#i haven't written or worked on a long fic in months

[bittertomato]

How does one write/start fanfic...

[witchywithwhiskey]

room for one more

pairing: movie star!bucky barnes x female reader x movie star!steve rogers

summary: you meet your boyfriend's best friend for the first time, and he perfectly matches the energy of your relationship. then, what was meant to be a fun night for the three of you, turns into something more.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, threesome, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f and m receiving), anal fingering, come eating/swallowing, come play, semi-public play, light bdsm, check-ins, marking/bruises, teasing, edging, light overstimulation, some m/m (kissing and hand-holding), dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (sweetheart, baby), aftercare, established relationship, happy ending polycule

word count: 12.2k

a/n: i was inspired by those pics from last month at the walk of fame ceremony, and this was originally just going to be a fun, flirty threesome. but then as i was writing, the characters decided we were adding some bucky/steve to the mix, so here we are!!! i haven't written anything like this before so i hope i did ok 🫣 also i did not mean for this fic to be so long but i had so much fun writing it, i just couldn't stop hahah anyway! hope y'all enjoy!!!

A jolt of excitement shot down your spine when you recognized Steve Rogers approaching through the crowd beneath the white canvas tent set up on Hollywood Boulevard. Your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, must’ve felt the way your body tensed as you sat beside him, because his hand tightened on your bare thigh. 

Bucky wasn’t looking at you—he’d caught sight of his oldest friend, and the corners of his mouth were flickering in the way they did when he was trying to repress a grin—but you could feel his own excitement in the way his fingers dug into your soft flesh. You had a feeling you weren’t the only one thinking about the plans you, Bucky and Steve had for that evening.

But then your boyfriend’s touch was gone and Bucky was standing to greet his oldest friend with a tight hug. There were even a few enthusiastic back pats thrown into the mix. It was clear the men were happy to see each other.

You watched the interaction, fascinated. In all the time that you’d been dating Bucky, you hadn’t met his childhood friend, nor had you seen them interact, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he relaxed in Steve’s presence. Bucky’s shoulders loosened and his smile was easier. Normally, he’d be tense in a crowd surrounded by photographers, and look to you for comfort—and you were always happy to give it. 

But it seemed you weren’t the only person who could have a calming effect on Bucky, and it made you smile to see him catch up with Steve, a sense of happiness settling into your heart as you watched your boyfriend talk to his best friend. There was an easiness to their interaction that spoke to their decades of friendship, and instead of feeling put out that Bucky hadn’t introduced you yet, you understood he needed a moment with Steve. 

It had been months since they’d last seen each other, and they’d only been reunited for the Walk of Fame ceremony you were attending with Bucky, where a director he and his best friend had both worked with was receiving a star. The director had discovered Steve and Bucky when they were younger, giving them their first roles that eventually led to their careers in Hollywood. 

“Is this your girl?” Steve asked, his friendly voice pitched a little louder so you could hear it over the crowd of people all crammed beneath the tent. You looked up and found Steve’s face tilted down toward you, his attention making you feel warm all over. There was a playful, devastatingly handsome tilt to his mouth as he asked, “The future Mrs. Barnes?”

Steve held out both of his hands to you and you tipped your head back with a laugh as you slipped your fingers into his palms. He helped you to stand, his hands smoothing up your arms to your elbows, then pulled you into his orbit as he leaned in to brush kisses to both of your cheeks. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Steve,” you murmured in between skimming your lips over his whiskered cheeks, enjoying the prickle of his beard against your soft skin.

Since you were so close, Steve’s warm, woodsy scent washed over you. Somehow, it went straight to your head and your core, making you sway a little on your heels as a warmth bloomed deep in your belly. You had to repress a shiver and hold yourself back from burying your face in Steve’s neck to inhale more of his delicious smell as you leaned back from your greeting.

“The pap photos don’t do you justice, sweetheart, you’re much more gorgeous in person,” Steve rumbled, his hands giving your arms a light squeeze before he stepped back to a more polite distance.

You felt bereft without Steve’s touch, and you reached instinctively for Bucky’s hand. Your boyfriend slid in next to you, catching your fingers in one of his hands while the other settled against your lower back. His familiar cologne filled your senses and you smiled up at him, feeling steadier as you leaned into Bucky. In your chest, your heart was racing, and you tried to make sense of the riot of emotions in your belly. 

Thankfully, Steve’s comment about paparazzi got the men talking about their least favorite aspect of working in Hollywood and you could take a moment to collect yourself.

As you did, you took the opportunity to look at Steve properly. 

Of course, you’d seen him in movies, and in plenty of photos on social media. You’d even seen him in some pictures of the two friends that Bucky had hanging in the brownstone you shared together in Brooklyn. But it was a different thing entirely to see your boyfriend’s Hollywood heartthrob best friend in person.

Steve had made a name for himself in the business as the golden boy action hero, leading a franchise that had grossed over $2 billion with just three movies. In his mid-30s, he had his pick of any blockbuster movie role in town, and he had the looks and the talent to make whatever film he chose a success.

Your eyes, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, raked down Steve’s body, and it struck you how much he looked like the epitome of an action hero with his broad shoulders and trim waist. His biceps bulged in the sleeves of his short-sleeved button-up and his thighs filled out his slacks nicely.

Trailing your eyes back up to his handsome face, you noted that Steve’s beard was well-groomed and his watch looked expensive despite its simplicity. But he managed to look much more down-to-earth with his navy blue cap and sunglasses than most of the overly shiny men in Hollywood. 

It almost made you smile how you could immediately spot so many differences between Steve and Bucky, but, at the same time, so many similarities, too. 

Although they were both actors, their career trajectories had gone in completely different directions. While Steve had become an action star, Bucky had made a name for himself in indie movies and prestige dramas. Also in his mid-30s, Bucky had a few major awards under his belt, and he was often flying around the world to promote his movies at film festivals like Cannes. 

But, like Steve, he’d opted for a more down-to-earth look for the Walk of Fame ceremony, choosing a patterned button-up tucked into simple slacks. He looked a bit more polished, in your opinion, and just as handsome as his best friend. Though he didn’t have the same broad build as Steve, he still looked strong and fit—and his ass filled out his slacks very nicely, which you’d told him before the two of you had left your hotel suite that morning. 

“It’s a shame it took something like this to finally get you both out here to LA at the same time,” Steve said, getting your attention. 

He shifted closer to your side opposite Bucky, making you feel almost caged in between their two broad chests. To your surprise, though, you didn’t mind. You felt more comfortable between them, and you wondered what it would feel like to be pressed between their broad bodies without any clothes in the way…

“I’ve been dying to meet your girl,” Steve went on, his voice dropping low so only you and your boyfriend could hear. His fingers skimmed up the back of your arm and across the bare skin of your shoulders, making you tremble lightly. Steve’s eyes danced across your face and he smirked as he said, “And I can’t wait to get to know you intimately later tonight, sweetheart.”

You visibly shuddered at Steve’s suggestive words, your mind jumping immediately to the plans the three of you had for that evening. They entailed the hotel suite Bucky had booked for the evening, and the three of you alone together, completely naked. Touching, kissing, and more.

The plans were a result of conversations you’d had with your boyfriend. Bucky had told you early on in your relationship that he had a fantasy about sharing his girl with his best friend, and you’d liked the idea far more than you’d expected. However, it had been difficult to make happen, given his and Steve’s busy movie star schedules. So, despite it being the same day you were meeting Steve, that night might be the only time in a long time that it could happen.

But something about the energy between the three of you in that warm tent made you think that even if the plan wasn’t already for you, Bucky and Steve to end up in bed together that night, it would’ve happened anyway. You couldn’t put your finger on why you thought so, but it had quite a bit to do with the hungry looks they were shooting your way—and exchanging with each other.

“Don’t get her all riled up yet, Stevie,” Bucky chided his best friend lightly, but when he cut his eyes to you behind his sunglasses, you could see a mischievous glimmer in their depths. “You keep whispering in her ear like that, and she’s gonna end up leaving a mess on her chair.”

Biting back a gasp, you squirmed against Bucky’s side, your embarrassment at his comment fanning the flames of your arousal. Your boyfriend chuckled at your reaction and wrapped his arm around your back, his fingers digging into your hip to hold you still, though that only made you want to writhe against him some more.

Steve’s eyebrows winged upward at Bucky’s comment, and you could tell from the slight shifting of his head that he was looking back and forth between your faces, a small smirk on his lips. “Is that so?” he asked, the slight edge of a challenge in his tone. 

Bucky knew your body well—he knew what turned you on and just how wet he could make you with his words and voice alone. You’d long since learned that your boyfriend got a great deal of enjoyment out of teasing you and working you up until you were begging for him. He loved seeing just how wet and sloppy he could make you, pushing you both until you were ravenous for each other. 

So it didn’t surprise you that Bucky shot his best friend a cocky grin and drawled, “Oh Stevie, you’d be surprised at just how messy my girl can get.” 

Heat flushed fast and fierce through your body and you whipped your head around to look at your boyfriend. It was on the tip of your tongue to demand he and Steve take you back to your hotel, but at that moment, the event organizers began telling everyone to take their seats. 

You were frustrated and thankful for the interruption as you took your seat between Bucky and Steve. Although the ceremony beginning meant there was no way you could convince Bucky to leave early, at least it meant your boyfriend and his best friend couldn’t continue to torture you.

At least, that’s what you naively believed. Until not one, but two hands slipped onto your bare thighs. 

“You don’t mind, do ya, Buck?” Steve asked cheerfully across you, his thumb stroking over your skin in a way that nearly had you whimpering. He wore a shameless grin as he sat forward, looking at your boyfriend while touching you.

Your thoughts had scattered, and it didn’t even occur to you how inappropriate it was for Steve to put his hand on your thigh right in front of your boyfriend. In the deepest reaches of your heart, it just felt right for both Bucky and Steve to have their hands on you. And instead of being surprised by Steve’s boldness, you just felt desperate for one of them to move their hand higher, to stroke their fingers over the spot where you needed them most. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Bucky replied easily, his tone almost nonchalant as he dragged his gaze up from Steve’s hand to his best friend’s face. “You go right ahead,” he said, shifting in his chair, moving closer to you as he began stroking his thumb against your other leg, matching Steve’s rhythm so perfectly, it was maddening.

If you didn’t know Bucky so well, you wouldn’t have been able to detect the undercurrent of desire in his tone, or the way he was shifting in his seat to hide the slight bulge in the front of his slacks. Your whole body clenched tight with the reminder that you weren’t the only one excited by the knowledge that you would be bringing Steve into your bed that evening. 

Bucky clearly got off on seeing his best friend’s hand on your thigh and you relaxed a little. Your boyfriend’s desire calmed the anxiety you didn’t know you had—anxiety that you were the only one excited for more—leaving only arousal simmering deliciously in your belly.

As if somehow sensing your thoughts, Bucky leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“How’s it feel, baby?” Bucky purred, his voice as warm as the summer sun shining on the crowded tent. “Having my best friend’s hand on your thigh, his fingers so close to your sweet, needy cunt?” 

Bucky’s fingers slid slowly up your thigh, curling beneath the hem of your dress, teasing closer to the heat nestled between your thighs. He was so close to touching you where you needed him most, that you had to bite back a whimper before even beginning to think about answering. 

Your boyfriend’s fingers dug into your soft flesh, urging you to respond, but all you could manage was one word.

“Bucky.” His name was the softest whine lilting from your lips, carried on the gentle California breeze. Your fingers were clinging to the edges of your seat and you squirmed restlessly, already feeling wetness gathering between your legs and soaking into the thin fabric of your panties. 

“Hush, sweetheart,” came Steve’s voice, rich and deep in your other ear. “You keep squirming and whining like that, and you might draw attention to yourself.” His fingers slipped beneath your dress, slotting in between Bucky’s as both men gripped your thighs, groping you unabashedly despite the crowd that surrounded the three of you. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Bucky’s chuckle ghosted past the sensitive skin of your neck and your shoulders trembled with the effort it took to stop yourself from writhing on your chair. Pressing your lips together, you bit back the desperate mewl that threatened to spill from your lips, heeding Steve’s warning and suppressing the urge to beg them to touch you, crowd be damned.

Steve was right, after all. You were in a crowded tent, waiting for the Walk of Fame ceremony to begin, surrounded by your boyfriend’s friends and colleagues—and there were cameras everywhere. You may have felt surrounded well enough by the broad shoulders of your boyfriend and his best friend sitting on either side of you, but it was a false sense of privacy.

You knew you needed to sit up straight and smile blandly, and pretend like Bucky and Steve’s hands weren’t slowly inching closer to the juncture of your thighs. You needed to play the part of Bucky’s devoted girlfriend, and normally it wouldn’t be too difficult. Your boyfriend didn’t usually play this game in public, since he knew you were one photograph away from winding up on the home page of TMZ with a headline calling you Bucky Barnes’ whore or something equally degrading. 

But there was something about Steve being there that was making your boyfriend act a little reckless. And, despite Steve being the one to warn you about the situation you were in, you knew he was the foolhardy one. You could feel his energy urging Bucky on, and your boyfriend seemed all too happy to match his best friend’s energy. 

“Didn’t you know, Stevie,” Bucky began, his voice quiet but easygoing, as if he was talking to his best friend about something as banal as the weather or their new movies. “My girl’s a needy little slut, and she can’t help acting like it.” 

Your teeth sank into your lower lip a mere second before the tips of Bucky’s fingers brushed so, so gently against the soaking wet fabric of your panties. A strangled moan caught in your throat and you tried to squirm in your seat, but Bucky and Steve’s hands clamped down hard on your thighs, holding you still.

“Just look at the way she’s spreading her legs for us,” Bucky went on, a new warmth in his tone, like he was wholly enjoying the way you were getting worked up. “She doesn’t even know she’s doing it.” Bucky’s face tilted toward you, and you could feel his gaze like a warm caress against your cheek as he asked, in a patronizingly sweet voice, “Do you, baby?”

Despite the chatter of the crowd around you, the sharp breath you inhaled at Bucky’s question was loud in your ears. You dragged your gaze away from your boyfriend’s face and looked down to see your thighs had spread open on your chair, much wider than was appropriate for the public ceremony, without you even noticing.

Your first instinct was to snap your legs closed, and somehow, both men seemed to anticipate it. Bucky and Steve moved simultaneously, almost as if they’d planned it, shoving their hands under your dress to be trapped between your plush thighs. Their fingertips were so close to your pulsing heat, but not quite touching it. 

Your legs clenched tight together around their warm hands, trying to force them to touch you, but it was no use. They were trapped, and so were you, unable to spread your legs and beg them for more while you were sitting in the crowded tent on Hollywood Boulevard.

If Bucky and Steve minded that their fingers were tangled together between your thighs, they didn’t show it. Both men were grinning at each other, their bodies bracketing either side of yours, heads ducked together as if the three of you were simply having a private conversation. 

But that’s not what was happening. Your body was a riot of sensation, of desperate, burning need. Fisting your hands in your lap, you curled in on yourself and shuddered, biting your bottom lip hard against a moan of pleasure and frustration. 

It felt so good to have their hands on you, but you wanted them to touch you for real. You wanted them to push your panties to the side and stroke your clit before plunging their fingers into your dripping hole. But they couldn’t. And more than that, you knew they wouldn’t. Not while the three of you were in public and surrounded by people.

Bucky’s hand settled over your curled fists, his strong fingers easing the tension from your hands until he could slip his palm into both of yours. “Sit up, baby, the ceremony’s finally starting,” Bucky murmured in your ear, not unkindly. 

His other hand flexed gently on your thigh, making you wheeze and tremble as you straightened, but your boyfriend only chuckled under his breath when you shot him a little glare. He ducked close and pressed a kiss to your cheek, mollifying you for the moment.

Your fingers tangled with Bucky’s on your lap as you sat up and pushed your shoulders back, fixing a polite smile on your face. You did your best to ignore the fact that both your boyfriend and his best friend’s hands were tucked between your thighs beneath your dress, making a valiant effort to pretend as if nothing was amiss. 

It helped that you had something to hold onto, your fingers twining idly with Bucky’s. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting a bit too much until you felt another hand land gently on your forearm, and you followed it up to look at Steve. He gave you a small, reassuring smile, his hand squeezing your arm lightly, and you settled further. 

While the emcee of the ceremony took the small stage and began to introduce the director being honored, you managed to relax. You focused on the speech being given, and worked to remain quiet, despite the still burning heat in your blood.

You thought, once the ceremony began, the boys would behave themselves, but you were wrong.

Bucky and Steve seemed to work in synchrony, taking turns whispering filthy things into your ear that refused to let you forget you had their hands trapped between your thighs, your body aching for them to touch you.

Sometimes they’d tease you with the predicament you found yourself in, and other times they’d make promises that they intended to fulfill once the three of you were alone.

They were equally merciless, their words getting dirtier and dirtier as the ceremony went on, and your core throbbed unrelentingly, the evidence of your drawn-out arousal dripping into your panties and smearing on the plastic seat of the chair. 

It became increasingly apparent that Bucky’s playful warning would come true—you were going to leave a wet spot behind when you stood up. But no matter how you tried to rein in your desire, Bucky and Steve were determined to keep you on edge with their words and their touch alone. It was all you could do to try to portray the image of a respectful Hollywood girlfriend, and not the wanton slut all three of you knew you to be. 

Finally, the ceremony wrapped up and all around you, people began to stand and chatter again as photographers hired for the event escorted some to have their pictures taken with the director being honored. 

The reality that you’d have to stand up on legs that felt like butter melted in the summer sun hit you all at once, and you grabbed Bucky’s hand before he could stand up. You gave him a desperate, pleading look, unable to find the words to ask for help. 

But your boyfriend must’ve felt the way your leg trembled beneath his other hand, because he seemed to understand your plight. He glanced around before removing his hand from under your dress, Steve following his lead and doing the same. 

Both men had turned their bodies toward you, caging you in and protecting you from the eyes of the crowd and the paparazzi. Bucky wrapped his arm tightly around your waist while Steve braced your arm under his, and they both helped you to stand. 

It took a moment, and you swayed between their broad bodies, their scents swirling around you and making you want to sink into both of them. But after a moment, you managed to get your legs to work and hold you up with minimal help from your boyfriend and his best friend.

Once you were steady, you watched the boys exchange a look and then, in tandem, they looked over your shoulder and down at the seat where you’d just been sitting. You, however, didn’t need to look to know what they’d see, and your cheeks flamed with red-hot embarrassment, even as your core throbbed in arousal. 

Steve sucked in a sharp breath at the same time Bucky chuckled, and you knew—there was a wet spot on your chair. You tried to bury your face in Bucky’s chest, but he tutted at you quietly and gripped your chin to turn your face to Steve. 

Your boyfriend’s best friend had waited until he had your attention, then he shot you a wicked grin before ducking down and wiping his fingers through the mess you’d left behind on the seat, cleaning up most of it. As he stood back up, he popped his fingers into his mouth.

Your whole body felt like it was on fire as you watched Steve lick your arousal from his fingers, his soft groans reaching your ears over the noise of the crowd. 

“Mm, you taste just as sweet as I hoped,” Steve murmured, crowding into you with a delicious smirk curling his mouth. Leaning in, his beard brushed gently against your cheek, making you shudder. “You really are just as much of a slut as Bucky said, huh?” 

You tried to bite back a whimper, but the soft sound of desperation slipped free from your lips. “Yes,” you mewled, meeting Steve’s gaze through both your sunglasses, feeling his hunger sear you to the bone while Bucky’s hands held you steady. 

“Can’t wait to bury my mouth in your cunt later, sweetheart,” Steve rumbled, nuzzling the side of your face lightly. You could smell yourself on his breath, and it made you tremble harder in Bucky’s arms. “Gonna make you scream for being such a good girl and putting up with me and Bucky’s teasing.”

Your eyes were wide behind your sunglasses, your breathing shallow, and you couldn’t stop shaking with desire. You felt like you might explode right there on Hollywood Boulevard, and Bucky seemed to sense that you’d been pushed to your limit. 

“Alright, Stevie, that’s enough,” Bucky said as he tucked you in beneath his arm. His tone held an undercurrent of finality, and Steve backed off, nodding as he gave your elbow an apologetic squeeze.

Then Bucky’s fingers were gently nudging your chin to lift so he could look at your face and check on you. Even through his sunglasses, you could feel his gaze roving over your face and you smiled softly to let him know you were ok. Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“You were a very good girl, baby,” he praised in a soft rumble, swiping his thumb just beneath your bottom lip, cleaning away some of your lipgloss. “I’m so proud of you.” He brushed another kiss to your forehead and let your head fall against his shoulder, taking a moment amidst the chaos of the post-ceremony rush to hold you.

You snuggled into your boyfriend despite the warm summer heat in the tent, enjoying the comfort of his familiar scent and letting it relax you. You knew you still had a few hours before Bucky and Steve would take you back to the hotel suite your boyfriend had booked for the night, and you took the opportunity to let the desire in your body cool just a bit.

Too soon, a photographer was calling for Bucky and Steve and they left you to take photos with the director. You waited for them, long having gotten used to watching Bucky get his picture taken. 

As you watched Bucky and Steve laugh together, throwing their arms around each other, you were struck again by how much at ease your boyfriend was with his best friend. Part of the reason he’d chosen to get a place in Brooklyn was that he said he always felt awkward at Hollywood events, and you’d squeezed his hand in comfort enough times to know that to be the truth.

But with Steve at his side, Bucky looked just as relaxed as if the three of you were hanging out alone, throwing his head back as his best friend made some kind of joke just for him. 

It occurred to you that perhaps you should feel jealous. After all, you took great pride in being one of the few people who could make Bucky feel comfortable and relaxed. But instead you just felt happy—you were glad Bucky had someone else in his life who made him feel at ease.

When the pictures were finally done, Bucky cut through the crowd to wind an arm around your waist, tugging you against his body and dropping his mouth to yours for a quick kiss.

“Ready to get out of here, baby?” he murmured, a delicious smirk on his handsome face. You nodded eagerly as Steve slid in next to Bucky, joining the two of you and making a circle of three. You smiled at Steve, who gave you a devastating grin in return.

The hours after the ceremony went by in a blur. Despite your best efforts to calm yourself, burning need simmered low in your belly, ensuring your body never properly settled, even through the early dinner you shared with Bucky, Steve and some of their close Hollywood friends. 

Your pulse seemed to beat in time with the watch on Steve’s wrist, your body instinctively counting down the seconds until your boyfriend and his best friend would take you back to the hotel and fulfill their promises of sharing you. You had to keep your thoughts on other things, lest you leave another wet spot on your seat, while you smiled and chatted through dinner.

The elevator in the hotel felt too cramped for the three of you, and you clung desperately to Bucky’s hand, your fingers twisted so tightly around his, you would’ve worried about cutting off his circulation if you could think of anything else but the throbbing heat between your thighs. Steve snagged your other hand, holding it tightly and giving it an encouraging squeeze that you felt in your core.

The door to the hotel suite had barely closed when Steve pounced on you, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat as he backed you up into Bucky’s chest, his lips descending on yours as he took possession of your mouth like you were his to devour. You let out a small squeak of surprise before surrendering to Steve’s plundering mouth, sinking into the need and desire of his tongue as it stroked against yours.

Bucky’s hands circled your upper arms, holding you pinned between the two men’s firm bodies while Steve ravaged your mouth. Unable to stop himself, Bucky dropped his mouth to your neck, kissing the fluttering spot over your thrumming pulse point and nuzzling your soft skin with his whiskered jaw until you were shivering with need.

Then Steve was dropping to his knees, right there in the entryway of the suite, muttering something about needing to taste your cunt straight from the source. If it wasn’t for Bucky holding you steady, your knees would’ve given out at the sight of the golden boy action hero staring at the juncture of your thighs with such determination, it sent a quiver of anticipation down your spine.

Steve moved quickly, pushing your dress up past your thighs and ripping your panties down your legs, tossing them away. He crawled closer, throwing one of your thighs over his broad shoulder before burying his face in your cunt, groaning loudly against your slick folds.

Bucky held you propped up against his chest, his hands holding your dress up so the both of you could stare down your body and watch Steve feast on you like a starving man. While his best friend ate you out, Bucky pressed kisses and little love bites into your neck, murmuring soft praises in your ear.

Your boyfriend told you what a good girl you were, behaving so well for him and his best friend while Steve’s tongue buried deep into your pussy, his lips sucking on your clit until you came with a scream. Your spine arched, and you twined a hand in Steve’s soft blond hair while your other clung to Bucky’s arm, holding onto both of them as you shattered apart on Steve’s tongue.

After that preamble in the suite’s entryway, it wasn’t long before you were bouncing on Steve’s cock, another orgasm quickly building in your core. 

The boys had divested you of your remaining clothing and shed theirs in a flurry of hands skimming over naked skin and low, appreciative groans. You hadn’t been able to stop touching either of them, your fingers raking over hardened muscle and nails digging into golden skin. You felt drunk and gluttonous on the ability to finally touch them, really touch them, in the true privacy of the hotel suite.

As you fucked yourself on Steve’s perfect cock, your hands never seemed to stop moving, fingers digging into his pecs, his abs, trailing up the sides of his ribs until he was laughing and moaning at the same time. His face was a little flushed, rosy pink spots in his cheeks, and his mouth flattened into a determined line. Steve was just as beautiful undone beneath you as he’d been when you’d first seen him in person on Hollywood Boulevard.

“Fuck—fuck, sweetheart, your cunt’s squeezing me so fucking tight,” Steve huffed, his hips working up between your thighs, impaling you on his thick cock. “Fuck, ‘m gonna blow in your pretty pussy in no time if you keep…” 

He trailed off as the tip of his dick hit a spot inside you that made your whole pussy clench down on his hard, heavy length. Steve threw his head back with a growly groan, his fingers digging so hard into your soft hips, you suspected he’d leave bruises behind.

Not that you minded in the least. 

It felt too good, Steve’s thick, hard length pounding into you from below, bouncing you on his cock so your tits heaved and you wanted to pinch your nipples, but you were too eager to keep touching your boyfriend’s best friend to tear your hands away. 

Your gaze trailed away from Steve, finding Bucky sitting back on his knees beside you and his best friend, a satisfied smirk on his perfect mouth while he pumped his own cock lazily in his fist. His glimmering blue eyes were focused on the place where you were impaled on Steve’s cock, but when you whined desperately, his gaze flicked up to meet yours.

“Ya having fun, baby?” Bucky asked, humor in his tone as he ignored the pleading look in your eyes. A drop of precum beaded at the tip of his dick and your mouth watered with the desire to flick your tongue over his cock head and lap it up. But then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“Yes, yes, but I need more,” you rasped, your voice husky with arousal, stuttering out of you as Steve kept pounding you from below. You arched your spine, sticking out your tits and putting them on display for the men while your fingers dug into Steve’s abs, hoping your boyfriend would take the hint,

“Greedy girl,” Bucky said, chuckling good-naturedly as he shifted closer on his knees. You angled your body toward him and he took one of your breasts in his free hand, kneading it with dextrous fingers while his mouth descended on the other. He sucked your nipple into his mouth and laved his tongue over it, still stroking his cock.

If Steve cared that Bucky’s cock was close to leaking all over his arm and ribs, he didn’t say. Instead, the blond man’s eyes glittered with desire as he watched your boyfriend play with your tits.

“Christ, Buck, you get to fuck this pussy every day?” Steve huffed, awe and a little bit of jealousy in his ragged voice. 

Bucky’s low laugh ghosted over your dewy skin. He gave your nipple one last affectionate suckle before pulling his mouth away, his other hand trailing down your body and between your thighs. Your boyfriend teased a fingertip around your clit, making your body jerk, a whine slipping from your lips that only made him laugh again.

“Stevie,” Bucky began, light admonishment in his tone. He rubbed your clit, making you wail in pleasure as your body clenched down hard around Steve’s cock, pulling a loud grunt from the man between your thighs. “I fuck this pussy multiple times a day. You know how she feels now, wouldn’t you fuck her every chance you got?”

“Yes—fucking christ, yes,” Steve groaned, his chest heaving, hips rising up from the bed as he fucked you harder, chasing his release. 

His wild blue eyes caught yours, Steve’s expression fixed into one of tenacity that made your pussy flutter. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped, his fingers digging deeper into your hips, nearing the point of pain as he pulled you down onto his stiff length. “Come on my cock—let me feel you before I blow my load in your cunt, please.”

You didn’t know if it was Steve’s ‘please’ or his cock buried deep in your pussy or Bucky’s fingers on your clit—though you suspected it was a combination of all three—but the pleasure coiling tight in your core snapped. Electric currents of ecstasy flashed through your body as you came. Tossing your head back, you screamed your release to the heavens, your hips working of their own accord, grinding your pulsing cunt mercilessly on Steve’s cock.

Your boyfriend’s best friend was right behind you, coming with a rough shout, the tendons of his neck straining with his head thrown back on the bed. His fingers dug so deep into your plush hips, you could’ve sworn they reached down to the bone as he pulled you flush against his abdomen.

He was so deep inside you that you could feel his cock twitch and the pulsing warmth of his come as it flooded your pussy. The sensation dragged another fluttering wave from your cunt, and you writhed against Steve, both of you eking out as much pleasure from each other as possible. 

Bucky’s fingers didn’t relent on your clit until you whined at the overstimulation, your upper body swaying almost drunkenly. Your head felt like it was filled with puffy clouds of pleasure as you slowly came down from the peak of your release, enjoying the way your body buzzed and your pussy fluttered around Steve’s softening cock.

“You did so good, baby,” Bucky murmured into your cheek before kissing your temple tenderly. 

A smile flickered at the corners of your lips as your eyes slid closed and you slumped against your boyfriend’s broad chest. You pressed your face into his sternum, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of his cologne lingering on his skin. 

For a long moment, the three of you stayed like that. Bucky’s hand trailed comfortingly up and down your spine, his lips pressing sweet kisses to your face, while Steve’s big hands massaged your hips to ease some of the sting from his brutal grip. You were still going to bruise, but you didn’t mind having his marks on you.

Unsurprisingly, their hands touching you, no matter how gentle and soft they were being, had an effect on you, and it wasn’t long before desire rekindled in your core. Your hips squirmed restlessly, feeling Steve’s cock slip from your pussy, his release dripping out of you and making a mess of both your bodies. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, fingers trailing down his chest and taking his hard length in your hand. Your boyfriend’s cock jumped excitedly against your palm, the tip leaking precum that you desperately wanted to taste. Siting up, you looked up at your boyfriend from under your lashes, the corner of your mouth curling in a smirk. “D’you want my mouth or my pussy?”

A pained sounding groan came from Steve, drawing both your and Bucky’s attention. The blond man had thrown an arm over his eyes, looking exhausted, even with the smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” Steve muttered, but you could feel his cock twitching beneath your messy cunt, trying to harden again already.

Bucky laughed huskily, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck before he pulled you to him for a consuming kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth and you wondered distantly if he could taste Steve’s kiss on your lips, but then he groaned into you and all thoughts scattered from your mind.

When your boyfriend finally pulled away, you were breathless with anticipation, your wetness dripping from your pussy to coat Steve’s already slick cock. 

“You’re gonna clean up the mess you left all over Stevie’s cock, baby,” Bucky rumbled, his hand cupped beneath your chin, fingers digging lightly into your cheeks. “While I pump your pretty pussy full of another load of come. D’you want that?”

