#i can't go back. i still love them but i can't enjoy it anymore
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Perfection beyond all.
The two of my lovers are well provided by me.
This is my 2nd stepdaughter. Once I seek for whenever I miss my wife, especially our fucking her.
However, things changed from that night. The one that I have spent a week of glorious sexcapade.
I have made love to her not as my stepdaughter but like my lover. Unlike her eldest sister, she never called me daddy even without my penis parking inside her vagina.
I love her tenderly.
And I know she hasn't had any boyfriend unlike her sister. She has been my loyal lover. Just like her mother.
Because I have sent someone to trek for me. 😈😈
So when she has graduated from her college with honour and majoring in law, I have bought her an apartment which she is much prefer and a porche.
No one knows this except the two of us.
She has gone to build her career as a lawyer. And we continue to be together, as lover and partner.
She only comes home for the Christmas holiday and never really bonded well with her sisters.
One of the reason has been that she blames my wife for divorcing her father, and the other 3 girls support their mother decision.
These all happened before I was in the picture. So when the wife introduced her daughters to me before our marriage, I didn't have any problems getting to know them. At that time I don't have any sexual contacts with them yet.
The first was the eldest when we first met. We practically together before I even propose my wife. And no sexual contact with the 3rd and 4th daughters. They were a bit younger than my age limit.
As for this 2nd stepdaughter, I was to meet the last one - a week before our wedding. She has been staying with her father and refused to know anything about her mother.
I practically had to arrange my meeting with her by myself and met her all by myself. And I never regret that.
Just like her eldest sister, she has probably made me ejaculated the moment I saw her perfect breasts.
We talked. It was a pleasant conversation but never about her mother. I know what her likes and hobbies are. I want to talk on those relevant topics, but I don't understand our topic turns out to touch on sexual preferences.
Like she enjoys bdsm. She never wore bra when her breasts outgrown from cup B. And she love getting fuck whenever she is stress out.
After hearing this, I excused myself but not too far long as I just detour to walk behind her seat - bend over to slide both my hands into her blouse and massage her perfect breasts of 36-DDDs, stopping at her perfect tits and ever lightly rubbing her nubs.
Her reactions has been pleasant and almost loud. She closed her eyes and lean back. But she suddenly jerk up as I know she felt my hard pointed rod poking her back.
I whispered.
"Let's fuck."
I paid for our uneaten dinner. Then, I texted my wife that I would be visiting some imaginary relatives and won't be back for a few days. She, too, texted her dad that she was visiting her imaginary cousin.
I drive us back to my apartment but not my unit that I usually live with my girlfriend but the other one that she has no knowledge of, even to these days.
It was risked that I am taking, but I can't hold on anymore. I was going crazy with her daughter.
We made love. She may be experienced with the boys near her age, but she is not on the same level as her mother.
Experience makes perfections.
And feelings grows.
After that sweet night's from her college, my love for her deepened.
And after now, I still have her in my life - not as stepdaughter but more like a partner and lover.
My wife has no knowledge of this special relationship.
It won't end. Not for me.
#absolutely perfect#perfect breast#perfect figure#perfection#perfect tiddies#perfect butt#penis recital#couple#relationship#intimate#intimacy
14K notes
·
View notes
Text
happily ever after, among other things, is an exploration of the path in the woods/reset ending, and player experience.
real quick i'm going to get this out of the way: yes, seeing it as a dying relationship is the most obvious reading, considering the themes of the chapter. i realize that, and i think that idea coexists with this one. this isn't dismissing that aspect of it. it's merely another facet of it.
okay now buckle in. this is a bit of a long one.
so, first off, the chapter is described as an epilogue. this chapter is unique in that regard.
but clearly it's not an actual epilogue. for many reasons. and it could be argued that this is because smitten wants this to last forever, but i think there's more to it. it's an epilogue because you've been here before, haven't you? you've finished things. and now you're back for more. well here it is.
once you ascend to the princess, she is sitting at a long table--a titanic distance between you and she that you cannot cross. depictions of you and her together cover the walls, untold stories that will never come to pass.
she's been expecting you to get here. to come 'home'. there is an implication that this has happened before. this is a tired song and dance. and god are you tired.
your shadow looms on the wall. holding you as much as it holds her, keeping you locked together just as much as it is keeping you apart. this only continues because you will it so; you don't want this to end. you can't let it end.
'but...we would have to stay here forever.'
the torches burn on the wall. they're what's keeping you happy. i find it interesting that, if you count the princess here, you have the same number as how many vessels the shifting mound wants, and that refusing to engage with her makes torches go out--denying her a vessel.
but let's not think about that. you and her enjoy something new and exciting together. it is the best experience like this that you have ever had. it is fresh, it is deep and invigorating. the two of you enjoy this. wasn't that perfect? wouldn't it be better if you do it again? can't we enjoy this again? you both want more.
and so you do it again. and it is enjoyable. you see new aspects of the experience; facets you never thought of before. it's exciting to stumble across these things. but then it ends. again. and you still want more.
so you do it again. there is less to see now, and what there is that is left doesn't invigorate you as much as it once did. it is the small things; simple moments between broad strokes. you've seen this before. you see them anyway.
no, no, you need to do it again. your set the stage again. you perform your play again. you used to love this one.
...then why doesn't it make you feel anything anymore? if you want this so much, why don't you enjoy it?
and that's it. you don't enjoy it anymore. neither of you do, and that guilt ways heavy over you. you've exhausted that whole experience, what are you meant to do now? you're scared of what will happen once you leave this comfortable familiarity you're in--this cage you've grown fond of.
you find something else to do. she sets the stage. what if we try and do something we've never done before? just...try something? anything.
and it is fun. you enjoy yourself again. you try so many things together. you try warmth and comfort. you try betrayal and cruelty. you do well, you do poorly. but all of these are new experiences. you're detached from the reality of these situations. it's just pretend.
you win. the board resets. she wins. the board resets. you go through more complicated paths. you see things you never saw before. it's all so exciting. the rush of testing your will on hers. you enjoy this.
but you're happy, right? you're still enjoying this?
what if you just spend time together? it doesn't even have to be a new activity. you don't have to do anything. just experience this moment together, go through the tired halls of all that we've exhausted. we can make this work. please. we don't have to leave. maybe it's your desperation bleeding into her, or maybe she fears that unknown as much as you do.
but...wouldn't it be nice to leave? to finally start your dance together, even if it's scary? she smiles sadly as she thinks about it. but that terror hasn't left you. you want her to stay. you want to stay with her. you dig your heels in. but...
'i'm not happy here. i don't think i ever was.'
that's what breaks you.
and for the first time in a long, long time, you find yourself sitting in the dark. there is no familiarity to this pain. only the knowledge that you have so utterly failed her.
'i feel empty.'
'me too.'
she's the one that crosses the gap between you. she meets you where the door to your freedom awaits, where you stand and stall as always.
'do you...still care about me?'
you've lived so many lives together. you've done so much. do you still care? did you ever? you...think you do care. even if it has been misguided and painful, hasn't that always been the two of you? that's a spark of familiarity. you see it in her too.
you've outgrown this place. you've seen what it holds. you know now; it's time to go. she leads you out of here, you trailing behind her. it...feels real. more real than the recursive lives you've lead.
and finally, she gets her wish. out in the night, you begin to dance. and it's invigorating. it's new, yes, but it's also...right, in ways you can't explain. there is no path for you to walk. there are no doubts holding you in the past. there is only you, and there is only her. this is where you're meant to be.
and finally, you are.
...but there are other endings to this. you don't always leave with her. sometimes that terror grips tighter. it doesn't have to end. we can just start over again. we don't ever have to admit how much it hurts. there is fondness to this monotony.
so you keep the flame lit. you keep the cycle going. we can be on this path in the woods forever.
or...perhaps you realize now that what was once love has gone putrid in your hands. what began as an exploration of each other's souls has only bred resentment. maybe she's been a monster all along. maybe you were just waiting for an opportunity. but you've made your decision.
you expect her to be mad. furious, even. but she's not. just...resigned. what is different about death compared to this eternity of the same words, repeated over and over? it's always been cold here.
but at least it's over.
#slay the princess#stp#pristine cut spoilers#stp spoilers#stp happily ever after#hi chat. this is a doozy. i had to get this out of my mind though
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
The end (again)
First of all I want to thank you all for following and engaging with me ever since I returned to this space. It's been, mostly, great. I've written some things I'm really proud of, and for that reason I'm reluctant to delete this blog like I did the last.
I think it's been obvious I've not been enjoying myself in a long time, except for the occasional few days when it's been fun to write and interact with people. Throughout this whole year I've been trying to convince myself that I can use this blog only when I want to and feel inspired to, and while it sometimes works it very often just leaves me frustrated as I try to make this space fun for myself again. I'm gonna try not to be too longwinded about this as I have the habit of being, so long story short, I'm going to leave this blog.
I won't be deleting anything, but I'll also not be using this blog anymore. I was debating just disappearing without saying anything, but I think that's rude when some of you have been so very kind. The one and only exception will be if I feel really inspired and write something I love and would like to share specifically on here (or maybe I'll just post them on AO3 if I feel like it). Since I won't feel pressured to use this blog I'm sure that experience will be authentic and beautiful and rare. I want to focus on writing outside of this space, as I keep putting my energy here and not where I'd like it to be. There are lots of things going on in my life right now and I'd like to try to regain some control by using my free time intentionally in order to become the version of myself I'm striving toward. This blog is, unfortunately, not part of that version.
I still have a few prompts I want to fill, and a few WIPs I want to finish/post anyway, so I'm not disappearing just yet. When I say disappear, I'm not sure if I mean that I won't ever be logged in. I'm not entirely sure yet how I'm going to go about it, if I'm going to answer messages or turn asks off or what. I think, in the long run, asks will be turned off just so that I won't feel the urge to log in for the off chance someone has given me some attention. That's why I deleted the old blog, to keep myself from having one foot in there still.
I want to thank you for the lovely lovely time being back here. It's not been perfect, but that's not what I'm deciding to take with me this time. I want to remember writing Criminal Minds fics and Stranger Things fics and Red White and Royal Blue fics and Heartstopper fics, and how lovely you were about those fics. Revisiting fandoms and finding new ones and completing tickletober and having plans and ambitions for projects (even though I didn't always follow through, it's always nice having ambitions). I don't regret deleting the old blog and I don't regret creating this one. I think I probably needed to return, on my own terms, just like I'm now leaving on my own terms. I don't think I did that last time.
I keep rewriting this and looking at it and wondering if I will regret posting it. If posting it will somehow flip the switch and I will find so much joy here again and look like a fool. And if that happens, so be it. But I need to post this. I can't keep procrastinating. I have, in a way, been working up the nerve to say goodbye for the past year.
If you've ever commissioned a fic, I urge you to save it somewhere because I can't promise I won't randomly delete one day in the future either, if I realize it will be for the better (I guess the same goes for if you enjoy a fic and would like to be able to revisit it - but please don't share it anywhere else).
N over and out (well, once I finish those fics I still want to finish)
43 notes
·
View notes
Text
.
#i woke up the other morning and on my way to work it popped in my head to break up with my partner#i love them and they're so fucking sweet and good to me and we've hardly had any issues. never had a fight and we've been together 5 months#we work really good together and i really enjoy spending time with them#but that morning on the way to work it wasn't like it was a question that popped into my head or 'should i break up with them' it was more#just an objective fact 'it's time to end things. it's over' and it's like something shifted. a switch flipped or something and i can't go#i can't go back. i still love them but i can't enjoy it anymore#i went over to their place night and went to dinner with them and their friends and hung out watching tv#like we have so many other nights#but it felt completely different. it felt wrong. i didn't belong anymore#it all just made me sad#i went hoping that spending time with them would bring it back. would make things normal again#but i just can't get it back. whatever the fuck 'it' is#but they're still so happy and in love and they were being so fucking sweet today trying to comfort me because they knew something was off#and it breaks my heart knowing that i'm about to hurt them#because i don't want to leave them but i feel like i'm being deceitful and fake because#i love them but i can no longer love them how they want me to. how i want to#but god i really really don't want to hurt them#i think i'm having or about to have a panic attack because of how stressed i am at the idea of hurting them#especially because it's already a tough time of year for them and work has been stressful nd i dont want to add to it but i cant lie to them#i can't really think about how much i don't want to do this or how much i'm going to miss them because i'm at work and i can't cry in front#of customers but fuck fuck it hurts#it hurts me just thinking about how much hurt i'm going to put them through#how much i already am because i know i'm acting different#but i'm pretty sure they think i'm just going through a depressive episode or something#bc they haven't fucking done anything! how can i break up with someone who hasn't even done a god damn thing???#and i never really could see a distant future with them but it was so nice being with them#but it was so fucking nice to have somebody be as into me as i was them and to feel so reciprocated and on the same page as someone#why did that all of a sudden change. just completely out of the blue. completely unprompted#i don't know what to do.. and i'm out of tags. that's never happened before#madi says shit
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Wait so... Okay, so Death's your mom-"
"Parent," I correct, munching my sandwich.
"Okay, Parent. Then... Who's the other one?"
I shrug in response. "Demi-, so it's gotta be someone mortal."
She narrowed her eyes at me before simply standing and walking away. I was used to that reaction by now.
As I munched the sandwich, another came up to me. One of Death's various psychopomps. A feline-faced thing, body a lashing, coiling spine and arms made of bat wings and spectral nothingness. Despite the lack of size, it was still an intimidating force... Except to me.
"Go home, Jorhu, I'm not in the mood right now," I chide the little thing, slowly realizing how much that reaction must have gotten to me.
There's a sound akin to a mix between a mrrp and a ghastly moan from the pomp.
I sigh in response and reach out a hand, scratching the feline forehead and earning rumbling, echoing purrs in response. "You're insufferably sometimes..."
After a moment of enjoying the pets, Jorhu perks up and looks off to elsewhere. Following its gaze, I see what it caught.
A hollow shell of a ghost, formlessly walking as if peaking from under an endlessly tall curtain. What looked like it was meant to be an arm waved to me. A warmth ripped through my chest as I looked on at the form. Something I couldn't even begin to express or understand...
And then it was gone.
"Oi, you okay, Tlaloc?" asked the voice of my best friend from behind me... Well, my only friend.
Turning to face Kelpie, I smiled at them, not noticing the tear in my eye. "You're wearing your pins," I pointed out as I cleared my throat, reaching my spectral left hand to poke at the purple and grey enamel that decorated their dress collar.
Kelpie shrugged in response. "I don't have to hide from dear ol' mom anymore, why not? It's me." They sat beside me, leaning on the wooden table. "You also dodged the question. You okay, big guy?" They reached a hand back to me and wiped a tear that escaped onto my pale cheek, taking me by surprise.
I swallowed and chuckled. "I'm fine, just... Someone tried makin' friends again," I half-lied, wiping my face with my more tangible hand.
Kelpie shrugged, using their two free hands to pull out their own lunch while the third gave my back a pat. "Don't worry too much about it. If they're so scared of you that they don't come back, they ain't worth it!"
I smile at the reassurance, leaning on my elbow as I finish my sandwich. "She was kinda cute..."
Kelpie chuckles. "Cute don't mean nice."
