he mutters. 

“Sure does. So, like I said, it’s not a big house. Kitchen here,” you point over your shoulder, “living room behind you, bathroom down the hall and the bedroom. There’s a back door. Yard’s bigger than the house.” 

“Got it.” 

“So, you’ll have to camp out on the couch but good news, it’s from 1987 so it folds out,” you squeeze by him and lead the way into the front room. 

“Beats a full barracks,” he comments. 

You nod and peek over at him. “Guess that makes sense.” 

He sniffs, “thanks. Really.” 

“Again, not too much,” you gesture to the room. “I gotta finish the meatloaf.” 

“Think I can handle it,” he affirms. 

[e-nonsense]

Hey sis, can I request a Dahlia with burlap and maybe some lace 🤭

Jason Todd X reader where reader is Selina Kyles protege and a vigilante, her superhero name is Kitten.

They had a rivalry going back to Jason's Robin days, flirted like crazy on patrol, started dating in secret and reunite after his death.

You can choose how this goes, your writing is addictive to read, never stop doing what your doing.

Have a good day, and congratulations for 2000 followers! 💓

DON’T YOU LOVE ME STILL?

pairing. jason todd x fem!reader

warnings. smut

a/n. thank you

“tsk tsk, kitty.”

he circled you like an animal would their prey, the red hood had been chasing you for months. he’d get meaner every time you slipped from his grip but somehow he knew you.

your name, your thieving patterns, the way you flirted, everything.

“what now? i haven’t done anything wrong have i?”

you retorted, eyeing his figure. he was a big guy, you’d give him that much, big and clearly very strong. if you weren’t so annoyed at him you’d probably try to sleep with him.

“no?”

“mhm, i’ve been a good girl, Hood.”

jason loved the way you spoke to him, the teasing flirt in you voice. he knew he should’ve told you by now, that it’s him. your jason was home, but he wasn’t your jason now was he? no.

he was different, twisted, dirtied, he had blood on his hands. blood your jason would’ve never spilled in the first place.

“i don’t think stealing is classed as being a good girl, doll.”

you hated how much you liked hearing him call you that, you’re not sure when he had gotten closer but now he was towering over you. you liked that too though, how big he was in comparison to you.

he could dwarf you twice over. snap you in half without a thought, fuck imagine how he’d be in bed— no. back on track. you refused to go down that road.

“stealing to survive isn’t bad, is it?”

“you wouldn’t have to do any of that if you just took my offer.”

his offer. join him, not fighting on the streets but jason knew how well you could take down an organisation. how good you were at infiltrating. he needed that sort of skill if he was going to burn black mask to the ground.

“come on, baby doll. i’ll take care of you.”

you scoffed, turned your head away from him and he couldn’t help it then.

“don’t you love me still?” he asked, head tilting to the side as he watched you, stepping closer to tilt your head back up at him. “i know i was gone for six years—”

“jason.”

he had to give it you. you were so much smarter than anyone would give you credit for.

“that’s me, pretty.”

he loved the tremble of your lips as he pulled his helmet off, tossing it to the side as he revealed his face to you. even behind all those scars you’d know him anywhere.

your hands moved to cup his face immediately, eyes darting across his features. when had his eyes turned that shade of blue, it was bordering green now but they were just as beautiful as you remembered.

“you’re here… how?”

his eyes close as he leans into your touch, leaning his head down so you can hold him without the stretch.

“i’ll tell you another time, baby. i promise, right now i need you.”

his eyes open again and your stomach flutters at the way he looks at you, hungry and wanting. as if he’d waited those six years for this exact moment.

“can i have you?”

“you never have to ask that.”

he doesn’t waste a second, pressing you against a wall. and you’re reminded about the size difference between the two of you again. how’d he get so big?

he seems to have sensed your thoughts because he grins smugly, “like what you see, baby?”

“hm? you like being so much smaller than me that i have to lift you up so you can be face to face with me?” as if to emphasise his point he does just that, lifting you up and pressing your back against the wall.

you wrap your legs around his hips when his hands move to hold your ass, keeping you up by holding under.

“you changed.” you note aloud, eyes running down his upper body, your finger trailing down his chest.