You smiled and nodded eagerly, not even needing to think about it. “Yes, please!”

Both men chuckled at your enthusiastic response as they began shifting on the bed, rearranging themselves to make Bucky’s words come true. 

Steve dragged his half-hard cock from between your messy folds, making you whimper at the loss of him as the cold hotel air rushed in against your throbbing core. The blond man smirked a little smugly, ducking forward and capturing your lips in an apologetic kiss.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rumbled when he pulled away, laughter in his tone. “You’ll have my cock again before tonight’s over.” He dropped one, last smacking kiss to your lips before shifting up the bed. He flopped down in the mound of pillows with a contented sigh and spread his thick, golden thighs for you to crawl between. 

You bent forward onto your hands and knees and slid up the bed to settle between Steve’s legs, your fingers playing with the golden hair covering the taut muscles of his thighs as you pressed your face to his hip, leaving a lingering kiss against his skin. 

You felt Bucky moving into position behind you, and you smiled against Steve’s abdomen when your boyfriend’s hands grabbed your hips. A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine as you kissed closer to Steve’s cock.

Bucky adjusted your body until your ass lined up with his lap. His cock pressed between your closed thighs, sliding through the slickness of your and his best friend’s releases to coat his hard length, and you moaned into the thick thatch of hair at the base of Steve’s cock. 

Turning your head to the side, you lowered your shoulders so your boyfriend could see you nuzzling his best friend’s hardening dick, which was still soaking wet with a mixture of his come and yours. The scent of your release mixing with Steve’s while Bucky teased you from behind was a heady thing and your hips swayed from side to side, your pussy aching desperately to be filled again.

“Ready for me, baby?” Bucky teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. He dragged the head of his cock through your dripping slit, making you whine and try to push back onto his stiff length. 

Cutting your eyes over your shoulder, you gave your boyfriend a pleading look. “Please, Bucky, just fuck me,” you mewled, arching your back and spreading your thighs as much as you could, presenting your pussy to your boyfriend the way you knew he liked. 

You could tell by the way Bucky’s blue eyes darkened and dropped to the cleft of your ass that he liked what he saw. His big hands groped your thighs, then your ass, spreading your cheeks wide and grinning as he ran his thumbs along the seam of your pussy, pulling you open for him. 

“Well, since you begged so pretty…” He trailed off as he lined himself up with your hole, and then he was shoving the full length of his cock deep in your cunt.

You cried out in pleasure as Bucky speared into your sensitive hole, your face pressing against Steve’s cock, which jumped in response as if begging for your attention. 

Looking up Steve’s muscular form, you found him propped up on the pillows at the head of the bed, one arm angled behind his head. His bicep bulged in a way that made your mouth water, wanting to trace the veins of his arm. Instead, you put your tongue to use on his cock, dragging the flat of it up the entire length and humming a satisfied sound as the taste of your combined releases filled your mouth.

“Christ, sweetheart,” Steve groaned, his hips jerking up off the bed, pushing his hardening length against your kiss-swollen lips as if begging for more.

You acquiesced to his body’s wordless plea, taking the tip of him into your mouth and sucking softly, swirling your tongue around the head, wringing a grunt from Steve. His hand fell gently to the crown of your head, petting you affectionately as you worked his cock deep into your mouth, your lips forming a seal as you sucked him to full hardness.

“Oh f-fuck,” Steve moaned, a slight tremor working through his thick thighs on either side of your body. His fingers flexed against your head, but he didn’t push you away or pull you closer. “Jesus, Buck, you didn’t mention your girl’s mouth felt like fucking heaven,” he ground out through a clenched jaw, his eyes flicking to your boyfriend over your shoulder.

Bucky chuckled, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes, seemingly content to watch you suck off his best friend. 

You knew exactly what he was doing, taking his time to give Steve the chance to recover so the two of them could take you at the same time. When you and Bucky had first discussed details about inviting Steve to join you for the night, you’d admitted that you’d fantasized about being spit-roasted, and you knew your wonderful boyfriend was making sure it happened before he took his own pleasure.

Bucky groped your ass tenderly, bringing you back to the moment as he laughed at Steve’s comment. 

“Some things you just gotta figure out for yourself, Stevie,” came your boyfriend’s snarky reply, but his voice was low and gruff. 

You could hear just how much your boyfriend was affected and you smirked around Steve’s cock, refocusing on your task so the two of them could fuck you properly and Bucky could come. 

“Just wait till you feel her ass,” Bucky went on, surprising you by rubbing his thumb teasingly over your tight rosebud. “My girl’s tightest hole will have ya seeing stars.” 

You hummed a pleased sound at Bucky’s praise, wringing a grunt from Steve as the vibrations travelled down his cock, and pushed your ass back against the tip of your boyfriend’s thumb. He chuckled, pressing past the ring of muscle in your ass and making your entire body melt when all three of your holes were filled.

Your throat relaxed enough that Steve’s cock slid into it, and you swallowed around him, making his hips stutter up off the bed again at the squeeze of your muscles. It seemed to take him effort to settle back onto the mattress, his hand flexing furiously against your head.

“F-fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, while you bobbed up and down on his dick. Spit and drool coated the length of him, slipping past your lips and down your chin, making a new mess on his cock. “You’re gonna suck out my fucking soul if ya keep doing that.” 

You huffed a laugh before taking Steve to the root and looking up at him from under your lashes. His blue eyes were glittering with desire, but there was something else in his gaze, too. Something deeper that you couldn’t quite name, but made your heart pound a little bit harder.

Looking away from his searing gaze, you refocused on sucking Steve’s cock and reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s dick in your pussy while his thumb stayed buried in your ass.

The three of you lapsed into silence, save for the grunts and groans from Steve, and the rumbling growls from Bucky as he kept his self-control on a tightly held leash and fucked you in firm, steady strokes. Your own sounds were muffled by Steve’s cock, but the soft, wet noises added to the small cacophony of pleasure filling your ears.

Finally, when Steve’s cock was twitching and so slick with your spit that he was sliding easily into your throat, he used his hand on your head to gently pull you off him. When you glanced up at him, though, he wasn’t looking at you. Craning your head to look over your shoulder, you saw Bucky give his best friend a nod and you realized he must’ve shared your fantasy with Steve.

The realization didn’t bother you, and you paused. It should bother you that your boyfriend shared something so intimate about you with his best friend, shouldn’t it? But you found you didn’t mind, because you liked Steve. Not only did you like him, you trusted him. 

If you’d been able to think about it more, you might’ve realized that what you were beginning to feel for Steve was deeper than like and trust, but your boyfriend’s best friend was moving, dragging your attention back to the moment and the heat building steadily in your core.

Steve ducked forward to capture your lips in a quick kiss, tasting himself on your lips before he shifted up onto his knees, moving closer to you to line up the tip of his cock with your mouth. With one fist wrapped around the base of his length, Steve ran the tip along your pouting lower lip, leaving a trail of precum that you eagerly licked up.

“Eager little cum slut, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Steve rumbled with a low chuckle. He barely gave you time to grin and nod before he was pushing his cock between your lips like he was too impatient to wait for your answer when your hot mouth was so close to his hard length. “That’s it, take my cock—I’ll fill your slutty tummy with all the come in my balls.”

When he was buried in your throat, you moaned as loudly as you could manage, a shiver racing down your spine as you basked in the feeling of being filled from both ends. Bucky’s thick, hard cock was buried to the hilt in your pussy, his thumb still filling your ass, and Steve’s dick was pressed so deep in your throat, you could only breathe through your nose.

“Careful, Stevie,” Bucky warned, but there was more warmth than menace in his tone. “If you keep spoiling my girl, you might have to join us more often.” He pulled his hips back, until only the tip of his cock remained inside you, before snapping them forward more forcefully against your ass. The sharp smacking sound of flesh meeting flesh met your ears and you moaned again.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve groaned, his cock twitching in your throat as he grabbed the sides of your head and began to pump shallowly into your mouth. “I might finally move back to Brooklyn if you promise I can fuck your girl with you on the regular.” He bit back a moan, gritting his teeth as he fucked your mouth faster, matching Bucky’s pace. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of burying my dick in one of your girl’s tight holes.”

You purred in pleasure at Steve’s praise, the corners of your mouth curling into a faint smile as he spread your lips to bury his cock in your throat. Your boyfriend’s best friend grunted in pleasure and he shoved harder into your mouth, pushing your nose against his abdomen until you were fully pinned between the two men and impaled on their cocks. 

It was heaven, your mind floating with ecstasy as you gave yourself over to sensation. The slick drag of Bucky’s cock in your cunt, fucking Steve’s come deeper into you as he pounded your hole while he used his thumb in your ass to pull you back onto his hard length. Steve’s cock was thick and throbbing and delicious on your tongue, your lips closing around him to suck on his hardness as much as you could.

“Shoulda known the only way to get you back to Brooklyn was luring you with my girl’s pussy,” Bucky grunted, laughter in his voice. His hips slapped roughly against your ass, his free hand kneading your soft flesh and making you moan around Steve’s cock. “You can stay with us while you look for a place,” he offered, his tone snarky despite his obvious arousal. 

Pleasure swirled through your body, filling your head with fog, and it took you a long moment to understand Bucky’s words. If it had been anyone else, you might’ve been annoyed at Bucky for offering to let someone stay with you both without asking you first, but because it was Steve, you didn’t mind. In fact, the idea of Steve staying at the brownstone you and Bucky called home sounded perfect—not the least of which because it meant he and your boyfriend could fuck you whenever they wanted.

Your response to your boyfriend’s offer was delayed by the consuming pleasure they were giving you. So you moaned your delight belatedly at what the men were discussing, making them both chuckle. 

Steve stroked his thumb over your hollowed cheek, tilting your face up so he could look into your eyes while he kept fucking your throat. 

“You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone patronizingly sweet. “Are you so much of a needy slut that you need two cocks to keep your cunt satisfied?”

Before you had a chance to nod or offer some other answer in the affirmative, Bucky huffed a laugh and spanked your ass lightly, the sound cracking through the hotel suite’s bedroom.

“Oh, she’s definitely that much of a slut,” he rumbled, his tone thick with love and affection, making you purr again. “Aren’t you, baby?” 

Obediently, you nodded your head, bobbing your mouth on Steve’s cock in the process and pulling a grunt from him even as both men laughed at your response. The boys fell silent again as they focused on fucking you, but your boyfriend didn’t seem able to stay quiet for long.

“If you do stay with us, watch out, Stevie—my girl loves sucking cock first thing in the morning.”

Your heart raced with excitement at the implication of Bucky’s words. It was one thing to be fucked by your boyfriend and his best friend in a random hotel room across the country from your home. It was another thing entirely for your boyfriend to let you wake up his best friend with a blow job. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if, in this hypothetical situation, Bucky was watching you suck Steve’s cock first thing in the morning. And, if so, was he in bed with his best friend… You began to suspect you and your boyfriend had a few things to talk about once he and his best friend were done fucking you.

“You kidding me, Buck?” Steve rasped, pulling your attention back to the present. “Waking up and immediately draining my balls in your girl’s perfect mouth sounds like a fucking dream.” 

He groaned, fucking your mouth harder, his thumbs swiping away the few tears that were falling onto your cheeks. Your heart beat harder, loving the way Steve was with you, so rough and gentle at the same time. So much like how Bucky treated you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’d always have the taste of my cock on your tongue if I had anything to say about it,” Steve cooed down at you, making you hum happily as pleasure swirled through you. Your lips curled, trying to smile as much as you could manage as you stared up at Steve.

“Fucking hell, Stevie,” Bucky growled, sounding angry at his best friend’s words, but you could feel the way his cock twitched inside you. 

Steve, though, wasn’t afforded the knowledge of Bucky’s body’s reaction to the thought of your mouth always tasting like his best friend’s come and he laughed abashedly. 

“Sorry, Buck, ‘m sure you don’t wanna be thinking about my cock while you’re kissing your girl.” 

Your boyfriend was uncharacteristically silent for a long beat, and both men slowed their movements. Steve’s hips stuttered to a stop with your face pressed to his abdomen so you couldn’t look up and see what was happening. 

The men must’ve been exchanging a wordless look because you could feel the energy in the room changing. It was uncertain at first, then tentative, then all-consuming.

“Fuck,” Steve wheezed, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he grabbed your head and held you still so he could pound into your mouth.

“Fuck ‘er good, Stevie,” Bucky rumbled, his command drenched in desire. “Fill her mouth with your come, and coat her tongue in it.” 

Behind you, your boyfriend’s thrusts turned hard and rough, his thumb sliding free from your ass so he could grab your hips hard. His fingers dug into your plush curves hard enough, you knew he was going to give you a second set of bruises to match the ones Steve had left. Something about that felt perfectly right.

As for you, you were pinned so firmly between the two men, all you could do was suck Steve’s cock and moan at the ravenous pleasure burning through your body. 

It wasn’t long before Steve’s length twitched against your tongue and he pulled back until only the tip of his cock was in your mouth. He groaned loudly a second before he erupted in your mouth, filling it with rope after rope of his come, just like Bucky had told him to. 

It covered your tongue and slid down your throat, and you worked to swallow all of it while Steve furiously jacked off the rest of his stiff length, making sure he drained every drop from his balls.

As Steve came, Bucky’s hand curved around your hip and slipped between your thighs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it hard just the way he knew you liked. In just a few seconds, Bucky had you shattering apart beneath him, your body trembling as you moaned around Steve’s softening cock, the vibrations making one last rope fall onto your tongue.

Your boyfriend must’ve been holding out for your release, because at the first clench of your cunt around his hard length, he was groaning. Bucky’s cock throbbed in your pussy and he buried himself to the root, filling you up with even more come and painting your cunt with his spend. 

The three of you writhed together as you each drew out each other’s orgasms. Your mouth popped off the end of Steve’s cock to suckle on his balls, making him shudder and let out the most tortured groan that was music to your ears. Bucky kept fucking you through the aftershocks of your release, ensuring every drop of his come was buried deep in your cunt.

Finally, when all three of you were exhausted and sated, you collapsed together on the soft hotel mattress. Bucky’s arm wrapped around your front and he hauled you up the bed to settle on your back against the pillows between him and Steve. Your legs were all tangled together and you couldn’t help the blissed out, happy smile that spread across your face as you looked from one man to the other.

“That was fucking amazing, sweetheart,” Steve murmured against your cheek before pressing a sweet kiss to your sweat-slick skin.

Bucky chuckled but nodded his agreement, dropping a kiss to your shoulder. “You were such a good girl, baby, you took both of us so well.” His fingers were dancing over your ribs, making you giggle and melt beneath their affectionate kisses and warm praise.

But something was niggling at you, a reminder of the moment Bucky and Steve had shared while they’d been buried inside you. The words Bucky had growled to his best friend flitted through your mind and you cut your eyes to your boyfriend, before shifting your gaze to his best friend, wondering if either of them were going to bring them up.

The energy in the room wasn’t awkward, but you could tell by the way they weren’t looking at each other, and were only paying attention to you that neither of them was going to revisit what was said between them in the heat of the moment. Rolling your eyes to yourself and huffing a silent sigh, you reached up and grabbed Steve by the back of the neck, pulling him to you for a messy kiss. 

He groaned when he tasted himself on your tongue and you could feel the corner of his mouth curl in a self-satisfied smile. But before the kiss could last too long, and too much of Steve’s taste could be washed from your tongue, you pulled away.

Turning to Bucky, you looked your boyfriend deep in the eye, a question in the slight raise of your brow. It took him a moment to understand what you were doing, but when he did, his gaze darkened with desire and his eyes dropped to your mouth. 

Then Bucky was kissing you—no, devouring you. His tongue plunged into your mouth and stroked against yours like he was licking it clean. A deep, guttural groan shuddered through your boyfriend when he tasted his best friend’s come on your tongue, and you could feel his cock twitch against your hip. 

Bucky kissed you until Steve’s taste was gone, and then he kissed you some more, his mouth worshipping yours in a way that stole your breath from your lungs. When he pulled away, he gave you a long, loving look, before his eyes lifted to his best friend. 

The men stared at each other for a long moment. You waited quietly between them with bated breath, wondering what would happen next…

For years to come, Bucky and Steve would fight good-naturedly over who leaned in first—who took that leap forward to turn their friendship into something more. Both of them would boast that they were the brave one. 

And every time they had their little fight, you’d get to tell Bucky and Steve that they both leaned forward at exactly the same second. That was the truth, and you knew because you’d been there to witness their first kiss.

Bucky and Steve’s mouths came together in a primal clashing of teeth and tongues, their lips consuming each other as they both groaned low in their chests. Years and years of friendship, and the something more that had been simmering beneath it, came to the surface, both men pouring their feelings into their kiss.

All you could do was watch, part of you shocked and part of you entirely unsurprised.

It was a wondrous thing to behold, your boyfriend kissing his oldest friend with just as much fervor as he kissed you after being gone on a long film shoot. They were both so gluttonous for each other, and you could feel the depth of their love changing as the kiss slowed into something tender.

You’d have been lying if you’d said the sight of Bucky and Steve kissing hadn’t rekindled the heat in your body that had been sated just moments before. But it helped that you could feel both of their cocks twitching and hardening against your hips while their hands buried in each other’s hair.

Since you didn’t want to ruin the moment for either of them, but you also couldn’t remain still, not with your pussy pulsing desperately for attention, you slipped your hand between your legs. You trailed your fingers through the mess of wetness dripping from your cunt, pushing both men’s come back into your hole as you watched your boyfriend make out with his best friend in front of you.

You must’ve made a sound—or your thoroughly sopping wet pussy did—because Bucky and Steve finally pulled away from each other. Your boyfriend’s gaze dropped immediately to where you were fingering yourself, chuckling a low, filthy laugh.

“Looks like our girl doesn’t appreciate being left out, Stevie,” Bucky commented, using his grip on Steve’s hair to tilt his best friend’s head down to look at your cunt.

You spread your thighs, showing the men how you were using your fingers to push their combined releases back into your cunt, letting out a wanton moan as you watched their eyes darken further with desire. 

“Mm,” Steve rumbled in agreement, flicking his gaze back up to Bucky’s. “Think we should do something about that, Buck?” he asked, humor in his tone. “After all, our girl’s been so good for us today.”

You whined a little at that, agreeing without words as you shoved a second finger into your well-used cunt, trying to sate some of the desire that was burning through your body with a renewed hunger. 

“That she has,” Bucky agreed, still talking to Steve like you weren’t even there. Something about that—about both of them ganging up on you, made you hotter, wetter, and your thighs fell open even further. 

Before you could take a breath deep enough to let out another whine, Bucky was rolling over and grabbing some lube from the bedside table and tossing it to Steve. Then the boys were hauling you up from the bed and arranging you on your knees between them, your back to Steve’s chest. 

He was firm and steady behind you, his heart beating against your spine with just as much excitement as you felt in your belly. 

You could feel Steve messing around with the lube, but your attention was solely on Bucky, who was pumping his thick cock in his fist. You could still see the sheen of your release on his thick length, but you didn’t have time to appreciate that when he was pulling you onto his lap. Bucky impaled your pussy on his cock, shifting your weight to lay against his chest so Steve could spread your ass.

Steve’s cock pressed against your tight rosebud and both men used their hands to soothe your body and urge you to relax for them. Bucky cooed praises in your ear, telling you what a good girl you were for him and Steve. Your boyfriend caught your lips in a lazy kiss while Steve worked his cock into your ass, huffing and puffing the whole time.

“Fuck, I can feel you inside her, Buck,” Steve wheezed when he was fully seated inside you. His head dropped to your shoulder, pressing kisses along your back while the three of you got used to the feeling of being joined together. “She’s so fucking tight.”

You could practically hear the muscle in Steve’s jaw pop as he gritted his teeth. His cock twitched in your ass, making both you and Bucky moan. It felt so perfect, having them both inside you, filling you. You didn’t think you would ever get enough of having Bucky and Steve inside you at the same time, overwhelming you as they pressed you between their broad bodies.

“Mm, you’re making her tighter, Stevie,” Bucky murmured against your lips. Then he pulled back so he could look into your eye. “You doing ok, baby?” he asked, checking in with you. His eyes were filled with concern, but it wasn’t warranted.

“Sooo good,” you moaned, your voice drenched in pleasure and a dazed smile curling your lips, “feel sooo full.” 

You swayed a little, and your hands searched for something to grab onto, finding Bucky’s hand with one and Steve’s with the other. Their fingers laced with yours, their other hands on either side of your hips, holding you between them. 

You couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and right it felt to be with them, before your thoughts were scattering at the sensation of them shifting inside you. A broken moan fell from your lips.

“I don’t think she’s gonna last much longer, Stevie,” Bucky warned, his voice a low rumble, his hips beginning to rock and fuck you on his cock. 

Steve huffed a laugh, rolling his hips in tandem with Bucky. “I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer, Buck,” he rasped. “Our girl’s ass is so fucking tight, I feel like I could blow any second.”

You whined at the comment, unable to form the words to protest that idea, and Bucky immediately understood your distress. 

“Don’t worry, baby, we’d never get off without getting you off first,” he assured you, ducking forward for a quick kiss as your bodies writhed together.

At the same time, both Bucky and Steve’s hands slid down between your thighs. There was a moment of hesitation from both men, and you could practically feel them exchanging a look over your shoulder, but then their fingers slotted together, the tips finding your clit. 

You didn’t know which of them was rubbing you or if they both were—and you didn’t care. You just felt the burst of pleasure bloom from between your thighs and spread in a warm wave through your body. Your head fell back on Steve’s shoulder as you rocked between their firm, muscular bodies, their cocks filling you up so much you felt like they were imprinting themselves on your soul.

Though it was difficult with how tired you were, you kept your eyes cracked open, staring at Bucky and Steve, a part of you wishing they’d kiss again—knowing they both wanted to. But instead, they kept exchanging heated glances, their gazes darting from you to each other.

Still, their hands curled together against your pussy as they fucked you and got you off together. You squeezed their hands in your own and they smiled, first at each other, then at you. You could feel something building between the three of you. Not just your pleasure, but something deeper, a bond that you knew was going to be the foundation of your new life together.

Spurred by Bucky and Steve’s cocks and their fingers on your clit, your release rolled over you like the crashing of a thunderstorm, shaking you to your core. The tightening of your body pushed both men over the edge at the same time, and they grunted and groaned their pleasure as the three of you rode out your releases together.

That time, when you collapsed to the bed, you were all finally fully sated. 

Soft words and praises were exchanged as the three of you cleaned up in the bathroom, Bucky and Steve taking turns washing you in the shower before they scrubbed off themselves. 

When you were towel dried and clad in one of Bucky’s t-shirts, Steve left the suit to grab his things from the room he’d also booked in the hotel. You’d grumbled at that, not wanting him to leave even for a moment, but Bucky distracted you with a kiss while Steve ducked out.

While Steve was gone, Bucky used the opportunity to wrap you up in his arms and ask if you were ok with everything that had happened. 

“Bucky,” you murmured, rolling onto your back on the bed, pulling him with you so his head lay on your chest and your legs tangled together. “I’m more than ok—everything we did tonight feels right. Didn’t it?” 

Bucky hummed in thought as you raked your nails through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp in the way you knew he liked. “Yeah, it did,” he admitted after a moment. You could feel his smile through the cotton of your shirt a moment before he lifted up, his mouth finding yours in a slow, sweet kiss. 

When he moved back to lay on your chest, he squeezed you tight, murmuring his love for you into your sternum, right above your beating heart. You carded your fingers through his hair, trailing them over his bare shoulders since he’d only put on a pair of boxer briefs to sleep in.

By the time Steve returned, you and Bucky were half asleep, laying entwined in the bed that was more than big enough for the three of you. Still, Steve paused at the edge of the bed, wearing his own pair of boxer briefs, and looked at the two of you as if unsure whether he should join you.

“Room for one more?” Steve asked, and you could hear the hesitance in his voice. 

A soft smile curved the corners of your mouth and you took a second to look at Steve. He was just as handsome in the dim light of the hotel suite as he’d been in the bright sunshine on Hollywood Boulevard, but you felt more than just excitement seeing him. 

You may not have loved him—yet—but you knew you could love Steve just as much as you loved Bucky. And you suspected Bucky’s feelings for his best friend were well on their way there already. 

Steve wasn’t just some Hollywood heartthrob to you anymore, or even just your boyfriend’s best friend. He was yours, and Bucky’s, just like you and Bucky were his.

Raising your arm to gesture Steve into bed, a giggle slipped from your lips when you realized you and Bucky had reached for him at the same time. 

“There’s plenty of room for one more, Stevie,” Bucky rumbled, beckoning his best friend to get into bed. 

“Yeah, Stevie, come cuddle,” you said, laughter making your voice lighter. 

Steve shot you both one of his devastatingly charming smiles and then he was crawling into the bed and sliding beneath the covers. He curled into your side, laying his head beside yours on the pillow and the three of you finally settled down. 

Before sleep pulled you under, you felt Steve and Bucky lace their fingers together against your hip, their hands holding onto each other as they both held onto you. With a happy smile on your face, you fell asleep, looking forward to starting the new day with Bucky and Steve. 

There wasn’t just room for one more in the bed—there was room for one more in your life with Bucky, and you were so happy to have Steve join you both.

[lunamugetsu]

Danny is an ao3 writer

Hear me out!

Y'know how there's a running joke that ao3 authors/writers will put in the author's notes that they're sorry that they took so long to update and their reason is because of either they got into a horrible accident/ life threatening health issue/serious personal issues/ their life went up in flames figuratively or literally, or somehow a combination of all of those scenarios. And they're all like "Well enjoy the chapter! tee-hee!" and everybody who's reading it all collectively go "are you okay?!" (aka the ao3 writers curse)

So I want to take this, and add Danny

Danny begins taking a liking to the classic literature that Mr. Lancer talks about during class and decides to writes a fanfic about it along those lines. It all starts for when he writes a Pride and Prejudice fic where Charlotte gets a better life where she's both happy and comfortable. And when he gets pretty supportive comments about it. He starts writing fics for other books as well (and it never stops)

During that time, who else but the Jane Austen fan, Jason Todd reads this fic. Yes he reads fanfic (do not ask him about his ao3 history), he yearns for more Jane Austen, but unfortunately she's not exactly able to write more books for him to read. So he turns to ao3 where there are some people who have incredible talent for writing pretty good regency era romance.

So what happens when he finds a couple of Pride and Prejudice stories written by " HalfDeadHalfAliveWriter

And when reading through the stories and looking at the author's notes.

All with very weird scenarios happening to the writer that he can't be sure that if it's a joke or if it's an actual thing he should be very worried about.

Author's notes such as:

Sorry it took so long for me to update this I was being shot at by my parents and ended up getting a burn on my hand and couldn't use my computer for awhile.

Sorry the chapter's so short, all the people in my town are being possessed by a hoard of angry ghosts because somebody had a bright idea to steal an artifact that belongs to an ancient civilization. So I had to get this out quick before they ruin my wifi connection

Sorry I haven't updated in awhile, I had to fight off a crazy guy that is obsessed with killing my father so he could marry my mother and become my new stepfather.

Sorry for the wait I got sent back to Ancient Egypt by my mentor to hunt down a runaway ghost that was messing with time.

But honestly the most recent author's note on a fic that hadn't been updated in week is what makes Jason really worried.

Sorry for not updating for a couple months guys, I was taken by a government agency that started vivisecting and torturing me. Thankfully my sister and friends busted me out and now I'm working on healing up. Anyway here's the Great Gatsby fic where Nick and Gatsby kiss.

After reading that author's note, Jason just sits there thinking only one thing.

What the fuck?

[erwinsvow]

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him. 

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent  nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself. 

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him. 

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet.  Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones. 

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you. 

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report. 

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment. 

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

-

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this. 

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you. 

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder. 

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would. 

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the  time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop. 

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then. 

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon. 

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better. 

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that. 

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag. 

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims. 

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be. 

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming. 

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.” 

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-” 

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago. 

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?” 

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out. 

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it. 

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon. 

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat. 

“What?” 

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight. 

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.” 

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago. 

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy. 

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?” 

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling. 

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.” 

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.” 

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.” 

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.” 

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end. 

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing. 

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?” 

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin. 

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking. 

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car. 

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back. 

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.” 

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same. 

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that. 

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition. 

and voila <3

[jetii]

I love love love your style of writing, I’m so happy I discovered you. As I see you are well on your way with writing a bunch of fics for the bad batch already I would very kindly request a smutty fic with my favorite reg Wolffexf!reader maybe with “only one bed” 🥹

That's so lovely to hear, thank you so much! 💙 I've never written Wolffe before so I hope I did him justice. This started out as pure smut, but my angst goblin brain got me in the end.

For One Night

Pairing: Wolffe x Jedi!Reader / Wolffe x fem!Reader

Words: 10,745

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, reader is Plo Koon's former Padawan, protective!Wolffe, mutual pining, forbidden love, love confessions, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink, underwear kink maybe, biting, marking

Summary: When you and Wolffe are stranded during your first mission together in months, you're forced to confront the feelings between you that have been threatening to break through the surface.

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You’ve never seen a storm this bad.

The clouds are roiling and thundering above, but they aren't the typical gray you've come to expect. They are an ugly shade of yellow-green, as though there's an eerie, toxic glow coming from within. Lightning flashes across the sky, and with each successive burst you feel the rumble deep in your bones. The air is thick and wet, and the rain that pours down is torrential, but it isn't water.

The acid rains from the toxic atmosphere are a blessing and a curse. It washes away the filth of the world, but at the cost of further destroying the planet's natural ecosystem. It's the reason why all the humans are locked inside a walled city, why most of the animal species are extinct.

It’s also the reason why you and Wolffe are stuck here.

You've been assigned on a scouting mission, the first one for you since you were knighted. There was a group of battle droids sighted near the wall, and the Council didn’t want to take any chances. If there was an attack, the city would be completely defenseless.

A normal scouting mission would be simple enough, even during a storm. It would just require a couple hours of searching, and then you could report back. But you weren’t prepared for a storm this strong. The rain is so thick that you can barely see a few feet in front of you, the only light from the occasional flash of lightning. There are no signs of the droids, which means that the mission has become a fruitless endeavor. And with the acid rain threatening to burn into your skin, you can tell that it isn't safe to be outside for long.

Your comms have been down for hours, and you and Wolffe have no choice but to make your way back to the city.

"We need to find some sort of shelter," you say, shouting over the roar of the storm. "At least until this blows over."

Wolffe doesn’t look pleased. "We need to keep looking. Those droids—"

"They've either been washed away by the rain or they're gone. We'll head out again when the weather clears." You're the General now, so the mission is ultimately your responsibility. Wolffe grunts his displeasure, but you know that he'll obey.

There's a flash of lightning, and you shield your eyes from the glare. The rumble of thunder is louder than before, and you feel the vibration of it under your feet.

You shiver as another gust of wind cuts through your robes, the heavy material doing little to protect you from the elements. "I don’t have the protection you do, Wolffe. I can't stay out here much longer."

The tension in Wolffe's form eases, and he gives you a nod before turning. He begins to walk away, and you have to jog to keep up with his long strides.

The two of you stumble through the storm for what seems like ages. There are no natural shelters nearby, no caves or overhangs, nothing. You've made it back to the area where the droids were spotted, but you haven't found anything of note. Just dead trees, trees, and more trees. It's starting to become clear to you why no one has made an attempt to reclaim this part of the planet.