I sigh as I nod, the conversation turning towards classes and degrees and smaller topics. I can't shake that feeling, noticing Jorhu was gone as well.
After a while, my own Dear Ol' Parent appears, a more... Mortal face than she has at home, though she shares a similar featured pair of spectral arms like my left. "Lockie, dear~! Are you ready to come home?"
I sigh, shaking my head. "Guess I oughta..." I stand and give Kelpie a fistbump. "See you Thursday?"
"Thursday, brothah," they offer back.
I follow my Mom along, silent.
"What did you see, Lockie?"
The question took me off guard, snapping me back as I realize how far we've walked away from campus, having arrived at a park. I shake my head and sigh. "I... Mom... Who... where did I come from?" I ask, trying to avoid the question without realizing she caught my meaning.
Mom smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was warm... Warmer than usual, even. My heart skipped for a moment. "My dear, sweet, perfect Tlaloc... Would you like to go for a stroll before we go home? How about some nice chicken roast for dinner?"
I look at her exasperated before I sigh, knowing she can't truly tell me. "That's... Thanks, mom..."
She slumped her shoulders a bit at me and leaned in, giving the side of my dejected head a kiss. "Love you, sweetheart..."
"Love you, too, mom." The affirmation brought a smile back to me as we disappeared to home. Just before I stepped over the Threshold, I could feel something watching me still.
That same warmth pull at my face to glance back, only a pale fog where Who must have been.
You are the child of Death. Everyone always assumes that you were adopted, but you are in fact Death's biological child, although they are unwilling to tell how exactly this happened.
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
Honestly, as much as well talk about it, I kinda don't seen City as an option just becauss they've built their team over the last 2 years, including ofc Grealish who also plays as a 10 and is a starter, and it doesn't feel like they'd want to make any big transfers now. But still I guess we will see in the transfer window for sure, both for City's squad and Messi's decision.
appreciate the reality check, anons 🥲 it's all on leo and whether he believes in whatever "sports project" nonsense pissg is feeding him atp. i seriously doubt he's going to stay in the tinpot club for much longer (dear god let this not be a jinx), but considering barça's financial situation rn, not to mention tebas,,, i really don't think it's a feasible option. and i don't want it to be, either :// not at this moment, anyway. so yes, we can only wait and see what happens in the next transfer window. i'm not too worried about his options tbh— it's fucking messi, not just any random player: all it takes is the news "he is wants to leave" to break out just like the burofax in 2020 and he'll have clubs lining up at his doorstep
#also i've heard grealish has been flopping lately?#saw some ppl on city twt saying they wouldn't mind messi in their squad in place of grealish that got me going HMMM fjdkfj#jokes aside tho. if he leaves pissg and barça can't sign him then i don't see him going anywhere other than city#bc messi enjoys familiarity. he has juli and pep over there. not to mention city was an actual option he was considering back in 2020#i'd love to see him in napoli too but they're broke so 🥲#but i really really don't want barça for him rn. administrative and political issues with la liga aside#the way true coolers are moving rn#coupled with PLAYERS saying they hope messi comes back and helps them win the ucl#it's not looking good bruv. hate to burst the bubble but the current squad is only good enough to win the league#there's still a long way to go if they want to conquer europe. and this isn't 2018/19 messi anymore#who can singlehandedly drag them to the ucl semis#if messi comes back and they flop he'll be made the scapegoat. and it'll be so much worse#i understand there's the romantic inside all of us that thinks messi can definitely help the club of his life win the ucl#bc he's the main character of football and a real life mary sue#but listen. even cinderella's magic runs out when the clock strikes midnight#some things are just impossible#and im tired of seeing messi taking the blame for everything. i can take french media throwing stones at him bc they're pests anyway#but i don't want him to get hurt by the club of his life. that'd be too much for me to bear#at the end of the day it's his decision but yeah. city or napoli for me. barça can be his pit stop right before he r words#i have a lot of feelings regarding this sorry ://#asks
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Last spring my neighbour asked if I could let Pirlouit mow the grass around his barn from time to time, which Pirou was happy to do at first but if I left him there several days in a row he got pretty sad about being alone (lots of wistful, melancholy braying). So this year when my donkey was hired for this job again, I went for a different formula: for the past few weeks I've been bringing all the animals to the neighbour's barn for an hour of landscaping services now and then at apéritif time.
The fence is extremely not Pampe-proof so I have to have my apéritif while sitting on the road in a strategic position from which I can toss a stick in her direction if she tries to escape, but other than that I've been really enjoying this peaceful evening ritual, just sitting there reading and watching the animals while feeling like I'm doing my neighbour a favour. Pirlouit doesn't get all the grass to himself anymore but I've learnt that he prefers to be rich in friends than in food.
You'll notice that Merricat is present in every photo, looking alert. She too has been hired, but for the thankless job of Thought Police. She may look like she's just napping on the warm asphalt with not a care in the world...
... but she is working! Keeping an eye on the llamas, always.
I've discovered that in a specific context my three cats can act as precogs and warn me of Pampe's future crimes. My theory is that they developed this skill because of Poldine, who loves cats. Any cat who enters the pasture will soon be noticed and (lovingly) chased by Poldine, who wants kisses. Cats not only do not want llama kisses, they don't differentiate between individual llamas. They are all potential kissers. So even if it looks like she's all relaxed, Merricat is constantly monitoring where the llamas are and what they seem to be planning. If we are on the other side of a fence and Pampe approaches it a bit too slyly, Merricat will jump to her feet, ready to flee (and I will toss one of my anti-Pampe sticks, and say NON.)
Merricat and I are a very good team! We've foiled several of Pampe's plots, but we need to be on the road for Merricat to remain wary (if we were in the pen Pampe's escape attempts would involve getting away from us and the cat wouldn't care.) Cars are rare so it's okay (plus it's so quiet you can always hear them coming), and on the few occasions when someone showed up and asked why I was having apéritif on the road, I pointed at Pampe and they were like, "Ah! Didn't see her here. Good luck!"
"Hedgehog-moss, you're exaggerating. Pampe can't be that—"
She is! She is. And she always seems to notice when Merricat is on a bathroom break and I'm absorbed in a book.
There was one evening though, when she got distracted by a fascinating new idea. I don't claim to know what's going on in this llama's head (except when she's looking at a fence, then it's easy) but as you can see, once I brought the animals to the barn Poldine started eating flowers, Pirlouit started eating grass, and Pampe started eating the wall.
After a moment she slowly circled the barn, then stopped and lay down right next to it, settling down in a comfortable position but with focused ears and her head still turned towards the wall. It was suspicious behaviour, but on the other hand she now looked so uninterested in the road that I decided to take a risk and run home to bring back some dinner—and she didn't move while I was away! I even brought Pandolf, who is usually banned from these soirées because he would disturb my Merricat alarm system. He was happy to be finally included.
It's unclear if Pampe was eating the wall, talking to the wall, or carefully examining various parts of the wall as Step 1 of 27 of a complex plan only she understands, but she stuck close to the barn all evening instead of lying in wait by the fence so I was able to have a picnic in the grass rather than on the road, which felt more bucolic. I know that "Pampérigouste has a new, mysterious project" is a worrying sentence but at this early stage (feasibility study) it felt to me and Merricat like a little holiday!
#crawling along#if you look at the Pampe & The Wall photos you can see the adorable little goatee i gave poldine when i sheared her <3#it suits her she looks very elegant
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes
Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired
(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)
HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.
His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-
It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-
“Spencer?”
He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-
“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-
He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –
“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”
An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.
After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.
And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.
For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.
“Hi.”
You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.
You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.
“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”
Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.
“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”
He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.
Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.
The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.
“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”
“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”
You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.
“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-
“Is it because you saw my nudes?”
Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.
“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“
“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.
“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”
Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?
“Therapy sessions?”
You just- ignore him.
“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“
Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.
He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“
You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.
“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.
Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.
“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-
You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.
“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”
You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.
“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.
“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.
Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.
“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.
You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.
“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”
“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.
You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“
“You.”
You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-
You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.
“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”
And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.
Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.
“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.
“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.
“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.
“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”
Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.
It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-
“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”
Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.
Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.
Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.
It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.
Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.
“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.
“What do you mean?”
You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.
“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”
Youryouryouryouryour-
Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.
“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”
You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”
It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.
“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?
You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.
“Sure. Whatever.”
And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.
You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.
“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.
Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.
“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?
There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.
You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”
Oh.
Oh.
You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.
Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.
It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –
A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.
He never knew he needed this so much.
“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.
Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.
“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“
Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-
Why?
Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?
There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?
“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-
Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?
“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.
“Spencer.”
The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.
He loves it.
“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.
Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.
You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.
He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-
“You like me?”
You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.
“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.
“You- You want me?”
Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.
…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?
“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”
Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-
“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.
He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?
“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-
“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”
Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.
“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.
Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.
You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.
Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-
It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.
A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.
“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.
“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.
“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”
And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)
You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.
You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-
It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.
“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.
He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”
ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”
“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”
And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.
“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.
Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”
At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.
You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”
And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.
“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“
“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”
But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-
Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-
“Baby, please.”
Spencer sobs.
Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.
“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.
Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.
“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”
Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?
“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”
He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.
He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.
Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.
“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.
He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”
You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-
And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-
He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-
“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.
You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.
He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.
You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –
“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“
You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”
Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”
He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.
“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.
“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”
You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”
“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.
“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.
Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-
“Please.”
“Please what, angel?”
“More?”
“More what?”
Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.
“More touch?”
Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.
You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”
He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.
“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.
“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-
“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-
“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”
You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”
The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-
It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.
You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.
The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.
Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.
But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.
Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.
“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.
“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.
You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.
You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.
You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.
You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.
When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.
“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.
“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.
You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”
That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.
“Words, angel.”
“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”
You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”
He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.
There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.
You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.
Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.
When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”
“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.
It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.
Probably the first reason.
He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.
Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-
“Take it off?”
You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”
Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.
Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.
Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.
He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-
“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.
You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.
Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.
“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”
Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.
Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.
Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.
Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.
Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-
fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-
You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-
“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.
“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”
It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-
He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.
“What do you say, sweetheart?”
There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.
“Yes, I want. Please.”
You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”
Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.
“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.
“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).
There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”
Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”
You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"
Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-
“Yes. That.”
“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.
“Rossi? Rossi?”
“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”
Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.
He adores you with every fibre of his being.
“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”
And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”
You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.
Ah well. It was still worth it.
“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.
But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.
“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.
“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.
“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”
Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-
He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.
With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.
He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-
“You ready, baby?”
He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“
“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.
It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.
You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”
He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.
“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.
“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.
You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.
That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.
“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”
He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-
“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”
The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.
“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”
Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-
You give a particularly hard thrust and-
Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.
He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.
“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.
“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-
“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.
You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”
“Killing me with sex?”
“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”
He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.
“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”
Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.
“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”
He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.
Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-
“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”
He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-
“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.
“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”
Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”
You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”
Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?
“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.
You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”
“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.
There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.
--
Bonus
“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”
Spencer chokes on his coffee.
“What?”
“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”
Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.
“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”
Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.
“Shut up, Morgan.”
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a
i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)
#tinywrites#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader fanfic#criminal minds smut#spencer reid x reader smut#spencer reid x y/n#tinywrites:accidents#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fic#criminal minds x reader
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
It's giving philosophy professor. That college professor that you develop a crush on and you dedicate yourself into getting a good score to impress him, and he noticed your efforts. Eventually asking you to stay after class to help him with some classes, you accept, just to spend more time with him. After a few days you notice he is getting more comfortable with you, more caring, and of course you allow it, I mean look at him. One day he asks you to pass by his apartment and you go there with no hesitation. He is cooking for you, the house smells great, he opened a bottle of wine, and talked a bunch of philosophical bullshit, you are barely hearing him at this point. After a while he brought it up that he knows that you like him, and he has some feelings but he can't, he is your professor, it would be immoral and wrong... He fuck you that same night, and the night after that, and the night after that, and sometimes on his office on campus.
You are in heaven, you love him, you love life, you are going to marry him, but one day... That fucker appears with a ring on, you don't think to much about it, "maybe I'm seeing things" you deluded yourself into thinking, and then one of the students say "did you see that Mr. Evans got married, I hope he is happy", your heart sinks, who is the whore? He is yours, he said to you that you were the only one. He tells you that he only got married because of a family affair, nothing to do with you, he still loves you. And you keep the relationship with him, you keep the secret, you don't tell a soul.
And by the end of the year, he invites you for a "meeting", you wear your best dress, your best heels, and when you get there, you see him with his arms around his wife, her ring bigger than her fist, he laughs with his colleagues, and you hear them talking "we couldn't be happier man, this baby is our miracle, and this new house will be great for us". You chug another glass of whatever you are drinking and go to your dorm room. Pick your stuff and go home, you cry during your winter vacation, you can't even enjoy yourself, you completely lost yourself, how dare he?? You don't feel like yourself again, it's all him on you.
After a while you go back to college and he isn't there anymore, another teacher took his place, you ask around and everyone just says that he moved out, you go to his apartment to check and he isn't there anymore, the apartment is empty, he is gone, forever. All that you have is his sweater that he gave you, still has his smell, his favorite book that he gifted you, and your memories, that you don't even know if they are real. While he has everything that you had to give and more, you surrendered yourself to his mercy. And now there's nothing left...
Is giving that y'know??
We won tonight fans
122 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey! Your writing is amazing! I’ve been checking daily for new fics lmao
I was wondering if your requests were open would you be able to write some angst with a happy ending w/ Peanut?
Perhaps a Shy!Reader who has flirty banter with Logan. They’re on a mission and Logan has to make a quick decision on who to save — Reader or Jean and he saves Jean without thinking. Reader ends up surviving with a few injuries but her and Logan’s relationship starts to deteriorate. Logan’s not good with verbal apologies so he does acts of service — bringing reader food/drinks etc. reader is stubborn and Logan starts to get frustrated. He eventually proves himself to reader.
I’m sorry if this is confusing!! I’m not creative enough to write it myself and you’re really really skilled. Love your work x
a/n: I read this request and then read them together and my brain imploded because I loved it so much, no smut in this one Summary: Logan saves Jean on a mission and it's the wake-up call you desperately needed to understand that you will never be her. You can't stand to look at him anymore and he doesn't understand why you've stopped talking to him.
“What’re you thinking of doing after this?”
You shrug, leaning back on the uncomfortable bench seats and looking over at Logan. “Not sure, got any plans?”
Logan smirks and you immediately know whatever he’s about to say is going to send you spiraling. “Yeah, whatever you’re doing, sweetheart.”
Oh. My. God!
You know you’ve got it bad when something as simple as that has you swooning. It’s so easy to fall into this routine with him, to pretend you’re more suave than you actually are. Despite your usual tendency to fade into the background, you find it nearly impossible to do with him.
Where someone else might let you stay quiet and go ignored, he seeks you out. He makes you feel seen and heard. Some days you don’t know if you appreciate it or despise it. You laugh a little, trying to hide just how affected by him you are. “Sounds good, Lo.”
He smiles and leans back on the seat, his arm coming around the back to rest lightly over your shoulders. You can tell from the look on Storm’s face that she’s trying not to laugh at you. You can’t blame her, you’re sure your eyes have tripled in size and you look absolutely stunned.
