#i was like well in case you were wondering i still hate coffee

[anotherpapercut]

I will never understand how some people hate all tea, which there are like a billion flavors of, but love coffee, which all has the same terrible taste no matter what

[aureatelys]

she lives in daydreams with me

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k.......

content warnings: 18+ please MDNI, fluff and smut, service kink sorta, mild d/s undertones, oral (f) receiving, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, age gap duh, employee/boss relationship duh, an excuse to write hotch eating pussy ngl

It all started with a cup of coffee. Or: You've had a crush on your boss for a long time, but you've recently started noticing him going out of his way to do things for you without you asking. Or or: Aaron Hotchner likes to do things for people. And by people, he means you.

read on ao3 or below <3

It all started with a cup of coffee.

You had just walked through the glass doors and into the bullpen, still waking up and desperately needing a cup of coffee, when JJ walks by you with a stack of folders in her arms. She gives you that look and motions towards the conference room.

You sigh and follow her, not even bothering to put your bag down at your desk. “That bad, huh?”

JJ grimaces. “Isn’t it always?”

You choose not to say anything, because she’s right. Lately, the cases have been getting more gruesome, more violent, and you’re wondering if it’s starting to affect you at all.

You pass by Hotch as he’s leaving his office and down the stairs, most likely going to make a coffee. You nod at him, giving him a small smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hotch says, curt as always. He makes eye contact with you briefly, silently telling you that he is still waking up as well and that he’s not being curt on purpose, before looking away.  

Thankfully, it’s been a couple of months since you’ve joined the team, so now you know that Hotch doesn’t actually hate you like you suspected. In fact, he seems to have taken a liking to you based on the number of dry jokes and banter he’s participated in just this week. It definitely doesn’t help the tiny, miniscule crush you have on him.

You don’t know where it came from. Hotch has always been an objectively attractive man, but it’s not often you have a crush on a man who is your boss who is more than 20 years older than you.

Maybe it happened last month, when you were on the jet and he was placing files onto the table to run through theories, and you noticed just how large his hands were. Or maybe, it started when you had knocked before entering his office and he hadn’t noticed you because he was on the phone with who you assumed was Jack based on the excited whispers and soft smile on his face. Or, to your horror, maybe it started when you walked in for your interview, and you felt something stir in the pit of your stomach when he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the form-fitting pencil skirt you had worn.

A very tiny crush, you think to yourself as you situate yourself in the conference room, throwing your bag underneath the table.

It’s still dark outside, barely 6 in the morning, and the entire floor was quiet while JJ set up the files and photos. You yawn and you’re just about to get up and make your cup of coffee since there was still some time left before everyone showed up, when a mug is placed in front of you.

You stare at it, halfway out of your chair, before the wonderful smell of that bad yet addicting office coffee hits you and you sit down.

You look up to find Hotch sitting down at the head of the table with his own steaming mug. He looks at you, not smiling, but his eyes are soft. “I hope I got it right.”

You look back at your coffee. It’s the perfect color. He even used your designated mug you brought from home, plain and pink, and the image of him carrying it through the office makes you want to giggle.

You don’t giggle, and instead carefully pick it up and bring it to your lips to take a sip. It’s warm and absolutely delicious, sweetened the way you like, which is a lot. How does he know, you blink, a bit shocked that Hotch was able to make your coffee perfectly, more perfectly than you’re able to make sometimes.

So you tell him. “This is better than when I make it. Thank you,�� you say sincerely, and chalk up the warmth sparking in your stomach to be from the coffee.

“Don’t mention it,” Hotch says, the corner of his mouth quirking up before turning back to his own mug and taking a sip.

You feel pleased that he thought of you, and then a little anxious because why is he thinking of you? He’s never made you coffee before and you wonder how he knew you like your coffee tasting more like sugar than the actual coffee. You blame it on the fact that he probably saw how tired you looked and knew you needed a little caffeine to start the day.

“Morning ladies,” Derek announces, striding in with too much energy this early in the morning, and making you jump a bit. He laughs at your reaction and then notices the man sitting at the table, looking up at him wordlessly. “And Hotch.”

“Morning,” he says flatly, raising his eyebrows at him.

Derek laughs and chooses to situate himself between you and Hotch. You silently try not to be annoyed by that as you take another gulp from your coffee, and then internally beat yourself up because why would you be annoyed, he’s doing you a favor.

You start reading up on the file that JJ placed in front of you when Morgan asks “Hey, where’s my cup of coffee?”

You glance at him, still holding onto your mug like a lifeline, to find him looking at you almost offended. You shrug. “I didn’t make it.”

Morgan whips his head around to look at Hotch, who acts as if he didn’t hear him. “Where’s my specially made Hotch coffee?”

He doesn’t even look up. “I only have two hands.”

You snort, almost choking, while JJ laughs and Morgan scoffs before he gets up to go downstairs to the break room.

You glance at Hotch to find him smiling to himself, mirth in his eyes, and feel the warmth in your chest again despite how tired you feel.

It’s probably the caffeine.

-

The next time it happens, it’s after you had gotten shot.

To be fair, you’ve been shot a handful of times already since being on the team, but still. You hate being shot at.

Luckily, this time it was your leg and not your stomach like last time, which absolutely fucking sucked. You had been on bedrest for weeks and was going crazy in your apartment despite Penelope visiting you every day, bringing takeout or a steamy romance novel.

You’re currently in a hospital in Texas, leg in a cast, and starting to get antsy. They told you you’re going to be able to discharge later today, but you’re ready now.

“Relax,” Hotch says where he’s sitting at your bedside, not even looking up. He’s finishing up some reports from the case they just finished, laptop on the bed providing a warm presence against your thigh. You try not to ogle at his hands. How is he even able to work with hands that big?

“I’m just ready to go home,” you say through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why we can’t just leave now, I’m fine.”

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit a nerve,” Hotch says, now looking up at you. There’s a frown on his face and his eyes are tired. The bags underneath his are deeper, darker, and you ignore the pang in your chest when you remember the frantic shouts of him calling for an ambulance after you got shot, the warmth of his hands on your calf to press against the wound.