“good or bad?”

“i like it.”

he smiles genuinely, playfully squeezing your ass as he rests his fore head against yours. “i missed you, baby. all those years gone, you were the only thing i remembered clearly.”

he kissed at your neck, whispering into your ear. his teeth scraped your neck. his kisses got more eager, needy and then his lips were on yours.

one of his hands had moved to your front to undo the zipper that ran over your chest. he knew how naked you’d be under the suit, your suit left no room for under garments.

he pawed at your breasts the second they were free before walking you through the set of emergency fire doors, he’d chosen this rooftop on purpose. he lived in this building.

he broke the kiss to walk the two of you down the stairs and onto his floor, you occupied yourself with leaving a series of pretty pink and purple marks on his neck. twisting your head so you could leave one on his adam’s apple too.

he dumped you on his bed, watching the way you bounced on the mattress before pulling off your suit. he did the same, tearing off his uniform, tossing it around the room before meeting you on the bed right after you tossed your domino mask aside.

your hands moved to pull the pair of cat ears atop of your head off but he stopped you. “keep ‘em on f’me.”

you nodded obediently and he couldn’t help but tease. “so snarky earlier, doll. what happened?”

“shut up and fuck me.” you scoffed, spreading you legs open for him.

his eyes dropped to your pussy, glistening in the moonlit room. he eyed you with no shame and you did the same. you mouth watering at the sight of his cock, you weren’t sure it would fit in you, something of that size

his hand moved to prepare you but you shook your head, “please jay. i don’t wanna wait.”

how could he say no when you asked so prettily. lining himself up with your entrance he pushed his tip through with a groan, head falling forward as yours fell back.

his hands kept your thighs spread open for him, “nearly half way, baby. you can do it, good girl.”

you whined at the stretch, he was so big. so big everywhere, his arms, his thighs, his hands, broad shoulder and chest, his cock.

finally he stopped pushing in, filling you all the way up. he waited, giving you time to adjust to his monstrous size. he laid on top of you, calmly breathing, giving you a sense of peace in the middle of all this before you tapped his bicep. “you can move.” you murmur to him.

he nods, pulling out most of the ways until the head of his cock is the only thing inside you before pushing back in, slowly to ease you around him.

his pace quickens over time, he fucks you faster with each thrust. soon he’s plowing into you, your knees hooked over his shoulders so he can angle himself deeper in you.

every time he fucks himself back into you, your body jolts as if you’re trying to get away from him, your thighs quiver. and he’d be concerned about your crying if you weren’t moaning his name like a prayer and asking for more.

“yeah? you like that, baby?” he coos, though his voice isn’t as smooth as intended, its rough and more like a growl. “you’re mine again, aren’t you?”

“yes yes yes.” you chant, nails scratching down his chest. “yours, all yours. jay, ‘m gonna—”

“i know, baby. you gonna cum f’me?”

you nod, “yes, please jay. can i?”

“can you what, doll? use your words, tell me what you want.”

“can i cum? please jay, i wanna—”

“cum for me, doll. show me how good you can be for me, show me and i’ll give you more.”

and you do, you come on his cock and he groans before he comes too, fucking you through it. slowing down when you ask him to because the overstimulation burns.

he kisses your cheek, nuzzling against it. “i missed you.” he hears you mumble, your arms wrap around his neck as he turns you over to lay on top of him, his softening cock still inside you.

“i missed you too, baby.”

he can feel your heart thumping in your chest as you eyes close. “you’ll stay?” you ask, despite this being his apartment.

“i’m never leaving you again.”

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[unoislazy]

Hello ! Sorry for my bad English, it's not my first language I do my best

First of all, I love how you write <3

Second, my request would be Hiccup getting jealous and confessing to fem!reader by accident

That's all !

Thanks for writing so well, I send you a little kiss

Hello!

Congrats you’re my first request!

I hope I could do your request justice, enjoy

Just Talk To Me!

Hiccup x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k words

Summary: You and Eret have gotten pretty close due to your constant fighting practice. Of course, a certain chief isn’t too happy about it but he has a bit of trouble trying to tell you why.