Flirting isn’t out of the usual for you and him. Lately, though, he’s upped the game. Touching you more than usual, spending more one-on-one time together. You can feel it all building up to something. You’re shy, not stupid, you know when a guy’s going to ask you out.
But it feels like he’s dragging it out longer than necessary like he’s enjoying teasing you a little too much. “Alright,” Scott stands up and moves towards the back of the jet. “We’re almost there, get ready.”
You, very reluctantly, pull away from Logan and get to your feet. He walks past you, briefly squeezing your hand before joining Scott by the ramp. You grin, flexing your hand by your side and trying to memorize the feeling.
The ramp lowers to the ground and Scott and Logan lead the way out. You’re expecting this to be simple. Stake out the area, find some information about the people running the warehouse, and figure out what exactly it is that they’ve been doing.
The air is bursting with moisture. It’s suffocating, how humid it is, how it makes the material of your suit cling to your skin. You know the rest of the team can feel it. That it’s irritating them just as much.
None of you want to be out here in the peak of summer, trying to be stealthy in these ridiculous costumes. Your thighs squeak every time they rub together. It’s beyond embarrassing. You know that that’s what has you all distracted.
You’re struggling through ankle-deep mud and sweating buckets. So none of you are paying any particular attention to the area around you. Technically, you shouldn’t have to, you’re still about a mile out from where you need to be.
You duck, hands coming up to cover your ears as Charles’ voice screams through your mind. It’s a trap!
Even with the warning, there’s no time to prepare. The ground around you explodes, grass and dirt flying through the air. Logan grabs your arm, he shoves himself in front of you and takes the brunt of the bullets. Splatters of blood hits your cheeks and he runs you both behind a tree for cover.
The other three have all found their own cover and they’re struggling to figure out where the shots are coming from. You spot something in the underbrush and scream, “Behind you!”
It’s more of a warning to duck than it is to move. You throw your hands up, shoving the man away from them and sending him flying into the trunk of a tree. You swear you can hear the snap of his spine as it hits the bark.
You look to Jean and nod towards the small clearing of trees. “Don’t,” Logan warns. But you’re already slipping out of his grip and solidifying the air in front of you. It provides enough of a cover, absorbing the bullets, and giving you all time to figure out a plan of attack.
Jean moves beside you, eyes narrowing on the perimeter of your cover. “There are too many of them, more than I can count.”
“How did they know we were coming?” Scott snaps, keeping an eye on the area behind you.
Your arms struggle under the weight of your power. The more bullets they shoot into your cover, the harder it is to keep up. You’re forced to absorb their energy, push it out tenfold to try and keep the blockage solidified.
“Guys,” you snap, “we need a plan. I can’t hold it much longer.” You grit your teeth, taking a step forward to try and push against the strain. It does nothing but make your bones ache. Logan shoots you a concerned glance, coming up behind you like he wants to take the weight off your shoulders. But there’s nothing he can do.
There’s movement behind you, a boot snapping a twig in two. You can’t risk looking back but you can hear the worry in Jean’s voice. “Ten of them-”
You can tell by the sounds of their movement that the others don’t give her much of a chance to finish. Ororo, Scott, and Logan all shoot forward to deal with the threat. Ten isn’t much to worry about. But that doesn’t change the fact that the men in front of you haven’t let up and you’re about to weep from the weight of keeping the wall up.
Jean stays beside you, brows furrowed in concern. She places her hand on your shoulder and closes her eyes. A second later you feel something like a cool blanket laid over you. The tension in your arms and core eases just enough for you to stop clenching your jaw so hard. Some of the strain eases away and you know she’s sharing it with you.
But just as quickly as the relief was given, it’s yanked away. Jean jumps back with a gasp, “Flux, we need to move!”
“I can’t,” you shout, fighting to be heard over the sound of bloodshed and gunshots going off in front of and behind you. The others are steadily moving through the people surrounding you, but their numbers are still overwhelming. “It’ll all come crashing down,” you tell her.
She glances towards the bullets, finally spotting the way they’re slowly, but steadily, moving through the thickened air. The second you let go you’ll be riddled with holes. “Shit,” she hisses. “Look, we can’t stay here much longer-”
She’s cut off by a loud bang. You’re so disoriented by the noise your hands drop to your sides. At the same moment, you hear wood splintering and cracking beside you. What has to be the largest tree in the forest creaks before it begins its descent down towards you both.
You don’t what happened, or what they used, but it doesn’t matter. The wall in front of you is fading. You have seconds to get out of the way of the bullets and the tree, you’re not sure either of you is going to make it.
“Jean!” There’s a flash of brown hair and Jean’s being tackled to the ground, safely out of the way of the tree and bullets. You feel something stinging against your shoulder and know the first bullet’s made its way through.
You also see the tree is almost over top of you. You’ve always been a fight response in flight or fight scenarios. But when there’s nothing to fight, when you have nothing to go up against, you freeze. It’s horrible, you know it, but there’s nothing you can do about it.
Even as you’re desperately screaming at yourself to just fucking move, all you can do is watch as the tree topples down on top of you. “Flux, duck!” The words trigger something in your brain just soon enough to drop to the ground.
Scott releases a red beam, blasting through the tree and knocking it off course. You don’t even register the smell of burning flesh as you lay in the mud. Your blood is rushing so fast in your veins, there’s so much adrenaline pumping through you, you can’t focus on anything except the sound of your heartbeat.
You let out a breath of relief, slowly lifting yourself up to your knees. You don’t hear any more fighting and you figure whoever they hadn’t taken down before, the beam took care of the rest.
You look down, checking yourself for any bullet holes or serious damage but you can’t find anything. Something warm trickles down your shoulder, it drips across your arm and down your hand.
You look at the blood curiously, it seems to steady a flow from the simple bullet graze you’d had earlier. “Oh my god,” Jean whispers your name and you turn around with a concerned look.
You want to ask her what’s wrong but your eyes are trained on the way Logan’s arms are bracketing her. He’s practically on top of her, only now getting up to check on you. You get it, it was a stressful situation, he acted fast.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow the lump in your throat. It doesn’t ease the burn of betrayal. He saved her, not you. He chose her even though she doesn’t want him. The anger you’re feeling only makes it harder to be aware of your surroundings.
It’s not until Scott kneels behind you a presses a gentle hand against your back that you lurch forward with a loud cry. The pain slams down on you all at once. The wind blowing gently against your back feels like someone’s dug razor blades in your skin and ripped.
Feet rush towards you, someone kneeling beside you and grabbing your shoulders. Logan forces you up and makes you look at him before his gaze turns to your back. “What the fuck did you do?” He practically growls, lunging towards Scott.
He grabs him by the collar and shoves him into the dirt. Ororo and Jean leap forward, trying unsuccessfully to rip him off. You try and keep your eyes open, try and stay focused. The pain is too much, you don’t want to be awake for this anymore. Every nerve on your back feels like it’s being forcefully exposed and plucked at.
Your brain forces a shutdown and you slump into the mud, the world going black.
When you wake up, you’re on your stomach. You’re a little dazed, not fully remembering how you got here. You try and sit up but there’s a steady grip around your wrists stopping you. “Don’t move,” Jean warns from somewhere behind you.
You try and look for her but you can’t move much. Your head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, stuck to the pillow beneath you. “What happened? Why can’t I move?”
Her shoes appear in front of you and then she’s kneeling down, a slightly worried look on her face. “We needed to make sure you didn’t roll over in your sleep.” Her brows crinkle and she frowns, “You don’t remember?” You shake your head minutely. She sighs, lifting her hand to your face and pressing her chilled fingers to your temple.
The images rush towards you. You see it all from her eyes. The way Logan had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground, checking over her and not once looking at you. How Scott had tried to stop the tree from breaking your spine. His beam had just barely grazed your back as you had ducked. But it was enough for there to be serious damage.
Through her view, you can see the way your skin had bubbled up and blistered. How horribly damaged it was. You have limited healing abilities, but it was enough to stop the nerves from being permanently damaged.
She lets you go and you groan, the pain slowly registering in your brain. It’s dulled and you don’t know if they’ve given you drugs or if your abilities are still working to help you. “How’s Scott?”
She chuckles and shakes her head while she undoes the restraints around your wrist. “He feels awful. He keeps coming by to check on you.”
The thought of him sitting beside you while you were strapped down to the bed makes you feel a little bad. It wasn’t his fault, he’d helped you. It was more than Logan had done for you.
You frown, hating yourself for being bitter. If he hadn’t helped, Jean might not be here next to you. He had saved your friend. The thought didn’t bring much comfort, though. “I’m not mad at him.”
Jean eases you onto your knees and slowly helps you sit up. It causes minimal pain, but it’s still uncomfortable enough to grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palms. “I know, but he’ll probably be coming down here a lot to check on you.”
You almost ask her if anyone else has visited. If Logan had, but you don’t think her answer would make you feel any better. “He did,” she tells you and you click your tongue in irritation.
“Out of my head,” you warn. She releases you with a small grin. “I don’t care,” you tell her, trying to appear nonchalant.
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing on you. “Yes, you do. And I don’t need telepathy to know.” She walks towards your IV bag, fiddling around with something on the line. “He was here whenever he could be, practically lived beside you.”
“Don’t care,” you tell her again, but there’s less conviction this time.
Jean frowns and you hate how guilty she looks. It’s not her fault he’s desperately in love with her and not you. You can’t force someone to love you or choose you. And you don’t want to. You want someone to love you for who you are, not because they couldn’t have their first choice.
“Don’t,” you say lowly. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault.”
She doesn’t get a chance to say anything before the door bursts open, both Logan and Scott sliding into your room. Scott lets out a relieved breath when he sees you. He breathes out your name and approaches with a guilty smile, “You’re awake.”
“Charles told us,” Logan informs. You offer him a brief glance before diverting your attention to Scott.
Petty, you’re aware. But you don’t want to see Logan right now. You’d put so much effort and time into your friendship with him. It doesn’t even matter if he doesn’t feel the same way about you. You two are best friends, and he didn’t even try to help you when you needed him the most.
So, you smile at Scott. You forgive him and you tell him you're fine. You chat with him and Jean while Logan just stares at you from the other side of your bed. You can’t make yourself face him. You don’t want to look at him, it makes you sick to your stomach.
Eventually, Scott’s guilt is slightly assuaged and he and Jean leave for the night. Logan is a heavy presence beside you, one you no longer can ignore. You shift around, pretending to fluff your pillows until he grabs your hand.
“What’re you doing?”
You look at his hand and then at him. Whatever look is on your face is enough for him to release you and back off. “Getting comfortable,” you spit out, more venom in your voice than necessary. Something clicks for him, you can see it as it happens.
He backs up and narrows his eyes down at you. “Right.” He frowns and sucks on his teeth, nodding his head silently. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a little better.” You don’t miss the hidden dig underneath it all, the way he’s calling out you’re unusual behavior.
“I think that’d be best.”
He scoffs and shakes his head, slamming the door behind him as he leaves. You jump at the noise and it makes you hiss as a twinge of pain shoots down your spine. You feel slightly guilty about the whole interaction. Then, you remember the way he’d been cradling Jean and you feel slightly vindicated.
You’re sure he doesn’t even give a shit. He’s probably pouting in his room, wishing Jean was in bed beside him.
What the fuck?
It’s all that’s been playing through Logan’s head since he returned from your room in the medbay. He’s waited days for you to wake up, so he can finally take a breath and let go of the anxiety that’s been plaguing him.
He’d thought that he’d lost you in that forest. When he’d gone for Jean, he’d assumed you’d just be able to use your powers to knock the tree out of your path. Or make it melt around you.
Honestly, he can’t put a finger on what exactly he was thinking. But he knew that you could protect yourself and that would be your priority. So he’d moved without really thinking and grabbed the person who would be collateral damage if your powers went haywire.
And then you hadn’t saved yourself and all he could smell was your burning flesh. The smell has been stuck in his nose since you were brought back to the mansion. He can’t escape it. Everywhere he goes, he sees you burning and hears your screams.
He’d thought that you were dead and there was a moment where he genuinely was so lost he could do nothing but watch as the others swarmed you. He couldn’t move, couldn’t help you. He could only stare at your still body and pray to anybody who could hear him that you weren’t dead.
He didn’t know what he would do if he lost you before he ever got a chance to love you.
He’d, irritatingly, imagined all the different ways he would finally tell you how he felt when you woke up. He’d prepared himself for every possible reaction, except this one. He hadn’t expected you to reject him before he ever got the chance to confess.
Anger stews within him as he paces through his room. He knows that it’s unfair to be upset with you. You’d gone through something horrific and there had been doubts about your recovery. Of course, you’d act off.
Except, you only seemed to be directing that at him. Had you been just as dismissive to Scott, the person who actually hurt you, he would have looked past it. He’s tempted to go back down and see you again, maybe try and make you see some sense.
Instead, he decides to give you both some time to calm down. He doesn’t want to do anything he might regret while he’s pissed off. He’ll see you tomorrow and, hopefully, you’ll be back to normal.
You’d thought Logan might have gotten the hint with how you behaved earlier. That was not the case. He’s back today and you can smell the breakfast food he’s brought you. The smell is wafting deliciously from an inconspicuous brown bag.
But you know it’s from the restaurant that’s twenty minutes out of his way. You’re not petty enough that you can’t appreciate the forty-minute round trip he’d taken for you, but you still aren’t excited to see him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiles at you despite your clearly hostile energy. He tugs the chair towards your bed, ripping open the bag and pulling out enough food for the both of you.
You think it should be considered a form of manipulation to call you that while you’re pissed at him. He has such a clear effect on you. You know he’s aware of it. He knows that when he calls you something sweet like that it makes your heart race and stomach flip.
You turn your gaze towards your blanket. You pretend the thread pattern is the most interesting thing in the world so you don’t have to look at him. You’re sick of giving your all to men who couldn’t care less about you.
You’re tired of being the second, third, fourth choice. You want someone to choose you first for once. And you genuinely thought Logan would be the man to do that. But he’d chosen Jean. You should have known.
“Alright,” he huffs, crossing his arms and glaring at you. You’re pissed off that he’s acting like he’s the one who was hurt. “What the hell is your problem? You’ve never been this mad at me before.”
It’s his tone of voice that really grates on you. He genuinely does not understand what he’s done wrong. He doesn’t even comprehend the possibility that you might be mad he left you to die. Have you really become such a doormat?
Yes, you’re shy and generally reserved with the people you meet. But he is so different. You two met and it was an instant connection that you thought was reciprocated. You hadn't realized that you'd become so complacent in the relationship he thought he could get away with something like this with no repercussions.
“You left me to die,” you snap at him, voice taking a pitch it never has before. You’ve never truly gotten angry at him. Pissed off sometimes when he teased you a little too much. But you’d never plainly shown anger at him. “You fucking left me behind and expect me to, what,” you scoff and shove the food back towards him.
“You think some shitty breakfast is going to fix this?” His face contorts. It screws up into something like hurt and you worry you might have been too harsh. He doesn’t know how you feel about him. He doesn’t know that this would hurt you so bad.
But, it doesn’t matter. You’re still his friend. You should have at least warranted a little concern.
Just as quickly as it appeared, the hurt is washed away by his own anger. “I thought you could take care of yourself. Isn’t that what you’re always bitching at us about?”