“I’m fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What I’m worried about is what I’m going to do the next case we get.”

If possible, his frown deepens. “You’re not coming with us on the next one.”

Something like irritability rises up your throat. “Yes, I am. I can still work in this stupid cast.”

“Yes, but the doctor said you need rest,” Hotch states, sitting up a little straighter after seeing the look on your face. He knows how stubborn you can get, and this time is no different.

“I can rest on the jet, at the precincts.” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow defiantly at him. “I can still be helpful. I’m not useless.” Like hell you were going to go crazy in your apartment again, living off of frozen pizza and reality TV.

Hotch sighs, and whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a nurse coming in to check your vitals one more time, your pain level, and then giving you the rundown to be careful, get some rest, blah blah blah.

Somehow Hotch is the one who is tasked with driving you to the airport after you get discharged, the rest of the team already on the jet. You hobble awkwardly through the parking lot with your crutches, and Hotch is right next to you with his hand on the small of your back in case you fall. His hand is warm, nearly setting your whole back on fire, and you shake that thought away as you stumble a bit into the passenger side of his car.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks as he puts your crutches in the backseat. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you with concern, his hands already out to catch you just in case.

You fight a blush and sit down with a grunt. “Yep, I got it.”

The drive to the jet is quiet besides the low hum of the radio. You stare out the window the whole time, just happy to finally feel the warmth of the sun on your face.

“Do you need me to stop for anything?” You turn your head to look at Hotch. He has some stubble forming on his cheeks, hair mussed, and he’s wearing that brown quarter zip-up you like. He has his eyes on the road and turns to look at you, eyebrow cocked. His lips are chapped.

You are struck with the thought of how insanely handsome he is.

You clear your throat. “Nothing I can think of.”

Hotch hums. “Let me know if there’s anything you’re needing.”

You nod silently, and five minutes later, you’re on the tarmac and stumbling up into the jet. Hotch’s hand is at your back again, barely grazing you, and making sure you don’t fall down the stairs. He’s holding onto your crutches despite your protests, and you try not to feel a little indignant.

“There she is,” Morgan singsongs as you plop down into a seat with a sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ready to go home to my bed,” you say, immediately slouching down to get comfortable.

“I feel that,” Emily laughs, nodding, and then she’s patting you on the shoulder before she sits behind you.

Hotch sits across from you, and you try not to think about how this seating chart has become a normal occurrence. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, based on the small smile he gives you.

He’s setting up his laptop and takes out a couple of files from the bag. He then reaches in and places something on the table in front of you. A water bottle and a small bag of trail mix.

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard and not knowing what else to say.

Hotch clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I know you don’t really like hospital food. So.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the coffee incident, where he somehow knew how to make your coffee exactly the way you liked it and continued to do so almost every day since. You can feel Reid staring a hole into the side of your face from where he’s lying on the couch across the aisle.

Your stomach grumbles then, loudly, and you hear Emily laugh behind you. Hotch glances up at you from where he already has a file open. The corners of his mouth just barely quirk up, almost smug. As if he knew that was going to happen.

You wonder when he had the time to get you a snack. It didn’t come from the kitchenette in the jet, having been out of stock of snacks for weeks, and he hadn’t really left your side while you were in the hospital.

“Thanks,” you finally say. You reach forward to open the bag of trail mix. “You didn’t have to.”

Hotch’s eyes soften, his eyebrows relaxed, and there’s concern and something else in his eyes when he says “I wanted to.”

You smile before you can help yourself, ducking your head, and hoping no one else can hear how fast your heart was racing.

You’re hit with the fact that Hotch was thinking of you, planning ahead to get you a snack and make sure you were fed before you guys made it home. You notice the lack of snacks for the rest of the team and try to ignore the thrill that goes through you. It’s like he knows what you want before you know yourself.

Like he’s taking care of you.

You nearly choke on a cashew when the thought occurs to you. Hotch’s head shoots up at the sound, looking alarmed, and it looks like he’s about to get up and hit you on the back when you wave him off. He doesn’t look satisfied until you take a swig from your water bottle and give him a thumbs up. He goes back to tapping away at his laptop, but you can tell he’s still watching you out of the corner of his eye.

It makes sense now that you think about it. He’s made a habit of checking in with you at the end of the day, offering to drive you home if you stay at the office too late. Whenever you check out a location while on a case, he always goes first. He makes sure you’re getting enough sleep, reminding you that you can take time off whenever you want.

You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but ever since The Coffee Incident, you feel another pair of eyes on you more often than usual. Sometimes you would look up and see Hotch staring fixatedly on a particular file or his phone, but you can’t deny the prickling feeling you get on the back of your neck. You’ve noticed your fingertips touching more, sharing looks when the rest of the team argue, knees and feet knocking together underneath tables.

You’ve noticed that not only is Aaron Hotchner, your boss, very handsome but extremely and undeniably hot.

His broad shoulders, his tall stature. His cologne, the way he fills out his suits. His deep voice that’s able to dominate and control an entire room and make you weak in the knees.

“Interesting,” you mumble to yourself. Hotch glances at you with that same concern etched in his face, a question forming on his lips. You smile at him innocently and knock your knees against his underneath the table. It’s easy to find him with the annoying cast on your leg.

He knocks his knees back, gentler than he needs to, and a corner of his mouth just barely lifts.

-

You are absolutely sure now that Aaron Hotchner has a… thing.

You don’t know what to call the… thing, but there is undoubtedly a thing.

It’s late and you’re the last one in the office. Well, besides Hotch of course, because he practically lives at the office.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Emily asks, JJ on her arm. “I’m sure we can find something for us to do.”

You wave them away. “I’m almost done. Just got at least 2 more reports I need to finish my notes. Promise.”

Emily frowns, but you can see she’s slowly walking backwards to the exit. JJ looks like she’s trying not to tug at Emily’s arm to walk faster. “If you’re sure…”

You roll your eyes. “Go on and have fun with… whatever you guys are going to do. I don’t want to know.”

JJ gives you a wink over her shoulder and you watch as they head into the elevator, a skip in her step. And then they’re gone.