————————————————————

“You’re getting better at this!” Eret praised, ducking under your fist as you swung at him. He continued to dodge your strikes as you smiled.

You both had begun sparring together a few months ago, after the whole Dragon War fiasco. You realized that without your dragon, you weren’t as strong or as agile as the other Vikings, so you asked Eret to help you train.

You swept your foot under him, finally taking him down and putting your foot on his chest, signifying that you had one the fight.

“Have I gotten better, or have you just gotten worse?” You asked teasingly, taking your foot off of him as he smiled up at you.

You held out your hand to help him up. He obliged, taking it as he stood up once again, wiping off his clothes from that dust that truly didn’t even seem to be there.

“You’ve certainly made improvements since day one. I can tell you that.” He said, stretching a bit. “You could definitely do well even without your dragon, if you’d ever need to.” He continued, looking back at both of your dragons who were simply chilling off to the side, as they often did when you two fought.

“Hopefully there never comes a time.” You said in a lighthearted tone, but you truly hoped there would never be a time where you’d have to fair without your dragon.

“I second that. It’s funny, I never thought I’d ever change my ways when it came to dragons. Yet here I am, looking after this beast.” Eret joked, patting Skull Crushers head lightly causing the dragon to groan and slightly shake its head in response.

“Well I’m glad you had it in you to change, who knows maybe I would’ve taken you down myself.” You gloated sarcastically, walking towards the pair as Eret smiled back at you, acknowledging your joke.

“Yeah you wouldn’t have made it even close.” He let out a chuckle as he watched your teasing smirk turn to a pout. You knew his teasing was all in good fun but realistically if it had come to it you would’ve taken him out if you needed to.

“Just cause I’ve gotten better doesn’t mean I wasn’t skilled to begin with.” You reminded.

“Fair. Now how about best two out of three?” Eret asked, getting into a fighting stance which you very quickly mimicked. Just as you both were about to start fighting you had heard a very familiar growl come from above. Your head shot up towards the noise and you spotted none other than Hiccup Haddock, the chief of Berk, flying above you.

“Guess not.” You joked, no longer standing in a ready position as you turned to face the aforementioned chief who had landed not too far away from the both of you. Hiccup hopped off of Toothless with ease, slipping his helmet off in the process, and walked over to the two of you with Toothless close behind.

“Morning you two.” Hiccup greated, earning a nod of acknowledgement from the both of you. “What are you guys doing all the way out here?” He asked but you noticed it wasn’t in the sense of his usual curiosity. There was an underlying tone that you could quite put your finger on so you figured you were just simply thinking too much into it.

You hadn’t really thought about it but you suppose you and Eret were more or less in the middle of nowhere in the woods. It was the most quiet place the two of you could find to practice in peace without going to the Arena.

“Eret and I have been sparring, I figured I should eventually learn how, considering most of my strength comes from them.” You said, gesturing to your dragon who was sleeping peacefully only to be startled awake by Toothless patting them on the head. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit, Toothless always reminded you of a cat in a way, you found it adorable.

“Alone?” Hiccup asked, which honestly surprised the both of you. You looked towards hiccup in confusion only to see the shock he had on his own face. Clearly he didn’t mean to let it slip out but it was too late to take it back now.

“Well no… our dragons are here with us?” You stated but you were so confused about the reasoning behind Hiccups question that you couldn’t seem to phrase it as anything other than a question. You all fell silent as Hiccup swayed his arms in an awkward fashion, something he only does when he’s trying to avoid talking about something.

Eret looked between the two of you, realizing he had no part in the conversation he simply cleared his throat.

“I’ll just leave you two be, I have some… things to take care of..” He excused himself, quickly hopping onto Skullcrusher and exiting the awkward situation as quickly as possible. Once Eret had flown away you quickly turned back to Hiccup who was clearly avoiding even looking in your general direction.

“Spill it.” You said bluntly causing Hiccup to finally make eye contact with you. His face held a confused look but you both knew what you were talking about.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Hiccup said, again clearly avoiding the topic as he walked over to Toothless. “Have you seen the new addition I added to Toothless’s tail?” It was clear he was trying to think of anything to change the subject because obviously there was nothing different about Toothless’s tail and you both knew that.