If you weren’t so upset you might find it funny how quickly the two of you turned on each other. Clearly, there was something repressed between the two of you. Some brewing resentment that neither of you had ever acknowledged. The words are coming quickly now, without thought.
“Fuck you, Logan,” you snap back at him. “You didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died. You only cared about your precious Jean.” You spit out her name with so much venom it stings as it leaves your tongue.
He laughs, getting out of his chair. He shakes his head and glares at you. His anger is always a physical thing. You know he’s pacing so he doesn’t do something worse, like destroy the entirety of the room.
“That’s what this is, you’re jealous? Don’t blame your fucking incompetence on me.” You hate the way he’s speaking to you. Like you’re a little girl who's incapable of understanding even the most basic of concepts. He has such a patronizing look on his face, you want nothing more than to wipe it off.
The tables beside you tremble, the vases of flowers rattling against the wood. “I’m your friend, Logan. You could at least pretend like you cared about me.”
He leans against the end of the bed, tilting himself forward until he’s aggressively imposing your space. You shrink back against the pillows, narrowing your eyes in disdain. “Don’t fucking pull that shit with me. I knew that your priority would be to save yourself and I acted accordingly. This wasn’t some goddamn ploy to get into Jean’s pants. Grow the fuck up, Flux!”
You flinch back at the volume of his voice. Unwillingly, tears pool in the corners of your eyes. It’s an involuntary response. Sometimes you just get so enraged that you have no other way to get rid of it than to cry. It’s infuriating to see the moment someone stops taking you seriously and starts to think you’re nothing more than a crybaby.
Logan’s face pales and he winces, backing away from you. “I didn’t-”
“Enough,” you stop him, voice thick with unshed tears. He never calls you by your X-men name, it’s an unspoken agreement between the two of you. That’s a formality reserved for the other members. To each other, you’re nothing more than two people who care deeply for one another.
Or, you had been. Before this one moment had blown your life and your back up.
“I appreciate how much faith you have in my abilities, but the fact that your first instinct wasn’t even to protect me says a lot.” You take in a deep breath and shake your head. “Thanks for the breakfast, but can you please just leave?”
He looks like he doesn’t want to. You know he doesn’t want to leave. You two never fight like this. Even if there wasn’t a lot said, it’s still not normal for you. Maybe that should have been your first hint that things weren’t what you thought.
It’s healthy to fight, to a certain extent. Sometimes it's needed. You two never have before and you know it’s just been brewing for a while, waiting to blow up. “I-”
“Get out,” you shout, and the tables beside you finally crumble under the weight of your emotions. They drip to the ground in an inorganic form of liquid wood. “Shit,” you hiss, glancing over at them. You wave your hand and they return to their normal state, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have lost control at all.
The door slams and you look up to find the room empty. You sink back against your bed and run your hands over your face. You ignore the way the skin of your back screams in protest.
You embrace the pain, the fiery shocks running up your nerves as the bandages chafe against the wounds. You focus on that instead of how things have ended with Logan. You always had such high hopes that he might be the one you finally man up and confess to.
You should have known you were wrong. You should have known that it would never have ended with him picking you over her.
You’re permitted to leave the medbay the next day. You don’t see or hear from Logan for the following week. You can’t confirm if he’s purposefully avoiding you or not but you have to believe he is. You both live in the same hall. You don’t know how it’s possible to have gone this long without even catching a slight glimpse of him.
You force yourself to suffocate the part of you that misses him. You picture the side of yourself that longs for his presence and imagine shoving a pillow over her face. You don’t want to ache and cry over someone who doesn’t give two shits about you.
You keep reminding yourself over and over again that when things got rough he showed you his true colors. But it’s more difficult than you imagined to just completely disregard so much history with him.
Besides, you hadn’t realized just how little you interacted with the others until Logan was out of your daily life. It’s so difficult for you to bond with people that when you’d connected with Logan you’d latched onto him.
It’s a little pathetic, honestly. Being grown and eating lunch alone because you only had one friend. You wonder if your feelings for him were genuine or born from a desperation not to be alone. You don’t let yourself linger on the question for long.
It’s as your training with the students that you finally see him again.
“Has he made much progress yet?”
Jean shakes her head and purses her lips. She watches as Billy, one of the newer students, struggles with the logs in front of him. He was a firestarter, a very inexperienced one who had only ever set his curtains on fire.
His powers were more focused on the mental aspect of things rather than the physical. Which is why you and Jean were in charge of helping him. He couldn’t start anything on his own, he only really seemed to be able to activate the ability when he was emotionally stimulated.
That meant whenever he was mad or sad, or anything in between, everyone in a fifty-foot radius was in danger. He was a risk to the other students and you were both trying to be gentle with him. But you’d been working with him for so long and there was so little progress. It felt like he wasn’t trying sometimes.
He’d asked Rogue out a week ago and when she’d said no, her hair had caught on fire. You know he could have been hurt and lashed out without thought or malice behind it. But you’d seen the look in his eye.
You’re fifty percent sure he knows exactly what he’s doing. This little act he puts on is just to get himself out of trouble. You hadn’t brought the issue to Charles yet because you’re trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Billy,” you call out. His head whips up and he sends you a vicious glare. You can’t help the sneer on your lips. “Just take a deep breath and try again. There’s nothing wrong with struggling, we all did.”
You put on your normal teacher voice, calm and collected. Assuring. But the little shit in front of you isn’t buying it for a second. He gives you a sarcastic little grin, “Right. Sorry, I forgot you’re a fuck-up just like me.”
“Billy!” Jean snaps, taking a step forward to reprimand him. She doesn’t get far before there’s a fireball shooting out of his palms and hurtling towards the both of you.
There’s no chance to react before something slams into your side and is tossing you to the ground. Your head nearly snaps against the grass but there’s a hand underneath your skull softening the blow.
You smell something smoking and look up to see a large scorch mark right where you’d just been. Jean’s standing over it, palm outstretched as she keeps the fire subdued. She gives you a worried look, “Are you okay?”
Surprisingly, yes. You glance up to see Logan hovering over you. He backs off when he notices you’re okay, getting to his knees and offering you a hand. Wordlessly, you slip your palm into his and let him help you into a sitting position.
“You alright,” his hand hovers over your shoulder like he wants to pull you closer. But he resists, backing off and waiting for your answer. You nod your head, still a little dazed from the failed assassination attempt.
He narrows his eyes, searching your face for any sign of head trauma. When he’s properly assured you’re okay he jumps to his feet. “Billy!” His voice booms across the courtyard and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen that little asshole scared.
He’s barely on his feet before Logan is stalking towards him, jerking him forward by the scruff of his neck and dragging him towards the mansion. “We need to have a little talk,” the tone of his voice has you a little scared and you’re not even the one he’s mad at.
Jean walks towards you and helps you to your feet. “Is your back okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod and brush your clothes off. You have to physically shake the shock of what happened off. “Yeah, I’m fine. I can’t believe he did that.”
Jean scoffs and glares towards Billy’s back. Your eyes widen in shock when you see the large scorch mark across his arm. “Jean! He got you, are you okay?”
She glances down at her shirt and frowns. “Yeah, practically a sunburn.” She gives you a reassuring smile, “I’ll be fine.”
As shitty as this sounds, you’re not concerned for her. You can only focus on the fact that she was in just as much danger as you and Logan had tackled you to the ground. You glance back towards the mansion, more fucking confused than ever.
You’re not sure what compels you to follow Logan, but you’re running after him before Jean can stop you. He’s barely got a minute headstart on you, you’re not sure why you can’t find him. You’d gone through every inch of the first floor.
You don’t know where he would have dragged Billy, but it’s nowhere you can find. After about ten minutes of looking for him, you give up on the hope that you’re ever going to figure out what’s happening inside his brain.
You let out a defeated sigh, running a hand over your face and trying to shake off the funk of the day. You can’t believe that little shit tried to roast you. You’re not comfortable with the fact that he’s just roaming around inside the mansion somewhere.
You turn out of the living room and nearly slam into someone. His hands shoot out, grabbing your shoulders and gently stopping you. “Logan,” you give him a strained smile. “I was looking for you.” You glance over his shoulder and frown. “Where’s Billy?”
Logan sighs, his hands linger on your arms for a moment before he takes a step back. “Wheels got to him before I could do anything.”
You laugh a little, the noise involuntary. “What were you planning on doing with the sixteen-year-old?”
He doesn’t find the question amusing if his expression is anything to go by. “He was really trying to hurt you.”
His words sober you up slightly and you drop the flippant attitude. “Yeah, I wanted to,” god, it feels like you could choke on the words. Just last week you were screaming at him for not helping you. Now, you could barely thank him because he had.
“You’re always my priority.” He tells you before you can struggle any longer. Your head shoots up and you stare at him with confusion. He groans, the noise tired and resigned. “Saving Jean was a mistake. I mean it, kid, I just thought you could handle yourself.”
You open your mouth but he stops you before you can argue. “I know, that’s not the point. I should have saved you, no matter what I thought you could or couldn't handle.”
“No,” you stop him and shake your head. “No, Logan, I shouldn’t. I,” your mouth opens and he stares at you expectantly. What you were going to say gets stuck in your throat. This is a horrible idea.
“I liked you in a way you didn’t like me and it was unfair of me to push my expectations onto you.” You wanted it to sound better, and more intelligent. Instead, it came out in one rushed breath and you’re not sure he even understood half of what you said.
His brows furrow in confusion for a moment before a smile breaks out on his face. You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s smiling. You can’t tell if he’s mocking you or about to profess his undying love.
You don’t have to wonder for long. He moves closer towards you, leaning forward until you’re practically sharing the same breaths. Unconsciously, you’re drawn into him, hands braced gently on his chest as you chase after him.
“What are you doing?” Your whispered words brush against his lips and he gives you a small smile. His hands travel up your waist. He tugs you closer, his other hand looping around your neck and craning you up.
“I’m gonna choose you every fucking time, kid.” His lips brush across your own and it’s like a switch is flipped in you both. Your arms twine around his neck, pulling him down until you’re practically melting into him.
It’s everything you’ve ever wanted and so different at the same time. You always thought your first kiss would be after some cheesy first date. He would have taken you out to dinner. Something would have inevitably gone wrong, you spilled something on your dress or the waiter brought the wrong order.
You would both worry that it was a sign that nothing would work out between you. And then, at the end of the night, he’d tug you into his arms and kiss you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.
That would be nice, but this is better. He’s not holding you like you’re something fragile or something too precious for this world. He’s kissing you like you’re the very air he needs to survive. He’s greedy with his affections and demanding with his wants.
You’re being consumed and devoured. And you never want to stop. This is all you’ve ever wanted with him, from him.
Sadly, you do have to breathe. You’re the one that forces the stop, you’re sure he would have happily suffocated if it meant he could keep touching you like this. You pull back, the air coming in short pants between your parted lips.
You can already feel them swelling, the slight irritation on your cheeks from his stubble. You don’t mind, you quite like the feeling. He speaks before you can, a pleased smile on his face. “Forgive me yet?”
You chuckle, a little impressed by how cheeky he is, still slightly pissed off. “Why don’t you do that again and I’ll think about it?”
He rolls his eyes but you can see the smile fighting against his firm glare. “You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?”
You smile and nod, leaning into him again. “You’re never gonna hear the end of it,” you whisper before dipping down and kissing him again. You can’t believe you ever doubted just how much he cares for you.
He didn’t choose Jean over you. He’s just a dumbass.
a/n: I had to resist putting in a “pick me, choose me, love me” line in there bc that would have just been too much lol
end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.
General Taglist: @evasmlp
Logan Taglist: @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte
@mrs-ephemeral @wolviesgirl ♡
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett imagine#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#wolverine imagine#wolverine#x men#x men x reader#hugh jackman#deadpool and wolverine#hugh jackman x reader#anon
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Part 7
Can't stop thinking about how the 141 met reader
(she's a long one. not entirely happy with it either so may edit later)
No harm done yet.
You never saw Simon actually hurt anyone. Johnny and Kyle would share stories about poor recruits who fucked around and eventually found out that Simon had no issue beating them within an inch of their life.
You knew he had a reputation and, like the rest of them, had blood on his hands. But it never bothered you. Didn't make you think twice about loving him or seeing him as the protector he had always been to you. To be frank, you could never actually picture any of them being violent.
But his voice... Fuck. His voice. It fucking rattled you. You actually feared for those fucking idiots now. Sure, they deserved to have their asses kicked, but an ass-kicking was probably going to be a welcomed after thought to whatever Simon would do.
You rinsed off, not bothering to wash your hair, but needing to wash up before getting in the bed. Hoping the scalding hot water washed away the uneasiness on your skin that had began to settle into your bones.
Even feeling fresh and laying in clean sheets, you still found yourself tossing and turning wondering exactly what did Simon do?
Did he walk away? Realizing you weren't worth the trouble, did he just tell them to knock it off?
You had stupidly expected Simon to check in. To check if you made it home alright or at least to let you know he was okay. So you waited... And you waited. You had half a mind to call him yourself before remembering it wasn't your place anymore to care. You had cared enough for the five of you.
It was well past two in the morning before you finally called it a night.
The next morning, still nothing from Mr. Riley. Not a 'did you home alright?' or 'are you okay?' text. Nada. Zilch.
Whatever.
Fuck him.
You had to open up shop, but luckily your Saturday mornings were much more relaxed. The shop wouldn't be open until 10, so you had the time to sleep in and enjoy the morning.
By noon, Mere had sent you several texts reminding you that you had promised to go out. You had tried to dissuade her. The encounter with those men last night had brought back sour memories. One involving handsome men coming to your rescue when it was most certainly needed.
You had tried to bail. Giving her any excuse you could: Last night put you on edge. You no longer wanted to go out. After last weekend, you just needed some down time.
Eventually you had realized she was not taking no for an answer after she had shown up to your apartment, already ready for a night out.
"You're not wearing that, are you?" Mere asked. Mere was in her usual Saturday femme-fatal attire. The black leather pants that accentuated her curves and red corset paired well with her freshly box dyed color black hair.
She looked more like a dominatrix than someone who worked at an attorney's office. Even if both professions included bending someone over and fucking them for all their worth. You wondered who would charge more by the hour....
You had pulled out a off white lace square neck top and a pair of high waisted medium washed baggy jeans. A perfectly cute outfit for a night out. Which was your defense when she had suggested you needed to change.
Tab had arrived later than expected (something about a system being down at work), but made up for it by bringing a pre-game snack. Yes, you had officially reached the age where you no longer starved yourself hours before going out to get more drunk quicker and cheaper. No you had to eat carbs or else you wouldn't be able to leave your room the next day as you pathetically nurse a hangover.
Tab wore a denim skirt. If you could even call it that. It paired well with the white tank top that you could make out the shape of her nipple piercing.
But they looked hot. Really hot.
"This is a perfectly acceptable outfit."
"For a day at market, not for trying to get laid."
"I don't want to get laid." You said, rummaging through your closet, yet again. "Getting laid is what got me in this mess in the first place."
A little over two years ago
"Fuck him." Tabitha wrapped her arms around your shaking body as you continued to sob. "He was a prick who didn't fucking deserve you."
"He couldn't even get you to cum." Mere felt the need to remind you as if that would somehow lessen the blow of your heartbreaking into a million shards. The shrapnel feeling like it would kill you.