Even though you had just gotten back from the case, it takes you awhile to finish your notes hunching over your desk. It’s quiet in the building, silent besides the faint hum of the air conditioner and your pen scratching at the paper. Your hand cramps a bit and you seriously wonder why this has to be handwritten rather than being in the current century and use a laptop. You’re motivated by the thought of sleeping in tomorrow morning though, which means getting up at 9 instead of your normal 6.

You lean back into your chair, staring at your completed notes. You hear paper rustling from the office upstairs and look up to see Hotch’s door slightly ajar. You suddenly feel nervous being alone with him, as if you haven’ t been alone with him countless of times before. Recently, however, it’s been happening more, and you’re not quite sure how to feel.

You get up from your desk and stretch your back, groaning when you hear a pop. You take a deep breath, imagine your soft bed, gather your reports for the final signature, and head upstairs.

You knock, hear a faint “Come in,” and step inside Hotch’s office, closing the door behind you.

He has his desk lamp on, washing his office and his face with a warm golden glow. He hasn’t even looked up from where he’s writing his own reports, so you take the brief chance to stare.

He’s surrounded by piles of papers; messier than how he usually keeps his desk. His tie is loosened from around his neck and the top two buttons are undone. His sleeves are rolled up and you try not to stare at his thick forearms, the veins in his hands. He grabs a nearby mug to take a sip of coffee, no doubt already cold. Your eyes follow his mouth when he takes a drink, watch the way his tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and then to his face. Where he is watching you with a faint smirk tugging at his aforementioned mouth.

You clear your throat, fighting the blush that’s starting to crawl up your neck. You go to stand in front of his desk, files in hand. “I have the rest of my notes from the Florida case.”

Hotch’s face easily morphs back into his stern and professional look, but you can still see something dance around in his eyes. He takes the files wordlessly, opens one, and reads your notes for not even 5 seconds before he says “You have the names of the sisters mixed up.”

You blink, still trying to fight the nervousness you feel and the warmth pooling slowly at the pit of your stomach as you watch his hands. “Huh?”

Hotch points at the crooked paragraph you scribbled out. “The older sister is named Amanda, the younger sister is Cynthia. You have them mixed up.”

And suddenly the nervousness you felt from being in the same room as your boss, alone and in the middle of the night, is overtaken by sheer embarrassment. You must have been more tired than you thought. “I’m sorry.” You put your hand out for the file. “I can go fix it real quick.”

“It’s fine,” Hotch says, and somehow, you’re not surprised. “I got it.”

You think about the past couple of months and the small gestures he’s been doing for you. Even though you’ve known Hotch for a couple of months now, you can’t quite get a read on him. It’s confusing, he’s confusing. You hate to say that it feels like he’s giving you mixed signals. One second, he’s opening the car door for you when you’re on a case, the next he won’t even look at you when the team is at a bar for an evening. Now this? Offering to fix a mistake you made at work? Something indescribable crawls up your throat and you suddenly feel irritated, upset, and something else.

“No,” you say as professionally as you can despite the rush of blood you can hear in your ears. “I can fix it, Hotch.”

He looks at you then, something like surprise on his face. “It’s just a quick fix, I can do it.”

It’s just a little typo, why won’t he let you fix it, you think to yourself. Maybe it’s the stress from the case you just got back from, how late it was, or something else entirely, but you find yourself unable to stop yourself from saying “Why do you keep doing things for me?”

This time, it’s Hotch who blinks back at you. He puts his pen down and clasps his hands together, looking like he’s ready for a talk. “What do you mean?”

“This!” You wave your hand at him, now not sure exactly what to say. “You keep… doing things for me. Things that I am perfectly capable to do myself, you know.”

Now you realize what that nagging feeling in your throat was— anger. Has Hotch been doing this because of how old you were? Because you were a young and new agent, naïve and innocent and can’t do anything herself?

Hotch just looks at you blankly. You quickly try to read his face; he’s clenching his jaw, his hands where they were clasped are now clenched into almost fists, and his eyes are dark.

“You are perfectly capable,” Hotch says, slowly. “I do know that.”

You huff a bit. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Hotch is silent again before letting out a deep sigh. He closes his eyes, runs his hand over his face, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve just ruined your friendship/professional relationship with your boss. You can almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he figures out what to say.

He smoothly gets up from his desk and is now standing in front of you, leaning against his desk. He’s close, nearly towering over you, and you can almost feel the heat of his body like this.

The close proximity makes you nervous, because this is different than sitting next to each other on the jet or in the car. It’s different because the entire floor of the building is empty and you’re alone in your boss’s office.

He finally opens his eyes, making sure to make eye contact with you. His hands open and then close, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I do these things because I like doing them. For you.”

You stare at him, not sure what to say and feeling overwhelmed at the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling. You feel pleased, shy, giddy, anxious, and overwhelmed.

It makes sense that Hotch likes to take care of people. He’s a leader, a father, and his whole life is about helping those who are in need. You’ve seen it in the way he checks in with everyone, the way he humors Reid with his ramblings or lending an ear to Rossi. You’ve seen it in the way he talks to children and the way he tries to make himself appear softer, almost smaller.

You see it in him now. If it was anyone, Hotch would look stoic or cold, however you can tell he’s just as nervous as you are with the way he’s clearly biting at the inside of his cheek, the tense jaw, and the concerned furrow of his brow.

You’re still not sure what to say, but you know what you want to do.

So, you close the several inches between you and him with one step, grabbing the collar of his pristine button-up, and kiss him.

You’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but he pretends to act otherwise as he gingerly places his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

His lips are soft, addictingly so, and he tastes like coffee when he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip. The feeling makes your knees weak and you think you let out a soft moan, but you’re unable to hear anything over the sound of blood in your ears. His hands, large and hot, roam from your hips and up your back, giving you shivers.

Hotch is the first one to pull away and you instinctively chase after him with your lips before he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure?”

You look up at him, not realizing you had to crane your neck so much to do so and feel that all-too-familiar feeling between your legs that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are already swollen, pretty and pink, the collar of his shirt wrinkled from where you were pawing at him, and his eyes boring into you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Yes,” you breathe, looping your arms around his shoulders to pull him back in. Hotch goes willingly, almost eagerly.