You crossed your arms as you stared at the brunette before you, your face holding an expression that clearly said ‘seriously?’. He dropped Toothless’s tail with a sigh before getting up and walking towards you. Silence quickly swept over the two of you as you continued to wait for Hiccup to say something. You raised an eyebrow at him before he blurted out,

“Have you seen the new scale armor?”, giving one more quick shot to derail the conversation.

“Hiccup.” You said quite sternly. “Spill it.” You repeated, your arms still crossed over your chest as you watched the man nervously fidget. He may be the chief but he still held some of his nervous quirks. Sure he had the ability to look powerful and calm when his people needed their chief, but when he wasn’t the ‘Chief of Berk’ he was just Hiccup.

Just Hiccup.

And you’d be damned if you said you didn’t love him. Ever since you met hiccup you knew he always tried to meet everyone’s expectations only to have a long history of falling short. Hiccup as he was was always overlooked, everyone looked to him to be ‘the Chiefs son’ the ‘next chief of Berk’ and the one he really struggled with, was ‘Stoick’s son’. No one ever truly looked at him as just Hiccup.

Well everyone except you.

You liked him from the very beginning when he was just a scrawny boy obsessed with earning his fathers approval. Did you have the courage to say anything about the way you felt? No of course not, why would you? As much as you loved to see him as ‘Just Hiccup’ you couldn’t deny the fact that he was still pretty far out of your league, especially given his title of ‘The Dragon Master’. What title did you have? Nothing.

Well you had the title of being one of his closest friends so you stuck with that as being enough for you.

“I just don’t think you and Eret should be so far away while training.” He finally spoke up. It was clear he was still keeping something from you but at least he gave you something to work with.

“Why?” You asked, trying to nudge more out of him. He put his hands on his hips. As he began to pace slowly in a circle.

“I don’t know, I just think it would be safer if you-“ Hiccup began only for you to cut him off.

“Hiccup we have two dragons here, one of them being Skull Crusher. I’d say it’s pretty safe to say nothings going to attack us out here.” You argued, now mimicking his pose with your hands on your hips.

“Well still I just don’t like the idea of you guys being alone.” He said, looking up at you. You rolled your eyes in response,

“Hiccup I already said, we’re here with the dragons. We’re not alone.” You stated as if it wasn’t getting through his head. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he was trying to hint at a different concern and you were missing the point entirely.

Your response only caused Hiccup to groan as his hand shot up to his face. He dragged his hands down his face as he turned around, now facing Toothless who simply looked at his friend in utter confusion. The dragon looked from you, then to Hiccup, then back to you. You simply shook your head with a shrug of your shoulders before Toothless walked away, deeming him your problem.

“Hiccup I don't understand why this is such a big issue to you, we used to be in the woods alone all the time together. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it then.” You stated quite bluntly.

“That was different!” He shouted. His face had ever so slightly turned the faintest hint of red, but it was still enough for you to notice. He seemed almost exasperated as you continued to swim around the very vague point that he was failing to get at.

“How was it any different than what me and Eret are doing? If anything it’s safer now because we’re both adults. Granted we did have a Night Fury with us back then…” You began to mumble to yourself, accidentally going off topic. Hiccup sighed, walking up to you and grabbing you by your shoulders. He was stern but still managed to be gentle as he forced you to look at him.

“I can’t control what you do or who you spend your time with, but I just don’t like that you and Eret spend so much time together, so far outside of the village, alone…” Hiccup said, practically laying it all out for you.

“Hiccup?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not alone.”

Hiccup merely stared at you, eyes wide in shock as he tried to calculate your intelligence in that split second. He practically spelled it out for you and you still weren’t getting it.

What hadn’t occurred to him however, was that you had already caught on, you were just trying to get him to admit it himself. Granted, you had just caught on maybe seconds before, but you still thought it might be fun to mess with him a little. Besides, who were you to make the assumption that the Chief of Berk himself was jealous that you were spending time with another man. It could be considered a reach… Unless he just said it himself.