"I loved him," your voice is small. "I fucking loved him." You had been dating for almost three years. You had his grandmother's ring on your fucking hand for God's sake. "I'm so stupid."
"You are not stupid." Tabitha gave you a squeeze. "He was a liar and a fucking coward." Meredith rubbed her thumb on you bare leg, offering physical reassure. Letting you know even if she wasn't the hugger Tabs was, she was still here.
"You can't keep locked up in this apartment." She was unfortunately right. You had not only barricaded yourself in your apartment for two weeks, but you hadn't returned to your bedroom. The scene of the crime. "You need to get out."
"Yeah," Tabitha rubbed your arm as if trying to coax you out your metaphorical shell. "Get some fresh air. We can go grab a treat. Maybe go out for some coffee." It didn't surprise you that Tabitha was offering a treat to entice you to leaving your sanctuary.
"I was thinking going to a bar." It also didn't surprise you that Mere offered her way of coping. Getting so drunk that you forgot what you even sad about. Or going out and finding someone to fuck the sadness out of her.
"Because getting alcohol in her system in this state is just what she needs." Tabitha was the mom of the group whereas Mere was the fun drunk aunt. They balanced one another out.
"Actually," you said, giving a pathetic sniffle. "Going out would be nice." Getting away from the apartment is what you need. And going out would be the excuse you would need to get yourself all dolled up.
What you hadn't planned for was getting so pissed that you had manage to breakaway from your friends. Searching for them in teh crowd of people. Failing and when you pulled out your phone were met with a completely black screen.
Dead. Perfect.
The same moment you swore the night couldn't get any worse, it did.
He looked the same. Same as he been four months ago when he asked you to become his wife. Same as he had been two weeks ago when you had caught him fucking another girl. The girl he told you not to worry about. The girl he insisted was just one of the guys. A girl you had told him time and time again would fuck him the moment she had the chance.
It wasn't always great to be right.
When your eyes connected, your body had went into immediate flight mode. Every neuron in your body was shooting out signals of RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN. So that's exactly what you did.
You fucking bolted.
Or felt like you bolted. But you could only scurry so fast in chunky heels while simultaneously pulling down your skirt that had decided to ride up. Aching to show your ass for all of London to see.
You had made it a quarter of the way back to your apartment. Your feet aching. Toes pinched together from the strap digging into them.
"Baby, please!" You heard him before you felt his arm clamp down on your shoulder. Hard. When did his touch become something heavy? Something that practically burned you.
You turned. Eyes brimming with unshed tears as you hissed at him to leave you the fuck alone. The begging came, but you turned around. Determined to go home. He didn't deserve the chance to explain himself and he could most certainly shove his apology up his ass.
He wouldn't shut up. Insisting it was a mistake. A one time thing her fault. How she seduced him. As if he were the victim in all of this. You weren't buying it. Not for one moment. One doesn't accidentally invite some slut over and fall balls deep into her while they are in the same bed he shares with his fiancée.
It wasn't until you were in a more dimly lit area that he had gotten the nerve to grab you. His grip was firm on your arms as he held you in place. "Listen to me!" His voice was panicked.
The feeling of anger slowly began to dim as something else began to rise.
Fear.
You were afraid.
You were in a part of town not many people were out and about in at this time of night. No bystanders to really take note of the scene, or at least not any caring enough to stand by and watch; even for entertainment.
Your friends didn't know where you were at and you were tipsy. And alone.
"Cardan," you swallowed, trying to steady your voice. "Please let me go."
"Not until you talk to me," his fingers dug into you. "We can work this out, okay? It was one mistake." He tried to argue, his voice rising, soaked in desperation. "What's one mistake compared to three years?"
"Cardan," you tried to pull away, his grip only tightening. "You're hurting me." It came out as a pathetic whimper. You were so close to crying, too afraid to scream.
"Hey!" A voice barked from behind you. It caused your whole body to stiffen."Get your fucking hands off her. Someone noticed. Someone was here. Someone was here. Someone was here.
"We are having a conversation." Cardan's eyes left you, looking at whoever stood behind you.
"The lass said to leave her be." Another voice. Someone else. Two (three if you counted yourself, but in that moment you couldn't) people against one. There was no a possibility of you getting the fuck out of this situation.
Cardan stood firm. His eyes looking past you. A silent refusal to back down.
"Either you let her go," another voice. Another accent different that the first two. "Or we fucking make you."
"One against four. Odds aren't in your favor, mate." Four. Four men stood behind you. Faceless strangers there to help you.
"This doesn't concern you." Cardan bit out.
"Aye," Scottish. The second guy was definitely Scottish. "I think it does if she's tellin' ye' to piss off and yer bein' a bawbag about it."
"So what'll it be?" The third voice, deep and threatening, yet still so... calming. As if the vibrations from his deep, rich pitch washed over you.
Cardan looked back at you, his eyes not as manic. He realized he didn't have a chance. This was a fight he had to walk away from or else he wouldn't be walking away from it at all. "I'll swing by tomorrow, okay?" He asked.
You couldn't do anything, but nod. Agree that you could talk tomorrow in the safety of the sunlight. Eventually he walked across the street before fading out into the night. Blending in with the shadows.
You turned around to meet your would-be saviors.
Four men. All slightly older than you and so handsome you felt foolish for gawking at them as if this were your first time seeing a man. Hell, maybe it was. At least specimens like this. All of them tall and broad. Towering over you.
No wonder Cardan got the fuck out of there. Tabs was right. He was a coward.
"You alright?" The one who first spoke up asked. You could place his voice. Now just needed to place the other three. He had a hearty mustache and mutton chops. A look on any one else would make you immediately get the ick. But for a moment you wondered if that mustache would tickle... "Do you need us to call anyone?"
You felt your cheeks flush with heat.
"I just want to go home." You said. "Thank you for stepping in. I don't know what would have-" You stopped. Too afraid to think about the possibilities. There was a time you would never believe that Cardan had the ability to hurt you.
There was also a time you believed he would never cheat. You weren't really sure what to believe anymore. "Anyway," you continued. "Thank you again." You turned on your heel before continuing your stride.
You had only made it several feet before you were stopped again. "Which way? One of us can walk you home." You weren't entirely sure. But with a dead cellphone and a unhinged ex probably lurking in the shadows, there was little time to weigh the pros and cons before giving them a general direction of where you lived.
Which just so happened to be the direction in which two of the four lived. The Scot and one of the two who had yet to speak. The first one, who had still yet to introduce himself instructed the two of them to drop you off and let him know you had made it home alright.
You had hoped that the rest of your night would be met with silence, but the Scot couldn't seem to help himself. "I'm Johnny." He introduced. "And the spooky, silent type is Simon." He gave a playful wink. You gave him your name, not wanting to be rude.
"Not my place to ask," he began. "But what was the deal with that fucker? Ex-boyfriend?"
"Johnny." Simon's tone held warning. You appreciated the defense, but frankly didn't care. These were strangers. Who cared what they thought.
"Ex-fiancée," you clarified. "One who decided to fuck another girl in my bed. Not even our bed. My bed."
"Jesus fucking Christ," the Scot swore. "I was right. He was a fucking bawbag." For whatever reason, that made you laugh. For the first time in two weeks you fucking laughed. And it felt like you were breathing again.
Simon was quiet, not contributing to the conversation and just letting Johnny babble. Talking your ear off in a short trek as if it were an olympic sport.
You were so distracted with his voice you hadn't realized how far you had made it until the sound of your keys clattering onto your kitchen counter brought you back.
Back to a situation you didn't know how the fuck you landed in.
Two men (who you don't know) are in your apartment. Your friends don't know where you are. You are a little bit too inebriated to plan and exit strategy. Doesn't exactly help your confidence in fighting them off since they are built like fucking brick houses.
"He won't come sniffin' around here botherin' ya, will he?" Simon asks, speaking for only the second time since he had threatened Cardan. You shake your head.
"No," you said. "I have him blocked on everything. So I think when he saw me tonight it was just kind of an opportunity, I suppose?" You offer. Cardan had showed up to your place one time with a random assortment of flowers and a useless apology you had to hear through the door as you covered your mouth. Concealing your cries. Too afraid to let him know you were there.
Too afraid that some part of you would be weak enough to take him back.
"We'll leave ye' be." Johnny said, nodding his head toward the door. "But if he comes bein' a shite to ye again, you can give us a call."
"Phones dead." You explain, holding up your phone as if you needed to prove yourself. Johnny offered the brilliant, yet simple solution of giving him your number. He sent off a text, knowing it would be there when you turned back on and promising to check in later.
They both gave subtle nods of goodbye before turning away.
And just like that, they left. The door clicking softly shut behind them. You stood, frozen for several beats before walking over and locking the door.
You plugged your phone into the charging cable, waiting until it lit back to life before shooting off a text in your group chat with Tab and Mere.
Sorry I took off. Ran into Cardan and fucking made a dash for it. Sorry if I worried you. I'm at home. I'm okay. Grab lunch tomorrow and we can talk about it? My treat?
You signed off the text with a heart emoji and turned your phone on do not disturb. Too afraid of your friends going all Mama Bear on you for running away while drunk. Even if your reasons were valid.
You had texted Johnny again. Not because Cardan dared to bother you again, but to thank him. Acknowledging that not many men would have done for you what he and his friend did. Johnny assured you it wasn't anything.
Before you knew it, the two of you were hanging out with Simon always tagging along. It took you a while to realize he did actually like you, but his stoic nature was just who he was. You had met Kyle and John, both as charming and respectful as Johnny and Simon.
John had been the first two mention wanting to take you on a date. It didn't go well with the other three. They all had the same intention and a rock, paper, scissors tournament seemed to juvenile to figure out who got the privilege in courting you. Eventually, they had decided to ask you.
Putting you on the spot to answer the question that had begun to tear them apart: which one of them will it be?
Johnny made you laugh. He was the first person you thought about calling when your day was a bit grey. He saw the positive in everything and was the one who made you feel like even the bad days weren't so terrible.
Then there was Simon. The one who you felt like was your safe place in body and mind. You would babble all day talking to him, thankful when he would let you rant. Your mind was able to go on auto-pilot in terms of safety because you knew Simon would handle it. He also gave the best hugs.
John was the one who instilled the confidence in you that you needed. Your bookstore, your writing, whatever aspirations you had, no matter how wild, John would support it. Nothing was too big. After you all started dating, he was the first person you ever let read your book. He gave you praise as well as critique, pointing out multiple plot holes and helping you craft it better. And never once taking credit for it, even when it was due.
Kyle was the most thoughtful one. He was the one who knew you liked trying knew things so he made an effort to always make date nights interesting. A new restaurant, a new activity or experience. He was the biggest giver of the group.
So when they did ask you, you answered honestly.
"I can't choose." They insisted that you didn't need to spare their feelings, but you stood firm in your decision. "No. I can't choose. I'm interested in all of you." When they pressed on why the fuck you didn't say anything earlier, you told them to avoid this kind of situation. Where you had to choose. You were fine continuing on as just friends if that meant you got to keep all of them.
Mere and Tabs were great friends, but they are the ones who helped pull you out of the slump. The ones who made you feel lovable. The ones who made you feel like a woman again.
"Helloooooo." Mere's hand waved in your face while another held something she had found in your closet. "So are you going to change or not?" Your eyes darted to the skimpy glittery black dress. The same one for your first date with them. Your stomach twisted as you took the sparkly dark fabric in your hand.
You nodded as if trying to shake the memory out of your mind. "I'll change and we can go." Better just to get it over with.
The place that Mere had dragged you to was a club that played music that you would only listen to while encapsulated in the aroma of cheap liquor and sweat. Your outfit form-fitting. The material too stiff to be comfortable, but it was cute. The hem of your dress coming to rest just below your ass cheeks. Hugging your body in a way that made you feel self conscious the moment you stepped out of your building.
Mere had run into some work colleagues. Names you couldn't and wouldn't remember. There had been a high profile divorce going on. Very messy. She had been so encapsulated by the gossip that she hadn't notice you and Tabitha had slipped off toward the bar.
Tabitha insisted on shots and you needed something to get your mind off the less than exciting night. Your expectations weren't high, but fuck. You would have been much more comfortable wearing the jeans. You felt like a piece of fucking meat. It would have been so bad if someone were gonna buy you a dr-
"This seat taken?" It was a cliche introduction attached to a slightly better than average face. Decent enough where it didn't hurt to look at him, but not attractive enough to be a seat.
"By all means," you said turning back to Tabitha who looked at the guy now sitting to your left and raising her eyebrows. Fucking hell. Not her too.
"It's pretty packed tonight." He commented, attempted to make small talk. You hated small talk. At least unless it came to Johnny who would get into discussion on politics, religion and why on the side was the best way to fuck because it gave him 'a perfect view of the front and back of ye.'
"You come here often?" You asked, not wanting to be a total bitch, but having absolutely zero desire to be entertaining him.
"When I can." He said. "I prefer the Artifact a couple of blocks down. Not many people heard of it. A bit of a hole-in-the-wall place." Oh cool. A fucking hipster who liked to act superior at knowing a place that is underground. You could feel any possibility of getting your pussy wet, dry at the thought of this man actually wanting to come onto you.
Jesus, when did you become so harsh.
I blame Simon.
"Oh," you say, no longer interested in entertaining the conversation. "Sounds lovely. My friend and I just came out for a bit of girl-" you turn to look at Tabitha who had somehow miraculously disappeared in the 45 fucking seconds that your back was turned....
Little bitch.
"Bathroom, I suppose." He laughed. It was the sincerity in his voice that irked you. God, why was he pissing you off just trying to start a conversation?
"I suppose." You gave a soft smile back, turning once the bartender had come over to grab your order. Which the stranger next to you had insisted buying. Nothing quite as arousing as obligated conversation.
"There's no need for that-"
"Percival." He introduced. "But my friends call me Percy." Your immediate thought was who the fuck names there kid Percival. The second was to offer him a fake name. Real enough to be believable, but fake enough where if he tried to search you up on any social media, you could just deny having any.
"I hate to be brash," he started. Then don't. "But I can't imagine a girl like you being single."
"Not really looking for anything romantic at the moment." You say, the first time you've been truthful this entire conversation. Percival leaned in closer, before asking in a low voice that he was doubt trying to convey as sexy, "Are you sure?"
And there it was. The final ick that nailed the coffin shut.
You offered in a soft smile before swallowing hard. "Percival,"
"My friends call me-"
"I'm going to be frank." Your voice is soft, as if explaining to a small child why we don't always get the things we want. "I just got of a very long and deep and meaningful relationship and the idea of being near another man in any intimate or emotional capacity wants me to cause very serious bodily harm to said man."
His expression fell.
"I appreciate your confidence in coming over here and making small talk, but if you're wanting to fuck me or even attempt to be friends, I must inform you that is no only not in the cards, but not in your best interest." You turned, downing the rest of your cocktail.
"Time for a trip to the bathroom myself, I suppose." You stood from your seat, having to readjust your dress.. "Have a good night."
You were washing your hands when a red-faced Mere walked into the bathroom. Tabitha on her heels with a concerned expression.
"What did you do?" Mere asked.