Then you notice a glint of metal in the distance.

"Wait." You hold up a hand.

Wolffe stops immediately, his hand dropping to his blaster.

You step closer, peering through the storm. There's definitely something there. You reach out, trying to get a sense of it. The Force is murky and turbulent, but you manage to get a vague idea of what you're dealing with.

"I think it's a bunker," you tell him. "And it's unoccupied."

Wolffe grunts, and he starts off towards the glimmer. You follow behind, trying to keep your footing on the muddy ground. The rain is starting to become too much, and you can barely see where you're going.

Finally, the entrance comes into view. It's a hatch in the ground, the metal rusted and corroded by time.

You're already kneeling down and reaching for it when Wolffe pulls you back.

"Let me go first," he says.

You huff and stand back, crossing your arms. You don't bother to protest. It's not worth the energy, and it's obvious that Wolffe won't be persuaded.

Wolffe kneels down, and you watch as he lifts the hatch, yanking it open with a grunt. You can see him hesitate, but after a moment, he lowers himself inside.

There's a long pause, and then he calls up. "Clear."

The ladder is slick and rusted, and you cling tightly to the rungs as you descend. You finally make it down, and your feet hit the concrete floor with a soft thump. Wolffe is at your side as soon as you're stable, his helmet sweeping over you from head to toe, his hand on your elbow.

You roll your eyes, but your annoyance is tinged with fondness.

"I'm fine," you say, trying to brush the hair out of your face. Your ponytail has come loose, and the wet strands cling to your face.

Wolffe just nods, but he doesn't move away. Instead, his hands come up, and he gently pushes the hair out of your eyes. His thumb brushes over the curve of your cheek, and he lingers for a moment before he drops his hand.

The movement is quick, so quick that you're not sure if you imagined it. But Wolffe's thumb was warm against the skin of your cheek, and the feeling lingers.

You're about to say something, but he's already turning away, moving to inspect the bunker. You let out a breath, and then shake yourself, pushing down the feeling in your chest.

The bunker is small and dark, barely illuminated by the faint glow from the emergency lights. There are crates scattered around, and a couple old terminals along the far wall. You can see the silhouettes of worker droids, but they're so covered in cobwebs and rust that they've long been rendered inoperable. A thick durasteel door is on the opposite wall, leading to another part of the facility.

"Stay here," Wolffe says, heading for the door.

You frown. "Why?"

"There could be enemies in there," he replies, already pulling his blaster.

“There isn’t,” you insist. You try to peer through the doorway, but it's too dark to make anything out. "If there were, I would sense it."

"I still need to check."

You cross your arms, letting out an annoyed sigh. You hate feeling useless, especially when you're a general, but you can't fault Wolffe for wanting to be cautious. It's the exact kind of behavior that has earned him his reputation.

"Fine," you mutter. You walk over to one of the terminals, trying to get it to turn on as you hear Wolffe wrench the door open.

It takes a few moments, but the terminal finally hums to life, the screen flickering before glowing a dull green. There's a few old files on there, some reports and logs, but you can't access them without the proper password. You didn’t bring your slicing kit, and even if you did, the terminal is far too old to use it.

Wolffe's voice floats in from the other room. "Clear!"

You stand and stretch, wincing as the rainwater sloshes in your boots. "Anything interesting?"

"A few things," Wolffe replies. "Looks like they were testing some kind of weapons system."

"Weapons? On this planet?" You raise your eyebrows. "Who would be stupid enough to do that?"

“Stupid enough, or desperate enough," he says. He walks back into the room, prying his helmet off his head and tossing it on a nearby crate. He looks at you, and his expression softens. "Find anything useful?"

You gesture to the terminal. "Some logs. I can't access them, though. Do you have the data drive? It’s a long shot, but it might be compatible.”

Wolffe pulls the data drive out from the pouch at his waist, handing it to you. It's a slim cylinder, the silver metal shiny and unblemished. You plug it in, and the terminal makes a faint beeping noise, the screen flickering before a login window appears.

"Got it," you say, typing in a command.

"Good work."

“Don't sound so surprised."

Wolffe huffs, and you hear the sound of footsteps as he comes up behind you. He stands next to you, and the two of you watch the progress bar creep along the screen, the connection to the nearest satellite weak, but stable.

"Looks like we might have to wait a while," he says, resting a hand on the edge of the terminal as he peers over your shoulder. His voice is deep and rough, and it rumbles against you. You're pressed up against his chest, and you can feel the warmth of him, his body heat soaking through his armor and into your skin.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing steady. "Looks like."

It's almost unnerving how quickly you fall back into this pattern. Wolffe hasn't even touched you yet, not really, but your skin feels too tight and hot. You're hyper aware of him, every movement, every breath. You've never wanted him this much, and it scares you.

The two of you have a complicated history. Before you were knighted, you and Wolffe were... close. Not lovers, but not quite friends, either. It was difficult for the both of you to define the nature of your relationship, but you were certainly more than coworkers. Master Plo had always said that you were a good influence on him, that you tempered his rough edges, but the truth was that he had tempered yours. You were reckless and impulsive, and Wolffe grounded you, kept you focused. You needed each other, in a way.

But when you were knighted, you were sent away, and you haven't seen each other since.

And now...

Well.

The progress bar continues to crawl across the screen, the green light flickering and casting an eerie glow. Wolffe lets out a frustrated sigh.

"This is taking too long," he says, stepping away from you. He turns, and his gaze falls on the crates scattered around the room. He goes over and begins inspecting them, his fingers prying the lids open.

"You're such a grouch," you tell him with a laugh, leaning against the terminal and watching him work.

He snorts. "And you're a brat."

"I didn't choose the mission, Wolffe,” you say, rolling your eyes. "Besides, there are worse places we could be."

"This place is a shithole."

"Maybe, but at least we're not in the storm."

"Hm."

There's the clang of a lid hitting the floor, and then the sound of metal scraping. Wolffe stands, a couple of water canisters in his hand.

"I found some water," he calls over. "And some ration packs. Enough to last us a few days, if we have to."

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that," you say as you turn back to the terminal. "I'd hate for you to have to put up with me for that long."

"It's not so bad."

You smile to yourself, ducking your head so that he can't see. "Don't lie. We both know you'd rather be anywhere else."

"I didn't say that,” he says, and his tone is oddly serious.

"Oh."

Wolffe doesn't say anything after that, and the silence stretches on, the only sound the whir of the terminal as it processes the data. There's a sudden loud crack of thunder, and the sound of rain drumming on the roof of the bunker is louder than before. You wince at the sound as you start to parse through the local files on the terminal, searching for a map. 

It's difficult to focus on the task at hand. The room is small, and you're hyper aware of Wolffe moving around. He's still investigating, and you hear him rustling around in the crates, the sound of the lids being opened and shut. You try to pay attention to the screen, but you're not able to concentrate.

"You okay?"

You blink and realize that Wolffe is standing right behind you.

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask?" you reply, turning around to face him.

He crosses his arms, his brow furrowed in concern. "You've been staring at the same file for ten minutes."

You flush, embarrassed, and quickly exit out of the menu. "I was just..."

You trail off. You were just what? Trying to figure out what you're doing? Trying to decide how to act around him, when everything is so different now?

Wolffe doesn't seem convinced, and his frown deepens.

"I'm fine, Wolffe," you mutter.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Don't bullshit me, jet'ika. I've known you for too long."

Jet'ika. Little Jedi.

The nickname was given to you when you first met, and Wolffe had called you that ever since. It didn't matter that you were already an adult back then, nearly twice as old as he was, or that you were a full-fledged knight now. It was just part of the banter the two of you had, and the fondness in the nickname made your chest warm.

"I'm not—" you begin, but the words die in your throat as you meet his eyes. His stare feels like a physical weight, and your stomach clenches as your gaze flicks over his face. The scar, the dark circles under his eyes, the harsh lines of his face. All the changes that time had wrought.

You've thought about this man almost constantly since you left, but now that he's in front of you, you feel almost... intimidated.

"You look tired," Wolffe says after a moment, his voice low and gruff.

"That's... a little rude," you say.

"I'm just saying." He shrugs, and then reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers, and you let out a quiet sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing.

"Fine," you huff. "I'm tired, and I’m freezing, and these robes aren't exactly made for the weather. But we're stuck here, and it's not like there's anything we can do about it."

"Thought so,” he replies, his voice smug. His hand drifts down to take the hem of your robes between his fingers. He gives them a little tug. "You know, you could always take off those wet robes."

You know he's teasing, but the suggestion still sends a jolt of heat through you. You glance up, meeting his eyes. There's an intensity in his gaze, and you have a feeling that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Oh yeah?" you ask, unable to keep the husky tone out of your voice. You grin, giving him a sly smile. "You think so?"

"Yes, sir."

You let out a breathy laugh, and Wolffe's mouth quirks in a half-smile. It's been a long time since you've flirted with him, but it seems like he hasn't lost his touch. You can feel the tension crackling between the two of you. It's always been like this, and you can't deny that there's a part of you that wishes he would just pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

But you know it wouldn't be that simple. There are complications, complications that the two of you can't ignore. It's why you haven't acted on the feelings between you, why you've tried to forget them.

You're a Jedi Knight now. And Wolffe is a Clone Marshal Commander.

Neither one of you have the freedom to be together.

Still, though, you can't help but tease him.

"Well," you say, slowly taking off your robes, "if you insist."

It’s not as if you’re revealing anything by allowing your outer robe to slide down your shoulders. You’re still wearing armor, after all. But the effect is still the same, and you can see his eyes roaming over your body, lingering on the way your leggings cling to your thighs, the curve of your ass.

You smirk and set the wet material aside. "Better?"

"Yeah," he replies, his voice a low rasp.

You're tempted to tease him further, to see how far you can push him. But you know that there's only so far you can go before one of you breaks, and you're not sure either of you are ready to face the consequences.

So instead, you turn back to the terminal, trying to distract yourself.

The storm rages on, the thunder shaking the bunker. After a few minutes, you start to shiver. The room is cold and damp, and the temperature has dropped as the storm worsens. You wrap your arms around yourself, and the armor on your forearms isn't doing much to warm you up.

Wolffe steps closer, and his hand brushes against your arm.

"You're shivering," he says, frowning.

"Yeah, I'm cold."

He doesn't say anything. He just takes off his gauntlets and tosses them on the floor. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he starts undoing the straps and buckles of his armor, pulling it off and stacking the pieces on the floor next to him. You don't understand what he's doing until he pulls his chestplate off and drops it, and then wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you against his chest.

You don't resist, allowing yourself to lean into him. The undersuit he wears beneath his armor is made from a thick, insulated material, and the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of your tunic. He's so warm, and you relax, letting out a content sigh.

"That better?" he asks, his breath warm against your ear. You shiver at the sensation.

"Yeah," you say, closing your eyes. He snorts, his breath fanning over the top of your head. You can't stop the small smile from tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Thanks."

The two of you stand like that for a while, his arms wrapped around your waist. You try to keep working on the data, but it's difficult to focus with him so close. His chest is pressed against your back, and every time you breathe, the soft swell of his pecs is against your shoulder blades. You can't help but let your mind wander, imagining what he looks like under the armor, the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. You've always had a fascination with the strength of the clones, and Wolffe is no exception.

Wolffe doesn't move, his arms staying looped around your waist. His hands rest on your hips, and he shifts occasionally, his thumb stroking over the jut of your hip. After a while, he rests his chin on the top of your head, his stubble scratching at your scalp.

"Are you warm enough?" he murmurs, his breath stirring the hairs on the top of your head.

You hesitate. Wolffe runs hotter than most humans, his enhanced genetics making him a living furnace. You started to feel warm a while ago, and the air inside the bunker is stifling. But you can't deny that you don't mind having his arms wrapped around you, and you're reluctant to give up his touch.

"Not yet," you say, a hint of cheekiness in your voice.

He huffs, and his arms tighten around your waist. His fingers press into your sides, the pressure sending a shiver down your spine.

"Don't test me, jet'ika,” he grumbles, and his breath fans over the shell of your ear.

"Why not?"

"You know why."

His words send a jolt of heat through you, and you squirm against him. You feel his grip tighten on your waist, his hands flexing to keep you in place.

He’s right. You do. But down here, away from the prying eyes of the Council and the GAR, it's easy to forget all of the reasons why you shouldn't be with him. You can almost imagine a future where the two of you could be together, one where the war doesn't exist.

Almost.

"I know," you murmur at last, and you feel him relax slightly.

"Good."

There's a pause, and the air grows heavier, the tension becoming more palpable. You can feel the press of his chest against your back, and his hands have moved, his fingers tracing idle patterns over the skin of your hip. His nose finds the curve of your neck, and you can feel him breathing, the tickle of his breath on the sensitive skin of your nape.

You let out a sigh, letting yourself sink back into him. Your eyes drift shut, and you relax against his chest, giving in to the comfort of his touch. He's so warm, and it's so nice to be held. You can’t help but imagine what it would be like if things were different. If you weren't a Jedi, and he wasn't a clone. If the two of you had met in another life, another universe. If the two of you could just be.

You spend a long time like that, standing in the circle of his arms. The storm is raging outside, and the bunker is dark and cold, but his presence is enough to make you feel warm and safe.

Eventually, Wolffe pulls away, and the two of you move apart. The chill in the air is sharp against your skin, and you miss his warmth immediately. You want to lean back into him, to bury yourself in his embrace, but you resist.

You turn to face him, and he meets your gaze, his eyes dark.

"Come on," he says, his tone gruff. "Let's see what else we can find."

You nod, trying to ignore the way your heart clenches as you watch him put his armor back on, his back to you. You know it's for the best, but it still hurts. You shake yourself, pushing down the sadness. It's not a productive emotion, and it won't help the situation.

"There could be old tech down there," he continues. "It could be worth checking out."

"You're right," you say, forcing yourself to smile. "We might as well see if we can find anything useful."

You follow him deeper into the facilityy, taking note of the way his shoulders are tense, the way his helmet constantly sweeps the corridor, searching for any sign of danger.

The bunker is even colder now, and you shiver as you descend further underground. Wolffe leads the way, his flashlight cutting through the gloom and outshining the light of your saber.

After a while, you come across a door, the metal rusted and caked with grime.

"Think this is worth checking out?" Wolffe asks, looking at you.

"Could be," you reply, inspecting the door. "Looks like an old storage area. We should be able to find some supplies in there, at least."

Wolffe nods, and he grabs the handle, wrenching the door open. There's a faint creak of metal, and the sound of dust being disturbed. He nudges you aside, his arm brushing against yours.

"Wait here," he says. "Let me check it first."

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Really, Wolffe?"

"Really."

"Fine."

Wolffe gives you a look, his helmet dipping down toward you. He doesn't move until you nod, and then he's stepping forward, disappearing into the darkness. You hear his footsteps receding, and then the sounds of crates being shifted and opened.

A few moments later, he comes back, his flashlight sweeping over the doorframe.

“What is it?” you ask, your eyes tracking his movement.

“Looks like a med bay. Nothing useful, anyways. Just a cot and some storage lockers. We should keep going, see if we can find anything else."

"Yeah," you say, and you let out a sigh. "Yeah, okay."

The two of you continue to search, but the other rooms are just as empty and abandoned as the first. The bunker seems to be a relic from the past, a forgotten piece of history.

Finally, after what feels like hours of searching, the two of you make your way back to the entrance. You can still hear the storm raging above, the thunder rattling the metal hatch.

"We'll have to wait it out," Wolffe says, and you can hear the frustration in his voice. "The ship can't land until the storm passes."

"Great." You groan, rubbing your forehead. "I'm sorry, Wolffe. I know this is a waste of time."

"It's not your fault, jet'ika. It's the kriffing weather. It'll blow over soon, and then we can get the hell off this planet."

You let out a breath and turn away, trying to quell the frustration that's bubbling up inside of you. You can't help but feel as though you're failing at your first official assignment as a general, that you're letting Wolffe down. It was a simple mission, and you can't even complete it properly.

"Hey."

Wolffe's hand lands on your shoulder, and he gives you a gentle squeeze.

"We'll be fine," he says. "It's not your fault. These things happen."

"Yeah, but—"

"Stop," he interrupts, and the harshness of his tone makes you jump. "Just stop."

"Okay, okay," you mutter. "Sorry."

He shakes his head, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. His thumb rubs soothing circles against your skin, and you feel the tension start to drain out of you.

"You're always too hard on yourself." His voice is softer now, and his grip on your neck loosens. "This is hardly the worst thing that could've happened."

You huff, leaning back against his chest. You can't deny that the contact is comforting, that his touch is grounding.

"Maybe," you murmur, and he lets out a sigh, his fingers digging into the skin of your neck.

"No 'maybe'. We'll be fine, and we'll get out of here as soon as the storm passes."

"Okay, Wolffe," you whisper, letting yourself relax into his hold. "You're right."

"Of course I am."

"You're also insufferable."

"And yet, you put up with me."

"For some reason, I do."

He snorts, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "Must be my winning personality."

You laugh, and Wolffe's hand slides down your back, coming to rest on your hip. You shiver at the contact, your skin tingling where his palm presses against you, and you can feel him tense up behind you.

"Sorry," he murmurs, but he doesn't remove his hand.

"It's okay," you reply, and the two of you stand in silence for a long moment. The only sound is the storm outside, the thunder rolling and the rain pounding against the metal hatch.

"Are you still cold?" he asks eventually, and the rumble of his voice against your back sends a shiver down your spine.

"A little," you reply, and he sighs.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get you warmed up."

Before you can ask what he means, he's pulling you back down the corridor. He leads you back to the first room, the one with the bed and the storage lockers.

"What are you doing?" you ask, and he lets go of your hand as he moves to one of the lockers.

"Found something earlier," he replies, and he pulls open the door. There are a few blankets and pillows inside, and he starts gathering them up. He tosses them onto the bed before he starts to unclip his armor, and your cheeks flush when you realize what he's doing.

"Wolffe, I don't—"

"Get over here," he says, and there's no room for argument in his tone.

You hesitate for a moment, but then he shoots you a look, and you obey. You cross the room, and he helps you remove your armor, placing the pieces carefully on the floor alongside his. The sight of the plastoid strewn about together makes something inside of you stir, and you quickly turn your attention to the bed.

The sheets are thin and worn, but they're soft and clean. Wolffe takes one of the blankets and wraps it around your shoulders, his hands lingering.

"Thank you," you murmur, and he nods, stepping back. He turns away and busies himself with the bedding, fluffing the pillows and spreading the blankets out. It's strangely domestic, and it makes something inside of you ache.

After a few minutes, he's finished, and he gestures to the bed.

"Come on," he says, his voice rough.

The mattress creaks as the two of you climb in, and it's not as uncomfortable as you expected. Wolffe lies on his back, and you tuck yourself against his side, resting your head on his chest. He pulls the blankets up over the two of you, and the warmth is immediate.

"Better?" he asks, and you hum in agreement.

"Yeah, much."

"Good."

You can hear his heartbeat, strong and steady. You rest your hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you can't help but enjoy the sensation of his body against yours.

"This is nice," you murmur before you can stop yourself.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice a low rumble.

You nuzzle into him, and you feel his arm wrap around your shoulders, tugging you closer. The two of you lie like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. The sound of the storm is muffled, and the quiet is almost peaceful.

You know you shouldn't be doing this, that it's crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. But it's hard to care about that right now, not when you're warm and comfortable, wrapped in his arms.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here," you say, your voice soft.

"It's not your fault," Wolffe replies, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your shoulder. "I volunteered. We're soldiers, jet'ika. We go where we're told."

"Still."

He huffs. "Still, I've been stuck with worse people."

"Gee, thanks, Wolffe." You roll your eyes.

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you fall silent again, the only sounds the rain and the occasional rumble of thunder. You know you should leave it there, but the words are on the tip of your tongue, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt them out.

"Why did you volunteer? Why didn't you send someone else?"

Wolffe's hand stills, and you shift, pressing your cheek to his chest. You can feel the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat, and it picks up speed.

There's a long pause, and then Wolffe speaks again, his voice gruff.

"Because I wanted to see you," he admits, and your heart skips a beat.

"Oh," you say, your throat tightening. "Oh."

He clears his throat, his hand starting to stroke your shoulder again.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, jet'ika."

Your stomach twists, and the ache in your chest grows stronger. You press your lips together, trying to hide your reaction.

"You shouldn't have done that," you murmur.

"I know."

You sit up, propping yourself up on your elbow so that you can look at him. His face is half-shadowed, the dim light from the corridor casting strange patterns on his skin. His eyes are dark, and there's a vulnerability in them that you haven't seen in a long time.

"Wolffe, we can't do this. It's—"

"I know," he interrupts. "I know."

He sighs, reaching up and cupping the side of your face. His palm is rough and warm, and the calluses scratch pleasantly against your cheek, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"But I had to see you," he says, his voice rough. "Even if it was just once. I've missed you."

Your heart clenches at his words, and you feel tears stinging at the corner of your eyes. You can't deny that you've missed him, too. That the thought of being with him has kept you awake at night, has made you ache in ways you can't name.

You lean into his touch, unable to resist. "I've missed you, too," you whisper.

He pulls you closer, his hand moving to the back of your neck. His grip is firm, and you can feel his desperation in the way he holds you. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, and the two of you breathe in sync, the air thick between you.

"Wolffe," you say, your voice strained.

"I know," he replies.

His fingers trail down your neck, his touch sending sparks of electricity across your skin. His hand moves lower, his thumb brushing over the curve of your collarbone. Your breath catches, and you can't stop the small sound that escapes you.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmurs. "About what it would be like, if we could..."

"If we could be together," you finish, your voice barely a whisper, and you reach up to trace the line of his jaw. His stubble is rough under your fingers, and you can feel the heat radiating off him.

"Yeah," he says, and the sadness in his voice breaks your heart.

You want to tell him that it's not possible, that there's nothing either of you can do, but the words die in your throat. He's so close, and the longing is too strong, too powerful.

"Me, too," you whisper, and then his mouth is on yours.

Wolffe's kiss is desperate, hot and demanding, and you can't stop the moan that slips out as the ache inside you finally, finally eases. Wolffe's hands move to your waist, and he pulls you into his lap, the blanket falling to the side. Your thighs bracket his hips, and you can feel the press of him between your legs, the heat and hardness of him.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping against the seam of your lips. You part for him, allowing him entrance, and he groans, the sound rumbling in his chest. His hands move lower, his palms splayed over the curve of your ass, and he grips you tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh.

You arch into him, and his touch sends shivers down your spine, goosebumps erupting on your skin. He's everywhere, his scent and his taste overwhelming, and you're lost in the sensation of him, his kiss driving away all rational thought.

You know you should stop this, that this is crossing a line that can't be uncrossed, but the thought is fleeting, and soon, all you can think about is Wolffe, the heat of him and the feel of him under your fingertips.

You grind down onto him, and the two of you let out a groan in unison, the friction sending a spark of pleasure through you. Wolffe's hands tighten on your hips, and he rocks up, his erection pressing into the apex of your thighs.

"Fuck," he growls, his hand tangling in your hair. He pulls your head back, exposing your neck, and he presses his mouth to the hollow of your throat. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

He trails kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping along your pulse point. You shudder, the sensation overwhelming, and your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Wolffe," you breathe, and he pulls back, searching your face.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice a low rumble.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

"You. I want you," you gasp, and his grip on your hair tightens.

"Be specific," he growls, his eyes blazing.

You squirm in his lap at his command, grinding down on his cock. He hisses, his jaw clenching, and you can see the tendons straining in his neck.

"I want your mouth on me. I want you to touch me. I want— fuck, Wolffe, I want everything." You can't stop the words from spilling out, and you feel a flush creeping up your cheeks. "I want to pretend that you're mine, just for a little while."

He lets out a shaky breath, his chest heaving.

"Yeah, jet'ika. Fuck. You can have whatever you want."

"Kiss me," you whisper, and his lips crash onto yours.

His kiss is even more frantic now, and you can feel the heat rising between the two of you. He bites at your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth, and you moan, your hips jerking. You're overwhelmed by him, his scent and his taste and the heat of his body.

You feel as though you're burning up, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your clothing, and the urge to rip the layers of cloth between the two of you away is nearly unbearable. You break the kiss, panting, and the two of you stare at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

Wolffe's eyes are dark and hungry, and there's a flush high on his cheeks, his pupils blown wide.

"Take off your shirt," he growls, and you don't hesitate.

You yank your tunic off, and the cool air of the room is a shock against your bare skin. By the time you've thrown it to the floor, Wolffe's pulled off his own.

His chest is broad and muscular, and the sight of his naked skin makes your mouth water. You've always known him to be bigger than the other clones, but seeing him like this is different. You've never seen him like this before, and the desire coursing through you is almost primal.

Wolffe seems just as eager, and he stares at you with blatant hunger, his eyes raking over your form. You reach out and run your fingers through the hair on his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, and he grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs, his eyes hooded. "Let me see you."

You nod, swallowing thickly, and then the two of you are moving. He reaches up and undoes the bindings around your breasts, letting the fabric fall to the side. The air is cool against your nipples, and they stiffen, the sensation sending a shiver through you.

Wolffe's eyes darken, and his hands move to cup your breasts, his palms rough against your sensitive skin. You moan, arching into his touch, and his thumbs brush over your nipples, the friction making them pebble.

"Fuck," he mutters, and he pinches one of the stiff peaks, making you gasp. "So pretty. Look at you."

He continues his exploration, his hands roaming over your skin. He kneads your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples, and you let out a shuddering breath. You can't stop the whine that escapes you as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging and squeezing. It's a delicious sort of pain, and you grind down, your clit throbbing.

Wolffe smirks, his eyes dark and heated.

"And so sensitive," he murmurs.

"Please," you whimper, arching into his touch.

"Patience," he says, and he pulls you closer. He wraps his arms around your waist and shifts so that you're lying on your back, and he's looming over you, his knees straddling your thighs. "If we're going to do this, I'm going to take my time with you. I've been waiting a long time for this."

You're tempted to tell him that it's the same for you, but the words are lost as his mouth finds your nipple. He teases and sucks, his tongue laving over the sensitive flesh. You moan, your hands gripping his shoulders. His hands are everywhere, touching and stroking, and you're lost in the sensation of finally having him so close.

It's only when his teeth nip the underside of your breast that you're jerked out of your reverie.

"Wolffe," you hiss, and he chuckles, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

"Sorry," he mutters, pressing a kiss to the spot. His tongue soothes the sting, and the dual sensations make your head spin. "Got a little carried away."

"It's okay," you pant. "Feels good."

"It'll bruise," he warns.

You shrug, running your hands over his back. "I don't care."

He looks up, his gaze searching. You meet his eyes, and he gives you a crooked smile.

"In that case..."

You whine as Wolffe presses his teeth to your skin again, and the pain makes your cunt clench around nothing. You've never been into this before, but the idea of Wolffe marking you, of being able to look down and see evidence of his claim, makes your blood sing.

"Fuck," you gasp, and he hums against you, his mouth hot and wet.

"Gonna mark you up, jet'ika," he mutters, and then his teeth are sinking into your skin, and you keen, his name tumbling from your lips.

"Oh, kriff. Wolffe!"

His mouth travels across your chest, leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks in his wake. The storm outside is a distant rumble, overpowered by the sounds of your gasps and moans, the slick sounds of his mouth against your skin, the harsh pants of his breath.

The heat of him is overwhelming, and your senses are on fire, the pain and pleasure intertwined, the two of you lost in a haze of lust. You can't stop the urge to rock your hips, desperate for some kind of friction, and you grind against him, his cock hard against your stomach.

"So good," you moan, and his hand slides between your thighs, cupping the heat of you.

"Impatient," he mutters, and he nips at the soft skin below your navel. You shudder, your hands fisting in his hair, and he gives a low chuckle.

"Need you," you plead, and he looks up at you, his expression heated.

"You have me," he murmurs, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut. You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the way they make your heart skip a beat, and the ache inside of you grows.

Wolffe leans back, his eyes roaming over your body, his gaze burning. He strokes the skin of your stomach, his fingertips tracing over the scars and marks. Even in the low light, the evidence of his attention is evident, and the sight of the red and purple marks against your skin makes something possessive flare in his eyes.

"Such a pretty little thing," he murmurs. "I've always wanted to see you like this."

"Wolffe, please."

"Shh," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the crease of your hip. "I'm getting there."

His fingers dip below the waistband of your leggings, and you lift your hips, helping him peel the fabric off. You're left in just your underwear, and you can feel the wetness soaking the fabric, the need inside you almost unbearable.

Wolffe sits back on his heels, and he swears under his breath as his gaze settles on the apex of your thighs. He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes dark.

"Look at you," he breathes, and his fingers ghost over your sex, the feather-light touch making you shiver. His thumb hooks into your underwear, and he tugs, the silken fabric brushing over your clit. “I don’t think this is GAR regulation, jet'ika,”

"It's not," you admit, your cheeks heating.

He groans, his eyes falling shut. "Fucking hells."

He tugs again, the fabric slipping between your folds. It's damp, and you whimper, the sensation almost too much. You can't remember the last time you were this aroused, this turned on. The sight of Wolffe above you, his gaze dark and intense, is almost enough to make you come, and he hasn't even touched you yet.

"Soaked," he mutters, and the rasp in his voice sends a shudder through you.

"For you," you gasp, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

He leans down and presses his mouth to your clothed sex, the warmth of his breath fanning over you. His stubble is rough against your inner thighs, and you moan, his name falling from your lips.

He pushes the fabric aside, and then his tongue is sliding along your folds, the flat of it pressing against your clit. You cry out, and he groans, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through you. He licks at you, his tongue hot and slick, and the sounds are obscene, his mouth wet and messy.

"Taste so good," he rasps, and then his fingers are joining his mouth, spreading your folds. He flicks his tongue over your clit, the tip tracing the sensitive bud.

You cry out, your hips jerking, and he groans, his hand wrapping around your thigh and holding you in place.

"Needy little thing," he murmurs against you.

"Only for you," you whimper, and the truth of it hits you like a slap to the face. It's never been like this with anyone else, the need for release so intense, the urge to give yourself over to him so strong. You've never felt like this before, and the thought scares you as much as it excites you.

"That's right," he mutters, and then he's pressing his mouth to you again, his lips sealing around your clit.

The pleasure is white-hot, and you can't stop the string of curses that spill from your lips. He's relentless, his tongue working over your clit, his lips and teeth adding a delicious edge of pain to the pleasure. It isn't long before you're trembling, your orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and you gasp his name, the sound falling from your lips like a prayer.

"Close," you manage to say, your breath coming in ragged pants.

He pulls back, and his thumb replaces his tongue, his mouth moving to your inner thigh. You whimper at the loss, and he nips at the sensitive skin, the sting making you jump.

"Not yet," he murmurs. "I'm not done with you."

You groan, your hands tangling in his hair. You tug at the strands, trying to pull him back, but he's stronger than you, and he ignores your attempts to get him to move. He bites at your thigh, his teeth leaving more marks on your skin, and then he's pulling away, slipping two fingers inside of you.

You gasp at the sudden stretch, the feeling of being filled after so long without it making your toes curl. You're so wet that there's almost no resistance, and his fingers slip in easily, the glide smooth.

"So fucking tight," he rasps, and you groan as his thumb presses against your clit. "You're going to feel so good around my cock."