Hotch kisses like he works—meticulous and focused, however his hands are needy with the way he runs them over your ass, your back again, and your breasts through your sweater. He still seems like he’s being careful, like he’s worried about breaking you. You weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull out of pure curiosity, marveling at the way Hotch lets out a groan deep in the back of his throat.

That seems to set him off because now he’s groping you a bit harder, mouth trailing down your neck and peppering kisses in a way that makes you breathless. You can tell he’s refraining from biting and leaving marks, instead making sure to pay extra attention to the spot underneath your ear that makes you gasp and grab at the back of his shirt. “Hotch…”

“Aaron,” he mumbles against your neck before bringing his face back up to yours, noses nearly touching. “Please call me Aaron.”

He’s looking at you like you hung the moon, like he can’t believe you’re in front of him. His face is relaxed, void of any stress, a faint redness on his face, and his hair is so effortlessly messy in a way it makes him look so young and devastatingly handsome.

You nod and move your hands up the nape of his neck again to touch his face, feeling the rough stubble on your palms. “What are you going to do to me, Aaron?”

He groans again and the sound goes straight between your thighs. He suddenly spins you both around until you have your back pressed up against the desk, nearly digging into you. Your breath is knocked out of you, from surprise or desire you don’t know, but then Aaron has his hands at the hem of your sweater. He looks at you, silently asking, and then quickly taking it off when you nod.

His hands immediately gravitate to your breasts, kneading them through the plain black bra you’re wearing. You’re almost embarrassed that it’s so plain, but clearly Aaron doesn’t mind from the way he’s staring at them, thumbs pressing with the lightest pressure against your nipples through the fabric. You feel them tighten, sighing at the soft beginnings of pleasure, and think surely he’s able to feel them even through your bra.

“Fuck,” Aaron curses, and you have never heard him curse and definitely not like this. For some reason, it makes you hotter, and you scramble to bring your hands behind you to unclasp your bra.

And then his mouth is immediately pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, and then onto your right nipple. You gasp and involuntarily arch your back to press closer to him, chasing his warm and wet mouth.

Aaron takes his time with you. He alternates between sucking hard to little kitten licks while his hand is rolling the other nipple between his fingers. You bite your lip in an effort to suppress your moans, trying to keep in mind that both of you are still technically at work. The thought of being caught during sex has never appealed to you, but for some reason, tonight it sends lightning down your spine. You could tell that you were already incredibly wet, probably soaking through your panties, and you spread your legs a bit to relieve some of the pressure. Aaron immediately steps in closer.

You suddenly feel the hot line of his hard cock against your leg through the several layers of clothing and it makes you moan even louder. “Please,” you gasp, nearly clawing at his back.

His mouth lets go of your nipple with an obscene noise and he’s back to pressing kisses against your neck now, soft and slow, as if giving you a second to catch your breath. “What do you want?” He murmurs, voice deep, and going straight to your wet pussy.

And there it is again— Aaron’s need to take of people. To take care of you.

You spread your legs more at the thought, feeling like you can’t breathe.

Aaron hums, stroking his hand along your thigh, and it feels like you’re burning through your slacks. “Is that you want?” The deep timbre of his voice makes you dizzy, especially when he talks to you like that; teasing, like he’s playing with you.

You nod, your words stuck in your throat. You feel the sweat start to gather at your forehead, your chest, and you can feel him staring while you’re trying to catch your breath.

“I want you to say it,” Aaron says before he’s lifting your hips up so you’re sitting at the edge of his desk. He then tucks his fingers in the waistband of your pants but makes no move to tug them down.

You glance helplessly at the door, thanking past you and the thought to close the door. You know there is a low chance of being heard since it’s almost midnight on a Friday, but again, the thought of being caught with your pants around your ankles and your bra off sends a shiver through you.

“Look at me.” And there’s a hand on your chin, pulling your attention back to the older man in front of you.

He looks absolutely wrecked despite all of his clothes being on. You didn’t notice his tie was gone, thrown somewhere in the office. Aaron is looking at you intently, eyes dark from how dilated his pupils were, and you can tell he’s just as affected by the way his chest is heaving up and down underneath his button-up.

“Tell me what you want,” Aaron whispers, his free hand running up and down your thighs. “And I’ll give it to you.”

Your throat clicks when you swallow, licking your lips, and you watch as Aaron’s eyes follow the movement. “Please eat me out,” you say breathlessly, and it almost feels stupid to say until Aaron is surging into you to press his hungry mouth against yours.

“That’s a good girl,” Aaron mumbles against your mouth and you want to melt into a puddle.

He finally pulls down your pants, helping you lift your hips up to take them off. He’s helping you take off your shoes and then suddenly, he’s kneeling on the floor in between your thighs.

You almost want to close them, suddenly feeling shy, until he has his hands on your knees to keep them apart. You can’t see his expressions from this angle, but you squirm when you feel his eyes and warm breath on your core, probably having soaked your panties right through. You wouldn’t be surprised if you soaked through your pants.

He lets go of your knee to trace your slit through your panties and you jump a bit in surprise, moaning nonetheless and grinding your hips up into his touch. You’re sensitive and have been teased for who knows how long, and secretly you’ve always liked getting dirty with some clothes being on. Blame Aaron and his penchant for suits.

 And then he’s leaning in and pressing his hot hot mouth against your cunt through your panties.

You gasp, loudly, and your hands fly to the top of his head. That’s all the permission Aaron needs, it seems, as he begins by swiping his flat tongue up you before dissolving into slow languid licks. He’s not exactly touching you where you need him most, but it’s enough for now. He’s messy and you’re starting to wonder if a mix of his spit and your wetness is dripping onto his desk, onto the floor, and the thought makes your thighs shake. You know he’s doing this on purpose to make your panties wetter, and it’s so hot in a way you didn’t know was possible.

You feel him hum against you and you squirm against his hands, mewling when you feel them tighten on your thighs. You secretly hope he leaves bruises.