"What are you talking about?" You asked. You had half a mind to ask them why the fuck they pulled a disappearing act after insisting you go out.
"You told Percy you would castrate him?" You looked as if you had been slapped. The pieces falling into place to reveal a totally fucked up puzzle.
"You fucking tried to set me up." You seethed, a finger pointing accusingly.
"Well, fuck, what did you expect me to do?" She asked. "You were sulking."
"Listen to me!" You cried. "I want you to listen to me. I was with them for two years. It hasn't even been two weeks and you're going behind my fucking back and trying to set me up with fucking Percival? How the fuck do you even know him? Do you even know him?" She ignored your last question. How convenient.
"I thought it would be good to get it out of your system." She tried to defend, her pissyness now matching yours. "You always do this. I was just trying to help."
"What do you mean 'I always do this'?" Your eyes turned into slits.
"Why don't we just calm down and-" Tabitha tried to stop the escalation. Mere, very obviously, ignored that cue.
"You get so hung up on a guy, or in this case guys, it takes you fucking weeks to recover." You stare at her. Unsure if she was really comprehending the bullshit that had come out of her mouth.
"I'm certain you aren't trying to make me feel bad for grieving a relationship that I was in for over three years to a man I was engaged to. To find him fucking in my apartment, in my bed the same week I was going to get my wedding dress."
"It's not just Cardan," she went on. "Issac in our second year of school?" You gave a humorless chuckle.
"Oh yes," you said condescendingly, "the boy I had dated from 14-years old- until I was 19. The boy I gave my virginity two months before he told me he was not only not interested in me, but women in general." As if that somehow lessened the blow. "Absolutely shouldn't have bothered me a bit."
"You only went out for classes and food for two months!" She said as if you had hit a pedestrian with your car. As if you were a fool for being so distracted by a breakup you couldn't be bothered to carry on with life as normal.
"I'm sorry that I actually take the time to grieve my relationships." You said. "I forgot that it may be hard for either of you to comprehend what a relationship is like considering the only relationship either of you have is with your work or with each of us."
"Hey!" Tabitha said. "I understand your pissed, but there isn't need to attack us like this."
"Attack you?" You asked. "Attack you? This isn't me attacking you. This is me responding to an uncomfortable situation that you put me in. I told you I didn't want to even think about me. I didn't want to fuck someone else and you go and do this?"
"He seems like a decent guy." You roll your eyes.
"Probably why he's not your type, right?" Mere crossed her arms over chest. Eyebrow arched as if she were hoping the words enticed you to realize that you had a history of going after the wrong guys.
Unfortunately, it did not.
You sucked on your teeth, carefully choosing your words before World War III broke out in a nearly vacant bathroom in South London. You took a deep breath. Calming yourself as best as you could.
Before saying fuck it and letting it loose.
"Just because your idea of coping is getting drunk and fucking someone you plan on never speaking to again, quite literally discarding them like trash, doesn't mean the rest of us cope the same way." You hoped it hurt. You hope it stung the same way she had tried to sting you.
You had hoped that your word would be the final blow before both sides called a treaty.
"You mean like they did you?"
And just like that, you heart stuttered. A rapid dum dum dum in your chest as it had been tripped up by her words. The truth in them heavy. The shift in the air was almost immediate;.
"Sweetheart-" Tabitha had tried to reach out before you jerked away.
"Enjoy your night." You said, grabbing your purse where you had left it by the sink. "I'm going to go home and wallow in my self pity." You exited the bathroom, hearing your named called again before shifting it into gear and getting the fuck out of there.
Weaving through the sea of bodies like water flowing around rocks.
Who the fuck cares if you want to cry? To grieve? To be angry? To get closure? To move on? Who cares if you don't want to be the girl who gets her heart shattered and not fuck somone else? Who wants to feel the comfort of a familiar body, a touch that feels safe one last time before you go back into a world where you will only be touched by a stranger?
It didn't matter that you were the one to breakup with them, even if the relationship was broken. It's foundation cracked.
What did matter is that the people who should have supported you and in the way you were dealing with your loss in your own way, didn't. And that's the part that they seem to forget. It is a loss. It's mourning someone who hasn't died. Someone who is still living, yet still no longer there.
"Off already?" Percy cut in the way, blocking your escape. You weren't in the mood.
"Listen-" you started before he cut you off.
"Not anything romantic, I know," he raised his hands as if in defense, "but maybe like another drink or a dance?"
You closed your eyes, wanting to hold off starting a scene and tearing him a new asshole. "Like I said, not. interested." How much clearer could you spell it out?
"Come on." He said, his hand coming to rest on your hip. The grip on it weak. You were by no means the type of woman that could take on a man like the ones you still held in a chamber of your heart. But you could most certainly handle your own against Percival. "I'm asking for a dance. After what Meredith told me, I figured you'd be down for at a little more than that."
"I don't follow." Your blood ran cold. Your heart praying that any assumptions that were running through your mind were wrong, they were wrong.
"She mentioned you having a group of like guys you fucked, but stopped fucking." He shrugged, offering a coy smile that you ached to wipe off with the back of your hand. "I don't judge. It's kind of hot honest. Did they run train or-" You felt it then. His hand had traveled from your hip to the curve of your ass.
And you froze. You froze like a coward. Too afraid to speak or scream. Too ashamed to push him away, cause a scene.
But you didn't need to do any of that.
In an instant, Percy's hand was off of you. It took you a moment to realize that a figure dressed in black stood beside you. Your own personal grim reaper.
"Put him go!" You pleaded, breaking out of your trance. You took hold of his arm putting all of your body weight on his arm, trying to break his hold. He didn't falter.
You could handle you own against Percy.
But Simon could fucking kill him without breaking a sweat.
You looked at Simon's face. His eyes were darkened. The soft brown you had once loved staring into were now almost black. You could even make out the dark circles, even in the unsettling flickering of strobe lights in the club.
"You touch her again and I'll slit your fucking throat. Understood?" Pure venom fell from Simon's lips, but you knew he wasn't lying. Simon was the type of man who didn't say something he didn't mean.
You knew that all too well.
Percy choked out an ineligible, gurgled response as Simon's hand held firm on his throat. "He understands, goddammit, no let him down!" You ordered hitting at him as if it would stop him. "Simon, please!"
It was only when you said his name, did Simon loosen his grip. Letting Percy drop to a heap on the floor before he started a having a coughing fit, trying to suck in as much air as he could.
Simon looked down at you and the exit before scooping you up and hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of flower.
You wanted to die. You wanted to crawl in a hole and die and never show your face again.
"Get in the car." He at least had the decency to open the door for you. Simon wasn't a flashy man, by any means, but he was still a man. A men did love their cars.
He stood, waiting for you but you didn't move. You glared up at him. He had carried you out of there in the most humiliating way possible. You had to fight against the hemline of your dress or else everyone would have gotten an eyeful.
Hand still on the door, he leaned down, getting closer and closer to your height. "You get your ass in this car right now," his breath warm against your ear. "Or I'll have you over my fuckin' knee." His tone was sharp. It wasn't seduction in form of a threat. It wasn't even a threat.
It was a promise.
"We're over." You reminded.
"Do you think that'll fuckin' stop me from spankin' some sense into your bratty ass?"
"It doesn't give you the right to fucking do that to people, Simon!" You huffed. "You could have killed in."
"Could have," he agreed. "But didn't. You're welcome." he nodded toward the car. "Now, in you go or I'll do it here. You already know I don't mind an audience."
The heated seats were a bit to warm for your liking against your bare ass. The tension in the air was uncomfortable. Your hands ached to touch the radio. Anything to stop the silence between the two of you.
"I got home fine the other night by the way." You said, looking out the window, hoping to make him feel like shit for not checking in like he should have.
"I know you did."
"What do you mean you know I did?" You asked, turning to look at him. He shrugged as if it wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not stopping.
"Just did." Was his only answer.
"Are you fucking stalking me, Riley?" That made him laugh. You would have felt better if there was at least a sense of humor in it, but, instead, only disbelief.
"Oh, Riley now, is it?" He asked.
"You're not my body guard, Simon." You snapped.
"Not trying to be," he said. "I was never trying to be." You caught it. A very small slip, but it was something... something you couldn't place.
"Then why?" You ask, your tone softening. "For someone who makes it very apparent to be done with me, you sure do show up at convenient times. Hard not to think your keeping tabs on me."
He didn't say anything. No explanation or excuse. Not evena smart ass comeback or remark.
His hands reached forward and turned on the radio, turning the volume just loud enough that if you were to try and continue the conversation, your words would be drowned out.
He pulled up in front of your building, yet you made no move to get out. You turned off the radio, soaking in the silence once more. You wanted to know why? Why was he appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost? Why was he helping you?
He sighed before putting the car in park and stepping out. Coming around to your side he opened the door. "Get inside. Go to bed." There he was again. Fucking bossing you around as if he still had a say.
You wanted to cuss him out. To spew hateful words just as he did you.
But you didn't.
You were tired.
So fucking tired. And the idea of going to bed did sound pretty good in that moment. You made it to the door of your building before he spoke again. "And if you need to out at this time at night call a goddamn cab."
"Why?" You asked, turning around. "Getting tired of having to follow me around on foot, Si?"
There was a pregnant pause. Neither of you speaking. His body shifted forward, as if contemplating getting closer to you. As if the pull you once had was still there.
With his eyes trained on you, you felt a chill run down your spine. Twice you had seen that look on Simon's face before. The look that he had given the figures concealed in the shadows last night. The same look he had given Percy.
Only this time, it was directed at you.
One that personified the saying, 'if looks could kill.'
"Because," he growled out, "the next time I find someone else touching you that way, I'll fucking kill them."
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
are you still awake?
Chris and y/n had a stupid fight, but he refuses to go to bed angry
part two
vibe check: fluffy and suggestive towards the end, softie!chris, mentions of fighting etc, you get the jist bro
900 words
A/N: I LOVE CHRIS he's so fricken cute I wanna pull my hair out. kid said he can't go to bed angry at his brothers and I died. anyways enjoy this blurb of my little angel baby princess
love and cigs, merc
You and Chris were laying back to back in his bedroom, feet tangled in each others at the foot of the bed. The room was completely dark, a light patter of warm LA rain creating the perfect atmosphere in the room for you to slip into a peaceful sleep. You were stretched out in his bed, hugging the cold side of your pillow as you dozed off, having had a long and stressful day, all you wanted to do was sleep.
Chris on the other hand, was wide awake. He had been tossing and turning for hours, unable to quiet his mind. Earlier that day, you guys had a stupid argument that was so pointless you didn't even remember how it started. After a back and forth of who's right and who's wrong, you took off in a huff and told Chris you were going to bed, because you couldn't be bothered to argue with him anymore. In the moment, he didn't care, angry enough to let you fall asleep by yourself.
But that was earlier, and after he crawled into bed, the sight of you peacefully tucked up in his sheets stripped him of any lingering anger, and all he wanted was to make sure that you were okay.
"baby" Chris whispered, turning to place a gentle hand on the side of your shoulder.
you didn't respond, only hugged the pillow tighter with a soft groan.
"baby" he repeated, "are you still awake?"
you groaned slightly, face smushed against your pillow as your eyes fluttered, "I am now, Chris"
Chris' arm gently wrapped around your waist and he peppered soft kisses on your bare shoulder, "I can't sleep after what happened earlier" he said softly.
"what are you talking about?" you sighed, turning round to face him, desperately trying to pry your eyes open.
He hovered over you, brushing your bed tangled hair from your face, "I can't go to sleep if I know we're not okay"
A long exhale left your nose as you rolled your eyes slightly, "we're fine, Chris, please go to sleep" you said, attempting to turn back to your comfortable position.
Chris couldn't accept that, he pulled you by the shoulder back over to face him, "what if tonight is the night one of us dies in our sleep? d'you really want to have to go on knowing that our last conversation was a fight?"
You tiredly chuckled, "you're ridiculous" you said, rolling your eyes slightly as a smile crept its way onto your face.
" m'serious, baby, I can't sleep knowing we're not good" he whined slightly, "m'sorry for everything I said, y'know I didn't mean it"
Your hand found his face in the dark, the light from the moon illuminating his soft features slightly as it crept its way through his blinds. An uncontrollable smile lingered on your lips as he pushed his cheek further into your touch.
"I'm sorry too, my love, it was stupid"
Chris grinned and lowered his lips to yours, pressing a soft and tender kiss over them, his hand hooked round your jaw. He broke the kiss gently, rubbing a caring thumb over your cheek as he did.
"can I go back to sleep now?" you muttered, your tiredness creeping back up on you.
"yes, baby, go to sleep, I love you" Chris replied, shifting so he was tucked behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him so tight you'd think he was afraid you'd slip away
"I love you more" you said with a sleepy groan, nestling yourself back into him, his frame engulfing you in a comfortable warmth.
"not possible" he whispered, pressing a loving kiss onto your shoulder.
You let out a tired hum at his words, pushing back into him even more as your legs intertwined with his. The feeling of your skin against his, your nearly bare ass pressing back into him and the sound of your sleepy whines all going straight to his crotch. The blood in his body started to rush downwards, and he found himself absentmindedly grinding his hips against the soft flesh of your ass.
His movements brought you back out of your approaching slumber and you instinctively pushed back against his now painfully hard length, the feeling of his hard cock making you giggle slightly.
"Really, Chris? now?" you whispered
Chris groaned slightly, grinding into you harder, "I cant help it, baby, y'know how I get after our post fight make up convos" he whined, referring to how every time you guys would fight and make up, you telling him that you loved him and that everything was okay just did something to him.
You brought your hand up behind you and raked it through his long curls, tugging at the root slightly as you massaged his scalp, giving in and grinding your ass back against his movements
The sensation made Chris whimper, and he began to nip and suck at your neck, "s'that a yes?" he said, still grinding into you
you chuckled, moving your hand down to palm him over his boxers, "yes, Chris, but you're doing all the work" your words muffled by your pillow.
Chris' hips bucked up into your hand, a boyish excitement filling his brain "s'fine by me, baby, you don't have to move at all, I jus wanna put it in for a lil, need t'feel you around me"
A/N: smutty part two? lmk
taglist: @sturniozalt @mattslolita @shaquilles-0atmeal @blahbel668 @sleepysturniolo @le4hsblog
#©sturnsdarling#chris sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo fluff#chris sturniolo smut#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo smut
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
intoxicating.
premise. your boyfriend dumps you and says he doesn't love you anymore. of course, being the petty bitch that you are, you have to prove that you don't need him in your life either. and of course, intense emotions often lead to rash decisions, so you go to a bar in hopes of finding a new man.
somehow, even when all you've managed to do is scowl at anyone who approaches you and mope at the bar counter, you still manage to get one.
Wriothesley has dealt with his fair share of unruly drunks before, but they were something more along the lines of aggressive and sloppy, not depressed and sappy.
He finds that he'd rather manhandle angry alcoholics than a person who makes a slobbering mess all over his shirt, clinging to his arm and sobbing to his sleeve. Your body starts to sway even when he supports your weight, your footsteps unstable as your attempt to walk in a straight line fails entirely.
Okay, so maybe you are sloppy after all.