The thought is enough to make you moan, and your inner walls clench around his fingers, the muscles fluttering. He chuckles, the sound rough and low as his lips trail across your hip.

"You like that, jet'ika?"

"Yes," you hiss.

He adds another finger, and the stretch is almost too much. It's been so long since you've had anyone inside of you, and his fingers are thicker than yours, his hands larger. You clench around him, and he hisses, his forehead resting against your thigh.

"So good," he murmurs, and he starts to move, his fingers sliding in and out of you. "Look at you, taking my fingers like such a good girl."

You whimper, the praise going straight to your clit. You rock your hips, matching the rhythm of his fingers, and the sound of his palm slapping against your cunt is almost enough to make you come undone.

"Just like that," he whispers, and his mouth returns to your sex, his tongue pressing against your clit. He swirls the muscle around the swollen bud, the pressure just enough to make your head spin. You're so close, the heat in your abdomen threatening to explode, and he can tell.

"You're going to come," he mutters, and his fingers speed up, curling inside of you. The angle changes, and the tip of his finger presses against a spot that makes you cry out. "You're going to come on my fingers, and then I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming."

"Yes," you moan, your head falling back. "Yes, please, Wolffe. I'm so close."

"Then come," he growls. "Come for me, jet'ika."

And you do, his command sending you over the edge. Your climax crashes into you, the pleasure blinding, and your whole body trembles, your inner walls spasming around his fingers. You sob his name, and his mouth moves, sucking at your clit, his fingers milking your release.

The sensation is too much, and you try to twist away, but his free hand moves to your hip, holding you in place. He works you through your orgasm, his tongue and fingers drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling and oversensitive, the sensation almost painful.

"Stop, please," you beg, and he does, pulling back and sitting up.

"Okay, okay," he pants. "That's it. Good girl."

Your cunt clenches at his words, the muscles still twitching. You take a few deep breaths, trying to regain control of yourself, and Wolffe slips his fingers out of you, the movement slow and gentle.

"Good?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah," you sigh. "Yeah, I'm good."

He brings his fingers to his lips and sucks, the sight making your cheeks heat. He groans, his eyes closing, and he savors the taste of you, his tongue licking away every drop.

"So fucking good," he murmurs, and his hand cups the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, the flavor salty and sweet, and you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The kiss is rough and hungry, the two of you clinging to each other, and the urgency returns, the need for more rising up inside of you.

"Please," you whisper against his lips. "I need you."

"Yeah," he rasps. "Yeah, I know."

You can't help the whine that slips out as he pulls away, his hands reaching for the waistband of his blacks, and he chuckles, the sound strained.

"Soon, cyar'ika. I'm right here."

The promise makes something inside of you clench, and you can't tear your eyes away as he pulls his briefs down, his erection springing free. He's thick and long, the head leaking pre-cum, and you swallow hard against the saliva pooling in your mouth. You want to taste him, to feel him stretching your throat, but that's not what either of you need right now. What you need is him buried deep inside you, fucking you until you can't remember your own name, until you can’t remember the world outside the two of you.

He kicks off his clothes, and he kneels between your legs, his hands moving to your waist.

"Let's get you out of these," he says, his voice a low rumble.

His knuckles brush against your clit as he slips his fingers into your underwear, and you gasp, your hips arching up. You feel exposed and vulnerable as he peels the damp fabric away, leaving you bare and naked before him, but the look on his face is one of reverence.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, and the raw emotion in his voice makes your heart clench.

You reach up and cup his cheek, the gesture tender, and his eyes fall closed, his breath hitching. He turns his face into your palm, his lips brushing against the skin.

"Wolffe," you whisper.

"Jet'ika," he murmurs against you.

"I'm ready."

He opens his eyes, the gold of his iris gleaming in the dim light. There's an intensity in his gaze, a fire that burns, and he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself. You watch, transfixed, as he teases himself, the head turning purple and shiny with pre-cum.

He reaches out and presses his hand against your stomach, his palm flat and hot against your skin. He rubs it in circles, and the touch is soothing, the ache inside you easing. You take a deep breath, and his nostrils flare, the muscles in his neck tensing.

"Tell me if it's too much," Wolffe says, his eyes searching yours. "I won't hurt you."

"I know," you murmur. "I trust you."

He leans down and presses his mouth to yours, the kiss soft and tender. It's a stark contrast to the urgency from before, and the gentleness makes your throat tighten. He pulls back, his hand still pressed against your stomach, and he reaches down, lining himself up.

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yes."

He slides in slowly, the stretch almost too much. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to relax, and he kisses your temple, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh.

"Easy," he whispers.

It takes a moment, but you adjust to his size, the pressure lessening as your body accommodates him. He's hot and heavy inside you, his length reaching deeper than anyone ever has, and the fullness is delicious, the pleasure-pain making your eyes water.

"Good girl," he rasps, his hand moving up your stomach, his thumb brushing against the underside of your breast. You whine, and he hushes you, his hand continuing its path up to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands.

"Kriff," he groans, and the sound is pained. His eyes flutter shut, and his head drops down, his forehead pressed against yours. "You feel so good. Like you were made for me."

"Wolffe," you breathe, and he kisses you again, the contact searing.

He pulls out and then pushes back in, his movements slow and controlled. He's trembling, the tendons in his neck standing out, and you can see the effort it's taking him to hold back.

"Faster," you beg, and his hand tightens in your hair, the bite of pain making you moan.

"I don't want to hurt you," he grits out, his hips stuttering.

"You won't," you assure him, and the lie sits bitterly on your tongue.

Because it's not true, and you both know it. No matter how gentle he is, how careful he is, the fact remains that this is temporary, that the two of you can never be anything more than a stolen moment. You're going to hurt, and he's going to hurt, and the truth of it is enough to make you want to cry.

But Wolffe doesn't point it out, and neither do you. He does as you ask, his thrusts speeding up, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the small space. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his lips find yours, his tongue tracing the seam. You part for him, allowing him entrance, and his kiss is desperate and hungry, his fingers digging into your skin.

He fucks you with abandon, the two of you lost in a haze of pleasure and lust, the years of pent-up desire finally coming to the surface. He's everywhere, surrounding you, his scent and his taste and the weight of him pinning you to the mattress. You feel claimed, possessed, and the thought should scare you, but instead, it makes you feel safe.

His pace is punishing, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed, and you cling to him, your nails raking across his back. You can feel the sweat beading on his skin, the slick slide of him against you, and the pleasure is building, the heat in your belly threatening to consume you.

"Fuck," he growls, and his hand moves to the side of your face, cupping your cheek. "Look at me. I wanna see you when you come."

Your eyes flutter open, and his face is inches from yours, his eyes locked onto yours. There's an intensity in his gaze, a raw emotion that threatens to undo you.

"Wolffe," you whimper.

"That's it, cyar'ika," he says. "Let go."

And you do, the orgasm hitting you like a shockwave. It crashes over you, the pleasure white-hot, and your inner walls clench around him, the feeling of his cock rubbing against your sensitive spots enough to make your vision blur. You cry out, and his name is a chant on your lips, the syllables falling from your mouth over and over. The bliss so intense that it's almost painful, and you're lost in the feeling of him, the pleasure consuming you.

"So good," he mutters. "You're so good for me."

He fucks you through your release, his fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and his thrusts become frantic, his rhythm stuttering. You can tell he's close, and you tighten your grip on him, urging him on.

"Come on," you plead. "Come for me, Wolffe. Make me yours."

He groans at the desperation in your voice, and his hips snap forward, the force of his thrust pushing you up the mattress. You whine, and he grunts, his grip tightening.

"Say it again," he demands, his eyes burning.

"I'm yours," you repeat. "Yours, Wolffe. Always."

The sound that leaves him is a broken thing, the anguish in it clear. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and then he thrusts himself to the hilt. He groans, the sound muffled, and you feel his cock pulse, his release spilling inside you. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt, and you feel yourself coming undone again, a smaller, softer orgasm washing over you that makes your vision blur and your toes curl.

You cling to him, the two of you gasping and trembling, and the aftershocks roll over you, the pleasure making you shudder. You can't stop the tears that leak from the corners of your eyes, the realization that this is it, this is all you'll have of him, is too much to bear.

You feel him tense above you, his body rigid, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as he presses his mouth to your temple.

"Wolffe," you whimper, and he murmurs something against your hair, something soft and sweet.

You don't hear him, but you can feel the shape of the words, and it makes the knot in your chest tighten, the pain threatening to consume you.

The two of you lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, and the minutes tick by, the only sound the rain pounding against the roof and your breathing. Your heart is breaking, the grief and sadness threatening to overwhelm you, and you close your eyes, the tears falling freely now.

Wolffe brushes them away, his touch gentle, and he pulls out, the loss of him almost unbearable. You whimper, the sound soft, and he kisses you again, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"Don't move," he murmurs.

You watch as he gets to his feet, his movements slow and stiff. A few minutes later, he returns with a wet cloth, and he wipes the evidence of your coupling from your skin. He's careful, the strokes gentle, and the act is so intimate that it makes the knot in your chest grow. He tosses the cloth to the floor, and then he's pulling you into his arms, his hands smoothing down your back.

You let out a sigh, your head resting on his chest. "Wolffe, I—"

"Don't."

You look up at him, and his expression is grim.

"Don't say anything."

"Wolffe—"

"This was a mistake," he says, his voice strained. "We shouldn't have done this."

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to argue. "It's too late now," you murmur.

"No, it's not. We can still pretend it didn't happen. Just..." He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just don't make it harder than it has to be."

The pain in his voice makes your heart ache, and you bury your face in his chest, unable to hold back the tears. He holds you tight, his arms wrapping around your shoulders, and the tenderness, the protectiveness, only makes you cry harder.

"Jet'ika," Wolffe says, his voice soft, "please. Please don't cry."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, "I just..."

"It's alright," he replies, and he cups your face, tilting your head back. His eyes search yours, and you can see the sorrow and regret in them, the pain he's trying to hide. "It's alright."

"I'm sorry," you say, wiping at the tears that are rolling down your cheeks. "I'm sorry, Wolffe. I can't... I can't do this. I can't pretend like this never happened. I can't keep pretending like I don't care about you."

He lets out a ragged sigh, and his thumb traces the line of your jaw.

"I know," he murmurs.

"I love you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I've always loved you."

His eyes widen, and the two of you sit in silence for a long moment, the confession hanging between you. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and you wait for him to react, to say something.

"You don't mean that," he says at last, his voice hoarse.

"I do."

He swallows hard, and you can see the conflict on his face, the war between what he wants and what he thinks is right. He closes his eyes, his fingers trailing down the curve of your neck.

"Fuck," he whispers.

"Wolffe," you say, and his eyes open, the gold of his iris burning.

"This is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever done," he mutters.

"What?"

"This," he says, and his hand comes up, gripping the back of your neck. "This is the dumbest thing I've ever done, and it's probably the worst decision I'll ever make."

You're frozen, his words hanging between the two of you. The room feels as though it's been turned upside down, and you're spinning, the world around you tilting.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying..." He hesitates, and then his expression hardens. "Fuck it."

And then he's kissing you, his lips hard against yours. The kiss is bruising, his teeth catching on your lower lip, and the sting is enough to make you gasp. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and his fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight. When you part, both of you are panting, and his gaze burns into yours.

"Wolffe," you breathe, "what—"

"I'm saying I love you too," he says, the words spilling out in a rush. "And I'm done pretending like I don't. I'm done lying to myself, to you. I'm done."

The words send a shock through you, and you stare at him, speechless. You open and close your mouth, and he gives you a rueful smile, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

"You love me," you say, and the words are thick in your throat.

"Yes," he murmurs.

"Even though..."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice low. "Even though."

"What do we do now?"

Wolffe sighs, and his fingers trail down your jaw, the touch gentle.

"We make the most of whatever time we have," he says. "And we don't look back."

"It's going to hurt," you whisper.

"I know."

"Can you live with that?"

"For you?" He looks at you, and the tenderness in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat. "Yes. I can."

You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. The two of you sit there, your breaths mingling, and you take comfort in the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hand against the nape of your neck.

"Okay," you murmur. "Okay."

He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you let out a shaky breath.

"Go to sleep, jet'ika," he says, his voice soft. "It's been a long day."

"Stay with me," you plead.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises.

He pulls the blankets up over the two of you, and you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion take over. His warmth is comforting, the sound of his heartbeat a steady rhythm in your ear.

The rain continues to fall, and the room is filled with the sound of you breathing together. It’s peaceful, and for a brief moment, the two of you allow yourselves to believe that everything is going to be alright. That the universe isn't falling apart around you. That maybe, just maybe, the two of you can have this.

The truth, however, is a far more complicated one. And come morning, when the sun rises, you'll have to face it.

But as you drift off to sleep, held tight in his arms, you can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, things will work out.

After all, there has to be some kind of a happy ending.

Even in a galaxy as cruel as this one.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak @lovelytech9902

@frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana

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@lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777 @schrodingersraven

@megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy

@anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @ghostymarni

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

I know you've written something similar with Bucky hearing the heartbeat of his unborn child buy what if the reader and Bucky weren't in an established relationship in fact the two don't really get a long at all but they hooked up once and Rayleigh got pregnant. After a mission they end up in a safe house and Bucky realizes that he's hearing the heartbeat of their unborn child

hii!! I did change some things, hope that’s okay (about the hearing heartbeats as don’t think he can do that) but I love the idea!! other fic is HERE. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

FIVE WEEKS SINCE.

bucky barnes x fem!reader — fluff/ angst?

word count. 957

Over a month ago, you and Bucky made the mistake of sharing a hotel room, and it consequentially led to the pair of you indulging in those romantic feelings you knew you always had for each other. At the time, it felt far from a misstep, but the awkwardness that followed made it all feel like a huge mistake. 

A following three weeks later —two weeks ago— you found out some life-altering information - discovering that you were pregnant. You knew that it was the work of you and Bucky during that night, but you couldn't bring yourself to share the news. Recently, he's acted like he wanted nothing to do with you, and you felt completely isolated as you wallowed in the feeling by yourself.

During those weeks of uncertainty, you confided in Natasha, essentially using her for support until you worked up enough courage to tell Bucky. She was far more helpful than she gave herself credit for, and slowly but surely, you started to get there in terms of bravery.

You were all currently spending the night at a safe house, sleeping over to resume your mission the next day. Everyone grouped off to share rooms.

It was late, all but you sure to be fast asleep. But you couldn't drift off, something undecided going on with your body - you couldn't figure out what it needed; was it food, water? Something to steady the nauseous feeling in your gut? You weren't sure, so you decided to head down to the kitchen, creeping out of the room quietly, trying not to wake Nat.

As you make your way downstairs, you see the silhouette of someone in the fridge, their back dark - the outline of them lit up by the yellow-white light. You wanted to turn around, not wanting to talk in your moody, tired state, but it was too late. The creak of the last few steps alerting them of your presence.

It was Bucky. And the look on his face was just as uncomfortable as yours.

"I'm just about to go," he murmurs, avoiding you, turning his attention to the open cupboard of glasses.

You roll your neck, working out the kink as you step into the kitchen - it wasn't small, but the space was far too tight for two people who couldn't bear to be in the same room. "No, it's fine. I was just getting a drink," you shrug, standing off to the side of him as you wait to collect a glass. 

Instead, he turns to you, handing you one. "Juice is on the counter," he nods, gesturing to the island behind.

"Thanks," you smile reasonably, uncapping the bottle and pouring yourself a glass. But when Bucky steps over, you hand him yours, taking his to fill for yourself. 

He takes a quick swig and thanks you, looking around the room awkwardly.

"Do you know where the cookies are?" you ask, trying to ease the tension.

He nods softly and reaches into another cupboard, pulling out a pack of cookies. He opens the packet and hands it to you, acting courteous.

"Thank you," you smile sweetly, offering him the first one. 

With a soft shake of his head, he declines.

"Can't sleep?" you ask. 

"No. You?"

"No."

And as he begins to step back, you decide to speak up - not wanting him to leave just yet. "Hey, uhm," you pause, fiddling with the cookie wrapper. "We haven't really spoken... how you been?" 

"Uh, doing good," he nods faintly, clearly holding back. "Have you— are you good?" 

You nod, also holding back. 

"Good," he nods, lips in a forced straight line. Feet turning away, itching to leave the room.

"James," you hesitated, clutching at straws - desperate to keep him around just a little longer.

His movement halts, and he twists back to face you. The simple call of his real name brings back memories of the two of you before all the awkwardness. 

"I'm..." you inhale sharply, thinking of the words. "I need to tell you something, and I—" you shake your head, stilling your wavering voice. 

He takes a small step closer, leaving a comfortable distance between you. "Tell me what?" he asks, the desperation clear in his eyes - his body language growing anxious.

"A couple weeks ago... I found out I'm pregnant," you whisper, momentarily closing your eyes - cowering away. "And I don't know what to do," you shake your head, avoiding his eyes. "It's a lot... and I didn't know how to tell you, but you should know."

The silence is deafening. Bucky's being far too quiet, and it makes you feel sick. You finally meet his gaze and watch the contrasting emotions play out on his face - he's clearly trying to process it all. 

"I know the timing isn't great, and things aren't good with us," you try to be mature, attempting to patch things over. "It was a shock for me too, but I just..." you sigh, waiting for him to say something. "I don't expect anything from you, it's okay. I get it."

He nods, seeming to have collected himself. "Let's talk everything over, okay? Talk it all through, clear the air," he offers with a half smile, closing the gap with another step forward. 

"Now?" you ask, thrown off by his sudden cooperation and interest. 

"Yeah, we'll sit on the back porch," he nods through the kitchen window, gesturing to the deck chairs. "You tell me everything, I'll tell you everything. We'll sort this out."

You're pleased with the progress you're making, and your forced smile turns into a real one - the first real one he's seen of yours in a while. "Yeah. I'd like that."

I spent way too long trying to understand the pregnancy time frame of conception and implantation😭😭

[bandgie]

Hi! I ABSOLUTELY LOVED your Beast of a Man tarzan!smut. Seriously it was so engaging and you wrote him so well (HES SO HOT AGHH). He's such a hot character idk why others don't write about him, I'm starved for Tarzan fics...

Could you please make a part 2 to the smut? You have such a great/smutty idea going I would love to see you continue it!!

It would mean everything to me!

( ^◡^)

a/n: hi yes thank you so much and ofc! it's been so long since I've written smut on Tarzan so please bear with me! (fic anon is referring to here)

synopsis: You have successfully brought back the ape-man for research. Despite behaving like an animal, he's a lot more human in more ways than you originally thought.

warnings: MDNI 18+, recording during sex, oral (m!), 69ing, semi-public oral sex, cumming in mouth (m!&f!), rough throat fucking (f!rec), cum eating (m!&f!)

2.8k words

"Who the fuck is this?!"

Your colleagues screamed and ran upon seeing who, more like what, you brought back to camp. They hopped up on tables and held up papers as weapons. They eyed you both wearily, on the verge of tears as you stood just a few feet away.

"I think that's a bit extreme," you sigh. 

The ape-man was beside you, clinging onto your leg like a child would do with a mother. He, too, was very wary around these strangers. You could hear him grunting and pulling at you as if keeping you from getting too close. 

Cute yes, but this would mean it would take a lot of work to build trust in the entire group.

Slowly, the fellow researchers began to try and communicate with the man. Talking slowly and softly, just like you showed them to. All of you agreed that this being could be the missing link, the answer to the question anthropologists have tried to find for decades.

It took over a month for everyone to be comfortable around one another, but of course, another issue was raised. 

"So does he just not have a name?" Professor Porter asked. 

As of now, you all were just calling him 'the ape-man' or 'hey you' to get his attention. It never crossed your mind to give him an actual name. 

"We're not gonna name that beast," Clayton butted his way into the conversation. Clayton, as big and strong as he was, seems the most afraid of your new friend. He's hostile, rude, and arrogant. Even if the ape-man cannot understand the words thrown at him, he can feel them.

The best thing to do in these situations was to ignore Clayton, he just loves the sound of his own voice. 

"No," you turn your attention back to the professor. "Not that I know of at least. Should we come up with one?"

"Oh great," there's heavy sarcasm laced in Clayton's voice. "Here you are naming a dog you're not even gonna keep."

"With no due respect Clayton, please shut the fuck up," Terk, the youngest of you, speaks. Terk is small for his age, but he has built. A hairy man who's lively, talkative, and one of the natives that live here. He and the ape-man get along well, a little too well sometimes.

Clayton flips Terk the bird.

"A name for him would be nice, yes." The professor looks as though he's sweating from the tense atmosphere. "Do come up with one dear, I think the missing link would rather you do it."

It's no secret that the ape-man prefers you over the other researchers. He's constantly at your hip, following you like you have an invisible leash on him. Your colleagues, however, don't know how close you two actually are. 

The conversation stays in your head for the rest of the day. A name. A name. Something everyone has yet is unbelievably difficult to come up with. Hundreds of possibilities run through your mind as you carry out your daily tasks. Even the ape-man, who's used to you ruffling his hair, grows confused about your behavior.

Nightfall comes with everyone in their tents and you still haven't come up with a name. 

With a groan, you turn on your side to see the very person who's making you struggle already looking at you. His eyes are dark, but the candle in your tent lights up his features just enough. You reach out and brush a lock of hair out of his face, watching how he moves to try and get you to touch his skin.

You settle with resting the palm of your hand on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over it. 

"A name," you tsk. You narrow your eyes and let your gaze travel over his body. He needs to look like his name, that's a must. "Hey, do you know what a name is?"

He doesn't answer. 

"Something to call you. That's a name. Do you have one?"

He stares at you.

Well, this is going to be harder than you thought. 

Pursing your lips, you say the first name that comes to mind, "Edward?"

He reacts to that. His calm expression turns into a scowl, bushy eyebrows coming together. You quietly laugh and shake your head, "Not that one okay."

"Tony?"

He frowns.

"Taren?"

He pouts.

"Okay, okay. I think I got it...Garrett."

The ape-man groans, mimicking the behavior he's seen you do hundreds of times. It shocks you to see him act so human, so you. It's equally adorable as it is terrifying. 

He's gotten closer to you, a breath away. The proximity used to freak you out, but you've learned it’s how he shows his affection. His trust. 

The ape-man is waiting for you to say a word he likes, a sound that comes off your tongue magically. Judging from your facial expression and earlier absent behavior, this is an important task for you.

You want the name to be strong, versatile, and not easily replaceable. The being you've found is one-of-a-kind, it's only fair his name is as well. You play with a few letters in your head, bouncing them in your mind until you think of one that suits him.

"What about Tarzan then? Do you like that one?"

His pupils dilate, watching your beautiful lips pronounce the word. His word. 

"Yes."

You gasp, sitting up abruptly. Your sudden movements make him panic as he sits up with you. He scans the tent to find an intruder while you sit there stunned. 

He spoke. The ape-man no! Tarzan just spoke to you. He understood language and used it, even if it was just a mere word. A one-syllable answer that has shaken you to your core. 

"Oh my god. You just, Tarzan you just spoke. Holy shit, say it again. I need to capture this on video." You ruffle through your bag looking for your camera. 

Tarzan stops searching the tent and looks back at you looking as confused as ever. Like he didn't just display human speech in a mere month.

Quickly, you pull out the camera and hit record, aiming the lens at Tarzan's hard, yet beautiful features. 

"Repeat what you just said," you look at him through the monitor. Instead of complying, Tarzan stares blankly into the lens. "Do you like the name Tarzan?" You press.

No answer, his eyes flick from the red light to your eyes. 

"Come on! Just tell me whether or not you like the name." You're starting to grow impatient. At this point, you're convinced he's just being an ass.

Finally, he adjusts his seating position. Tarzan glances down at his crotch then back up to you, then back to his crotch. You follow his gaze, trying to understand what he's trying to say. Then it clicks. 

Compensation. If you want him to do you a favor, you have to do him one as well. 

"Are you being serious?" You sigh at him. Tarzan gives a faint nod to you. Even if he can't do so, you swear you see him smirk. Asshole. Setting the camera down, you angle it towards the two of you. Might as well have fun with it.

You crawl your way towards him, parting his thighs slightly before giving him a playful glare, "You're such a man sometimes."

Unlike before, Tarzan wears cargo shorts rather than a mere piece of clothes from last time. Professor Porter made it clear that if he was to hang amongst you all, clothes were necessary. 

They suited him nicely, even now. The way the material hugs his toned thighs, how his cock bulges through the shorts even when he isn’t hard. You couldn't help but run your hands along his muscular legs, finding his crotch.

He groaned as you palmed him, straining to not thrust his hips up. Tarzan learned to be patient with you, especially in the presence of others. Most animals didn't care whether they mated alone or in their pack. Even if Tarzan was raised by those animals, the thought of others hearing the sounds you make for him is repulsive. 

Instead, he has to settle for brushing your hair from your face as you undo his buttons. Delicate fingers unzipping the seam until his half-hard cock sprouts in your face. 

It doesn't matter how many times you've seen his dick, it makes your pussy quiver every time. All you can think about is how perfectly it stretches you, how the tip slides against your cunt deliciously. Your mouth salivates at the memory, and you let your spit drool off your tongue to land on his cock.

Tarzan loves the sigh. A pink tongue just hovering over his length. He also remembers the feeling of your hot mouth on him. The way your lips slowly come closer to the crown of his head, how your breath wafts over him. It feels euphoric when you finally make contact with him, mouth enclosing his flushed head.

It's so warm in your mouth, smooth as you lightly suck on him. The hand on your head slightly grips your hair, a sign that he likes the slow pace you've set. You hum around his cock, taking him a little deeper as you widen your jaw.

One of your hands makes way to grip the base, pulling the skin upwards in a stroking motion. 

This makes his hips jerk, gagging you for just a split second. Your wide eyes look up at him, small tears peeking at the corners. Tarzan gives an apologetic look, but the sight of your teary eyes and pretty lips around his cock makes him fuck up toward you again.

You pull away from him, earning a whine as Tarzan throws his head back dramatically. 

Maybe he thinks you're going to stop as punishment, but it's quite the opposite. Your cunt is sopping from tasting him, even if it was for a brief moment. Even if you have a task at hand, and your camera is still recording for 'research,' you have your own needs to take care of. 

Tarzan is none the wiser as you put a hand on his bare chest and lay him down. He eyes you curiously but lets you push him all the way down before hopping on top. His eyes widen as he's faced with your clothed cunt. Underwear the same color as your tongue that holds the strongest smell of you.

He doesn't need any directions as he dives his nose into you. Tarzan is obsessed with your natural smell. His nose immediately grows damp from your wetness, his tongue poking out to lick the juices that leak out.

Softly moaning, you take a hold of his cock once more. You pump it a few times before taking it into your mouth. It's surprising to see that he's not humping in your mouth like normal, but he's so distracted with your pussy that he can't seem to bother noticing his own pleasure.

It's hard to focus on his hard length as his teeth tear off your panties. You gasp when you hear the fabric split, but it turns into a whine when his tongue finally makes contact with your bare cunt. 

Tarzan has to grip your hips to keep you still. As much as he would love for you to grind on his face, he needs to have his meal first. His tongue runs over your folds, finding that little bud you love so much to be touched. 

He sucks on it and pulls, stretching your clit. Your legs shake and you have to pull away from his cock to catch your breath. Lazy hands stroke his hard-on as you look back. You clench at the sight of his unruly hair peeking above your ass, the sounds his mouth makes as he laps at you.

Turning back to your literal task at hand, you find the energy to take his cock once more. You unhinge your jaw and exhale, taking Tarzan deeper and deeper until your eyes roll back. You hollow your cheeks and suck, moving your head back up until just the tip remains in your mouth, and go all the way back down.

Now Tarzan can feel the bliss of your mouth on him. He moans into your pussy and slightly jerks his hips up, making you gag around him once more. 

Feeling you work so hard makes him want to reciprocate. He shakes his head left and right to try and bury himself deeper. He uses his grip to force you further onto his face. Tarzan's tongue finds the squeezing entrance that he's breached so many times. He digs his tongue into you, finally getting a taste of you from the source. 

He's guiding your hips so you could drag your pussy against him how you like. Tarzan can feel your hips trying to pull away from him as the feeling of his tongue has gotten too much. And it has.

You're trying to distract yourself by deepthroating him, but it's no use. All you can feel is his experienced mouth, how he remembers every detail he knows you like. You can feel your orgasm approaching, and how it builds in your stomach rapidly. 

Tarzan feels your legs shake. Your thighs trembling and giving out, full lower body weight on his face. He can taste how the wetness has changed, thicker and tart. Tarzan knows this taste like the back of his hand. You're going to cum, give him that white cream he loves licking out of you.

You've completely stopped paying attention to his dick. A part of you should feel bad for neglecting him, but you can't seem to care as Tarzan's tongue fucks you. Instead, you find yourself humping his face, his mouth following as you approach your high.

You squeal as you come, clamping a hand over your mouth as you finish. Warm gushes out of you, body quivering as the eager man under you happily drinks it all. Tarzan gulps and slurps until he's beginning dripping from the corners of his mouth. 

He takes and takes until you're the one having to tell him no more, that you can't handle another orgasm. 

Tarzan hears the desperation in your voice, the way you plead. It takes strength for him to pull away from your pussy, a soft growl emitting from his chest. 

Then his thighs wrap around your head, securing you in front of his cock. You have no time to question him as you involuntarily take his cock into your mouth.

There's so much pre-cum dripping from the slit that all you can taste is its saltiness. He's throbbing, fucking his hips into your mouth as he holds you still with his legs. 

All you can do is take it. Lips wrapping around his girth as he desperately slides his dick in and out. You gag and silently plead for Tarzan to be gentler, but he's having none of it. Your hands warp around his thighs to steady yourself, your head bobbing uncontrollably to match his movements.

Tarzan twitches in your mouth once, stilling his hips deep into your throat. Tears immediately prick your eyes and fall down your face, and you swear your vision goes black for a fraction of a second before he pulls out. You get the chance to gasp for air as he lines up his cock to your lips again and shoves it back in.

You think you might pass out. You're at the mercy of Tarzan, and he's still unable to see how much stronger he is than the average man. Your mouth is nothing but a fleshlight to him as he makes you choke around him. It makes you feel like a toy, a warm hole for him to fuck his seed into.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

The familiar twitch in his cock occurs again. Once, twice, then three times before he unloads in your mouth. Hot spurts of his cum find themselves in your throat, forcing you to gulp it down. 

Tarzan's hips slow, letting his cock drag against your lips before he finally pulls out. You cough and pant as his orgasm drips from your tongue. 

His thighs release you and you promptly plop down on them. You feel his hands rub soothingly over the curve of your ass, up and down your thighs. And an extra apology, Tarzan presses a kiss to your throbbing pussy. You chuckle and kiss his thigh back before sitting up, hoping off his face. 

You have to crawl to grab your camera, breathing a sigh of relief to see the red light still shining. You aim the lens at his face as he too sits up. You can see the arousal on his face from eating you out, his swollen lips, and messy hair.

"So," you start. "Tell me, Tarzan, did you like that?"

Tarzan's lips quirk into what you think is a smile before he looks at you directly through the camera. 