“Please,” you whisper. As much as you love the thought of him so desperate to get a taste of you, him willing to take what he can get through the fabric, you need more. “Aaron, please…”

He groans, something masculine and guttural, and then he’s moving your panties aside from your wet pussy and delving back in again.

His mouth feels infinitely better like this, and you can feel his tongue swiping into your opening, gathering the wetness and completely avoiding your clit. You whine, grasping at his hair a little harder, and wonder if that’s his smile you can feel against your pussy. You grind against his face, almost involuntarily, and he lets you, even enjoying it based on how he moans and moves his tongue faster, exploring.

He finally moves his tongue to your clit and your eyes nearly roll back at the pleasure wracking your body. You gasp and tighten your hold on his hair. It feels so so good, and again the thought of Aaron being so hungry for you he’s willing to do this in the office, his office. Stern and cold, highly esteemed SSA Aaron Hotchner. Your boss.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whimper and look down at him on his knees between your thighs. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s just at his desk filling out paperwork or working on a case. Instead, he’s focused on eating you out so intensely, on making you feel so good, he’s so hot.

He opens his eyes at that, as if he could feel you watching him, and they’re a warm golden brown, pupils blown. His hands on your thighs tighten and he shifts from where’s kneeling on the floor. You could see he’s genuinely enjoying making you come apart with his pretty mouth as he flicks your clit ever so gently. You distantly wonder if he’s hard and leaving a stain through his own dress pants.

He gives a soft suck on your clit and your hips stutter, your breath catching in your chest as you feel that familiar pressure start building at the pit of your stomach. And it’s like he can immediately tell, because of course he can, and you suddenly feel one of his thick and long fingers enter you.

“Oh,” you gasp in surprise, eyes rolling back at the primal feeling of being filled. You wish it was his cock, God do you wish, but this is enough for now.

Aaron is still looking up at you and you can tell he’s about to move away to ask if this was okay, if you’re okay, but before he can, you put your leg on top of his shoulder and pull him in. You hope that that answers his question.

And because Aaron is Aaron and can somehow read your mind, he almost imperceptibly nods and puts his mouth on your clit again. His finger starts slow, despite how wet and open you are, as if he’s still teasing you. It’s almost enough for you; the steady sucking of your clit and something thick in your pussy, if he would only move a little faster.

“Harder, please, please,” you beg, unable to stop yourself, nearly babbling. It would be embarrassing if Aaron clearly didn’t like it based on the way he pushes his finger in deeper and harder, his sucking moving into hard licks to your clit.

It was good, so so good, and so intense that you wish you could swipe all of his files and folders off the desk and lay on your back to savor it. Instead, Aaron moves his tongue faster and that tidal wave is getting stronger. You instinctively push at Aaron’s head so you could catch your breath for at least a second because you don’t want this to be over just yet.

Aaron grunts and moves his free hand to your hip, grabbing you hard to keep you in your place. He inserts another finger, and it’s almost too much but it’s also just the right amount of fullness you want at the same time. He’s pumping them in and out of your wet pussy so fast, the lewd noises filling the office, maybe even carrying downstairs.

And then he’s curling his fingers just so, flicking your clit just so, and looking at you with eyes so dark and intense that you finally, finally come.

The shout of his name dies in your throat as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut, and feeling that blissful white-hot pleasure all over. Your pussy clenches around Aaron’s fingers as he keeps his fingers curled inside you. You can feel your hips stuttering, unable to make your mind up on whether to chase the feeling with his mouth or away, but Aaron makes that decision for you as his hand grips impossibly tighter and laps at your clit gently to help you ride out your orgasm.  

You’re trying to catch your breath when you feel Aaron give a whisper of a kiss on your cunt, making you jump. He chuckles quietly and you blearily open your eyes to see him slowly standing up, hearing him groan when his knees pop. You don’t even have the mental capacity to make fun of him for it, especially when you see the look on his face as he steps closer between your shaking legs.

His hair is absolutely ruined thanks to your fingers and his eyes are soft with a touch of concern. There’s a near triumphant smug grin on his face, sweet dimples poking out, and the bottom half of his face is unquestionably glistening. He flicks a tongue out to lick his lips and you want him so bad.

You glance down and feel a shiver of pride and hunger when you see the line of his hard cock through his slacks, a wet spot barely visible.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nearly swoon at how low and deep his voice sounds. He uses his clean hand to swipe a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and tuck it behind your ear. You can’t even imagine what a mess you look right now, face probably flushed and naked on his desk.

You nod, swallowing the dryness in your throat. His smile gets wider at that, if possible.

He leans in and gives you a gentle kiss and hums when you part your lips to taste yourself. The hand that’s migrated to cradle the back of your head trails down to the nape of your neck, gripping you in a way that was almost possessive. It’s hypnotizing and you feel breathless again at the thought of his hand around your throat.

You feel his cock pressing against your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most, and you reach to fiddle with his loosened tie before trailing it down his chest. You can feel his muscles flexing, his stomach tensing, before passing his belt and pressing your palm against him. “Can I…?”

He groans against your mouth before pulling away, leaning his forehead against yours. You can imagine the veins in his throat popping as he tries not to cant his hips against you.

You’re marveling at the size of him as you run your hand up and down his length. You had a feeling he was going to be big but not this big. Your mouth waters at the thought of him between your lips, hot and heavy, or pulsating in your pussy as he comes inside of you, filling you up. You can imagine his biceps tensing, the veins in his forearms showing, and the way his eyes would close as he chased his own orgasm.

So, you’re shocked and maybe a little offended when you feel Aaron’s fingers circling your wrist to pull your hand away.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against your lips before you could say anything.

“But I want to—”

“Not here,” he says, now rubbing your wrist like an afterthought. “I wanted to take care of you first.”

You huff a laugh, starting to understand now. Something warm unfurls in your chest at that. Aaron Hotchner had always seemed like the type to want to make the woman come first, maybe even multiple times before his own release.

He steps away, adjusting himself in his pants and fixing the collar of his shirt. Your eyes follow the motions, fixated on his hands, and for some reason you’re feeling hot again.