Wriothesley sighs and tightens his grip on your shoulders. There's no point in losing his patience with a drunk person. He didn't even mean to pick you up, it's just that as a police officer, his sense of responsibility makes him want to fix a troublesome situation whenever he sees one. Even when he isn't on duty, he often leads disruptive drunks out of bars and restaurants, forces them out when he has to, and is always on the receiving end of owners' gratitude.
However, he has no experience dealing with drunks that just got dumped by their boyfriend and chugged away the sorrow with alcohol. You know, like the one dragging their feet as he drags their inebriated body away.
At first, he thought you were hitting on him when he felt your head lean on his shoulder in the bar. It's a common strategy, one that he's dealt with enough times to know when someone is just pretending to be drunk and trying to get his attention. He was still thinking of what to say when tears actually rolled down your cheeks and you started retelling your life story that he never asked to hear about.
Wriothesley isn't actually trying to listen, but he still gets the gist of it. It would be hard not to when you're still prattling on about it beside his ear as we speak.
“He said...” You hiccup, warm liquid seeping into his shirt as you sob into his arm. He hopes that's from your tears and not your snot. “He said he doesn't feel anything for me anymore...”
So you glammed up for tonight and tried to have fun at a bar so you could prove to yourself you didn't need him in the same way he didn't need you. He can already recite the story perfectly from the amount of times you told him. Your plan is irrational at best, and he doesn't see himself doing the same if he were ever to be in the same situation, but he can't berate you for it. Not when you looked so miserable and hopeless to the extent he didn't think it would be safe to leave you alone back at the bar.
“You can't force yourself to be happy,” Wriothesley grumbles, finally giving up on carrying you by the shoulder and instead hoists you up on his back to give you a piggyback ride. Your shoes slip off your feet, so he sighs as he crouches down to pick them up. “At times like this, you should find other ways to feel better.”
Your body jolts against him as you hiccup once again. “Like what?”
“Dunno.” He shrugs, and he can feel you gradually getting used to being carried. It takes only a bit more for you to melt against his body, your chin snugly tucked in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Watch movies at home in your pajamas, I guess. Treat yourself to good food. Go on a trip. You look like the type to enjoy that. Much safer than getting involved with guys when you're still emotionally unavailable.”
You sniffle. “Romance movies only remind me of him. Eating at restaurants will make me remember the dates we've gone to. And going on trips will make me wish he's there with me.”
Why do they have an argument for each point I make? And I never said anything about the movie having to be romance. “Well, you still have to go through that,” he gives up on making you think otherwise. “But one day, you'll feel a little better about it. Maybe you'll want to start dating again when you watch that romance movie, or you'll want someone else to eat with on that restaurant you once went to. And when you're on a trip, maybe you'll even think you want somebody special to go with you.”
You go quiet. For a moment, he thinks you've fallen asleep. But then your head slowly rises from his shoulder, dazed eyes peeking at him unsurely. “You really think so?”
“It won't be easy,” Wriothesley says, because nothing ever is. “But you want to say you don't love him anymore, right?” He glances at you, at the dry tear streaks on your cheeks, at what glitter remains around your eyes from all the times you've rubbed away your tears.
For the first time that night, he sees you smile. “Yeah... I want to say it without feeling hurt anymore.”
He turns away, and he feels himself smiling without meaning to. “That's good.”
“...So do you like watching romance movies? Or eating [hometown] cuisine?”
“...No?”
“Then I'll settle for a movie you like. And I can make good food from anywhere.”
“...Are you hitting on me? Using my advice?”
“Is it working?”
Wriothesley laughs, looking at the person he's carrying on his back, who he is escorting to his apartment because you lost your keys and your roommate won't be back until tomorrow, whom he wrapped his leather jacket around because he felt you shivering against him, and who caught his eye the very moment he entered the bar.
“That's not a no.” He knows you're pouting even when he isn't looking anymore.
“Yeah,” he agrees with you, almost indulgently. “It isn't.”
When you wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom, dressed down to your undergarments and a t-shirt you definitely do not own, and with hardly any recollection of events from the past night, you think you've made a terrible, terrible mistake.
But then you spot the hangover medicine on the bedside table, your alcohol-spilled clothes drying in the laundry room, and possibly the most gorgeous man you've ever seen cooking breakfast in the kitchen, so whatever you did last night couldn't really be that bad.
“Oh, you're awake,” he says once he notices you standing in the middle of the room, completely awestruck. You don't even know what you should be staring at; his chiseled face, his strong arms, his tight tank top that faintly traces his muscled torso, the gray sweatpants that-
Okay. You are not going to look anywhere below his waist.
“Yeah,” is all you can manage, simply glad you didn't fuck up that one syllable. You feel like you're on the verge of either saying something really stupid or making really weird strangled noises. You prefer the former, if you can help it.
“Sit.” He pulls one chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to take it. You meekly take your seat, eyes shifting everywhere but his face. “You're rather quiet today,” he muses, taking one glance at your reddening face as he fixes the plates of pancakes in front and across you.
“...How was I yesterday, then?” You ask, though you don't actually want to hear the answer.
The man hums in thought, taking his sweet time while pouring coffee over two mugs. “Troublesome,” he decides to say. “You nearly puked over my rug, after all.”
You sputter, making all kinds of apologies and promises of compensation when all of a sudden, he laughs. “Nah, I'm kidding. But this means you don't remember anything at all, right?” He sits across from you, sliding the mug to your hand.
“No...” You take a sip, but you barely register how it tastes. “I remember ordering a lot of drinks, but that's pretty much it.”
“That's a shame.” He sighs, leaning back on his chair as he sips coffee. “I suppose that means our dinner plans are void, then.”
“Absolutely not!” The words come out of your lips before your brain-to-mouth filter processes it fully, your hand slamming down the mug on the table in protest. “Uh... that is... if you're available whenever...” You get a hold of yourself and feel your cheeks burning in shame.
He doesn't try to hide the amused smirk on his face. “Sure. I'll be looking forward to your hometown cooking, then.”
Just what on earth did you do last night...?
???
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#genshin scenarios#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact scenarios#genshin impact fic#fluff#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley#wriothesley x you#it doesn't happen immediately but you do get together eventually#your ex sees you with your new man so he realizes who really won that breakup
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Engaged, When? : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc
summary: with all your friends settling down around you, you can't help but feel like you and charles are slipping away from everyone else
After what could only be described as the day from hell, the last thing you wanted to do was go out to a celebration. But that was exactly where you found yourself. Carlos’ and Rebecca’s apartment was bustling with people, noise and lots of excitement for the newly engaged couple.
Whilst many others wore wild smiles on their faces, your expression couldn’t have been more different. All you wanted to do was go home and rest, but Charles refused to go to the party without you, ignoring your protests and encouraging you to show your face and happiness for the pair.
It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for them, because you were, if anything, you were disappointed for yourself. Whilst Charles mingled and made sure to say hello to as many people as possible, you preferred to hang back and blend in, simply doing enough to try and make it seem like you were enjoying yourself.
If there was one person that you weren’t convincing though, it was Charles. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you looking far from impressed, you might be able to deceive most people, but not Charles. Through the dances and the chatter, he made his way over to you, with many of his bosses around, he still felt the need to impress.
Your body tensed up as Charles came and stood beside you, “I know you’re tired but at least try and look like you want to be here, we’re supposed to be celebrating our friends right now.”
“It’s lovely, imagine falling in love and getting engaged so quickly,” you mumbled, taking a sip from your drink. Charles hummed as he walked off, not quite getting what you were saying.
Just as Charles walked off, another figure appeared beside you. The smile on Pierre’s face was comforting for you as he nudged your side, wanting to make you smile too.
“I know how you’re feeling,” Pierre sympathised as Kika appeared beside him. “We’ve talked about this enough times, but I promise you that he really does adore you.”
It was easy for others to tell you, but truthfully, you were far from sure anymore. You and Charles had been together for almost a decade, and yet your relationship felt like it was stagnant these days.
“How many more engagements do we have to celebrate?” You asked the two of them. “How many more times do I have to stand here wondering when it might be my turn?”
“I’m sure Charles has got his reasons,” Pierre tried his best to reassure you, but even he was confused these days. “You have to trust me though, he is still madly in love with you, Charles wouldn’t still be with you if that wasn’t the case.”
“Why can he not show me then?” You shrugged, “it’s not even about proposing anymore, it’s about doing anything to show me how he feels.”
You knew the honeymoon phase was never going to last forever, but after ten years with Charles you hoped the next stage was going to arrive soon. If you were honest, you’d hoped it would’ve arrived by now, especially after watching so many of your friends get engaged and seemingly leapfrog the two of you.
“I absolutely know he wants to marry you,” Kika added, offering you a warm smile. “It might not feel that way right now being here, but trust me, he does want to.”
Your head nodded as you tried to use Kika’s words to convince yourself. “I’m glad you guys all feel that way, it would just be nice to feel that way myself. I’m supposed to be happy for Carlos and Rebecca, and instead I’m stood here wondering what about me?”
As you felt yourself hit a wall of emotion, you excused yourself from the pair and walked off to get yourself another drink. Your shoulder brushed past Charles as you did so, going to say your name, but you were already gone. He looked to Charles and Kika, heading over to them for answers.
“Why are you both looking at me like that?” Charles questioned, feeling like he was in for a scolding.
“She’s really upset Charles, have you not noticed?” Pierre asked him.
“Yeah, I know she’s a bit tired.”
“It’s not just that.”
“No?” Charles questioned in surprise. “You mean to say there’s more to this?” He quizzed them both.
As Pierre nodded, Charles followed you to just outside of Carlos’ apartment and onto the balcony. You were resting on the railing as his figure appeared beside you, eyes watching you closely as you gave away nothing to let Charles know what was wrong.
“Talk to me,” Charles whispered, his voice soft and calm, “what else is going on love?”
Your body shifted so that you were facing Charles, “I’m supposed to be happy for these two, but if I’m honest, all I can feel right now is jealousy and frustration.”
Charles’ brows furrowed as you spoke before the realisation hit him. A sigh escaped as he realised finally what it was that you had been hinting at, not just tonight, but for so many years as you celebrated others.
“It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help but feel like these days we’re being left behind. We’ve just stayed exactly where we are for years,” you confided in him.
“We’ve always been so strong together, getting engaged, married, having kids, whatever it is it doesn’t define the two of us,” Charles spoke, draping his arms across your shoulders. “Maybe I’ve just become so comfortable that I never really thought about us taking that next step too.”
You hated the fact that you allowed getting engaged to turn into some sort of competition for you, but your mind could think of nothing else. “I just feel like after ten years it should have happened, or at least to me it feels like it should have happened by now.”
Charles took yet another step closer towards you. “I’ve thought about marrying you, more than you could ever imagine. I guess I’ve just never really felt like I’ve found the right time to.”
“Is that right time ever going to come?” You asked, “I mean I always thought we’d be the first ones to settle, have a family, grow old together, but now we’re back of the pack.”
“We can still do all of those things Y/N.”
Your eyes looked desperately back at Charles, “then can you please start making me feel like they might be possible someday?”
Hearing the frustration in your voice sent a shiver down Charles’ spine. He’d never considered how you felt about proposing, marriage and everything else that life threw at you. But now as he looked at you, he could see just how much it truly meant.
“Am I the person you want to be with? Forever?” You quizzed, “do you really see your future with me Charles?”
He took a tight hold of your hand, bringing your head towards him and kissing the top of it. “There’s no doubt in my mind that I see forever with you. And I promise all of those things will happen for us, but when the time is right for us.”
“Thank you,” you whispered back across at him. “I just needed to hear that to reassure myself, with everything that’s been happening for our friends, I guess I just let the doubt begin to creep in.”
Charles hummed, understanding exactly how you were feeling. He'd become so comfortable in your relationship he’d forgotten to think about how you were feeling. But as he felt you press a kiss against his cheek, he knew he couldn’t do that any longer.
“Who knows, maybe it’ll be us that we’re all celebrating next time,” Charles joked.
“I might just hold you to that LeClerc.”
˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗
#f1#f1 imagine#formula 1#charles leclerc#charles leclerc imagine#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x you#formula one#f1 fanfic#f1 reaction#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc drabble#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#formula x reader#formula one drabble#formula 1 drabble#formula one x reader#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 drabble#f1 fluff#f1 x you#f1 fic
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
☆.° — breathe me | hhj
genre: smut
pairing: nerd!hyunjin x afab!reader
wc: 3k
warnings/ content: ice play, lots of fingering
this is my fic for @whatudowhennooneseesyou's kinktober 2024; ice play with hyunjin! also an unofficial part 2 for my nerd hyune fic 'study me' hehe <3 hope you enjoy, check out the other works too!! (pst @hyunverse)
It's been a while — three months, give or take — since you and Hyunjin had started going out; officially, and openly. You remember the looks on peoples' faces, slightly irritated, perplexed, when you and him would enter the classroom, hand in hand, sitting down next to each other and giggling shyly about something only you two understood. The group project three months back — which you were grateful for every passing day for bringing you closer to him — had been long over; so why were you hanging out with the loner, the unnamed loser, the nerd sitting in the first row by himself every day anew? You had found a certain satisfaction in those looks; something about them had made you proud, made you feel lucky. As though you’d understood something no one else had.
By now, people were used to the pair of you; seeing you together in the campus cafeteria, accompanied by some of your friends and a heavy blush on Hyunjin's cheeks wasn't as bizarre anymore; hearing your quiet chatter echoing from the first row was normal, almost — except it didn't occur all too often, and far too seldom for your liking. Yes, Hyunjin became your boyfriend over the course of a couple weeks, and while your studies and academic affections suffered beneath that, his didn't a bit; surprisingly.
"How are you acing every class!?", you attack him one evening. He had scored 99 out of a hundred possible points on a Statistics test — your one and only mutual class —; you had barely gotten a 49.
"Don't tell me you're actually getting anything done when we study together?"
You had sat in the library, and your too loud voice had flustered him, so he had responded even quiter than usual; and not without a hint of judgement:
"Of course I am." Brows furrowed, genuine question in the way he'd looked at you. Then, after a moment, he had cocked his head, in near fearful realization; mouth agape, eyes big behind his nerdy glasses. "Wait... you wanna tell me you're... not actually studying on- on our study dates?" The last words had sounded from his mouth shyly, almost bashful. You had chuckled internally at that, though had given him a sultry look; playful, a wink accompanying your gesture.
"No, I'm way too distracted by how good you look studying that I can't get anything done myself."
Another thing that hasn't changed over the last three months — Hyunjin has seemingly not gotten used to your flirtations. To any flirtations, any intimacy at all. Every time you touched him, as innocent a touch as it was, every time you gave his lips as little as a peck he froze, utterly clueless in his own body, scarlet in the face and down the neck. It was adorable. A part of you hoped he never would get used to it; that he would always stay the bashful, quirky man you got to know him as. That he would always drown in red when you shot him a playful look, fire behind your eyes and igniting Hyunjin, fixing his glasses with a quick motion, clearing his throat and diverting his eyes, only to notice you're still staring when he looks for you again. You liked initiating things, liked the way he still shied from as much as kissing you, reaching out to hold your hand. That when he did — reach out, touch the back of your hand with his own, slowly entangling your fingers and acting unknowing all the while — it wasn't without fluster, wasn't without you giggling about him because his crimson neck and his blown pupils were so ironic, considering you'd been entangled in bed together two hours ago, naked and pressed against each other.