“Why don’t you want me to be alone with him so badly?” You asked, figuring you should try and at least break the loop that you two seemed to be stuck in.

“Because…” Hiccup began, trying to think of a way to phrase what he wanted to say. You waited patiently, just looking at him and occasionally switching your gaze over to the dragons who were chasing each other around.

“Because?” You repeated, waiting for his response. His green eyes staring back into yours. They looked almost as if they were trembling as they bounced between the features on your face.

“Why is it so hard to talk to you?” He shouted abruptly, quickly letting go of your shoulders and flung his arms into the air with an exasperated groan.

“If it was easier for you to tell me about the dragon you were keeping hidden from a village filled with bloodthirsty, war hungry Vikings, I’ m almost afraid of whatever this could possibly be.” You joked, trying to lighten his mood.

“It’s not the same thing.” He muttered in response as you laughed.

“How could anything you have to tell me be worse than that?” Hiccup sighed in response as he went back to pacing. Clearly it was his way of thinking about what to do next. It wasn’t a trait he often exhibited but you knew once he started pacing, whatever he was thinking about was pretty serious.

“It’s not about what I have to tell you, it’s about your response.” He finally said, you rolled your eyes lightheartedly. You’ve known this man for years, and in those years you’ve learned countless embarrassing facts about him that he had less of a problem about you knowing than ‘whatever he had to tell you’.

“What does my response have to do with anything? Hiccup, anything you have to tell me won't change anything.” You stated with a laugh as you tried to comfort him. You almost started to second guess what you thought he was going to tell you. If he was truly this worried about what he was going to say maybe it was actually a very serious matter?

“Ha, yeah you say that now.” He laughed sarcastically, quickly looking up at you before returning to his pacing.

“Hiccup, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

If there’s one thing about Hiccup it was his stubbornness. Anyone would just shrug that off as a Viking thing but you knew if anything, it came from his father. As much as Hiccup would deny being able to compare to his father, he shared many similar traits with him. You knew it, his mother knew it, even Gobber knew it, but he frequently denied it.

Stubborn.

“Why are you so concerned about me and Eret in the first place?” You decided to bring up the last topic, because if he wasn’t going to get to the point, you were.

“Because…” He muttered quietly in response as if he was holding something back.

“Because what hiccup? Seriously, I know you have an issue with communication sometimes but you can't just keep dancing around the issue here-“ You rambled a bit but before you could continue, Hiccup interrupted you.

“Because I have feelings for you!” He blurted out suddenly.

You both froze. He turned away from you as you simply stared at him. He finally said it, he actually really said it.

“Hiccup…” You muttered quietly.

He didn’t move. He didn’t want to move. The last thing he wanted right now was to turn around and have to face the potential of rejection.

“Hiccup.” You called out again, walking towards him and lightly placing your hand on his shoulder. He finally turned towards you slightly, but he still refused to face you all the way. “You’re serious?” You asked, to which he simply looked at you with confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“At least one of us finally admitted to it.” You joked. For some reason Hiccup had registered that you were making a joke, but not necessarily what you were joking about.

“Yeah okay, go on, laugh it out- wait.” Hiccup quickly turned back to you. You nodded with a smile, confirming his suspicion as he clearly thought he had misheard you.

“Wait but- for how long?” He asked excitedly, almost as if he didn’t believe you. “Oh this is great! I thought you were going to hate me for even saying anything about it, but you’re not! You feel the same-“ He cheered, slightly beginning to ramble as all of his previous anxiety seemed to just melt away.

You smiled as you watched him celebrate before quickly planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

The man froze before you, clearly not expecting even such a small act of affection. You never knew him to be entirely bold, you always saw him as a very awkward man, but you watched as the awkwardness practically jumped out a window for a split second or so as Hiccup grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him.

He was the last person you’d expect such a smooth act to come from, and honestly you didn’t mind it. His eyes drifted from yours to your lips in a matter of seconds as if he was silently asking for your approval, to which you nodded.

Before you knew it you were kissing the literal man of your dreams.

It was wonderful.

It was a very soft kiss, the perfect kind to be shared for the first time.

Once you pulled away you looked to hiccup before dramatically gasping.