"Yes."

a/n: holy fuck I dont think y'all know how hard this was. I kinda went all out for the first one so the second one was hard as hell to match lmaooo. I physically and mentally can't do a third installment. this is the final one sowwy also I added some characters from the film! hopefully you caught that, I made Terk human, Tarzan needed a friend even if it's a fanfic

[alexwilltellyouthings]

Payneland/DBDA fanfic recs

I'm celebrating 200 fics (yes I keep count, I'm a nerd) and over a million words read in these 3 months of dbd 🎉🎉🎉

SO here are a few of my all time favorites (trying not to mention too many of the already very known ones):

Joi de Vivre, by olympus_mons

my very first fave, explores Edwin's longing so so well. And the ending, bittersweet and so loving, uGH I LOVE THEM

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wanted to be something (you couldn't put down), by Ink_stained_quills

also one of the firsts, so very well written and great feelings realization with a bit of misunderstanding to make it sweet

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Of a youth who loves me, by Aliquis

ok yes this series is pretty famous but I can't just not mention it. it's so sweet and tender and aAAAAAAAaaa. just go read it. just go.

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job officially jobbed, by vernesatlas

e-rated, so it's +18 only! canon divergent and really just the right fic to follow up the handjob comment. as simple as that. I needed it deep in my bones and it's so fucking hot

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The Most Tender Place In My Heart, by coloursflyaway

also famous, although not as much as some of the others by the same author, but this is the best one in my opinion. the way edwin is open about his feelings here, the memories painting the whole picture, the way you can see charles working things out, it's so beautiful

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dulcet tones of broken bones, by gremlininthemachine

this one HURTS. it's a lot of angst, let me tell you that. it feels very true to Edwin's character. mind the tags if there's anything you feel is too much for you. I cried several times. it was amazing. the ending is hopeful, but not entirely conclusive, as there might be a sequel coming on. ALSO it's not really payneland centric, but anyway it was maybe the most emotional any fic has made me in a long time

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the ghost of the past that you live in, by ObsessedWithFandom

EXPLORING CHARLES' BISEXUALITY YESSSS I wanted something like this so much! really liked how it was played out, how each experience puzzled itself into his identity. the OCs are great. really lovely all around

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Who? You mean your teammate in the Codependency World Cup?, by RoseGanymede95

this is also a series and I still haven't read the unfinished ones, but the first two are amazing. those are case fics through and through, pre-canon, and I just LOVE their dynamic even if not explicitly romantic, and also the cases themselves and how Charles acts and UGH EVERYTHING, really highly recommend these

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Nothing Left to Hide, by RoseGanymede95

listen this person is incredible what can I say. this is a very needed unpacking of hell's aftermath, mostly about how Charles is doing after seeing what he saw. it's a big hurt/comfort on this one. big on both. ugh so good

Well there's that. I hope you enjoy these as much as I did!

[ahsxual]

Dark Sins

Pairing: William Afton x Fem!Reader (and a little of Stu Macher x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You and Stu have been together for a while now. You didn't like his friend Billy, because in your opinion he meant trouble. But Stu didn't care about it. In fact, it only made him want to hide you from Billy. So when the two of you were at Stu's house and Billy showed up, Stu made you hide yourself in the bathroom... little did you both know that his dad was taking a shower.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: minors don't interact +18, cheating (I don't support this, only wrote it for the fic!!), Stu not being the best boyfriend, implied age gap (reader is on her 20s, William is 50), fingering, oral sex (f&m receiving), squirting, dirty talk, mentions of daddy, chocking, cursing, degrading and humiliation kink, cnc, almost getting caught, perv!William, Dom!William x Sub!Reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Part II & Part III

A/N: In this fic, William is Stu Macher's father. I just love this idea, so I decided to write this crossover. I haven't written for so long, so I'm sorry for any mistakes or the low quality fic. I missed writing for you guys, so here I am! I'm trying my best <33

You and Stu Macher had been together for a few weeks now. He was your crush since you met him last year, and things developed over time, specially after one of his parties. You guys had sex in his bedroom at one of his parties, and let's just say it was the best fuck you guys ever had. The adrenaline running through your veins from the alcohol, the passion between you two and the risk of getting caught by one of your friends was too much. You were extremely happy when, after a couple of months, he wanted to make it official. It was like a dream coming true... I mean, who wouldn't want to be Stu Macher's girlfriend? But like in all relationships, nothing is completely perfect... and when you met his best friend Billy, you couldn't help but hate the guy. He had this creepy look whenever he looked at you both and you talked about it with Stu. Apparently the guy hated you too, so Stu decided to hide you from him. Like, literally.

It pissed you off even more. How can your boyfriend prefer his best friend over you?? The PDA between the two of you didn't exist anymore whenever Billy was around, and that hurted you. So today, you decided to go talk about this with Stu.

"Hey... can we talk?" you asked Stu when he opened his house's door for you. He already knew what you wanted to talk about, so he rolled his eyes and let you enter his house.

"Sure babe, come in." he said in fake excitement, which annoyed you to no end. How can he still think it's your fault and there's nothing wrong with what he's doing... or better, allowing others to do. It's like he cares way too much about what Billy thinks or not. What a weird relationship they have...

You both went to his room for some privacy, since his dad was at home. Talking about the man, there was something strange, maybe even creepy about him too. He barely talks to you or says anything at all, always busy with work on the few times he's at home. However, his intense eyes always seemed to analyze your body like a predator analyzes its prey. At least, that's how you felt. And it sent shivers down your spine every single time, for whatever reason unknown to you.

"So... I assume you already know what I want to talk about with you..." you were the first one to break the ice, since you and Stu have had been silent for a few minutes now. You shouldn't be feeling so nervous and you didn't want to bother Stu, but things had to be talked about when something bothers you. Communication is the key for a good relationship and that's what you decided to do.

"Yeah, I think I do." Stu seemed way too relaxed for your liking, his arms supporting his body onto his bed like he didn't care how this conversation would end.

"Can you just pretend that you care about how I'm feeling instead of like, running away? Because that's what it looks like you're doing and it annoys me, Stu. Deeply." you shouted at Stu, your patience disappearing by each second. But when he looked at you with those hungry eyes, you immediately knew what he wanted to do. Again. Every single time.

"Come on babe, we can do so many interesting things instead of arguing, don't you think? You look so fucking hot when you're mad at me." a large smirk was planted on his face, before he pushed you down onto his bed, his tall and lean body over yours while he grabbed both of your wrists with one hand and pinned them on the bed. He started sucking and kissing your neck, while his free hand grabbed your tits hard, making you moan.

"Stop it Stu, we have to talk about..." you tried to sound serious, but the truth was that you forgot what you wanted to talk about in the first place. You couldn't resist Stu: he had that power over you, and even tho you hated it sometimes, it was simultaneously the thing you loved about him the most. The way he made you weak to your knees by a simple touch. You felt like you were in heaven for a few minutes, before Stu's phone started ringing. You both looked at it annoyed, and when you thought you couldn't be more bothered, you saw Billy's name on it. Stu immediately got up, before sending you an apologetic look.

"Hey man, what's up?" Stu's face went from excitement to fear in a second, and you looked at him asking mentally what happened. "Yeah sure, just give me a sec." and then Stu hung up the call.

"What happened? What did he want?" your tone was a little bit harsh towards Stu, but you couldn't control it. What did Billy possibly want this time??

"I'm sorry baby, but... Billy is actually on my doorstep. He's outside and needs to talk to me... like right now." you could tell your boyfriend was feeling bad for interrupting your intimate moment, but he still didn't say no to Billy.

"You're kidding me, right? Does he know that I'm with you? Can't you tell him that??"

"Come on y/n, just cooperate with me! It will be fast I promise, just..." he paused for a second, before grabbing your arm and taking you to the bathroom. "Just stay here for a minute, okay? Don't come out until I tell you so! Love ya!" he then kissed you and put you inside of his bathroom way too quickly to realized that it might be occupied...

"Wtf!" you shouted quietly, visibly pissed off by the ridiculous situation you were put in. How could Stu do this to me?? Hiding his own girlfriend, because his friend didn't like me? You thought. When you were walking backwards, you didn't even realized that the bathroom was in fact, occupied. By your boyfriend's father.

"Shit!!" you screamed when you collided with a strong, bare and wet chest. When you turned around, you couldn't believe your eyes. It was your boyfriend's father, William Afton, completely naked with just a towel around his hips. You stared a little too long to his tall, nice built body for his age, before you closed your curious eyes. "Omg, I'm so so sorry Mr. Afton, I didn't- this is all that asshole's fault!" you whispered to yourself the last part, referring to Billy. Well, in reality it was Stu's fault, but you didn't want to think about it that way.

"May I know why you haven't left yet? Seems like you're enjoying being here... in my presence." William's tone was serious and his eyes roamed all over your body, since you were wearing a short dress. If you weren't feeling so embarrassed, you could tell that he was in fact teasing you.

"I-I can't Mr. Afton... Stu doesn't want me to get out of here... I don't know what to do... well, on second thought, I should probably go." you never felt so embarrassed in our entire life. You didn't know if you should leave and go against your boyfriend's stupid request, or if you should just stay there being confronted by Mr. Afton lustful eyes and semi-naked body. This was his opportunity, he thought. Just the two of you... alone.

He wanted to show you how much his son didn't deserve you. He wanted to show you who could be a real man to you. Someone who didn't refuse to pleasure you like his son did to you just now, even though you could be caught. What you didn't know, was how long William have been desiring you. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to be with you and make you forget about his son only with his dick. To prove to you that you didn't know real pleasure until he fucked you until you're begging for his mercy.

"Who said you're getting out of here, huh?" how dumb and innocent you are, he thought. Thinking that now that everything was according to his plan, you could escape him. It made him laugh, actually.

"I-I don't understand, sir..." your back was against the bathroom door, not allowing you to escape his slow approach towards your small body compared to his. The moment you called him sir made his cock harder, and when you noticed it through the thin towel, you gasped loudly not just by the unknown effect you had on him, but at the size of it. It was huge and you could tell that it was thicker than Stu's dick.

He noticed you staring at his cock and smirked at your reaction. He knew deep down you wanted him too. You naughty, dumb slutty girl. He suddenly approached you faster, not even caring about the fact that his towel fell on the ground, leaving him completely naked in front of you and showing you his dick fully erected because of you. Before you tried to say something, he covered your mouth with his big hand.

"Shhh. Don't say a single fucking word, you understand me? You don't want my son to find out that you're about to get fucked by his father, now would you?" his voice was deep and low, and you could hear the lust in it. You felt scared. Terrified actually, for what was about to happen. But then, you felt something that betrayed your mind. Your panties were dripping and your clit was throbbing, wanting desperately to be touched. All of a sudden, you heard the door being locked by William.

"Please Mr. Afton, I-I don't want to cheat on Stu, please..." you were so desperate not to sin, since you're completely against cheating. But it seemed like you had no choice... and the worst of it, was that you couldn't deny how much attracted you felt to the older man. By this point, you didn't know if you were talking to William or to yourself. Suddenly, you felt William's cock against you, hard and desperate for your attention.

"Too late for that, bunny. I'm gonna teach you how a real man can pleasure a sweet thing like you... don't lie to yourself. You want this as much as I do." he suddenly grabbed your hand and put it on his hard cock, pre-cum leaking from the tip. You started to jerk him off, not being able to stop since he was controlling your movements. "That's it, you dirty slut. Now be a good girl and suck daddy's cock." William forcedly grabbed your hair and pushed you to your knees, making you gasp in pain. He then opened your mouth and shoved his dick in, making you gag around him.

You started to suck him off since you had no option but to obey, before he pushed you back by your hair and took your dress and bra off, leaving you only in your panties.

"Don't worry, I'll rip them out soon." the older man promised before he pushed you against his cock again. After a few minutes, he felt himself almost reaching his limit, so he pushed you back once again, this time for good. He then grabbed you and put you onto the long bathroom vanity, before tearing your white panties in one move.

"Mr. Afton! Those were my favorite panties!" you were shocked by his rough action, realizing that when he said something, he would do it. William laughed at your face, realizing that you and Stu apparently never had real fun.

"If you behave and cum for me, maybe I'll give you new ones for Christmas." he promised before circling your extremely sensitive clit. You moaned loudly, so he quickly covered your mouth once again. "What a dirty fucking whore you are. Can't keep your mouth shut while being fingered by a man old enough to be your father... leaving aside the fact that it's actually your boyfriend's father too." he degraded you, before shoving 2 long and thick fingers inside you, not giving you any time to adjust to him. His movements were cruel and faster than any man you had ever been with before, making you cum in a few minutes.

"Fuck Mr. Afton, I'm gonna cum!! Please s-stop!" you didn't know why you were pleading him to stop if you didn't want to. Maybe you thought that if you didn't cum, maybe it wasn't real cheating... How stupid you were to think that. Obviously there was no going back now.

"You're fucking dripping, bunny. Look at my fingers, fucking you so easily and being all drenched in your cum. You should be ashamed of yourself, you fucking slut. I bet my son never made you cum so fast and hard." and those degrading words, which were the truth even tho you didn't want to admit it, were enough to make you orgasm. Hard. The way Mr. Afton humiliated and deprived you to breath properly with his hand covering your mouth and nose, was all you needed to squirt onto his big hand. Your moan was muffled by William's hand, otherwised Stu and Billy would hear you without any doubt.

"Oh fuck..." you said once you looked at the mess you made. William's fingers and cock were drenched in your cum, and he hadn't even fucked you with his cock yet. "I'm so sorry Mr. Afton-" your apology was completely ignored and immediately replaced by a loud gasp from you when William opened your legs and licked your cunt like he was a starved man. His tongue expertly sucked your wet clit before he fucked your hole with his long tongue. He continued to suck on your clit and fuck your hole just the way you loved, when suddenly you heard Stu's voice. You wanted to scream from fear of being caught in such a vulnerable, embarassing position and act, but William knew you too well already, so he put his hand over your mouth before you could make any sound and continued his attack on your dripping pussy.

"Wait man!" you heard Stu saying to Billy. Apparently, Billy wanted to go to the bathroom, but Stu stopped him just in time. "You should go to the bathroom downstairs. I took a shit on that one before you arrived." if you weren't in this situation, where your boyfriend's dad was eating you out like a madman, you would have laughed at the poor excuse that your boyfriend came up with. However, you were too focused on cumming again, this time on William's mouth since he didn't stop fucking your cunt with his tongue the whole time. Oh, that mouth... you definitely wouldn't forget it. It even looked like somehow, William did want to get caught to prove his son that he could make you cum harder and faster. That even if he was older, he was better nonetheless.

You started to feel your second orgasm approaching. "Fuck Mr. Afton, I'm gonna fucking cum again." you didn't know why would you tell him that or why you were saying it out loud, if you felt ashamed about all of this.

"Come on, babygirl. Cum for daddy one more time, squirt all over my face." and that was it. Somehow you managed to squirt once again, this time on William's face. Even tho it wasn't as much as before, you still covered his face and mouth with your cum. "Good girl. I know you could do it. You're being so nice for me, just one more time." when he said that last part, you looked at him with wide eyes.

"I-I can't anymore sir, please..." you were breathless and covered in sweat from his actions. He suddenly grabbed your neck and chocked you enough to make it difficult to breath.

"Yes you can, and you'll do it for me." for the first time, you were scared of him. Scared about what he could possibly do to you and the fact that you could be caught anytime now. He lined his big cock against your overstimulated pussy, ready to fuck and destroy you, before you both heard Stu's voice again.

"Alright man, see ya later! Don't forget to bring my things tomorrow!" Stu said before closing the front door downstairs, saying goodbye to Billy. You looked desperately at William, and even if he wanted to destroy you right there and then and couldn't care less if Stu caught you both fucking, he didn't want you to be in big trouble. You and William started to hear Stu's footsteps, so William took your damaged panties with him, grabbed his towel from the ground to cover himself up and got ready to go to his bedroom before Stu came in and saw you two together.

"Get yourself presentable. You don't wanna look like you just had been fucked, right? Next time bunny, I'll make sure there's no one to interrupt us. Prepare that tight and sweet pussy of yours." he said in a serious and cold tone, like he didn't just say the most sinful thing to you. Before he left, he smelled deeply your ripped and drenched panties and stuffed them inside his mouth.

And there you were. Left alone naked, covered in sweat and cum and thinking about how William's cock would feel deep inside of you, ripping you apart.

And that's when reality hit you and slapped you hard in the face. You just cheated on your boyfriend with his own fucking father.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Big Name Feelings

FANDOM AU! • Crowley is a BNF fic writer, and Aziraphale is a lurking artist who might be just a little parasocially in love with him. How they ever became friends is beyond him, but here they are: One month out from Prophet Con, and Crowley is asking him to be his boyfriend. Just for the weekend, of course.

Length: 103,997 words

AO3 Rating: Explicit / Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Safe in Public, Human AU, Slow Burn, Fake Relationship, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

*Minor Spoilers* It's here! The finale of one of the most entertaining and immersive fanworks that I have ever experienced is finally upon us! I feel like most of you who follow me here are aware of this fanfic or have read it. However, for those who haven't or might come across this post later: I'm begging you to read this one. Buckle up; it's a long post today.

So, if you're not aware, this fanfic involves writer Crowley and fan artist Aziraphale. Crowley, being ace, seeks a boyfriend to shield him from unwanted attention during an upcoming convention. Aziraphale, smitten, agrees to be the fake boyfriend. This Arrangement is sure to work out exactly as planned!

Every one of the author's stories feels cinematic to me. The worlds are always so real and immersive, but this one, in particular, will have you feeling like you're actually watching the story unfold in real life. Some of that is achieved through embedded media like chats, artwork, and Tumblr posts, bringing a sense of reality to these conversations. The rest comes from really rich prose. You'll flow through it very easily, yet deeply.

The use of fandom and a convention as the backdrop for this fic was, to be honest, genius. I've seen attempts before, but none captured the spirit quite like this one. The fandom lore for The Nice and Accurate Prophecy (the in-universe fandom they're in) was rich enough for us to fully grasp the shape and feel of why they loved it so much, yet it never impedes the ongoing story. This story perfectly captured what it's like to be a fan: how friendships develop, how ideas and fan theories are freely discussed, the passion for a shared topic. The con, in particular, will fill anyone who has ever attended a fan convention with a strong dose of nostalgia and love. Oh, and having them in their 50s? Thank you! There is no age limit to fandom!

Having Aziraphale as the artist and Crowley the writer was not the most obvious choice, but it's one that worked amazingly well for the story! Crowley struggles with words and expressing his feelings in real life. However, in stories, he can build his own world and express whatever emotions are on his mind. Aziraphale, who does not wish to draw attention to himself in real life, expresses himself through his bold and beautiful artwork. His specialization in traditional, physical artwork is so fitting for him, though he's not unwilling to try new tech. There is a scene where they stumble upon some street art that Aziraphale had done. I teared up at that scene, and it's not even angsty! Just the casualness of it, how it's not Aziraphale but Crowley who boldly leads them to it, how Aziraphale doesn't sing his own praises. He's not self-deprecating, but he doesn't celebrate his work. He's still learning that he has value that's worth celebrating. At least now he has Crowley to teach him to be proud of himself.

They are both beautifully written characters. It's a real testament to the skill of the author to bring these characters into such a different reality and have them be unmistakably Aziraphale and Crowley. Sure, they're updated for the time and setting, but their souls are still the angel and demon we know and love. This setting is an amazing way to explore the different sides of their personalities. Crowley's asexuality, in particular, was one of the best depictions I've ever read. It brought a new level of understanding to me, and I'm sure many of you will feel a kinship with him. Really pay attention to what's being said here, there's some really deep and insightful passages that are worth analyzing. Like this moment, which may have been a subconscious thought, but again speaks to how deeply the author understands the characters.

This was such an amazing experience as a fan. I've never had a fic feel like this much of an event before. Every chapter drop was so exciting; I never knew what exactly to expect. And now, with the end being over 100k words?? Where did that word count come from! That's insane! I'm sad to leave this iteration, but I'm so excited for what's to come next. So please, if you haven't read this, give it a try. It's such a impressive work, so much time and effort was put into this and you can tell. It's not only a love letter to Good Omens, but one to fandom and fanspaces as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this journey

There are some explicit scenes towards the end, but they are all marked and skippable, so I'd say you're perfectly fine reading this in public.

Edit from after actually seeing the finale: no I’m not tearing up it’s just really dusty in this room. I’m being so normal rn 🥹🥹🥹

Read it here, fic by ghostrat

[s4no]

+ feat: ken ryuuguji x fem!reader

+ cw: sex work (draken is an escort), virginity loss, oral (r), ptv, size difference

+ summary: after years of failed attempts at losing your virginity, you decide to take matters into your own hands and buy a night with the most expensive male escort tokyo has to offer. (5.4k words)

+ a/n: i decided to rewrite one of my old fics so if you recognize the title and/or plot, it's from my archived account; written in the adult timeline

Your nerves are in shambles as you approach the unfamiliar building. Your legs feel weak and your fingers clutch your wallet tightly, as if you suspect someone may try to mug you and steal it. For all that you know, it's possible. You’ve never been in this part of town before and you're grateful you haven't run into anybody you know. You’d definitely get questioned if someone saw you walking down the main street of Tokyo's Red Light District. Or more specifically, into a brothel.

It isn’t like you're out here on a whim. You’d thought about this for a long time, pondered over it many nights after hours of tossing and turning, and after five very long— and equally as frustrating years, you’d made your decision. You wanted to lose your virginity and you’d use all the resources at your disposal.

You didn’t have much luck out on the dating scene, which mainly consisted of Tinder and a couple of the local bars out in Roppongi. You’d tried it all: blind dates, speed dates, double dates. None of them ever resulted in a relationship— or even a one night stand— so you’d been forced back to square one each time. After five years of trying and failing, you’d given up on finding love for the time being.

But… not pleasure.

That’s how you find yourself walking into the luxurious lobby of the most popular brothel in the city. The smell of jasmine invades your nose and the sound of smooth jazz drifts into your ears, immediately creating a sensuous atmosphere that leaves you gawking. Red velvet couches line the walls, some accompanied by golden side tables where clients can sit their drinks while they wait to be called back.

At the front of the room sits a large mahogany desk with a woman seated behind it, tapping away at a computer. Swallowing, you timidly approach the front desk and lean in close, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello, I’d like to… Um, book a room.”

The woman doesn’t even bother sparing you a glance, her fingers still flying across the keyboard. “Male or female bodied?”

“Male, please. I’d like… the male with the best rating, if possible.”

Your cheeks flush when the woman stops typing, her eyes glancing you over before responding. “I’m sure you would,” condescension colors her tone, “but I’m afraid there are premium rates for our top-tier employees.” Ones that are out of your price range, she suspects.

“I’m prepared to pay as much as it takes.” Unzipping your wallet, you spread it open to reveal a thick stack of crisp ten thousand yen banknotes. You’ve been saving up for this since Christmas, working a full-time job along with attending classes at the university nearby. It’d been stressful and you'd worked yourself ragged, pinching pennies for the last few months, but tonight is going to make it all worth it.

Her eyes flicker between you and your stuffed wallet for a moment before she crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “I see. Well, I’ll have to check if he’s available. How long did you want to book him for?”

“…Three hours.”

Her eyebrows raise at that but she otherwise remains professional, nodding and picking up the phone on her desk. She quickly dials a number, sighing as she waits for someone to answer. “Hello? Yes, I was wondering if you’d like to accept a three-hour appointment.” She pauses for a second. “Yes, she’s here in the lobby right now and prepared to pay the fees upfront.” Another pause. “Okay. Thank you, Draken. Bye.”

Putting the phone down, she turns back to you. “He should be down shortly to take you back. That’ll be ¥120,000.”

— ღ —

After handing over the wad of cash, you take a seat on one of the velvet couches and run a hand through your hair. The room feels significantly warmer than it had when you first walked in and you realize it's because your heart is racing. It's happening. This is actually happening.

You'd almost chickened out this afternoon— considered using the money to take a nice little trip to Okinawa. You could swim with the fish and read out on the beach, eat some good seafood, blow off some steam. You'd definitely enjoy yourself but what happened once you came back? You'd find yourself back at square one, a hundred thousand yen poorer and filled with regret and immense sexual frustration.

There had been a couple of times you'd come close to achieving your goal. You'd gone to a frat party a few weeks ago, drank and danced your heart out. Even wore a pair of jean shorts that barely managed to cover your ass. When you ended up getting hot and heavy with one of the brothers, he took you back to his room only for you to walk in on his roommate having a threesome with two very talented blondes.

In March, when you first created a Tinder profile, you'd matched with a cute grad student who wanted to take you out to dinner. He drove you to a hotpot restaurant and halfway through the date, you two retreated to the bathroom to have a quickie. Your panties were around your ankles when you realized you didn't want your first time to be in a restroom stall beside a grimy toilet. You didn't want it to be a five-minute escapade that would leave you disappointed and unfulfilled. It's obvious to say the drive home had been awkward.

You're so deep in thought that you don't notice when a man walks out from behind the beaded curtain and approaches the front desk. You don't notice him at all— not until he's standing in front of you with a small smile playing on his lips. Onyx eyes roll over you slowly, long hair of the same color tied back in a braid. There's a black dragon tattooed across the left side of his head, and you have the oddest urge to reach out and trace your fingers atop it.

“You must be my client for tonight.” His voice is deep and smooth like molasses and a trill runs down your spine as he wets his lips, “I’m Draken.”

“Hi… I’m (y/n).” You offer, extending your hand out to which he lifts a brow.

He repeats your name back to you, drawing it out like he savors the taste of it on his tongue, and then takes your hand in his. Instead of shaking it, he interlaces his fingers through yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “C’mon princess, ’m on the top floor.”

Nodding weakly, you’re practically in a daze as he leads you back through the curtain of sparkling beads and into an elevator that’s every bit as fancy as the room you were just in. He fishes out a silver key from his pocket before turning it into the lock beside the button labeled seven, and up you go.

The enclosed area only emphasizes how large he is compared to you, how much space he takes up. He’s well above six feet with broad shoulders and muscles that bulge inside the sleeves of his silk button-down. You can feel him watching you as you ascend but you don’t have the courage to meet his gaze. Tension bleeds into the air, and coupled with the stark silence, it’s nearly suffocating. You have to make a conscious effort to take deep breaths as you will your heart to calm down.

When the dinging of the elevator sounds like church bells, you aren’t surprised. You’re pretty sure heaven awaits you on the other side of these doors.

You find that heaven looks a lot like a bachelor’s pad. Filled with dark wood and sleek furniture, it’s a mini-paradise; complete with a fully stocked bar, a king-sized bed, and a balcony leading out to a hot tub. Music plays softly from the surround sound system and you breathe in the faint aroma of juniper and tobacco as you walk inside.

“I hope R&B is alright.” He squeezes your hand once more before letting go of it, kicking off his slippers and making his way over to the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water?”

His brow lifts again but he nods, “Sure.”

“Thank you.” You look around while he pours out your drinks, taking in the scenic view of the city below. “You have a very nice place.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” When you turn around, he’s standing behind you, holding out a glass of water with a shot of sake in his other hand. “Be so formal.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You quickly accept the drink, muttering out a quiet apology. You’d done so much in preparation for this moment, but not once had you ever thought about how awkward it would be in the beginning. You hadn’t thought to look into the… ‘etiquette’ of brothels. You settle on giving him an honest answer. “I’m not entirely sure how to act.”

There’s a knowing smile on his face as he reaches out and tilts your chin up. His thumb glides lightly across your cheek, the calloused fingertip burning where it touches your skin. “Just relax. I promise you, you’re in good hands. I’m gonna take good care of you tonight.”

You know the gesture is meant to help reassure you and lessen your nerves, but all it succeeds in doing is sending your pulse skyrocketing. Apprehension bubbles low in your stomach and your voice wobbles when you respond. “O-Okay..”

“Let me ask you a question.” His thumb moves from your cheek to your mouth, feather-light as it ghosts over the curve of your lips. “You haven’t done this before, have you, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flare at his question, eyes widening in shock. Is it that obvious? “No, I haven’t.” You admit reluctantly, “I just— Well, I’m tired of waiting. I know the first time is supposed to be special, but… this is special in a way, right?” You watch as the comforting smile falls right off his face. His eyebrows furrow and you mimic the action, worrying what you’d said to elicit this type of reaction. “What? What’s wrong?”

He blinks at you as he processes the information and you can practically see the cogs turning in his head. “First time?” His expression turns serious, his hand dropping from your cheek. “I was talkin’ about coming to a brothel, not having sex.” He shakes his head, “Look, I’ll take you back downstairs. Sana will get you a full refund—”

“No!” You cringe when you blurt it out, interrupting him. “Please, you don’t understand. I want to do this. I’m sure of it.”

“It’s not a matter of if you’re sure or not.” His voice is stern now, taking on an edge that slices right through your pounding heart. “It’s a personal preference. I don’t sleep with virgins, not at work.”

“I— I can pay you more money, however much you want!” You know you sound desperate but that’s because you are. You’ve worked your ass off to get here, to have this experience, and now you’re grasping for straws as you feel it slipping through your fingers. “You don’t even have to accommodate me, just do your thing and—”

It’s his turn to interrupt you. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” You can hear the anger in his voice, it’s almost palpable. “You can’t just go around tellin’ people they can have their way with you. It’s your first time. You should be accommodated. Now, follow me. I’m walking you back down to the lobby.”

You don’t move when he walks back toward the elevator, keeping your feet planted on the hardwood floor. “If I should be catered to, then why don’t you do it yourself? Because if you take me back down to the lobby, I won’t be getting a refund. I’ll just ask for someone different.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers as it clenches, his eyes narrowing down at you as if that will help him discern whether you’re bluffing or not. But as you hold his gaze, unwavering and earnest, he realizes you’re telling the truth. Heaving a sigh, he brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should be calling security right now, have you escorted out of the building. He shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of conceding to your demands.

Yet, there’s something in your eyes as you stare up at him— a certain innocence that has him willing to break his rules. Just once. He’d indulge you this once, if only because he doesn’t trust anybody else here to treat you right. “…Fine, but we’re doing this my way.”

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. “Thank you, Draken. It… that means a lot to me.”

“I know it does.” Normally, he isn’t so forgiving toward people who threaten him but he can recognize the desperation in your voice. And desperation can lead to dangerous things. Other men would take advantage of that, and for some reason, he hates the thought of some old sleazebag taking your first time. At least with him, he’d make sure you’re satisfied. “Here, let’s sit down.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. “Should we… take off our clothes?”

Your heart flutters when a chuckle rumbles up from his chest. You’re as awkward as you are stubborn and he finds it strangely endearing. “No, not yet. We’re gonna take it nice and slow, m’kay?” He scoots closer, turning to face you. “But I am going to kiss you.” He raises a hand to your cheek, his thumb resuming its stroking. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”

He waits until you nod before beginning to lean in, slowly so you still have every chance to change your mind. But when his lips press against yours, claiming them with a tender kiss, you know there’s no going back.

His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours, and you kiss him back— albeit clumsily because of how nervous you are. He doesn’t seem to mind though, more than willing to take the lead and pick the pace. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to deepen the exchange, and you allow it, humming contently as the taste of spearmint and tobacco fills your mouth.

His hand moves to grip your jaw as the other trails up and down your side, and despite the shivers that ensue, it helps ground you in the moment, brings you back down to earth just in time for him to draw away. You’re left breathless, sucking in deep gulps of air to clear the dizziness that’s muddled your mind.