You must have made a noise because Aaron’s head whips up at you, that smug grin that he’s not even trying to hide anymore getting wider. He leans down to pick up your pants and helps you wriggle your panties back up your legs and to your hips. His hands linger on your inner thighs as if he can’t help himself and you notice his breath getting deeper, his mouth parted.  

You’re just about to slide them off again, maybe even using your arm to finally slide all the papers on his desk off when he steps away again.

“My place?” He asks lowly. His gaze lingers on your thighs, your chest, and then back up to your face. The desire and want is plain as day on his face.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar sound of a custodial cart next door in Rossi’s office. Your heart leaps in your throat and you push off the desk to scramble and put your pants and sweater back on.

Aaron laughs at that, quietly again, as if they don’t work here and they’re about to get caught doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. Which, you guess, is somewhat true.

But then Aaron is on his knees again, your shoe in one hand and his fingers circling your ankle to lift up with the other as he looks up at you. His eyes are so sincere, sweet, as if he just didn’t give you the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life here in his office.

You smile at him, feeling the fondness grow impossibly larger in your chest, and let him help you put your shoes back.

You can return the favor in his bed.

[areyouwell]

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations. 

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck. 

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel. 

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously. 

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids. 

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck. 

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one. 

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath. 

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child. 

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever. 

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine. 

“Rough–” 

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket. 

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse. 

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about. 

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on. 

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things. 

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.” 

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability. 

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you. 

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…” 

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing. 

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now. 

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count. 

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side. 

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly. 

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep. 

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm. 

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots. 

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest. 

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo. 

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt. 

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks. 

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up. 

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short. 

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern. 

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.” You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky. 

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic. 

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another. 

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building. 

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort. 

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough. 

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She’ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic. 

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out. 

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile. 

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end. 

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood. 

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now… 

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face. 

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. 

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body. 

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information. 

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you. 

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination. 

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge. 

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission. 

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his. 

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too. 

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen. 

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face. 

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.” 

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding. 

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye. 

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here. 

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling. 

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay? 

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

 toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition. 

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed. 

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight. 

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod, 

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing. 

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now. 

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?” 

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest. 

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent. 

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips. 

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright. 

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake. 

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks. 

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow. 

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief. 

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first. 

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head. 

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind. 

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for. 

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it. 

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory.  “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo’.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question. 

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do. 

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply. 

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips. 

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.” 

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably. 

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation. 

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine. 

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world. 

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers. 

Obviously. 

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did. 

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you. 

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’   

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?” 

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable. 

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition. 

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb. 

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it. 

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers. 

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest. 

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips. 

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle. 

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further. 

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly. 

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate. 

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you. 

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon. 

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

[luveline]

Hi !!! Can I request something romantic between shy reader and spence? maybe he’s like trying to teacher her something and they’re alone? IDK WRITE WHATEVER U WANNA RIGHT ILL EAT IT UP REGARDLESS <3

Your stomach hurts and you need to pee, but you’re stuck. You’ve been trying to submit your virtual paperwork for the last two hours. Why have they made it this difficult? You’re beginning to wonder if you’re being hazed. 

Spencer told you it was easy. Well, he’d put a cup of tea on your desk (for which you hadn’t asked but gratefully accepted), seen you were starting your paperwork, and said, “I’ll see you for lunch in half an hour?” with a knowing smile. 

You’d smiled back. You want to be in the know with him, even if you’d needed a ten minute recovery period after he left to learn to breathe through your nose again. 

But it became clear after half an hour you wouldn’t be taking lunch, let alone joining him. Nervous sweat dampens your hands and the back of your shirt, and your face burns with heat —why is the office scorching? You’re in hell. 

You click another button, sure you’ve found the right process, but a yellow triangle appears with an exclamation mark inside. Function suppressed, it says.   

“Oh, good,” Spencer says, approaching from behind, a coffee. “I thought you stood me up. You’re struggling with the system?” 

“I wouldn’t say struggling.” 

“You don’t need any help, then?” 

“Please,” you say softly, worried someone else will hear you. You don’t want anyone in the team nor the unit to realise how inept you are. It’s bad enough that Spencer’s cottoned on. “I can’t get it to work.”

“I was kidding,” he says, smiling tentatively at you. “Let me get my chair.” 

Spencer tortures you sitting beside you, knee to knee and arm over your arm as he guides your mouse to the right page, then the correct paperclip. His watch falls down his wrist and brushes your skin with each direction, spurring chills all over. “You’re pretty much done,” he says. 

“I don’t know why I was so confused,” you say bashfully. 

“Because it’s a confusing system.” He smells like warm vanilla. You wish you could ask him about it, but you’ve a job to talk this close to him. 

“Thank you for helping.” 

He clicks through the last part of your file to check for any missing paperclips before he sends it off. “You’re welcome.” Then, because he secretly hates you, he takes your arm into his hand with achingly careful fingers. “Are you cold?” He rubs at your goosebumps. He has really nice hands, with strong veins. He moves purposefully. 

Another rush of goosebumps down your arm. “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyebrows tugged together worriedly. 

“I’m just,” —mortified— “embarrassed about the paperwork. I didn’t know there would be this many online responsibilities involved, I would’ve looked them up.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise as your sentence ends. You’d mangled ‘looked them up’, said it breathless as his hand curled around your fingers. 

“Don’t worry about all of that. You can always ask me for help. Right? I sit right there.” He points to his desk. “Did you forget?”

Something about his tone suggests that he already knows you didn’t forget, but he takes your thank you gracefully, and continues pretending you’re cold rather than physically affected by his touch. He’s nice like that. 

“Here, in case you’re still cold,” he says, too casual, draping his suit jacket over your shoulders.

Not that nice. 

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [8] - Bells

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Some decisions require late night visits.

Word Count: 2600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You didn’t think the rest of the week would be peaceful in any way but even you couldn’t guess just how tense it would be.

“This is insane,” Becca pointed out, crossing her arms and leaning back on her seat. You had decided to meet up for brunch but this time, two other tables in the café were also reserved for your and Becca’s multiple bodyguards who were enjoying their coffees. You stole a look at them, then turned to Becca.