“What? What is it?” Hiccup asked, panicking that he had done something wrong.

“Does that mean… you were jealous of Eret?” You asked with a joking smile.

“Oh come on- really?” Hiccup said, jokingly pushing you away with a laugh.

Safe to say you never let him live this moment down, and much to his dismay you had excitedly told your friends about it not too long after.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

please please i’d like to request a carmy blurb with the dialogue prompt “Don't go on that date” ❤️

Divine Timing.

carmy berzatto x female reader

warnings - cursing

written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here. inbox here.

He’s in a bad mood.

Technically, he’s always in a bad mood. But this is the worst you’ve seen him in a long time.

He’s screamed at Richie, belittled Marcus and pissed off Tina in the span of approximately five minutes, and everyone is tired. So, they enlist your help.

You speak fluent Carmy, Syd had said once. You’re the only one he listens to.

So, the next time he shouts, you shout back. Louder.

“Sydney, what the fuck are you doing?” he yells bitterly.

“Carmen, if you don’t stop fucking screaming, I’ll smack you so hard in front of everyone - I swear to fucking God.”

You yell back at a volume that shocks even Richie. The Beef stands still, everyone too afraid to move. Carmy is startled, stuck in place.

“We’re taking five,” you tell him, linking your fingers into his. “Come on.”

You drag him outside, sitting him down in his usual spot. You grab a water bottle and throw it at him, raising your eyebrows in a gesture that says drink it or else. He does as he’s told.

You let him wallow in the silence for a while, calming down slowly but surely. You look over, expecting to see him still angry, or frustrated. Instead, he just looks sad.

You move to sit next to him, turning your body so you can see his face clearly.

“What’s the matter, Carm? What’s got you so riled up today, hmm?”

“Nothin’” he replies, kicking his shoe into the ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Does matter. You can’t take your feelings out on everyone in the kitchen, you know. It isn’t fair.”

“I know.”

Your phone makes a noise, and you check the screen quickly before shoving it back in your pocket.

“Anyone important?”

“Nah. Just the guy I’m meant to be seeing later, checking in to see if I’m still good.”

Carmy tenses, whole body going rigid beside you. You feel it, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Listen, Carm. If you don’t wanna tell me what’s bothering you, then fine. But you’ve got to work it out in your own time - not in the fucking kitchen. Got it?”

He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, he speaks.

“Don’t go on that date.”

Your head whips around in disbelief.

“What?”

He ducks his head, willing the ground to swallow him whole.

“Don’t go on that date. Please.”

“Is that… is that what’s got you all upset?”

He scoffs and immediately regrets it, looking at you with softness in his eyes that’s rare as diamonds.

“Yeah.”

“Carmen… why?”

He takes a deep breath, gaze never leaving yours.

“It’s been eating me up, the idea of you going out with some guy. I wanted to tell you how I felt, but… I didn’t want it to be awkward, when you didn’t feel the same way. We work together, we see each other every day, and I didn’t wanna fuck up our friendship.”

“So… you took your anger out on everyone else?”

“Yeah, fuck. I didn’t mean to. Think I just bottled up my feelings too much.”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?”

Carmy chokes on his breath, staring at you in disbelief.

“You… wait- what?”

“Anyone can see that I like you, Carm. I have since the day I met you and you flashed me one of those million dollar smiles of yours.”

He gives you one now, all bright and bashful.

“This is the last time anything like this happens, you hear me? From now on, you talk to me. And I’ll talk to you. It goes both ways.”

He nods, agreeing wholeheartedly.

“Here’s the deal, Berzatto. You go in there and apologise individually to each and every person you’ve been a dick towards today, and I’ll cancel my date with the douchebag I didn’t wanna see anyway.”

“And you’ll date me instead.”

You laugh, head thrown back and eyes crinkling.

“Fine. But only if the apologies are super heartfelt.”

He shakes his head, chuckling from deep within his chest. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For yelling at me back there. I needed it.”

You smile, leaning into him.

“You’re so welcome.”

“It was super hot, too.”

“Shut up, Berzatto,” you chide, but you can’t fight the grin that etches itself on your face.