“You still want to do this?” Warm breath fans across your face, obsidian eyes searching yours for any sign of uncertainty. He doesn’t find any.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, “I meant it when I said I want to do this.”

That’s all the consent he needs before he captures your lips again, this time with an intensity that makes your head spin. His hands move to unbutton your blouse, slowly working their way down to the bottom and slipping it off your shoulders. He doesn’t break the kiss as he starts palming your breasts, massaging them over your bra, and you can’t help the whimper that rises up from your throat in response. His tongue continues to explore your mouth, tangling with yours until your core is throbbing with need.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” He murmurs against your lips, palms splayed across your chest. One of them snakes behind you and nimbly unclasps your bra, letting it fall forward just enough to give him a peek at what lies underneath. “Lay back.”

Your body responds naturally, following his order without hesitation. You pull away and lean back until you’re pressed against the mattress with him looming over you, his eyes drinking you in as he slips the garment off your shoulders. “Fuck…” He mutters, “Look at you.”

Your nipples pebble beneath his gaze, pretty and pert and begging to be played with. He licks his licks lustfully, rough hands coming down to cup and squeeze them. Your head turns to the side when he starts to pinch the peaks, rubbing them between his fingers and forcing another whimper to escape.

He maintains eye contact as he lowers down, plush lips wrapping around one only to flick his tongue over the bud. “Draken…”

“There you go,” he breathes out, pulling back to admire the view. “Just relax, baby.”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugs it off, discarding it with the rest of your clothes before turning his attention back to you. “Don’t be afraid to touch me.” He leans forward and grabs your hands, moving to press them against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat if you concentrate, the rhythmic thumping beneath your palm. It’s a sharp contrast to yours which beats wildly against your ribcage, threatening to burst out of your chest.

With the sight before you, who can blame you?

His body is built and toned, corded muscles rippling across his torso and leading down to a delicious set of prominent v-lines. Your mouth waters as they flex and you drag your hands down to feel the hard ridges of his abdomen, a trail of dark hair descending down from his navel and disappearing into his jeans. You’re all but mesmerized.

“Like what you see?” He teases, his head dipping down to the curve of your neck. Straight white teeth graze across the tender flesh before suckling on your pulse point. All you can do is nod, your breathing shallow and uneven as his fingers continue tweaking your hardened nipples.

He knows the pace he’s setting is slow— deliberate— but he wants you more aroused than you’ve ever been, dripping wet for him when he finally takes you.

With soft pants falling from your lips, one of his hands slides down to your waist, his index finger dipping into the hem of your skirt. He could very well just pull it up, sneak his hand underneath it, but he resists the temptation, determined to make you squirm in anticipation.

And you do, every purposeful touch kindling the fire within you until it’s a blazing inferno. Your blood boils in your veins, your skin beautifully flushed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you’re in danger of overheating.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” He mutters, letting the waistband of your skirt snap back against your skin. Your hips eagerly buck at the small sting, making it easy for him to tug it off and toss it onto the floor, and then he spreads your thighs apart to reveal a large damp spot in the middle of your panties. “Shit, so fuckin’ wet…” He curses, his eyes getting impossibly darker.

You nearly clamp your legs together as his eyes rove over you but the adoration in his expression bolsters you, gives you the confidence you need so badly. You stay still and let him look, trying to memorize the image of him between your thighs as he does.

Time seems to slow down. Seconds tick by and with each one that passes, you grow more and more uncomfortable. Your pussy aches, the desire he’s so carefully cultivated inside you becoming almost unbearable. But he either doesn’t notice the need swimming in your eyes, or he doesn’t care. He remains hovering over you, gaze zeroed in on your clothed cunt.

“Touch me,” the plea escapes you before you can stop it, and the corners of his lips tilt up into a small smirk. “Please.”

He hums as if he has to think about it. You’re about to start begging when his fingers press against you, applying enough pressure to make you mewl. “Don’t get greedy, princess.” He chastises gruffly, “You’ll take what I give you, remember?”

You nod obediently so he rewards you, circling your panty-clad clit until your hips are shifting back and forth. Moans fall freely from your lips but it still isn’t enough. You need more.

“Please,” you whine, eyebrows cinching together as you gaze up at him. “Draken, please…”

He hums again and hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties before dragging them down to your ankles. “Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.” Completely bared to him, apprehension saturates the air, your stomach doing backflips as he leans down and blows out a puff of air against your folds. When you clench at the sensation, a growl sounds. “Such a pretty little pussy.”

The pink flesh glistens in the dim lighting of the room, every inch soaked with arousal that drips down the inside of your thighs and onto the sheets beneath you. If you weren’t a virgin, he doesn’t think he’d even need to prep you.

Calloused fingers rub between your puffy folds, collecting your slick until his fingers are covered, and then one of his digits prods at your entrance, easing inside of you. Your back arches off the bed as he curves it in a come hither motion, your hands flying out to grip his shoulders. “Fuck..!”

You should be embarrassed at the deep laughter that leaves him but you can only focus on the way he’s knuckle deep inside of you, adding a second finger and beginning to thrust them both in and out. “Your reactions are s’cute. What if I were to just…” He trails off as he lowers down until he’s face-to-face with your pussy, and your hands strike out to grab his cheeks so you can hold him back.

“W-Wait..” You stammer before swallowing thickly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No, no… I just… No one’s ever…” Your blush spreads to the tips of your ears.

He cocks a brow up at you. “No one’s ever eaten you out?” But he already knows the answer. Your mortified expression is as good as any verbal indication. Shock flickers across his face, but he takes the new piece of information in stride, turning his head to the side and pressing a kiss against the inside of your thigh. “Lemme taste you, baby. You don’t need to be shy.”

Your insecurities melt away under his encouragement but when you merely nod, he nips at your skin. “No, use your words.”

“O-Okay.” You breathe out shakily, “Go ahead.”

The words have barely left your mouth when you feel his lips wrap around your clit, his tongue expertly swirling around the sensitive bud and tearing a gasp from your throat. His fingers resume their curling motions, and suddenly a familiar sensation begins building in your stomach. It reminds you of all the times you’ve touched yourself, all of the times you’ve worked yourself into a frenzy chasing your orgasm. You’d rut against your pillow only for your legs to start trembling, too weak to climb the last few inches to the peak.

Admittedly, your legs do start to shake, your body tense and on the verge of locking up. It’s like you’ve conditioned it to expect the worst, that you’ll get close enough to taste the high and then be denied like all of the other times you’ve attempted to pleasure yourself.

“Draken,” you moan, the sound so depraved you don’t recognize your own voice, “Don’t stop— p-please, don’t stop..!”

A groan erupts from his chest as your walls tighten around his fingers and the vibrations of it cause another wave of heat to wash over you, threatening to pull you out to sea and drown you in its depths. You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been before.

It’s when his mouth suctions around your clit that you’re flung off the precipice. Pleasure blooms out from between your thighs, shooting through your limbs and out to the tips of your fingers. Your eyes squeeze shut as it consumes you, bleeds into all your senses until you’re writhing around in the sheets, hands blindly grasping for something— anything— to ground you.

Even then, he doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking, keeps licking, long fingers thrusting inside of you to prolong the orgasm for as long as possible. “Good girl.” He praises, drawing away when you finally come to. You’re panting from the physical exertion, pupils blown with desire as you slowly lift your head to look down at him. His lips, cheeks, and chin are shiny with your slick, and you’d probably be embarrassed if you didn’t feel so lightheaded.

“Thank you… that was amazing..” And even that was a gross understatement.

Rising up from between your legs, there’s a smug expression on his face. “Save the thank-you’s for later, princess. We’re not done yet.” As if to emphasize his point, his hands drop down to start unbuckling his belt, your eyes following suit and widening into saucers when you see the bulge in the front of his pants.

“Oh my god.”

It’s… he’s huge.

You watch with bated breath as he unzips his pants and lets them drop around his ankles, your eyes boring holes into him when he pulls down his boxers and reveals both the prettiest and thickest cock you’ve ever seen. The shaft is long and curved, the tip flushed and leaking. A large vein runs down the entirety of the length and you swear if you look hard enough, you can see it pulsing.

He grips the base of it, stroking it a couple of times before prowling forward. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” A grin tugs at the corners of his lips. “Worried ‘s not gonna fit?”

“…Yes.” You squeak.

He chuckles at your candor, opening up a drawer on the bedside table and fishing out a small plastic square— a condom, you realize. It only takes him a moment to tear it open and slip it on, the action effortless from years of practice. “Don’t be scared. I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? I’m a man of my word if nothing else.”

Crawling onto the bed, he captures your lips in a kiss that can only be described as comforting. It’s slow and gentle, even when his tongue dips into your mouth, and his hands come up to cup your cheeks, holding you in such a way that you can’t help but feel cherished.

“I’m gonna start now,” he murmurs against your lips, “Remember, if you want me to stop, just say the word.” You nod in acknowledgment, and with that, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock prodding at your center. “Squeeze me as tightly as you need.”

Your hands shoot out to grip his shoulders right as he starts to push inside of you and your nails bite into his skin at the stretch, leaving crescent indents behind. A strangled noise bubbles up from your throat when pain takes hold of you, burning bright like the sun in the middle of summer.

“I know,” he rasps, his lips ghosting over the edge of your jaw, “I know it hurts. But it’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Tears prick at your eyes as he pushes deeper inside you, but soon his fingers are circling over your clit, blending the pleasure and pain until one is indiscernible from the other. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

His movements are so controlled, it’s impressive— even as the slew of foreign sensations threatens to overwhelm you, you’re able to recognize that much. His brows are furrowed in concentration, his breaths coming out in hot puffs that skate across your heated skin. And ever so slowly, he works you open, sinking into you inch by inch. By the time he’s bottomed out, a thin sheen of sweat covers his forehead, his voice strained when he says, “You did so well, baby, ‘m so fuckin’ proud of you.”

You only whimper in response, turning your head to the side so your cheek is pressed against the pillow. You feel so full, inhumanely full. So much so that you’re genuinely surprised you haven’t been split in half because, for all intents and purposes, that’s what it’d felt like. Your only saving grace is the way he hasn’t stopped rubbing your clit, hasn’t stopped praising you for taking him so well.

It’s a testament to his self-restraint the way he manages to remain still, buried deep inside you, while he patiently waits for your walls to adjust to his size. If he were a lesser man, he’d push aside your comfort, neglect your needs and pound into you to relieve his aching cock. But he waits, waits until your pained whimpers morph into soft moans, until you start to squirm beneath him as your body tries to create the friction it needs so badly.

“Move,” you beg, your hands sliding down from his shoulder to grab onto his hips, attempting to move them yourself. “Please… need you to move..”

A pair of large hands tug yours away from his waist before they pin them down on either side of your head. There’s no real force behind the maneuver but you don’t fight him off as he threads your fingers between his, just like he did earlier this evening. “Look at me, (y/n). I want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

Tentatively, you turn your head so you’re staring up at him. You’re not sure what he sees but approval shines in his eyes and a sincere smile graces his lips. “Good girl.”

With your eyes glued on his, he finally starts to move, drawing his hips back and pushing into you in small, shallow thrusts. Your lips part into a gasp, your breath hitching every time he’s fully hilted inside of you. Tears line your lashes but this time, they aren’t from pain. They’re from pure, unadulterated pleasure— the all-encompassing kind that leaves you in tatters on the floor.

“Feels s’good.. So fuckin’ tight.” He groans, his pace speeding up as more moans pour from your lips. The sound of skin slapping skin ensues and you cry out when he shifts his angle, the tip of his cock hitting a spot that makes your eyes roll.

Your pleasure heightens and you think that this must be euphoria as your tears overflow, spilling down your cheeks and dropping onto the pillow beneath your head. Yet, you don’t look away from him. You don’t dare shy away from his gaze, not even when the coil inside you begins winding tight, warning you of your impending orgasm.

He squeezes your hands as your body goes taut. You’re panting now— sucking in breath after breath as your bodies collide— but you can’t seem to get enough air. Up you climb, higher and higher until you begin to tremble beneath him, your hands holding onto his like they’re a lifeline.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He asks through gritted teeth, “Gonna cream on my cock?” He curses when you nod, dropping his forehead down so it rests against yours. “Well, go on then, princess. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

As if on command, the cord inside you abruptly snaps. A violent shudder wracks through your body, bliss clouding every single one of your five senses. It’s enough to wrench a deafening sob out of you, your back arching up off the bed so your chest is pressed firmly against his. He continues to drive into you as your walls pulsate around him and a growl reverberates up from his throat at the same time you feel his length twitch inside of you.

He stops after a few more thrusts, slowly pulling out of you and turning over to lie on his back. You whine quietly at the loss, but you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to complain.

“Shit…” He says, his head turning to look at you after a couple of minutes of silence, “How do you feel?”

Somehow, you summon up enough energy to smile through the exhaustion that’s seeped into your bones. “Definitely not like a virgin.”

He lets out a laugh at that, flashing you a brilliant white smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the sides. “Well, we’ve still got two hours left, sweetheart. Don’t go tappin’ out on me yet.”

[from-the-clouds]

bad liars (savior complex ii) - joel miller x f!reader

part one | masterlist | song inspo |

Baby, you're a vampire You want blood and I promised...

summary: It's been a month since Joel has last seen you, fully healed since your last interaction. But you haven't spoken...at all. Your radio silence becomes cause for concern when he hears about an outbreak of Infected at the hospital where you work. There's enough explanation in this part that you could read it on it's own, probably, but I'd highly recommend reading part one first to get the full experience. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7.9k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. (porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, oral, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, age gap. dom/sub dynamics.) Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, canon-typical suffering! Blood mention. Both reader/Joel are insanely emotionally unavailable, and love to lie to themselves and each other! (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: Ya'll loved savior complex and I'm so happy! Literally don't think I've had a fic get that many notes before, i had so many requests for a part two and because it felt like i left things open-ended enough, this came to me pretty easily! It might be the horniest thing I've ever written and also very angsty (what's new?)....but I think you'll like the ending <3 Special to @ay0nha for letting me yell at you about my writing and to @zbeez-outlet for the wonderful idea.

Joel exhales and runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair – the tips of which were frozen together from standing outside for so long. It had gotten cold out. Very cold. Boston always did this time of year, and because of it, people stayed in, and crime in the QZ dropped, making it a safer place - though that wasn’t saying much. 

Of course, the cold didn’t stop him from dealing. It did make his job a hell of a lot more difficult, since FEDRA was bored, out looking for trouble, and didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Although today, he must’ve been in luck, because the only sign of FEDRA had been helicopters and tanks that were clearly on a mission, driving to the opposite side of the QZ. Good, he had thought. A distraction. 

Joel leans back against the brick wall of the alleyway, pulling the hood of his jacket up over his ears, stares at the ice in the cracks of the pavement. When he hears the crunch of gravel underfoot, he straightens.

The man approaching looks nervously over his shoulder, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his flimsy sweatshirt. Dave, a customer of his for some time. 

“You’re late,” Joel doesn’t bother with a proper greeting.

“I know, I know, I got held up on my way here,” Dave answers, immediately beginning his excuse. “They cleared out the hospital because of an outbreak, that whole area was locked down so I had to take the long way.”

“Outbreak?” Joel tilts his head.

“Infected. I guess a bunch of hospital staff got bit. FEDRA had to go in and put them all down.” 

Joel feels a distant pang of concern somewhere in the back of his head. “How many?”

Dave shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know, man, that’s all I know. It’s not like they’ll ever tell anyone what actually happened.”

Joel can’t help but think of you. He knows a couple people who work at the hospital, most of them through smuggling, but you’re the only one who he’s really able to bring to mind at the moment.

“So, can we, uh…”

Joel pulls the plastic baggie out from his pockets, fishing out the pills. On his end, Dave produces a wad of credits, his shoulders sagging in relief once they’ve made the trade and the drugs are in his hand. He takes one immediately, shoves the rest in his pocket. “Thanks man, I’ll see you next week?”

Leaning back against the wall, he nods, and watches his customer disappear down the alleyway. 

The second Dave is out of sight, Joel’s chest tightens, and he takes a deep breath. There’s no reason why news of Infected at the hospital should concern him. If FEDRA had been called in – they would’ve gunned down anything that moved until it was under control. He knew, better than anyone, that they would do unspeakable things in the name of keeping order. Innocent people probably died, but the dead can’t get infected.

It had been about a month since Joel had last seen you, after he’d gotten beaten within an inch of his life and ended up on your doorstep, and you were the only person that could help. It hadn’t gone at all how he expected it would – at the end of the day, he had been surprised by your tenderness. 

Still, despite that you’d let him take you on the edge of your bed, legs wrapped around him, bouncing on his cock, he wouldn’t really say that it changed anything about your relationship. He had actually been kind of afraid that it would, that your attitude towards him would shift to something more amicable.

But you hadn’t spoken to him in a month. Joel had told you he owed you one after you stitched him up, and had anticipated that you’d take him up on his offer pretty quickly. There were so many things he could do for you to make your situation better. Maybe you’d need credits…. Medicine…. Food…. Booze… Pills, something, but you haven’t reached out. You could just be biding your time until you really need the favor.

Still, the radio silence takes him aback. He should be relieved that you aren’t talking to him. But nothing? Even if it’s not about a favor…he wants some kind of confirmation that you’d both made a mistake. After all that, did you really expect nothing from him?

It dawns on him there’s now a chance you’ll never speak to him again, because you’re one of the ones that FEDRA killed. Or worse….you had gotten bit. 

Joel passes by the hospital, taking the long way home. Everything is locked down, taped off. There’s a crowd around the place – family members, he assumes, pleading with FEDRA agents for information and getting nothing in return.

“Go home. I’m sure they’ll turn up,” he hears one of them say to a weeping woman. It’s useless to ask for an honest answer, for one of them to actually care. 

Joel could go home. He could crush a couple pills, snort them, and quell the burn with a couple drinks. He could fall into restless sleep and wake up the next day as he always did, go about his business as usual. Survive. One day at a time. 

Would he ever get confirmation that you’re alive? Because at this rate, he’s not sure he’ll ever know either way. 

The feeling is going to linger. He hates it. Were you gone? If you are, he can handle knowing. Its somehow worse not to. 

He tries to justify it to himself. You’re one of his solid connections to the hospital, you’d traded with him for medical supplies before. This is business, really, if he thinks about it that way. If you’re dead, he and Tess need to find someone else to work with. 

Joel decides to take a detour on the way back to his place.

It’s past curfew when he arrives at your apartment, the sun has long since dipped below the horizon and with that comes an even harsher cold. Boston winters, he thinks to himself. If he is capable of missing anything, he’d say he missed Texas. Before all this, the last place he’d be caught dead was on the East Coast. 

Joel raps on your front door. He forgets how shitty your building is, that you sleep here alone every night, listening to your neighbors arguing through the thin walls, shady characters slinking out of shadows in the dimly-lit hallway,

A few seconds pass. When he hears nothing behind your door, he knocks again, a little louder. 

More time passes. He knocks again, louder. Maybe you didn’t hear him. 

Nothing. He does it again. Could you be asleep? His jaw clenches.

Still nothing, and Joel knocks even louder. Maybe you’re not even here, and you work nights, and he’s just missed you as you head out for another shift. But he knows that’s unlikely. Since he’s known you, you’ve never worked nights. So where the fuck were you?

Joel’s pounds on your door, yells your name into its chipping paint. He listens for something, anything, on the other side, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, but he keeps going The side of his fist starts to hurt, but he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing until he hears one of your neighbors yelling from the end of the hallway. 

‘Shut the fuck up!’

Joel doesn’t hear exactly where the voice comes from, but it’s enough to snap him out of it. He halts his movements, his forehead falling against hollow wood, and in the silence, hears his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Fuck!” he kicks the wall just outside the frame of your door so hard the drywall gives, leaving a hole behind. “Fuck.”

He stares at the result of his outburst for an undetermined amount of time. You were all alone. To his knowledge, you had no immediate family to inform. Who would be around to remember you? He’d never really know for sure what had happened. 

“Joel?”

He looks up, his hands still clenched tightly into fists. When he sees that it’s you, standing at the end of the hallway, they loosen. 

You look horrible - haggard, tired, your hair tangled and matted. As you move closer to him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulders are hunched underneath the weight of your backpack. But once you’re standing in front of him, you straighten, lift your chin. 

“What is this?” you ask. “What are you doing here?”

There’s no animosity in your tone, he thinks. You might be trying to put some in there, but you don’t have the energy to do so, so it just comes out sounding very flat.

Joel realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t have a reason. A real reason that wouldn’t….give him away. He puts his hands on his hips, thinks desperately. You do nothing to help.

When he settles in silence, offers you nothing, you just sigh and shake your head. Your teeth are chattering, lips cracked from the cold, and you seem desperate to get into shelter, twisting your key into your lock and opening the front door. Once you step inside, you flick on the lights. He follows you, closes the door behind you both, and locks it.

“Oh, yeah, come on in, I guess,” you say over your shoulder. 

Joel crosses his arms, standing in your kitchen. 

“What, am I in trouble or something?” you ask. “Because if I am, you’re gonna have to wait until I’ve showered.”

“It can wait,” Joel says, and sits at one of your kitchen chairs. 

You shrug off of your backpack and leave it on a chair, then unbutton your coat, tossing it on top. Joel swallows hard when he sees the damage it’s been hiding. Your scrubs are dirty, tattered in some places, one of the sleeves hanging, partially ripped off. And they’re covered in dried blood. It’s smeared on your arms, on the back of your neck. Not yours, he hopes. 

What the fuck happened to you? You don’t turn to see his reaction, don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s going to ask about it. It’s almost like he’s not even there, and you clearly wish he isn’t. 

He realizes then, that he has the confirmation he’s looking for. You made it out alive. He doesn’t actually need anything else from you. And you’ve given him a perfect out. He can leave while you’re in the shower. 

But he doesn’t. Not when he hears the shower start, or the screech of the curtain across the metal rod, the sound of water hitting the basin. He stays there, motionless, until you duck out of the bathroom with your arms wrapped around yourself, wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, hair damp and teeth chattering. 

You pad with bare feet onto the tiled area of the kitchen, brushing past him. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” he asks. 

You finally look at him, like you’re surprised he spoke up, or even asked the question. A choked, bitter laugh leaves you, and you shift your attention away from him, reaching into your cabinet for a bottle of bourbon. “Pass.”

You pour yourself a whiskey, and Joel watches you throw it back in one go, your nose scrunching up, your hand clasping into a fist as you take the shot. The taste doesn’t stop you from pouring another drink and gulping that one down, too, without as much of a reaction as the first. It’s only when you start pouring the third that he intervenes, standing and crossing the room to cover the glass with his hand before you can grab it. 

“Slow down,” he says.

“I know you’re not telling me what to do in my own home.” Your mouth opens as you look up at him, incredulous. 

Joel looks past you, shakes his head. He supposes your right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the self-destructive behavior, which is funny considering how often he engages in it himself. He gives in, removes his hand from your glass. “At least…pour me one. You shouldn’t drink alone.”

Your expression softens slightly, and he’s able to see all the pain you’re hiding, just for a flash, before you turn to retrieve a second glass from your cabinet. 

Once you hand him the whiskey, he sits in the middle of the tiny loveseat you’ve got in your front room, expecting you to sit in the armchair across from it. Instead, you approach with your own drink, nudge his knee with your own, and Joel slides over to make room so you can fall onto the couch beside him. Much closer than he’d expected. 

It’s surprisingly good bourbon, and he wonders how many times you’d wasted it by downing it like you just had, instead of taking your time, savoring. He waits for you to get settled before he speaks again.

“What happened to you?” he tries once more, a little softer this time. 

There’s some contemplation on your end, you look at him for a moment, then at your glass, then back up at him again. He can almost see you trying to figure out how much you’re going to share, but he wants to know everything.

“There was an accident at the hospital,” you answer, finally. 

Joel slings his arm over the back of the couch, angles his body towards where you’re curled up, legs tucked underneath you. I’m listening.

Your voice stays even, blase. “A guard at the border broke protocol…and someone who was infected was brought in. By the time we realized, it was too late….”

“Were you hurt?” 

“Almost.” you say. “I mean, yes, actually, I’m a little scratched up, but…it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

Your teeth start chattering again. Joel wonders if it’s because of the cold, or your nerves. Figures it’s probably both.

“My coworker turned and I uhm….I had to…” you say into your glass, your free hand flexing like it’s trying to shake off some unpleasant muscle memory. “I had no choice.”

“I understand,” For whatever reason, he spares you from telling the story. To him, taking down Infected was nothing. But to you…“What else?” he presses.

You shrug, avoiding his eyes, one of your arms coming to grip at your opposite shoulder. “I can’t really remember. A bunch of people died. FEDRA came in and just started gunning everything down….” you shook your head, and straightened up.

“I heard about that,” Joel offers.

“Wait…you knew about this?”

“Yeah.”

“So then why are you here, asking m-” the rest of your sentence drops off, your lips parted slightly. The look on your face shifts, slowly. Your eyes narrow. Remorse turns into something more neutral, then into curiosity. “Oh my god….you were worried about me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you fucking were,” your lips curl slightly, it’s not quite a smile, but it’s something close to amusement. 

“No,” Joel defends himself. “I wanted to hear what happened from someone–”

“No you didn’t,” you interject, but he raises his voice to finish his thought.

“–who actually works there, not FEDRA’s propaganda.”

“No you did not. You’re checking up on me. You came over here after curfew to see if I was–”

“Enough,” Joel growls with enough conviction that it shuts you up, and he’s grateful, but its not enough to wipe the self-satisfied look on your face, because it doesn’t.

“What are we, like, friends now?”

He doesn’t answer, and slugs back the rest of his whiskey.

“Or would that be too much for you?” You don’t wait long for him to give you an answer, probably because you know he won’t respond. “I mean, if we’re both being honest–” He definitely wasn’t being honest. “–Today was really fucked up.”

You’re leaning forward now, some of the space between you is gone. And though you’re trying to give the impression that you’re unphased by everything, your hand is clenched tightly around your glass, and you avoid his eyes. It’s painful to watch you resist the urge to trust him. Not that he’s ever given you a good enough reason to – he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he wants it anyways.

“It’s funny…” you say after a while. “I remember thinking that I didn’t want to die. At least… not like that. I’ve never felt that before…That’s something, isn’t it?” you ask him. 

Joel looks at you, and is surprised at the vulnerability in your expression, sees you looking for some kind of validation from him. “....It is.” 

You finish off your drink, and put the empty glass on the coffee table, shift closer to him.

“It looks like you healed up okay,” you say, after a spell. “How’s your shoulder?”

“A little sore, nothing I can’t handle.”

“Did you take those antibiotics?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And I can’t even tell you had a black eye.”

“I’m fine,” Joel asserts. 

Another shiver wracks your body, and he can tell this one is actually from the chill – your apartment is cold as fuck, it even is starting to bother him. 

“Don’t you have a heater?”

“Kinda,” you glance over at the radiator in the corner. “Sometimes it works.”

“What do you do when it’s colder than this?” It was only November, things would only get worse. 

You shrug. “I don’t know….just be colder, I guess.”

Joel imagines you curled up in your bed alone, wrapped in a thin comforter, shaking in front of him like you are now. He winces. 

“How long are you going to stay?” you ask, changing the subject.

“I should probably go now.”

You nod, scoot closer. “But maybe…” you trail off, contemplating. 

Joel sits up straighter, prompting you when you don’t speak again. “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you could stick around for a little while longer.” There’s a warm hand, yours, that lands on his thigh, and he recoils like you’ve touched him with a fire iron. He rises to his feet. 

“Hey,” you stand along with him, step in front of him to block the pathway to the door. He could easily get past you, obviously, but it’s not as simple as that. 

Of course he’s fucking thought about what happened the last time he was here – his arms around your waist, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your hands on his shoulders, whining his name. A freak accident, a glitch in the matrix, a statistically improbable thing. 

“What?” he asks as you step forward, the fingers on your free hand sliding into the belt loops of his pants. He feels blood rush to his cheeks, to other places. And you’re still fucking shivering. You look so fucking miserable, he wants to yell at you to put on a coat, to wrap yourself in a blanket, in his arms. 

“Joel,” you say his name softly, tilting your head up, leaning close. And then your hand is on the side of his face, and he realizes you’re fucking pleading with him. He knows what you want, but he has a feeling this isn’t just about sex. You’re looking for comfort, as if he’s capable of giving it. 

“We made a mistake…once,” he tells you. “We’re not going to make it again.”

He says it to hurt you, but it doesn’t work. It’s like you knew it was coming all along. “I knew what I was doing,” you answer, earnest. “Didn’t you?”

Yes. You glance down at his hands, which are squeezed into fists so tightly, his knuckles are white. If he’s not rigid, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to resist. He wants you. God, he wants you. He never thought he’d be able to have you again. 

“I could help you loosen up.”

Joel’s walking on the edge of a one-thousand foot cliff and hoping his foot slips. He wants to surrender. The only thing he thinks might save him is to say the meanest thing he can. Maybe you’d get turned off.

“Listen to yourself,” he says, finding the strength to meet your eyes. “You want me so bad, you sound pathetic.”

“Asshole,” you step closer, your mouth twitches, your lips are inches apart. “Do you think I care what you think about me?”

Joel realizes his plan has backfired. But he really only has himself to blame, he should’ve known better. With you, he’s never in as much control as he wants to be, and deep down, he likes it. 

“Go lie down on the bed.”

It’s the only thing that seems to shock you. “What?” 

“I won’t ask you again,” Joel steps backwards, crosses his arms. “Go lie down.” 

──────

If you told yourself a couple months ago that one day you’d find yourself pinned down by Joel Miller, you’d think it’d be because he was about to kill you. Maybe because you cheated him out of something, maybe because you did something else to piss him off – it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how fucked up it was, that idea would seem more dignified than what was happening now. 

Your back is being pressed deeper into the lumpy old mattress, and he’s on you. His mouth is warm, hot, wet, and dragging down your neck, nipping, sucking, licking. Your hands are itching to reach out, to skate down his torso, trace along his jawline, tug at his hair, but you can’t because he’s got them pinned above you with only one of his own. Anytime you try to fight him, his grip only grows stronger. 

It was shameful, really, but you had asked for this – begged for it, basically. There were a number of reasons why – one of which was to blow off some steam after a near death experience, the other because you’d fucked him before and it had been good, much to your dismay. There was also a third reason that you weren’t interested in acknowledging now. 

After the night Joel had gotten jumped, and you’d taken care of him, everything has changed. It’s a cliche, but true. You’d known what you were doing when it happened, and had no regrets. But it was probably not supposed to happen again, and you tried to keep it that way, more for his sake than anyone else’s. But….he was the one who showed up tonight after he’d heard what had happened. It wasn’t nothing.

Joel pulls away from you so abruptly that you gasp, shivering in the wake of his impossible warmth. 

“Sit up,” he instructs, and you turn to find him at the end of the bed, arms crossed. 

You obey, mostly just for the view. You hope to admire him, fresh from kissing you – flush skin, wet lips, tousled hair. Only he’s frustratingly stoic, unsullied – like he hadn’t been touching you at all. 

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. 

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s nothing,” you agree. 

“I won’t be gentle.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Good,” you watch his shoulders loosen, just a little, and he takes one step backwards, his eyes tracing down your body and then back up. “Strip for me….” 