“You’re telling me,” you said. “Four bodyguards everywhere I go. It sounds absurd.”

“And this is Barnes territory!” Becca hissed. “I’ve never ever needed bodyguards in our territory, and all of a sudden...”

“How stressed out is everyone?” you asked and she shook her head with a sigh.

“I could barely see Bucky in these last couple of days,” she said. “My dad said I have nothing to worry about, but you know how he is. It’s kind of condescending, honestly.”

“And your mom?”

“She has this bright idea to send me off to vacation to Zürich until the dust settles here.”

You pulled your brows together. “Will you?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I’m not leaving any of you here.”

You reached out to squeeze at her hand before grabbing your coffee to take a sip.

“How about you?”

“I think I will get the same speech tonight,” you said. “My dad wants to talk to me.”

“And?”

“I’ll make a counter offer.”

“To?”

“To help out,” you said. “With this situation. Besides, me leaving in a time like this would be basically handing Ian the heir position, and I’m not doing that.”

“Do you think your father will accept that offer though?”

“We’ll see,” you said, trying to ignore the way your stomach did a flip. “I’d be better than Ian than handling this, he has to see that.”

“Bucky says Ian isn’t even carrying a gun anymore,” Becca said with a small laugh and you tilted your head.

“What?”

“Yeah. Apparently he says no one can get to him with his men around him. I guess it’s his way of making them think he trusts them with his life.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right.”

“As much as I hate to admit, it looks like it’s working,” Becca admitted. “He looks pretty confident.”

“Confidence can lead to very huge mistakes,” you said and cleared your throat. “Ugh, let’s talk about something else. How’s everything with Leila?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you!” Becca said, snapping her fingers. “Do you think it’s still too early to ask her to marry me?”

You blinked a couple of times. “Becca, you two started dating less than a week ago.”

“Yeah but I could still ask her!”

“That’s the hopeless romantic in you speaking.”

“That’s the orgasms speaking actually,” she corrected you, making you grin.

“Either way, neither of those make you think logical.”

“Logical is overrated,” she pointed out. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“You and Ethan?”

“We’re not doing anything,” you said slowly. “I did hire some bodyguards for him though, just in case.”

“Maybe you should take the first step.”

“I’m not going to do that,” you said, shaking your head fervently and she hummed.

“Don’t tell me Bucky’s proposal affected you like that.”

“What? No!” you exclaimed, scrunching up your face. “Why would you say that?”

Becca rolled her eyes.

“Maybe because I’ve known you two my whole life?”

Your frown deepened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Please,” she said, shooting you a look. “All those glances and so much bickering, it’s obvious something is there—”

“Hate,” you cut her off. “Hate is what’s there.”

Becca gave you a mischievous smile, then sipped her coffee.

“Whatever you say.”

“Bucky and I could never work,” you insisted and Becca hummed.

“What about you and Ethan?”

“Ethan is—” you paused for a moment. “Dating him would be incredibly simple. You know, no ulterior motives, no strategies, nothing complex.”

“That would be so convincing if you could deal with simple more than just a couple of months.”

“You can,” you said and Becca waved a hand in the air.

“I was never promised the heir position,” she said. “It was always Bucky. That’s why I’ve never had that…that burning ambition both of you have. At the end of the day, I do want a simple life Y/N but you’ve never been that type. I don’t think you could actually be happy in a simple relationship.”

You clicked your tongue and leaned back in your chair.

“Well then that complicates things,” you said. “I don’t think I would be happy with someone in the business either.”

“Why not?”

“Are you kidding?” you said with a laugh. “Come on, you know how spouses are treated in the business. You’re just—you’re there as the arm candy, they never let you get involved—”

“That’s the generation before us.”

“Did Bucky put you up to this?” you asked and she huffed out a laugh.

“I didn’t say you should marry my brother,” she pointed out. “I’m just saying maybe you shouldn’t force yourself to like a simple life if you want more than that. Especially if you’re basing your decision on some ancient bullshit rule our families decided to follow.”

You heaved a sigh and took a sip of your coffee.

“Didn’t you just say logical is overrated?” you asked. “Since when are you so logical?”

“I have my moments,” Becca grinned at you. “So. Can we talk about my love life now?”

“Yes but you can’t ask her to marry you.”

“I can ask her to be my fiancée,” Becca stated and you tilted your head.

“That’s…that’s basically the same, Becca.”

Becca rolled her eyes and groaned.

“Fine!” she said. “Can I at least ask her if we should move in together?”

You bit back a smile.

“I’ll give you my permission for that once you two reach the third month.”

“Oh we will,” Becca said with a bright smile. “Great. I’ll send you the house warming party gift list when I get home then.”

                                               *

 You had assumed your father would see you and gave you the same speech Becca got from her parents at home, but apparently he was swamped with work so he had asked you to come to the company. When you got there, your father’s assistant told you he was in the middle of a meeting with Ian and Stark, so you took a seat in the waiting area and stole a look at Ryan who was no doubt waiting for Ian.

“Hi Ryan.”

“Ma’am,” he greeted you, his tone rough but respectful. You smiled at him, crossing your arms.

“Waiting for my cousin?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” you asked and he paused for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Why are you working for him?” you asked. “He’s an asshole.”

Ryan didn’t even dignify that with an answer as he looked at you, his expression completely calm like he was very used to not giving answers.

 “Riveting conversation as always,” you teased him and he bit back a small smile.

“I respect your family, ma’am.”

“I mean you don’t really have to respect Ian though, God knows he does nothing to earn that,” you pointed out. “You know he’s looking forward to starting a war, right?”

“He’s ready to see you,” the assistant said before Ryan could answer you, and you nodded your head, then stood up from the couch.

“Have a nice evening Ryan.”

“You too ma’am,” he said and you followed the assistant to your father’s office.

“Y/N sweetheart, hello,” he said as he walked to you to press a kiss on your cheek. “Sit down, sit down!”

“How was your meeting?” you asked and he waved a hand in the air.

“The usual,” he said. “I have four other meetings after this.”