Another thing, undeniably, you had loved about the past months; the sex. Sounding perverted upon admission, though you had to; because it'd been better than you had anticipated. Hyunjin was shy, and he'd only been learning to voice his own wishes and desires fairly recently; but he was eager. Eager to please you, eager to do anything you asked him to, to learn. And he was more open than you thought, too, more experimental; there was barely a thing he denied, even if never without shyness, but always saying yes with a face red as crimson.
And he'd said yes this time as well.
You were sprawled out on the bed, in the nude, limbs shivering and skin pearly, covered in a million tiny bumps. It was strange, the contrast to the heat Hyunjin emitted; fires ignited beneath your skin but you were cold, so cold to the touch against the warm air of the room. Yet, you were glowing. You were burning and freezing to death at the very same time.
Hyunjin was holding the little, melted down ice cube he's prepared the day prior against your skin. You had brewed an ice coffee for the pair of you, as innocent a date as ever, Hyunjin talking your ears off with a new computer he's acquired, and how setting it up was — apparently — the most fun he's had in a while. You liked listening to him, could never grow tired of his hobbies you learned to love so dearly, viewed as so adorably quirky; but you also couldn't have suppressed the suggestive remark you'd made:
"Oh... really?", puppy eyes while you’d turned to face him slowly, and he had sat by the kitchen counter perplexed, nodding and going on with his demonstration of his new set up. You had stepped closer to him, ice cube mold in hands. "Even more fun than... we had yesterday?" You had eye-fucked him by now, eyes big and dear-like, blinking and playing with a lose strand of his hair; it had gotten so long over the past months, and you could never keep your hands from it.
Hyunjin had gulped, visibly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, and a feeling of heat had lain as a blanket in your lower tummy. You had seen the memories of last night flash before his eye in a second, and a familiar blush had lain over his pearly skin. He hadn't, and the faint outline of his developing erection had been proof.
"I can remind you, in case you did."
A futile promise; not only because he hadn't forgotten, but because you would remind him nevertheless.
Hyunjin's eyes had hushed to the ice cubes beside your hands on the counter, and upon the deepening of his blush your eyes had started glistening. That was the thing about your boyfriend; he knew what he wanted. He knew exactly, only too shy to admit to it, too ashamed to speak the words out loud. He had never said no to a proposal you've made, because he'd wanted it as bad as you did — more so, maybe. You'd smirked, following his eyed and then locking them again.
"You wanna try these...", you had barely whispered, "...on me?" Head cocked and eyes questioning. Hyunjin had gulped again; then he had nodded.
Fast forward half an hour, you were shivering against the cold of the ice cube. Hyunjin was clumsy with it, utterly helpless; he didn't quite know what to do with the little bit of frozen water, where to touch you with it, what to do. After the third one has melted without much an outcome, Hyunjin looking both distressed and apologetic, you finally took matters into your own hands with a giggle.
"Fuck, I'm sorry; I have no idea what I'm doing." Hyunjin sounded frustrated, and you entangled your fingers in his locks, messy and raven around his face. His glasses were sliding down continuously, and he had grown tired of fixing them; they were forgotten, sitting almost at the tip of his nose. You slid them up, looking down at him where he was positioned between your bare legs, and he grew bashful; he always did when you fixed his glasses for him. He held you, big hands on your waist, so casual but your skin burned beneath every touch.
"Calm down, babe.", you smiled at him, and his brows furrowed closer together.
"Should I... help you? Tell you what to do?"
He had laughed then, thankful relief, had nodded and had kissed your lower tummy; you loved when he wasn't shy to show banal affection, when his lips and hands felt a home on your body.
"Take an ice cube in your mouth.", you commanded, voice silk and honey. Hyunjin blinked up at you twice; then he obliged, momentarily. Almost with no hesitation; he was slave to every of your word, your wish his very own. He trusted you to take the lead, and his plump, scarlet lips wrapped around the frozen bit of water, securing it further with his teeth; and he shivered at the coldness of it. You hissed in a breath at that; you needed to remember using the ice on him, at some point; he would look heavenly flustered and red and shivering.
Hyunjin looked at you, expectedly, waiting for your next word. He wouldn't do anything but.
Your fingers played with his hair, and you watched his glasses slide down his nose. He scrunched it, likely unaware of the little movement; but your breath hitched, and you bit your lip.
"Kiss my body with it."
He did. He lowered his head to be level with your bare stomach, eyes never leaving your own. He watched you intently, if waiting for the next command or simply not wanting to miss every breathy sigh you let out, every shaky moan you weren't sure.
The ice touched your hot, burning skin. You were surprised it didn't melt right away; Hyunjin's breath was even hotter than you, and the contrast of it — his warm huffs of air and the freezing cube — sent a electrifying shiver down your spine and right to your core, tickling there until you squirmed to ease the feeling off. Hyunjin's eyes held surprise; then he started making out with your body as if it was your lips he was kissing, and as if the ice had disappeared. He played with it, clumsy and more passion than plan, and you could tell he liked the filth, the lack of sense. He gave the flesh of your hips open mouthed kisses, hot and wet and cold, he let the cube of ice disappear in his mouth to bite down on your skin before his tongue fiddled with the shrinking block again to let it drop on you, unexpectedly, cold and whine-inducing. He groaned too when you let the sound rip through your throat, enjoying the way you enjoyed it.
The ice cube melted eventually. Hyunjin kissed your body some more without it, losing himself, lips and hands unable to let go of you. He did so until you whined out when he wrapped his lips around one of your breasts, hot spit coating your nipple, his cold, delicate fingers playing with the other one. He looked up at you then, knowing and questioning all the same, and you whispered a single word, enough to make him hurry putting the second ice cube between his teeth.
"More."
You shook your head, though, when Hyunjin was about to come back to his previous ministrations. You held his arm; you had gotten so sensitive so suddenly, feeling like slipping away if you didn't grab onto something.
"Let it drop here.", you said, pointing to the core of your chest. He did as you commanded, and searching for your next wish in the depths of your eyes.
"Move it down my body."
He did, straight down, aiming for your belly button, and you shook your head again.
"No, no, slowly. Here first.", you whispered, wetting your fingers in the cold trail of water the cube left, and circling one of your nipples with it. Hyunjin blushed upon that, suddenly. Torn out of the haze from before he as though found his way back to reality, always bashful when you played with yourself in front of him. He watched you close your eyes at the pleasure you brought yourself, the way you hummed out quietly before looking at him again. And he obliged; he let the small cube travel over both your breasts, long and slow, until the ice had almost fully dissipated when he reached your belly button.
"Another one.", you hushed, and he understood. He let an ice cube drop just over your belly button, where he had stopped prior, and continued his journey further down; he kissed your body to elicit sounds of pleasure from you, breathy and hushed and needy whenever his hot tongue danced across trails of cold water, when it circled a nipple; when the melting cube of ice touched your core, finally. Your back arched into him; and after an approval look and a nod of yours Hyunjin fiddled — clumsily — to lay the cold against your clit. It wasn't sudden and yet you jumped, yelped in your place, grabbed onto Hyunjin, digging your nails into the bare skin of his arms. He hissed at that; he hadn't yet admitted to it, but he enjoyed the faint sting of pain, you were sure.
He kept fingering you slowly with the remnants of the ice cube. It wasn't much by any means, almost melted entirely, your wet heat enough to make it, but the sensation remained. You were sensitive, worked up, and Hyunjin above your body so obedient, watching your every move to accord his ministrations to them, that you felt your high sneak up on you, quicker than you had anticipated. It was almost there, almost palpable; but it needed more.
And he felt it. He had eased into it, into the night and into you, and he became more courageous — he grabbed for another ice cube without you telling him to, placed it on your pelvic bone to warm it up, just a little. He kissed you then; impulsively, passionately, moving the cube against your body, cold thumb of his circling your clit. Slowly, not necessarily with a goal, just because; slow circles, barely doing anything, but you still jerked in your place, against him and then into the mattress. And you kissed him back, grabbed the back of his nape, the very ends of his hair, tousled and messy and warm against the cold; and he inserted the freezed water with two of his fingers, into your hot wetness, making it cold and wetter, so suddenly sensitive that you groaned out deeply into his mouth. He ate up the sound, returned it with the same fervour, curled the ice cube up and removed it again, leaving you empty and shivering, aching for more. For again. You whispered the word against Hyunjin's bruised lips, deep red and bitten, and he obeyed; he inserted two fingers and the ice cube into you, curling his digits and pushing the cold deeper. Everything around you turned white, and silent. You saw nothing but him, heard nothing but Hyunjin's staggered, deep breaths, felt nothing but bliss, purified in the way he granted it to you; unapologetic, readily, as if was everything he was born for.
You squirmed against his body, steady and warm above your own. You could feel his erection against your leg, could feel he was moving and squirming too, to remove friction, though it wasn't his primary goal. He moved thoughtlessly, out of an instinct; his focus, though, lay on you. He didn't dare remove his eyes from you, repeatedly fixing his glasses to not miss a second of the changing expressions on your face, or your shivering body, your pearl-covered skin, the way your flesh broke waves with every move you made, with every hard breath you inhaled, exhaled. And he went deeper, bit your neck harder, held your hips closer, kissed you faster; and you groaned louder, squirmed heavier, until finally you shook, body convulsing and waves of electricity running through your body, wetness gushing down Hyunjin's fingers and staining the mattress. Your chest heaved, your warmth having melted down the ice cube to mere cold water, and Hyunjin watched in awe; he hadn't yet grown used to the sight of you coming, especially for him. The way he could see your soul leaving your body and returning again, the way your eyes crossed before rolling into the back of your head, how you held onto him, how your toes curled and the hairs on your body stiffened; he would never get enough of it. He could watch it - watch you - over and over again, shaking and coming against him, your hot breath igniting fires on his skin.
"Fuck.", you breathed out, tearing Hyunjin out of his thoughts. Your eyes were squeezed shut, and only then Hyunjin noticed he hadn't yet stopped fingering you, slowly, helping you ride out your orgasm though overstimulating now, surely. He leaned down, kissed your neck, slowly removed his fingers, eliciting a sweet sigh from you. He did then something which could only be accounted to his incredible neediness; nothing unfamiliar whenever he waited his turn, whenever he prioritised your satisfaction over his own. He sat back on his heels, looked down on your shivering, sweaty body; and he licked his slick fingers clean of you, eyes locked with yours intently. His tongue swirled around his digits, slurping noises filling the room. His ears turned red and the blush crept down his neck, upon the filthy action, and upon your sweetness against his tongue, but he didn't stop; Hyunjin put on a show for you, and he loved to see the effort pay off - your eyes deepened with a sense of desire, dark and seductive and alluring, and a smirk played around your lips; Hyunjin knew you loved when he wasn't shy to show his lust. Only when you grabbed him by his collar, only when you tugged at the hem of his shirt and your legs wrapped around his torso, toes playing with the waistband of his pants he knew the night wasn't over; and wouldn't be for long.
@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @ppiri-bahng @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @junebug032 @noellllslut @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife @astraystayyh
#hyunjin smut#skz smut#stray kids smut#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin imagines#hyunjin scenarios#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#stray kids imagines#stray kids scenarios
838 notes
·
View notes
Text
Isagi loves your thighs. And even though he isn't the type of guy to answer "personality" when asked "Boobs, thighs or ass?", he doesn't want to outright say how attracted he feels to them, mainly because he doesn't want you to think he only cares about your body (even though you know he doesn't).
So, imagine how heavenly it felt the first time he got to sleep on your lap. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday.
He had come home after a tough day of practice, in which his coach seemed even more angry than usual and just determined to make the whole team's day a living hell. Everything in him was aching, from his back to his feet, and he could swear he had a fever or something, because his head was starting to throb too. All Isagi wanted to do was get home and lay down, even if it means sleeping without showering (which shows just how tired he was).
"Honey? You're home!" he heard you saying from the kitchen "Welcome home!"
He tried to answer your sweet voice welcoming him home. He really did. But his mouth just wouldn't answer his brain's commands. So, he was just standing, staring at you with his mouth wide open, looking like an idiot.
"Isagi? Are you feeling alright?"
He couldn't even register what he was doing, but the next thing he knew, he walked closer to you. His body was just moving on it's own, as if being as close to you as possible was as natural for him as breathing.
"Sweetie, you're starting to scare me. Do you need to go to the doctor? Did something happen today at practice?"
He couldn't resist the urge to hug you anymore, even though he was trying to restrain himself because he was still stinky from practice and he knew just how much you hated it when he hugged or kissed you without showering first. He couldn't explain it, but you looked so huggable at the moment! He took a step closer, hugging you tight and burying his face in the crook of your neck, innaling deeply and letting out a satisfied sigh. One of his hands was travelling your waist while the other was playing with the hem of your shirt.
"Yoichi!" you exclaimed, voice worried yet still not loud enough to make his head ache even more (he doesn't even think your voice will ever be capable of doing him any harm) "You're burning up! You have a fever! I can't believe it, I told you to take better care of yourself!"
Ah. So he was right. He had a fever. That's why training was so hard today.
"Hm" he muttered, still with his head in your neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment you both were having.
"Stay at the couch, I'll go grab some medicine at the bathroom."
"Noooo, don't leave me here" he said, clearly affected by his sickness. It looks like his mouth finally started to work again. "I don't want to be away from youuuu"
"Yoichi, my honey, you're clearly not thinking straight right now. But I won't go away! I'll be back in like 30 seconds. Sit on the couch and count, I swear it won't take long"
He sighed, but complied anyway, sitting at the couch and waiting (im)patiently.
You were right, because in almost no time you came back with pills and a cup of water. If there was a sport where the champion had to be the person who brought a glass of water and medicine to their sick boyfriend the fastest, you would win, Isagi thought (and that thought made him strangely proud).
"Here. Drink it up" he obeyed
"Everything hurts"
"I know it does, love. What you need right now is sleep. Come here" you said, patting your lap. If Yoichi was in his right mind, he would've blushed hard and maybe even denied at first, but he wasn't. He just wanted to rest, and he always dreamed about laying in your lap. So, he quickly grasped the opportunity.
And boy was it as good as he imagined it would be. Even better, actually. Your thighs were fluffier than any other pillows he had ever used before, and he felt like he could hibernate there. And as if it couldn't get any better, you started playing with his hair. He was in heaven. He couldn't even fell the pain anymore, and he was sure it wasn't just the medicine doings.
"I love your thighs" he admitted, a honesty he wouldn't have when he was healthy, which made you chuckle "And I love you too. Thank you." He kissed the inner part of your thigh to show you just how serious he was about it
"I love you too, Yoichi. Now, rest. We don't want the best striker of the world to be sick all week, do we?"
"If it means getting to lay on your lap everyday, I would be sick my whole life"
"You're silly"
"And you're the love of my life"
"Good night, Isagi"
"Good night, my love"
Masterlist
#i love Isagi so much it's not even funny#bllk manga#bllk x reader#bllk x you#blue lock#bllk#blue lock x reader#blue lock x you#bllk isagi#isagi x reader#isagi x you#blue lock isagi#isagi yoichi
1K notes
·
View notes