You aren’t dressed sexy at all, you remember, a sweatshirt and sweatpants. If you had thought this through a little more, you might’ve tried to make it nicer for him. “....Okay.”

“Start with your shirt,” he says, and you grab at the hem, but he snaps at you. “Ah-ah….slower.”

You swallow, nod, and carefully lift the fabric, dragging it up over your stomach, over the swell of your breasts, revealing your tight, thin white tank top. 

“That’s it, nice and slow.” 

Joel’s voice is soft but stern, a low rasp that makes your cunt clench around nothing, and he’s not even touching you. The sweatshirt is pulled over your head, falling somewhere on the crumpled bedspread. 

Languidly, you lean back, shifting your weight to get off the mattress, and Joel palms himself through his jeans. You can see where he’s straining against the denim, and you find it hard to tear your gaze away as you go to pull off your sweatpants. Joel stops you again. 

“Turn around.”

You do, and you’re sure he has a nice view of your ass as you slide them over your hips, bending over to let the fleece pool around your ankles. Slowly, you rise back up, looking at him over your shoulder for approval. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. Your stomach flips. A month ago, you would’ve done anything to get him to stay away from you, and now, you’re terrified to disappoint him. 

That’s the problem. You’d spent most of the day fighting for your life — literally. But even after standing behind a barricade of heavily-armed FEDRA soldiers outside the hospital, you didn’t feel as safe as you did when you saw Joel at your door. You need him. For now, at least.

“Now the shirt,” he tilts his head towards the mattress, nodding encouragingly.

You get back on the bed, sitting back on your heels, and begin to pull the tank top up. It’s your last layer up top, you’re not wearing a bra, and you’re feeling a little vulnerable with him just watching you, fully clothed and composed, your gaze falling down to look at the threadbare linens. 

“Eyes up,” he instructs. “Look at me.”

Taking in a shaky inhale, you do. It’s not easy. Everything about him looks dark, animalistic. A coiled ball of energy, waiting to pounce.

But, even when you’re bare before him, he doesn’t. 

“Lie back, close your eyes.”

Of course, you don’t refuse, settling your head against the pillows. 

There’s a sound of a belt – his belt, unbuckling, the snap of a button, the dip of the bed where he kneels when he comes to hover over you. Two hands land on top of your thighs, pressing the backs against his denim-clad knees, thumbs pushing your legs further apart. 

And then…nothing. He’s still. He’s still for so long, that you actually think that something’s wrong. When you open your eyes, you’re met with a view of the underside of his jaw. You can just make out the pinched expression he’s wearing as he looks down upon you. Disdain, maybe…but it’s not meant for you, it’s for someone else….him.

“Joel,” you murmur. Instinctually, you reach for his hand.

The second it makes contact, he smacks your hand away so hard your whole body jolts. “I told you to close your eyes.”

“Sorry,” you mumble quickly, closing them again. 

You are well aware that he’s actively working through shit, probably doing some kind of mental gymnastics to rationalize why it’s okay to fuck you again, which, when you really think about it is kind of….pathetic. It’s the only thing that makes you feel any sort of power in a situation where you’ll surrender everything else. It’s a fair exchange. 

Maybe, on a different day, you would want it softer. You’d like to think he’s capable of that, even though he seems determined he isn’t. Luckily, you don’t want it softer. After today, you want to be so far gone you can’t think. 

Joel answers by leaning down and catching you in a bruising kiss. Finally. You press yourself against him cause you’re freezing and he’s so warm, and you frantically begin to unbutton the flannel he’s wearing, making it about halfway down before he pins your hands above you again.

“Slow down.”

You whine, a little frustrated because all you want to do is touch him. The fingers on his free hand hook around the elastic of your underwear, and he starts to drag them over the curve of your ass. 

He’s got to be joking with how deliberately he’s moving, anticipation only building underneath his featherlight touches.

When he’s got your panties around your ankles, you slide your legs together so he can pull them off entirely, keeping them closed as his weight shifts, and your thighs are pulled back apart.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he doesn’t need to feel you to see it clear as day, with you spread open in front of him. “So fucking desperate.”

He’s all-but glaring at you, like you’ve done something wrong, and for a minute, your eyes flick away, just for a second of relief from the tension.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he asks. 

“N-no,” you stammer, though it was supposed to sound confident. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you, his head dipping down to press his lips to your knee, then an inch higher, then an inch higher, then higher – keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time, an arm winding around your thigh.

“I wanted to do this last time.” A confession. 

“Yeah?” you sigh, trembling. It’s maybe the nicest thing he’s said to you, but you can’t even acknowledge it, because you’re buzzing.

He turns his face, his beard scraping along sensitive skin. “Mhm,” his deep rasp vibrates directly to your cunt, and when his head dips down, you close your eyes – it might just be better to focus on only one sensation at a time, you’re not sure you can handle seeing what he’s about to do.

Joel’s mouth is on you the second you do, and you gasp. He licks up the seam of your lips, mouth latching around your clit, swirling with his tongue, and back down – firm, determined, practiced. You try to buck up, but he has an arm locked around your hips. 

He removes himself from you just enough to utter two words. “Stay still.”

You want to protest, but you realize that he’s let go of your hands, and it gives you the opportunity to thread your fingers into his hair, while you dig your heels into the broad expanse of his back, and he groans, tongue curling into you. 

“I’ve thought about this,” you gasp, answering his earlier admission.

“When?”

“At night. More than once.”

“Fuck,” Joel growls, and you wheeze when he works one finger into you, forcing you to take it along with his next words. “You know how fuckin’ bad that is? Dreamin’ about a man nearly twice your age?”

“I d-don’t care, I want you anyway. Y-you can do whatever you want to me,” It’s too early to be past the point of speaking coherently, it really is, but you’re already there. 

“F-fuck,” Joel repeats himself, and pushes another finger inside you next to the first, the stretch almost uncomfortable, but quickly fading to pleasure. “I’m going to.”

You’re not the going to tell him, though, that he’s the first man whose ever gone down on you, because you’re a little fucking scared for some reason. It’s intimate, very intimate, more than you expected. 

The truth is, you weren’t actually very experienced at all. You could count on one hand the number of partners you’d had, and still not use all of your fingers. While some of them were good enough, they all paled in comparison to Joel. There had never been anyone like Joel. 

His fingers curl as his tongue swirls around your clit and you cry out, inhale sharply. Minute by minute, you’re getting wetter and wetter – can hear yourself with each twist of his fingers inside you, bearing down on him. 

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he grunts, and your eyes flutter open just for a second, just to see his forehead, dark eyes staring back at you, and his hips dipping, rutting against the mattress. God he’s getting himself off to this. As hot as it is, the thought of not getting to feel him inside you causes a rush of anger. 

“F-feels so good,” you’re right there, already, and it’s pitiful.

“I know, baby, I know,” he says. “You’re already so close, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, you just nod, gasping. Joel works you right up to the precipice, hands tightening in his hair, hips lifting off the bed – and then he slows a little –  just enough – to pull you back off the edge, and you let out a humiliating sob.

“Shhh!” he hisses with his mouth still on you, resuming the steady pace he had going. A little sigh of relief when you feel your release approaching again. He just lost his rhythm for a moment, it was nothing.

Again, he’s got you right there, you’re so close, hips jerking, breathing in short, sharp pants, something molten working its way up your spine. “Joel, that’s it, please I-”

He falters again – just enough. And it’s gone again.

You realize, with dismay, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. He hadn’t lost his rhythm. He’s doing this on purpose. 

If someone asked – not that anyone would – you wouldn’t be able to recall how long he keeps you in that state, being dragged and dangled, but denied the privilege of falling. It’s torture. 

And at first, you try to be patient. You figure he’ll grow tired, desperate, and eventually want to move on. But apparently, he doesn’t want to move on. He’s content to keep you this way for as long as he sees fit, and you can’t handle it any longer. It’s starting to hurt.

“Please, Joel, let me-” you gasp.

“Let you what?” he pulls back from you, frustratingly too soon, once again.

“Let me come, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please, please-”

“Just a little longer,” he dismisses you.

All you can do is pant and writhe, completely at his mercy. He keeps going like that, and you’ve stopped trying to filter yourself, the sounds he makes as he laves at you are obscene, you can see yourself glistening on his chin, and can feel the sheets damp beneath you. At this point, he’s enjoying this more than you are.

“Joel,” you plead with him again. “It’s too much, I c-can’t. Just, please I really need-”

“You wanna come for me, baby?” he asks. You nod ferociously. 

“Yes, please, please,” 

“You’re so fucking sweet when you beg, you know that? ” he murmurs. “Wish you were like this all the time.”

“Fuck off,” you manage, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. You should do this to me more often. 

Joel chuckles, and it vibrates just right, his fingers curling again and you moan, hands tightening in his hair. He’s focused now, you can tell because the constant stream of filth he’s been whispering has finally stopped. He’s persistent.

You’re unable to stay quiet, continuing to whimper just like that and please don’t stop over and over. And then all at once, every muscle in your body grows tense and you cry out, cunt pulsing around him so tightly that his fingers slow. “There you go, pretty girl, that’s it.” 

You whisper his name as he continues to fuck his fingers into you, riding you through your orgasm and licking up the mess you’ve made. 

At some point in the aftermath, Joel withdraws from you, and you hear the sting of his zipper. It takes a moment, but you’re able to see him through heavily lidded eyes, kneeling in front of you with his shirt unbuttoned all the way, pants around his ankles, jerking himself slowly in his hand. God he’s fucking huge, how had you forgotten about that? He’s a vision, beard still wet with you, looking down, watching your chest rise and fall. In that moment you realize two things. One, even though you’ve already come, you somehow want him even more than you had before, and two, you’ve never wanted to suck a dick so bad in your life. 

So you sit up, crawl towards him, and reach out with one hand to take him in your palm. He lets you, sighing, closing down his eyes. First, you have to kiss him, so you rise to your knees, and he pulls you into his arms, one of them winding around your waist, the other coming to rest at the small of your back. “You take such good care of me,” you whisper. 

He grimaces at the words like they’re an insult. You expect him to retaliate, to tell you that you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, but he never does. So you kiss him, gently, bringing your free hand to the side of his face. Once again, he lets you, and you taste yourself when his tongue presses into you mouth. You run your thumb over the head of his cock, and he hums against your touch, almost contentedly.

You’re doing whatever you want to him, and you’re shocked he hasn’t put a stop to it. It could be satisfying enough, you think, just to keep kissing him like this. Still, you sink back towards the bed to test things further. You’re about to wrap your mouth around him, but he pulls you off by your hair, so quickly, so hard that you yelp.

“No.” he says firmly. “Lie back.”

“But I just wanted to-”  

“No.” 

You consider trying to reason with him, but decide it won’t be worth whatever he’d do if you continue to argue.

Joel braces himself with one hand above your shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock, slowly teasing you by rubbing himself up and down a few times, before he gives in, finally pushing into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp at the stretch, reaching out grasp at his bicep, arching your back. He’d prepped you, and it was still too much. 

“You can take it,” he says, pressing deeper into you. His hips are all the way flush with yours, he’s to the hilt, and he still snaps them even further, once, holding you there, so deep, you feel like you’re choking on him. “See? There you go.”

It seems like you can’t quite catch your breath, and you squirm underneath him for some kind of friction, some kind of relief from how intense it all is. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel how badly his own body is begging him to move, but he doesn’t. 

“Joel,” you cradle the back of his head, look him in the eyes. “Move, please.”

He doesn’t answer, he just brings his hand to grip your jaw, his thumb and forefinger pressing into the soft flesh of your cheeks. 

“Please?” you murmur again, and his thumb slips into your mouth, silencing you. You suck on it obediently, and after you do, he finally gives you what you want.

──────

Joel told you he wouldn’t be gentle, and he isn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to do this last time. Taste you, spread you open, fuck you properly. His hips snap against yours – ferociously, unrelenting, over and over. You’ve been going at it for awhile now, and he actually wants you to break. He wants you to tell him to slow down, to be a little more tender, not press into you so deep, so hard, so that if he listens, it wouldn’t mean he’s breaking his own promise. He’s got to be rough with you, because he’s afraid of what could happen if he’s not.

But you don’t break. You fucking take it, take him, each time, again and again, your nails digging into arms, your legs locked around his hips. Each time he delves into you, you’re getting wetter and wetter, and yet, you’re still so fucking tight. He doesn’t understand it. It’s been a long fucking time since he’s been with a woman like you – and you might be the best he’s ever had. 

You’re not even making any noise – you’re just panting, gasping in Joel’s ear as you cling to him, and that’s all. He can’t even look you in the eyes. If he does, he knows you’ll see everything that’s wrong with him, and still beg for him to give you more. 

Two hands land on either side of his face, turning his head so you can kiss him. Despite how he’s treating you, you keep trying to connect, to ground yourself. For as much as he wants to refuse, it feels too cruel to deny you. He lets you lock your lips with his own, feels your cunt clutch him even tighter. It’s impossible for you to kiss for more than a few seconds at a time without it getting broken up by a whimper here and there. You’re getting close again, he’s started to get better at recognizing it.

“You’re fucking so perfect on me, baby, you feel that?” he asks, and you nod, breathless. “Taking me so well, such a good fucking girl-”

A gasp from you cuts him off, your eyes squeezing shut as you are taken over by your climax. Joel groans and does everything he can not to come when you start pulsing around him, holding him closer, since there’s nothing else to do. It’s way too intimate…because it’s missionary, and he should’ve known better than to start off like this. 

Pulling out of you is the hardest thing he’s had to do in a while, and he ignores your noises of protest now that he’s left you empty. Then, he flips you onto your stomach. He takes a moment to admire the curve of your ass, how it dips into your waist….to him, your body is perfect, and you’re young, your skin still supple and smooth. There are still places he hasn’t gotten his mouth on, and it’s a shame, he thinks, but tonight his patience is wearing thin. Joel pulls you back until you’re on your knees, and slides back inside. There’s a little resistance, you whimper, but it’s easier than the first time. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other across your chest, and starts to jerk his hips upwards, into you. 

“Oh fuck, Joel,” you sigh in relief.

“I know, I know.”

You drop your head back until it falls against his shoulder, winding your arm back so you can pull at his hair, which kind of fucking hurts, but he likes it. 

Ultimately, you’re pretty easy to please, and it’s not long before he feels the telltale flutter of your walls as you drip down over him, soaking his lap. 

“You’re making a fucking mess, baby. You gonna come for me again?”

All you can do is plead with him. “I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it again, please just-”

“Yes, you can,” he interjects. “I know you can, baby, don’t worry…I’ll help you.”

“O-okay.’ 

He slows the roll of his hips just a little, focuses on deeper, longer strokes, and lets the hand that’s currently squeezing one of your tits fall to where your bodies are joined, finding your clit immediately.

You whine, arching back against him, the swell of your ass packed against his lower stomach. He sees a single tear leaking from the corner of your eye and feels a little guilty for what he’s doing to you. Only a little, though. 

Without any warning, for the third time, you’re coming around him – easier than the last time, like always – and he uses the feeling of you throbbing around him to chase his own release, his hand clapping over your mouth to muffle your moans as he becomes increasingly frantic. 

He turns his head, rakes his teeth along your exposed neck, and sinks them into your pulse point with a groan. Your breath is hot against him when you whimper in response. 

“Just a little more, honey.” He’s so close. You bob your head, though you’ve nearly gone limp in his arms.

Like last time, Joel knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s not going to pull out. The thought of deliberately coming inside you is actually what sends him over the edge, and he’s cursing and moaning your name. You whine at the feeling of him pulsing inside of you, arching back for more, even though he can tell you’re exhausted. 

It’s fucking freezing in your apartment, and yet, his skin is damp with sweat when he finally regains some awareness of his surroundings. He’s panting, you’re sniffling, a weak smile on your face as you catch your breath. Before he can stop himself, he presses his lips to your cheek. 

Joel tilts you both forward – very tentatively, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist. At some point, your hand settled over top of his, and you threaded your fingers between his own, holding his hand across your stomach. You keep it there, even after you’ve settled onto the bed.  

It takes a few minutes before either of you move, but it’s you who gives in first, wriggling out from where he’s got you trapped partially underneath him. 

You retreat to the bathroom, like you did last time. Somewhere during your coupling the linens have slid down the bed, and Joel settles back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head.  Now that he’s stopped sweating, he’s just cold, and he reaches to pull the bedspread over him. He should leave, he thinks, before you come out and ask him to. Beat you to the punch. Maybe while you’re still in the bathroom. 

A few minutes later, and you return from the bathroom, dressed again in sweats. He hears you pour yourself a glass of water, gulping it down. You flick off the lamp on your bedside table, and fall into bed next to him, lying rigidly on your back. He should reach out, pull you against him, let you settle in his arms. Instead, Joel rolls over on his side. 

It’s terrible how beautiful you are, he thinks, watching you stare up at the ceiling, hugging yourself. So beautiful, and fucking smart. You’re strong, too, but not as strong as he wishes you were. Of course, no one could ever be that strong.

He whispers your name. You turn your head, pupils still blown wide with lingering lust.

“You need to learn to defend yourself, to shoot a gun, to fight,” he says. “After today.”

“What?” you roll to face him. 

“You said you didn’t want to die,” Joel continues. “So you need to learn. ‘Case something like that happens again.”

“Oh yeah? Lemme guess, you’re gonna teach me?” your voice is a little hoarse after what he’d done to you, and you smirk at him.

“Yes.” It sobers you up, that he’s not fucking with you, or giving you a hard time. “I owe you, remember?” 

“You do.” 

“So…. I’ll teach you.” 

“....Okay.” 

“Alright.”

Joel rolls over to his opposite side, and you’re left staring at his back. Arms wrapped around 

himself in a tight hug, he waits for you to tell him to go.

You never do. 

Instead, he feels the heat of your body as you curl up against him, slotting one of your legs between his own. Your hand grazes up his ribs, over his bicep – a gentle, quick massage – before you tuck your arm underneath his own, your palm flat against his heart. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, frozen at how tender the embrace is. It’s a foreign feeling, he can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this. 

The tip of your nose hits the nape of his neck, and he can feel your shuddery exhale.

“I’m cold,” you say, like it’s obvious, lips brushing featherlight against his skin. “And if you’re staying, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He can’t roll over and wrap his arms around you. He can’t kiss your forehead or play with your hair or murmur into your ear. He can’t offer you anything in return. Joel decides, though, if he’s going to accept comfort from anyone, it’s going to be from you.

──────

taglist (basically if you asked for a pt 2 on the last part i tagged you): @bbyanarchist @dlwrish @imaginewrites24 @captain-yellow-96 @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @sludgec0r33 @c0wb0ym3nace

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Rusty | Chapter 11 | S.R

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A/N - Just an FYI - the fics being posted now were finished months ago. I haven't written anything for the fandom in quite a long time and at present have no drive to do so. Once Midnight and Rusty are finished posting that will be it from me for the forseeable. Thank you for coming along for the ride.

Chapter Summary - Spencer pushes through another barrier on his way to recovery. But when a face from his past shows up out of the blue it threatens to destroy everything between the two of you.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - male masturbation, Spencer’s incredibly dirty thoughts, brief mention of three ways, handjobs, oral sex (f receiving) and penetrative sex (both p in v and p in a) all by way of Spencer’s imagination (Spencer is basically writing his own smut fic in his head), self inflicted wounds, talk of weight loss, swearing, arguing, yelling, tears, sad Luke, bit of a cliff hanger ending. WC - 7.6k

Chapter 11 - All My Ex's Live in Texas

The sentiment, to be able to love someone we must first learn how to love ourselves, felt oddly poignant in this moment, as Spencer stood in his bedroom, in front of the full-length mirror tucked away in his closet. 

It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, he often gave himself a cursory glance before he left the lodge of a morning, giving himself a brief once over. 

It also wasn’t something he made a habit of doing. He kept the mirror inside the closet for the purposes of not having to look at himself for long periods of time. 

But this was for entirely therapeutic purposes. 

And the idea of having to love oneself before allowing others into our heart rang true in an entirely different way. 

Spencer needed to be able to engage himself physically before he could expect anyone else to do the same. 

It had been four days since his trip to Doctor Ortega’s office. In those four days the two of you had participated in a string of increasingly heavier make out sessions, three of which fervent enough to yet again cause Spencer to come in his pants, but as yet had not graduated onto anything more intimate. 

Yesterday the two of you had ridden your respective mares into Pipe Creek for Spencer to collect his new prescription and Doctor Ortega had caught him on his way out. 

She’d taken him aside and reminded him that in order to take back control of his own body, he had to truly own it himself before he frivolously tried to hand it over to someone new. 

And that’s what led him here. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, naked as the day he was born. 

The only part of his body that was concealed was his casted arm, he’d even gone as far as to remove the dressings from his bicep, thigh and stomach. 

The wounds were all at various stages of healing, scabbing over and starting to scar. They would all leave their marks upon his skin for the rest of his life, a constant reminder that he’d been to hell but was desperately trying to claw his way back. 

He focused on them for longer than necessary, trying to distract his mind from the task at hand for as long as he possibly could. You’d gone to the grocery store with Rusty and wouldn’t be back for a while. He had time for his introspective. 

He inspected each cut with a keen eye, taking note of how each brandished him, pictured what they’d look like once solid and pink against his alabaster flesh. 

This was not an activity Spencer relished. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at his naked form in such a manner. It felt clinical. Yet another experiment. 

Spencer liked experiments so he tried to keep that in mind as he took himself in as a whole before slowly ingesting each individual facet that made the full Spencer Reid picture. 

Start at the top, work his way down. Cold, removed, distant. 

Still got a good head of hair, not like William. Good hair. Thick hair. No greys. Almost forty and no greys. That’s pretty good going considering the stress I’ve been under. 

Nice eyes. Friendly eyes, that’s what JJ called them. Or was it kind eyes? Nice no less. Brown with gold flecks mom always used to point out. 

Bags under the eyes aren’t so nice. When did they get so purple? I look like I’ve never slept a day in my life. 

Nose. Lips. Chapped lips, such dry lips. How does Y/N kiss me? Need to buy chapstick. Must remember to buy chapstick. 

Need to shave. Or do I? I don’t hate the stubble, it makes me look tougher. Wonder what Y/N’s opinion on it is? Maybe I should ask her. 

His eyes trailed slightly lower to his torso. 

Still so skinny. Didn’t I put on weight? Where did that go? Mom always says I look like I’m not eating. Have I been eating? When did I get this skinny?

Lost weight in prison. Couldn't eat after…my mouth was always too sore. Thought I’d put it back on. Did I lose it again? How? When? 

He raised his hand in absent-mindedness and ran his fingers along the visible bones of his sternum, protruding through his milky skin. He pulled a face and dropped his hand again, somewhat unamused. 

His eyes briefly flitted back over the cut on his left side, garnering his attention once again before flicking to his stomach. 

Definitely lost weight, but how? Hip bones are more prominent. Got one of those little v-cut muscles I was always jealous of on Luke. Did I get that from riding? It does require core strength. I’ve never noticed it before. 

He continued quickly past the appendage where his attention was supposed to be, down to his legs. He’d always had strong thighs, thick thighs but they were somehow even meatier than he remembered. 

Is that from riding too? Must be. Good legs, definitely not terrible legs. Sturdy. Load bearing. 

I’m stalling. 

He closed his eyes with a loud huff, feeling incredibly self conscious all of a sudden. Opening his eyes again he forced his gaze between his legs where his flaccid member hung in a bed of pubic hair. 

And here we are, the thorn in my side. The bane of my goddamn existence. My…

…it’s not gonna get hard if you berate it. 

He grit his teeth and stared almost aggressively at the length of flesh and muscle between his legs. 

Masturbation should not be this difficult. 

It felt forced. He wasn’t aroused, not even a little. On the occasions in his life he had turned to self pleasure, it was only because he was incredibly horny, which wasn’t a regular occurrence for him unless he was in the act itself. 

He’d never just sat and thought I’m bored, maybe I could jerk one off. What was normal protocol here? 

His new phone had the internet and he would probably be able to look up a porn site. But what porn? Spencer didn’t even know what kind of porn he liked. 

He found both men and women attractive, where would he even begin? In an ideal world, what kind of sexual desire would…oh…oh! 

He stared at his cock as it twitched very slightly, heart beat picking up at the simple thought. He kept his eyes trained downwards while he contemplated it again. 

I like both men and women, I find them equally attractive. Specifically one man and one woman so what if I could have both? 

Again he twitched, before his very eyes his cock started to swell. His mouth fell open, chest heaving with his breaths. 

Y/N and Luke? Together? And me. All three of us. Together. Touching. Kissing. Or I could just watch, I’d be pretty happy to watch. 

Again he was amazed by the sudden jerk of his shaft, swelling slowly but surely. 

Oh this could work. I think this might work. 

He wrapped his hand around his shaft without too much thought in case he might talk his way out of this. He was only semi-erect but the speed in which it had happened meant he could be fully aroused in no time. 

He kept his eyes open, trying to force himself to watch as he started his slow strokes but his mind was wandering quickly down a sinful rabbit hole. 

Standing over them while she straddles him, her bare thighs pressed against his bare thighs, taking hold of his hard cock in her hand. 

Hearing Luke moan as his Adam’s apple bobs at her touch. Her beautiful, petite hand, unable to wrap all the way around his shaft. But she tries, she tries so hard. She wants to make him feel good, wants to give me a show.

Luke’s looking up at me, his eyes blown out with lust. 

“Come closer, cariño, let me touch you.” 

Oh how I happily oblige. 

Whilst she’s stroking Luke I kneel on the bed next to them and Luke is immediately taking me in his own large hand. I moan and my head falls back against my shoulders at his touch. 

He strokes me in time with her strokes on him. The sound of flesh on flesh echoing in the room. Moans and heavy breaths. 

There’s another hand on my jaw, I look at her and she draws me in for a deep kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth while Luke’s hand pumps my cock. 

My other hand finds her breast and I knead it beneath my fingers, pinching her hardened nipple in my hand. 

Yep, that’ll do it. 

He was fully erect in his hand now, stroking himself at an almost furious pace. His hand twisted and tightened, staring at his cock in his own hand in the mirror. 

Laying on my back and she’s on top of me, lowering herself down, slowly, slowly. Inch by inch I watch myself disappear inside her silken walls. I can feel the way her body stretches and pulls around my hard cock. 

Luke is behind her, palming her tits, kissing her neck. She’s whining, moaning because she’s so tight and I’m so big. 

“How does he feel, baby?” Luke whispers against her flesh once I’m completely sheathed inside of her.

“Fuck, he feels so good.” She starts to rock back and forth on top of me, eyes staring intently down at me. 

One of Luke’s hands travels downwards, to the juncture where our bodies meet. His index finger pressing against her clit. 

She vibrates around me, sending shockwaves down my cock. The moan that leaves my lips is nothing short of feral. 

Frantically fisting his own cock whilst imagining the pleasures of being with the both of you and his head was already leaking against hand. He swiped his thumb through it, legs buckling a little at the sensation and using his precum as lube. 

He was gnawing on his lip, watching the way his cock throbbed in his hand. It was a heady sight to behold. He thought he’d be disgusted by it. Was it wrong that it turned him on more? 

He looked good like this, strong, virile, dare he even say, sexy? He felt powerful as he watched his face contort in the pleasure he was bestowing upon himself. His staunch thighs shook beneath him. 

His thick and heavy length pulsed against his palm. 

She’s on her back, legs spread for me. I leave a trail of kisses across her soft skin but I’m in a hurry, I need to get to my final destination. 

Once my face is buried between her folds, I lap up at her arousal before my tongue settles on her swollen bud. She writhes beneath me at the contact, trying to move away. But I stop her with an arm across her abdomen. 

She moans and screams as I take her in my mouth, suckling on her sensitive clit. Like a man possessed I work between her legs, like she’s my favourite meal. 

I can feel a heat behind me, and hands on my hips guiding me up onto my knees. I comply because I’m so wrapped up in the way she tastes on my tongue. 

Then there’s something pressing into me from behind, I’m being stretched but in the best possible way. 

As Luke fills me up I moan into her core, making her squirm. The sounds in the room are melting into the walls, the smell of sex is heavy in the air. 

Luke thrusts into me hard and fast and I take two fingers and plunge them inside of her waiting heat while keeping my mouth on her desperate clit. 

She’s rocking against my face, coating my lips and chin in her arousal as my fingers sink inside of her. 

Luke is grunting as he fucks me, filling me up in a way I haven’t been filled in so long. Between my legs I can feel my cock twitching, pulsing, close to the edge without being touched. 

“Oh fuck,” Spencer mumbled, legs trembling. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ.” 

More precum leaked from his tip, coating his hand as he thought of eating you out while Luke fucked him. His head was hazy, his breaths ragged.

“Fuck, Spence, I’m close. So close.” She screams as I plunge my fingers in and out of her and swipe my tongue over her clit. 

Luke’s thrusts are growing more violent, his balls slapping against my ass. 

“Make her come, Spence. You can do it, cariño.” Luke encouraged me and I pick up my speed.

Soon enough I feel her walls clenching around my fingers and she’s coming undone at my will. She’s convulsing beneath me and I know it’s all because of me. 

And as I feel her coming, moaning my name, my own orgasm starts to pinch at my stomach and I know it won’t be long before I’m…

…“fuck, fuck, fuck!” Spencer screamed as he gripped the base of his shaft and started splattering streaks of his come all over the mirror. 

He kept stroking himself through his orgasm, his legs undulating back and forth as he expelled himself on the reflective surface, covering his hand in his sticky seed. 

He watched every small movement of his body, his quivering thighs, his leisurely strokes on his spent cock, his chest dragging up and down with each shallow breath. 

His brain was foggy but his vision was exceedingly clear. He was fascinated by the way his body moved, how one small ripple in one muscle caused another to flex and so on and so forth. 

The contours of his body seemed so sharp in his post orgasm haze, every pull or push, every pulse, every dilation. 

He’d never looked upon himself with such startling clarity before as his shaft started to soften in his hand, it was all becoming clear.

This is my body. I can see it. I can feel it. My body belongs to me. My body doesn’t belong to anyone but me. 

I am whole. I am whole. 

I am Spencer Reid and I am whole. 

He was so lost in his newfound captivation of his own frame, he didn’t hear you enter the lodge or call his name. He also didn’t hear the bedroom door open or your footsteps on the wooden floor.

It wasn’t until your face appeared in the reflection behind him that he registered his company. 

“Uh, hi?” A smirk adorned itself on your features as you regarded him, soft cock in his hand and the distinctive come stains on the mirror. 

You couldn’t stop your gaze flitting up and down his body. You’d never seen him completely naked before, uninhibited, exposed. 

You tried to make a mental note of every dip and curve of his glorious body. He really was a sight to behold.

“Hi,” he replied, returning your smile. 

“Everything okay here?” 

He let go of his length, turned to face you. His pupils were blown out wide. 

“More than okay.” He nodded. 

And suddenly he advanced on you, smashing his lips against yours and not caring in the slightest that he was naked and sticky with his own come. 

He grabbed at you, pawed at you hungrily. His wandering hands got you out of your clothes in no time at all and soon the two of you were falling back to the bed. 

He was on top of you, kissing you with reckless abandon. He could already feel himself growing hard again between your bodies. 

His tongue desperately explored your mouth as though it were the first time, he manoeuvred you both so he was on his back and you were straddling him. 

He hissed as he got an unhindered sight of your breasts as you sat atop him. Needy hands wandered until they were palming them, pinching your nipples between his deft fingers until they stood to attention, not allowing himself to be impeded by his cast. 

You moaned and rocked back and forth on top of him, his hard cock gliding between your folds. Spencer whined and bucked against you. 

He removed his hands, letting his casted arm fall back to his side. His good hand circled around your wrist, gripping it tight and moving your hand so it hovered above his cock.

You stared at him, silently questioning him. Spencer simply nodded in response and let go of your wrist. 

You sucked in a breath, cautious as you lowered your hand closer to his throbbing member. When your hand wrapped around his base he moaned in fervour. 

His eyes rolled back into his skull, back arching off the bed. You slowly started to move your hand up and down around him but he was soon bucking into your hand, setting the pace for you.

His desperation was evident in the surges of his hips snapping back and forth fiercely. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his eyes landed on you again. 

He smiled up at you, the ethereal being perched on his thighs whilst working to bring him the utmost pleasure. 

He was whole. He was finally beginning to feel whole. 

***

It was getting late by the time the BAU finally wrapped up in Texas. Luke had agreed with Rossi that he would take one day off to visit Spencer before he joined them back at Quantico. 

Given the hour, Luke intended on getting a hotel for the night in Bandera town. He drove those forty some miles north from San Antonio in his SUV, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he tuned into a country and western radio station. 

The back seat was full of gifts and cards which Garcia had sent to the police precinct for Luke to deliver to their old friend for his birthday which was just a few days away. 

Luke’s nerves flooded his body, causing his stomach to form into tight knots. The closer he got to Bandera, the more anxious he grew, palms sweating against the wheel. 

He was under no illusion that Spencer would be happy to see him, especially with him showing up unannounced. But in Luke’s defence he had tried to call Spencer several times over the last few days to inform him of his visit. It wasn’t his fault Spencer didn’t answer. 

It was nearing eleven pm by the time Luke arrived in Bandera and try as he might he couldn’t get himself to the hotel. 

He couldn’t wait another minute. He needed to see Spencer now. 

He took the turning off the main road with the directions Garcia had sent him. He drove a little ways up a dirt track until he came to a stop next to another car. 

Killing the engine he frowned himself. He didn’t think Spencer had a car. He supposed he could have purchased one any time. 

He slid out of the SUV, dropping to the dirt and closed the door behind him. There was a small single storey lodge a few hundred yards up on the left. 

There was a light on. 

Luke swallowed, smoothing out his shirt and running his fingers through his hair. His chest swelled with nerves and his legs shook a little as he started towards the lodge. 

***

Spencer’s second orgasm seemed to come quicker than the first, your small, dainty hand bringing him to completion in no time at all. Chest heaving with his breaths, he immediately pulled you down by the back of your neck so he could kiss you. 

He was whole. He was whole. They didn’t win. 

He kissed you fiercely, his come sticky between your bodies but neither of you minded. His hand stayed on the back of your neck, pinning you to him. 

“You’re amazing.” He mumbled against your lips. 

“No, you’re amazing.” You replied. 

You wanted to tell him you were proud of him but you didn’t want to make a big deal of it or have him think you were patronising him. Instead you continued kissing him, grinding your bodies together as you did so. 

Spencer felt like every single one of his nerve endings were on fire. He was overstimulated, he could feel every thread of the sheets beneath him, feel every negligible movement of your body as it moved against his own. 

It was eye opening. He’d forgotten how this was supposed to feel. Intimacy wasn’t meant to make him feel guilty, pleasure wasn’t designed to cause him pain. 

He’d neglected to remember how it should feel. Two bodies coming together, becoming one. Becoming whole. 

He felt as though he could well be floating, his body lighter than air. He needed more. He needed so much more. He needed everything and he needed it with you. 

He gripped the back of your neck firmly, tongue roughly exploring the deepest recesses of your mouth. The sound of heavy breathing filled the room alongside soft moans and the friction of skin on skin. 

And for the second time that night, Spencer didn’t hear the door to his cabin open or the heavy footsteps on his hardwood floor.

***

Worryingly, Luke found the door to Spencer’s lodge was ajar, not quite closed all the way. His hand immediately pressed against the butt of his gun in its holster, ready just in case. In his experience, nothing good came from doors being left open. Least of all way out here in the sticks. 

He hesitantly pushed it open and took a step inside. The space was small and mostly full of books which didn’t surprise him at all. There were a few paper grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed. 

He let his hand fall back to his side, trying to calm his erratically beating heart. Spencer could be scatty sometimes, perhaps he’d just been in a hurry. There was nothing to panic about. 

He stepped closer towards the closed door past the kitchen, for which he assumed was the bedroom. It was only as he drew closer that he started to register the sounds of heavy breathing.

His first thought was that Spencer might be having a panic attack. He’d had them a lot after prison, Luke knew all too well what they looked like. Perhaps he’d started to have one when he arrived home with groceries, it would explain why the door wasn’t closed properly and why the bags were still on the counter. 

Another wave of unease washed over him and he quickly pushed open the door without a second thought. 

The two bodies on the bed came into view and Luke felt as though the whole world came crumbling down around him in a single second. The body on top with their back to him was definitely female. The body beneath, laying on the bed was obscured from view but Luke would recognise those soft moans anywhere. 

“Wow,” he croaked out the single word as tears flooded his vision. 

Spencer suddenly sat up in bed, glaring at Luke over your shoulder. His mouth fell open, eyes wide in shock at the ghost standing in his doorway.

“L-Luke?” He stuttered. 

“Luke?” You hissed without looking over your shoulder. “As in…?” 

“Hmm.” Spencer nodded. 

You were still in his lap, trying to hide your naked frame against Spencer’s. You needed to leave. You couldn’t be part of this. You swung yourself off of the bed and in one swift move sprinted to the bathroom before you could give this stranger an eyeful. 

You’d left Spencer exposed and he quickly pulled the sheet around his body despite the fact Luke had seen him naked hundreds of times before. He hadn’t seen this version of him though, the one with the cuts and scabs from self abuse. He stared at Luke and Luke and him. Seconds seemed like hours.

He noticed Luke’s gaze flicker down to his arm and his brows pinched together.

“What happened to your arm?” Luke asked in concern. 

Spencer didn’t know whether he meant the cast or the cut on his bicep but he didn’t ask. 

“Riding accident.” Spencer clenched his jaw. “What are you…why are you here?” 

“We were in town for a case. I tried to call, you didn’t answer. The door was open and I thought something might have happened to you.” The hurt in Luke’s voice was palpable and Spencer felt a little guilty that he’d had to walk into this. 

“Uh, lemme get dressed okay? I’ll meet you outside?” Spencer chewed on the tip of his tongue, half thinking his overstimulated brain was imagining the man in front of him. 

Had he given over so entirely to his fantasy that it had begun to feel real? Was this all part of his vivid speculation? Was he in fact still masturbating in front of his mirror? 

No, it was all too real. The sadness in Luke’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of seeing his ex in bed with someone else. The way you’d so hurriedly scampered off to the bathroom. 

This was real life, even if it did feel like a nightmare. 

Luke nodded stiffly and turned about on his heels. Spencer watched his retreating form pad out of the bedroom and close the door behind him. 

Spencer got to his feet and started gathering up his clothes from the floor. He tapped on the bathroom door as he was fighting with his boxers.

“Are you okay?” He called when he got no answer. 

“Your ex is here, what do you think!” You hissed in response. 

“I had no idea he was coming here, Y/N. I didn’t invite him.” He was stuffing his legs back in his jeans, trying to ignore the way the fabric scratched his open wounds. 

“What the hell is he doing here then?” 

“I don’t know! I have no idea.” He grabbed his t-shirt whilst still working on the button of his jeans. “I need to deal with this, hopefully I won’t be long.” 

“Okay.” You whispered, hearing his footsteps head away from the door. 

He pulled the t-shirt down over his torso as he swung open the bedroom door. Through the window in the front door he could see Luke pacing the length of his porch. 

Spencer exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it from his previous activities. He swallowed around his dry tongue and stepped towards the door. 

A frigid burst of air hit him as he stepped outside, joining Luke on the porch. Luke stopped in his tracks and glanced at Spencer. Even in the darkness he could see the tears in Luke’s eyes. 

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?” Luke folded his arms across his chest. 

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?” Spencer shrugged. 

He hated that even after all this time Luke could still cause all the air to leave his lungs. He looked much the same as Spencer remembered in his mind's eye that last time he saw him. He had an extra few creases around his eyes, a few more greys peppering his hairline, but otherwise he remained unchanged.

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot.” He choked back a sob. “So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?” 

“You think I’m healed?” Spencer’s voice raised a little. “You think I’ve worked through my trauma?”

“It looks that way to me. I seem to remember the last time I tried to get you into that position you pinned my arm behind my back!” Luke spat. 

“You have no idea what this is like for me.” Spencer shook his head angrily. “She is the first person I have been able to get close to and even still I’m terrified I’m only one second away from breaking down at all times. It’s been four years and this is the closest I’ve come to moving past what happened to me but I am by no means suddenly shiny and new. I haven’t had sex with her, is that what you want to hear? At this point I’m not even sure I can! 

“You can’t just show up here after two years and think you know what I’m going through. I have to take medication every day just so I am not completely crippled by my trauma. I blackout when the stress gets too much, I dissociate because my mind can’t handle the pain. Don’t come here and assume you know what I’m going through. You have no idea.” 

In the bathroom you heard raised voices outside and worried about Spencer’s rising anger and what could happen if he let it get out of control. You snuck back out and found your clothes, quickly redressing and creeping into the living room. 

From the kitchen you could see them through the glass pane in the front door without them being able to see you were watching. You told yourself you weren’t eavesdropping, you just wanted to be ready in case Spencer needed grounding. 

You tucked yourself away in the corner, eyes on the side of Luke’s face. You felt that swell of familiarity again that you couldn’t place. Your fingers kneaded your achy jaw as you listened.

“You were supposed to come back! I gave you time, I gave you space. I thought if I did those things you would come back and we would be okay again.” Luke rubbed his eyes to try and stem his tears.

“That’s not my fault, Luke. I didn’t ever give you a reason to believe that would be the case. I’m sorry I left without telling you, I know I should have said goodbye. But I can’t change that. This is my life now, I have no intentions of coming back to DC. I’m sorry if you thought that I would, but I never gave any indication that I would.” Spencer rubbed his hand on his jeans, focusing on the rough texture. 

He needed to stay tethered, he couldn’t let the anger bubble and cause his mind to detach. 

“Did you love me?” Luke’s voice pitched. “Did you ever really love me like you said you did?” 

You knew that voice, you were sure of it. You just couldn’t place it. 

“How can you even ask me that?” Spencer softened. “Of course I did.” 

“But it was easier for you to run away than try and make things work with the man you supposedly loved?” Luke exhaled. 

“I had to leave. After everything that happened, after Merva, it was just too much. I needed to get away from DC, away from it all.” Spencer sniffed loudly. 

“You could have talked to me instead of running away, Spencer. It’s what I was there for. But you never talked to me.” 

“I couldn’t talk to you, Luke. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to forget.” Spencer’s eyes filled with tears and he rubbed his palm roughly against his thigh, focused on the material of his jeans. 

“You know I know what happened right?” Luke shrugged. “I know what happened to you in prison. I read the medical reports.” 

Spencer froze. His rampant rubbing of his thigh stopped, he felt like his breathing stopped. He glared at Luke while he processed his words. 

He’d read the report. He’d known all along. 

Inside your brows pinched together. Prison? Spencer was in prison? Surely you must have the wrong end of the stick? Spencer did not seem like the type. There must be something you were missing. 

“You…how could you?” Spencer croaked. “How could you do that to me?” 

“You wouldn’t talk to me. I was worried about you.” 

“Worried? You were worried? So you invaded my privacy? Those reports were not your concern Luke! I figured Prentiss would have to see them but you…I can’t believe you would do that to me.” Spencer’s voice raised again and felt the anger in his stomach. 

Deep breaths, take deep, calming breaths. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. Feel something beneath your hand, ground yourself. This will be okay. One, two, three, four, five.

“Maybe if you’d talked to me I wouldn’t have felt the need to.” Luke didn’t know why he was trying to justify himself, he knew what he’d done was wrong. “How did you ever get cleared to come back to work? You were clearly struggling.” 

“Oh please, we wrote those questions. You think after fifteen years of profiling I didn’t know the right things to say to the bureau shrink so she would reinstate me?” Spencer clucked. 

“Did you ever tell her you were ra-”

“Don’t you dare you say it.” Spencer cut him off. “Don’t you dare.” 

Your head was spinning with the new information. Prison. Profiling. Bureau? What did this all mean? Your cell phone was on the counter next to the bags and you reached for it before hiding back in your corner. The arguing continued outside while you brought up a Google search. 

Spencer Reid + bureau

Within less than a second, hundreds of search results popped up on the little screen, articles upon articles. You quickly skim read some of the search results as your hand shook around the device. 

The youngest academy graduate recruited to the FBI’s illustrious Behavioral Analysis Unit, twenty two year old Doctor Spencer Reid…

With his three PhD’s, and IQ of 187, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid was hand picked by BAU founder Jason Gideon…

After a high speed chase in Mexico the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit are on the scene. It’s thought that a member of the team is involved…

BAU Member SSA Doctor Spencer Reid acquitted of charges against him…

Hostage situation involving two members of the BAU…no further information is known at this time…

Your head swam. Your stomach lurched. This couldn’t be true, yet it was here in black and white. 

You were sleeping with the enemy. The sweet, kind cowboy you’d rescued from the desert was a former FBI Agent. 

Three PhD’s? An IQ of 187? Doctor? 

What the fuck was going on? You knew there were things he hadn’t told you but did you know him at all? And what led to an FBI agent going to prison? And what happened to him in prison that Luke had ascertained from his medical records?

You felt dizzy. You pushed yourself back up against the wall so you wouldn’t collapse. Luke’s raised voice brought you back around.

“You could have told me! I would have understood, I could have helped!” 

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?” Spencer yelled back. 

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.” Luke scoffed, nodding his head towards the door.

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?” 

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!” Luke threw his arms up into the air. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger, okay? I’m sorry I pushed you away. But I am finally starting to move past what happened to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you but Y/N is…she makes me feel like I can heal. And I need that Luke, I need to heal.” Spencer sniffed again, feeling his tears dangerously close to falling.

Luke didn’t appear to be listening though, his brows pinched together as he rolled something over in his mind.

“Did you say Y/N?” He rubbed the side of his neck. 

Your back went rigid. Hearing him say your name dislodged something distant in the back of your mind.

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“Yeah, why?” Spencer’s voice broke through your memory. 

“I…I’m not sure.” Luke looked deep in thought. “Can I…? One sec.” 

Spencer watched in confusion as Luke turned and headed down the stairs towards his SUV. He wrapped his good arm around himself in protection and to stave off the cold night. 

“Have you seen this woman? Her name is Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N and we have reason to believe she’s been seen in this area.”

“I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Can you take a closer look at her photo ma’am? Your neighbour seems to think she’s been staying here.”

“Again, I don’t know nothing, ‘bout nothing.” 

“Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“You got a warrant?” 

“No…”

“Then get the hell off of my property.”

Magnolia Springs, Alabama. Mrs Royce, the kindly old woman for whom your mother had been best friends with all throughout childhood. She’d offered you a place to stay after you escaped custody. That was until her nosy neighbour recognised you from the wanted posters. 

You’d buried your mom’s money under a tree in the wooded area behind her house and watched from a distance as two FBI Agents had come to her home to question her. Even though she hadn’t seen your mother in more years than she could count, Mrs Royce was fiercely loyal, and hadn't said a word. 

You hadn’t had a great vantage point for which to see the agents, only caught small glimpses of them from where you hid in the back of the house. But they’d introduced themselves as -

- Agents Phil Brooks and Luke Alvez. 

Luke was hurrying back from his car with a manilla folder and Spencer stayed stock still while he awaited him. Luke opened the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper which he proffered to Spencer as soon as he was close enough. 

“What is this?” Spencer frowned at the paper.

“Is this the woman? I only saw her from the back. She coulda changed her hair? Is this her?” Luke jabbed a finger at the photograph in the corner of the page. “She escaped from a max security facility a few weeks ago. Phil called me.” 

To Spencer’s credit, no matter how many years it had been since he’d needed to to use his poker face, he was still an expert at it. His expression didn’t even so much as flinch as he looked at the photograph of you on Luke’s printout. 

He was right, you had changed your hair. But it was without a doubt you looking back at him from that mugshot. He glanced away, back at Luke and shook his head.

“No.” He lied. “I’ve never seen this woman before.” 

Luke’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny, watching for any little twitch, any tiny hint that Spencer was keeping something from him. But the truth was, even though they had dated and Luke thought he knew Spencer better than anyone, he never could read Spencer. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, Spencer? Because this woman is dangerous, and if you’re lying to me, that’s harbouring a fugitive. I don’t need to tell you that comes with a prison sentence.” Luke observed again. 

Even at the mention of prison, Spencer’s features didn’t change. 

“I’m telling you Luke, I don’t know this woman.” He waved the paper in front of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Your own brows pinched together. You peered out the window to see the paper in Spencer’s hand but it was too dark to see exactly what was on it. But you were certain he would know it was you in the photograph. So why was he lying? 

“Right, I’m just being paranoid I guess.” Luke huffed, snatching the paper back from Spencer.

“I think you should go Luke, it's late and you shouldn’t have come here.” Spencer returned his arm to its position wrapped around him. 

“I’m staying down the road for the night. Maybe we can meet tomorrow for coffee or something?” Luke tucked the file under his arm.

“No,” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t want this Luke. I moved out here for a reason, to get away from my life in DC. To get away from…from…”

“From me?” Luke croaked. 

“From everyone.” Spencer corrected him. “You will always have a place in my heart, Luke. I did love you but I’m not the same man I was when we started dating and I’m never going to be him again. You have to let me go, Luke, please? Please just let me go.” 

Luke wanted to argue, he wanted to argue with every fibre of his being. He didn’t drive all the way out here to have it end like this. 

But Spencer’s sad eyes and downturned lips forced him to bite his tongue. Spencer had been through an immeasurable amount of trauma and he was just trying to make it through to the otherside. Luke couldn't help him, he tried, but he’d failed. Perhaps the best thing for Spencer’s wellbeing was for Luke to walk away, to let him go once for and for all. 

Luke huffed a breath out through his nose and took a few steps backwards. He navigated the steps whilst never taking his eyes off of Spencer. 

“I wish it could have been different.” Luke’s first tear fell and he didn’t try to hide it. “You were the love of my life.” 

“I know.” Spencer scrunched his face up as he felt his own tears ready to escape. 

“But I wasn’t yours.” Luke spoke for him with a weak shrug of his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, Spencer, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just promise me you’ll check in? I’m not asking for daily phone calls or anything like that but please stop ignoring me when I reach out. I’d really like to still be a part of your life even if only in a small capacity.” 

“That, uh, sounds reasonable.” Spencer nodded. 

“And call Penelope more. She worries about you more than anyone.” Luke shrugged, still walking backwards toward the SUV. 

“I will.” He nodded, swallowed thickly. But he was sure if you were who he now knew you to be, he’d never be able to talk to any of his old team ever again.

He felt overcome with discomfort. The goodbye he’d avoided two years ago now here at his feet. Spencer didn’t like goodbyes, it was why he’d left without them the first time. 

Goodbyes were endings. Full stops. The closing of a book. Spencer had wanted to keep the story open, unfinished, just in case he ever had the impetus to write that final chapter. But it had been penned for him. Luke had snatched the metaphorical pen from his hand by coming here and effectively completed their story. 

“Uh, goodbye then I guess.” Luke shrugged as he reached the car. 

“G-goodbye, Luke.” Spencer whispered. 

The book slammed shut. Or perhaps it was the car door. Either way, Spencer Reid and Luke Alvez’s story had come to its bitter end. 

He stood on the porch and watched as Luke started the engine before putting the vehicle in reverse. He continued to observe as the headlights cast an eerie glow on his land as the SUV turned around. He still just stood there as Luke’s car took to the dirt track back to the main road and soon vanished from sight. 

He huffed out a breath, rubbed his eyes to disperse the tears before turning to the door and practically throwing it open. He marched inside and found you in the corner of the kitchen, back pressed up against the wall. You’d been listening, of course you had. 

Spencer stayed on his side of the kitchen counter, worried what he might do if he came too close to you. He needed the barrier between you. He slammed his good hand on the counter top but you didn’t even flinch. His eyes were manic as they looked at you, large and wild. His chest was heaving erratically.

He opened his mouth several times to speak but the words kept getting stuck in his dry throat. Minutes of painful silence stretched between you while you kept your eyes on each other. 

Eventually Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw set in a tight line when he finally spoke. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat the words like venom on his tongue. 

You straightened yourself, squared your shoulders as if it might somehow intimidate him. When you spoke it was with equal malevolence. 

“I was going to ask you the same thing, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid.”  

More silence followed, reaching out into the sparse caverns that gorged their way between you. The wicked talons of the unspoken words weaved around you, wrapping you both in their icy clutches. 

You were both acutely aware that whatever conversation was about to transpire between you would inevitably make or break this fledgling relationship. You were no longer who you had been just hours before. A lonely cowboy and a weary traveller no more. All that remained was an FBI Agent and a Fugitive. 

It seemed inescapable that this could only end in one of two ways -

Either he called the cops on you and you were thrown back in prison, having the key thrown away and left to rot for the rest of your life behind bars. Or one of you would wind up dead. 

And you were not going back to prison. 

@kalulakunundrum @small-and-violent @voledart @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @mavellover1819 @babyspiderling

[chikai-k]

We Need A Break.

•| Kaveh X Male Reader, hints of Alhaitham X Kaveh

•| Notes: So angst with the characters as parents right? I haven't written in a long time and all so this might be a bit janky in terms of execution. I feel like the ending is a little awkward but it's whatever, I just wanted to get something out 😞 It was originally gonna be Aether since my debut was an Aether fic but I decided I wanted to add my bbg Kaveh to my list of characters hehe also wrote this at 3-4am :)

•| CW: Kaveh is the baby momma🤧, male reader, cheating accusations, arguments, break? divorce?

Here we go.

It's unhealthy to subject your daughter to this.

She doesn't deserve to hear your problems.

You and Kaveh have tried everything in your power to keep the issue away from her attention, to make sure she can't see the cracks forming.

How Kaveh would tuck her to bed, holding back a grimace as he spots the time. He tries his best to stall, she can tell. Kaveh doesn't want to leave her side. How his sweet voice would read her bed time stories as slowly as he could, sometimes staring at her with soft eyes as he presses a goodnight kiss on her forehead. She is his baby. He loves her with every part of his being.

She knows something's wrong. She could sense it before but you two can't keep quiet when the arguments get heated downstairs. She can hear you two from the floor. She can hear you throwing accusations, hear the crack in Kaveh's voice when he says he's not seeing his co worker—but you just won't drop it.

"I see the way you two look at each other." You say, "I see the way you guys give subtle touches." You know that they're probably texting each other about things to do when you're working. "The neighbours themselves have testified that they've seen Alhaitham enter our home when I'm at work for fucks sake! Stop lying to me." You growl, teeth baring at him as your face is flushed in anger, fist clenching by your side.

Kaveh hiccups and shakes his head, "Please, I'm telling you, we're not! Why won't you believe me?" His hand is gripping his wrist and is tucked close to his chest as if protecting himself. He doesn't know what went wrong.

"Then tell me why he's been visiting so much when I'm out! It's not like he's here for our daughter is he? She's always in school, so what else could he be here for?!"

"I—I can't—" Kaveh shook, how was he supposed to explain? He's not cheating, he swear but...

"Bullshit. You and that Alhaitham guy—ugh—" You inhale, your hand shooting up to brush your hair angrily. Tempted to slam it down the counter but you'd risk waking up your daughter from the noise. Hm.

Kaveh eyes your fist warily. He never knew you as physical so he wasn't worried—hoping he didn't need to but with how the tension was going, he was afraid he'd get hurt."What's so different about him and me? Is it the muscles? The income? The looks?" You seethed through your teeth, blindsided by the jealousy that you'd missed the way he stepped back cautiously. "Or did you just fall out of love for me? Or is he secretly our daughter's real father?" You huffed, closing your eyes as you tugged at your hair.

Usually, Kaveh would give you a massage, whisper sweet things and gently pull of your fingers from your hair out of concern. But how could he when he was...scared?

"N-no, I love you." Kaveh hiccuped once more, "I..." He bit his lip as he couldn't help the the tears from spilling. He couldn't bring himself to mean it. It felt forced, like he was saying it to survive and saying it felt wrong. I love you is supposed to be affectionate and meaningful, not like this.

"I think..." He sighs as he watches you gaze back, once furious expression softening in realisation at what he was about to say. "I think we need a break. To cool our head...I'm sorry." He struggles to finish, flinching as you attempt to approach him. Right now, he didn't know who you were. Actually, he hadn't know who you were for the past couple of months.

He just needs some space to breath, to find the words to tell you why Alhaitham had been visiting...

[missingn000]

a note about tpg's hiatus

hi everyone!! i've missed y'all <33 i want to share a quick note on tpg's hiatus, and how long it will last.

first and foremost, the tl;dr: i will not abandon tpg. the story remains incredibly important to me, and this hiatus is only that: a hiatus. i will return eventually, and while i am not exactly sure when "eventually" is, i hope to begin updating again soon.

now the long explanation. tpg's hiatus has lasted much, much longer than i expected. it wasn't until i took a break that i realized how mentally and emotionally drained i was after writing 600k+ in 2 years, along with being an engineering master's student then starting a job in aerospace. especially after writing sukuna's backstory (75k+ words in one month), my brain was utterly fried. all in all, it's been a lot.

as some of you may know, i started watching one piece in september. and i love it! it's an incredibly fun, well-written feel-good series. it's been a refreshing mental break to engage with a new series, especially since jjk canon has been so disappointing in both content and writing quality. 

if you check my ao3, you'll notice i took a break from jjk with other series in the past: namely dr. stone, sxf, and natsume yuujinchou. this is necessary for me to remain creative and explore narrative themes that i bring back to tpg when i return to it. but by the time my recent hiatus started, it had been well over a year since i engaged with any other series than jjk, and it was starting to take its toll on me. i'm almost caught up on one piece now, which means i'll be able to focus on tpg again soon.

when i return from tpg's hiatus, updates may be slower. releasing 15k+ word chapters every 2-4 weeks was incredibly mentally taxing and required much of my time and focus to constantly be on the story. it wasn't healthy, and other areas of my life were impacted negatively. it can be easy to forget that i'm a real person with real-life responsibilities writing this story in my spare time for free -- even i sometimes forgot this. 

another note on why taking a break has been so necessary is my mental health. when season 2 released and toji + satosugu was animated, the fandom exploded and tpg's readership drastically increased. while this meant an influx of amazing love and support, i also started to receive rude and hateful comments and messages.

don't get me wrong: not everyone has to like tpg. that's totally fine! but as a very sensitive person, receiving hate took a huge toll on my mental health and motivation, and i have needed time to recover from it. i've been doing better mentally lately, and have taken some measures to reduce unkind interactions. i'm working on becoming less sensitive in the meantime so i can handle it better if/when it happens again.

since i've been feeling guilty about not posting jjk content, i haven't been on tumblr quite as much, but i'm still around online on both discord and instagram. mutuals can request my priv @chiidoriii on IG, and my discord is @MissingN000 -- just shoot me a message with who you are when you request! i'll still post fic updates on both new stories as well as tpg content and previews on tumblr, so please stick around :)

thank you so much for your patience with me! i love you all so much, and truly appreciate your support. love, chi <333

[wild-lavender-rose]

I wish you could write a fic where.... Y/N gets injured and tries to take care of her wounds on her own but Legolas finds her and tries to take care of her but she is scared to let him see. Lots of hurt/comfort fluff??

(You don't have to but it would be so cute!)

Okay, this is actually one of my favorite tropes to write so when I saw this I got so excited lol. Hidden injury? Not wanting to ask for help? Extra fluff? Yes please <3 I hope you enjoyed this, I haven't written for Legolas in several months and don't feel like this is my best work. But I hope you enjoy, anon!

Promise

Warning: description of injury

Your back connected with the tree, the fabric of your shirt catching on pieces of bark as you slowly slid down to sit between its roots. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli were setting up camp and beginning to prepare dinner. You had made the excuse of going to find firewood and separated from the group, going much farther than was necessary before finding this old tree to hide behind.

You had been injured by the orc attack while attempting to save Boromir. In the flurry of events that followed it had been easy to hide the blood stain on your left side. You hadn't looked at it for two whole days, convincing yourself that it was just a small scratch. But after hours of hard travel with barely time for breath, you had been forced to admit that it was much worse than a scratch.

Breathing hard, you grit your teeth and lifted your shirt to reveal the dirty bandage you had wound around your waist. It was soaked through and dripping with blood.

You cursed the sight of it and the orc who had wounded you, going to dig through your bag for another bandage when the sense of someone watching stopped you cold. In one smooth movement you were on your feet with your knife at the ready, waiting for the one you sensed to appear.

"Easy, my love." Legolas stepped into the clearing. "I thought you were collecting firewood."

You lowered your knife. "I am."

Legolas's eyes narrowed as he regarded you. The impact of moving so quickly made you sway, putting a hand against the tree for support as the knife slipped from your fingers. "Go back to camp."

"You've been injured."

You shook your head. "It's nothing."

"I see blood." Legolas was by your side in an instant, taking hold of your arm as you continued to sway.

"Legolas, please," you leaned until your back was flush against the tree. "I can handle it."

Legolas's gaze was piercing. "Your reason is tainted with pain. I see it in your eyes."

You opened your mouth to object, but instead whimpered when Legolas touched your side. "Stop," you slid down to the ground once more. "Please, I must...I must handle this alone."

"You are not alone." Legolas knelt beside you. "You will never be alone. Let me help you."

"I will slow down the group, we won't save the hobbits," you began to ramble, a bloody hand reaching up to push the sweaty hair from your forehead. "I cannot, I cannot be injured now."

"Legolas?" Aragorn's deep voice rang through the forest.

"Here, Aragorn. Come quickly!" Legolas called.

"No, my love," you grabbed at his arm but it was already too late.

Aragorn appeared in moments, his dark eyes taking you in before he sank to the ground. "How long have you been injured?"

You shook your head. "It's nothing."

"Lift your shirt for me."

"I will not."

"My love, look at me," Legolas reached out and cradled the side of your face, guiding your eyes to his. "You do not have to hide this from me. Aragorn has herbs that will heal the wound, and we will not leave you before you are healed."

Tears filled your eyes. You reached up, fingers encircling his wrist. "Promise?" You whispered.

Legolas gave a solemn nod. "I promise."

Something inside you snapped. The fear and anxiety of being discovered dissolved, allowing the true weight of pain to show on your face. Already weak, you grew dizzy and slumped back against the tree.

Legolas raised your shirt and ripped off your haphazard bandage. Blood flowed freely from your wound. Aragorn began to work, muttering soft words in elvish to Legolas as he applied pressure to stop the bleeding. You screamed and tried to thrash, but Legolas held you still while Aragorn whispered his apologies.

"Easy, my star. Easy," Legolas held your hand and wiped the sweat and tears from your face. "I have you now. I'll take care of you."

And you believed him.

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