“Daddy—”

“I will rest when I get home, I promise,” he said and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s just that I don’t know when they will be finished, and I figured you’d be asleep by the time I got home,” he said. “Y/N listen—”

“Don’t bother giving me that speech, I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off and he frowned.

“How did you…?”

“Winnifred gave the same speech to Becca. She tried to send her to Zürich, where are you trying to send me?”

“Wherever you want,” your father said. “I was thinking Florence but…”

“Florence is a gorgeous city,” you said. “I’d love to see it sometime, maybe next Christmas.”

“Y/N.”

You gave him a small grin. “Hm?”

“It’s going to be safer for you if you just go away from the city for a while.”

“While you and Ian handle things?”

“While I handle things.”

“But Ian stays?” you insisted and he ran a hand over his face.

“Yes, but—”

“I’m not going,” you said, your voice firm. “Send him away if you want, but I’m not leaving the city when there’s a war coming.”

“I feel like you need to think about this,” your father said and you shook your head.

“I did think about it.”

“Y/N, I will feel much better if I know you’re away from danger, at least until the dust settles here.”

You sat up straighter, your heart pacing in your chest.

“Dad I can help,” you said. “With all this. You know I can.”

A look of realization dawned on his face.

“We’ve talked about this.”

“No we haven’t,” you insisted. “Not really. We keep ignoring it, ignoring the fact that you haven’t named a successor—”

“That’s because I’m not planning on retiring soon.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Others might believe that lie, but I do not.”

Your father heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off of his seat to come closer to you, then leaned back to his desk, crossing his arms.

“And please tell me, what is it that you want to hear from me right now?” he asked you and you shook your head.

“Don’t patronize me,” you said through your teeth. “You know what I’m capable of, you trained me for times like these. You know I’d make a much better heir than Ian—”

“Y/N, enough.”

“Just give me a chance to prove myself,” you insisted. “That’s all I’m asking. You don’t have to make me the head of all operations, but give me a chance to show you I can do this. I’ve already prepared a plan—”

“Let me stop you right there,” he said. “What you’re suggesting is absolutely out of question.”

Your jaw clenched. “Why?”

“We already have a plan.”

“Okay,” you let out an impatient breath. “Then you can tell me the plan and I’ll help.”

“No need, we have everything covered.”

You could feel the anger bubbling in your stomach but you dug your fingernails into your palm, reminding yourself to stay calm.

“Dad,” you said slowly. “You promised me.”

“And I promised your mother!” he snapped, making you stop talking. “I promised your mother that I would keep you safe, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

The bridge of your nose along with the back of your eyes started burning, a sure sign that the tears were on their way but you blinked fast a couple of times, biting at your tongue.

“That was your mother’s dying wish,” he said, looking you in the eye. “I’m not going to break my promise to her.”

You swallowed thickly. “Mom would want me to be happy.”

 “And you think this life would make you happy?” he asked you. “All this bloodshed, this violence?”

“I was born into bloodshed and violence,” you reminded him. “I’ve spent all my life in it. What, you think you can keep me safe by pushing me out of the picture?”

“It’s much safer than being in the middle of it.”

“For now,” you pointed out. “What about the future? I already know three families that will refuse to do business with Ian.”

Your father shrugged his shoulders. “It’s too early to worry about that. I’m not retiring anytime soon.”

“Dad, he wants to start a war.”

“He will see that war isn’t good for business,” he brushed you off. “He’s just very eager to prove himself right now, that’s all. He’s not going to start a war, don’t worry.”

You gritted your teeth and pursed your lips, glaring at him.

“You got your fire from me, your mother was much calmer,” he said with a small smile. “So I swear to you, I understand your frustration and anger very well. The crown you think you want right now? It’s way too dangerous sweetheart. You’ll see it in time that I’m making the right choice.”

The tears blurred your sight for a moment before you blinked them away and wetted your lips, trying to ignore the lump in your throat.

“You’re not going to name me as your successor, are you?” you rasped out. “Nor will you let me prove myself.”

Your father held your gaze in his for a second, then shook his head.

“No.”

The disappointment hit you so hard that it made your head spin. This wasn’t news to you in any way, you had spent years watching your father treat Ian like his successor but actually hearing it from him was enough to make you want to scream. Anger rushed through you, boiling your blood and you bit your tongue hard enough to hurt, and nodded slowly.

“Okay,” you heard yourself say as you stood up, not even looking him in the eye and he took a deep breath.

“Honey…” he started but you walked out of his office without sparing him a glance, your whole body moving as if it was on autopilot. You got to the elevator and pressed the button, then stepped inside and watched the doors close, sniffling as you wiped at your eyes.

Very well then.

If your father didn’t want to give you power, you were going to take it for yourself.

                                               *

The address wasn’t exactly familiar to you seeing that you hadn’t been there before, but your driver knew the way. When you walked into the building and gave the reception your name, it took them less than a minute to guide you to the elevator, everyone around you rushing like they were instructed not to make you wait even for a second. When the elevator stopped at the top floor, a bodyguard led you to the door of the penthouse to knock on the door and you heard the footsteps coming closer before the door opened.

It looked like Bucky had dashed through the apartment to put his jeans on when they told him you were there, seeing that he was breathing quite fast. You let yourself run your gaze over his bare muscular torso, the tattoos over his chest catching your attention before your eyes snapped up to his, your heart skipping a beat.

God damn it, you almost forgot just how handsome he was.

“Charm,” he said, offering you a small smile. “Hi.”

“Hey there,” you said as you walked past him into the penthouse before he could invite you inside and he closed the door behind you.

“This is a nice surprise,” he said while you glanced around. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You took a deep breath and turned around to look at him better, your heart beating in your ears.

“Get rid of whoever is in your bedroom,” you said and shot him a sarcastic smile as you crossed your arms. “We need to talk about the wedding.”

Chapter 9

[mangoshorthand]

Hii I'm a real sucker for your smuts and I was wondering if you could do a five one where he walks in on reader riding their pillow and thinking about him while doing it (and they haven't had intercourse in a long while because of apocalypse stuff and all that) and the aftermath where you can do anything with it after but I'd really like it if five was being gentle to the reader :<

Sorry this is a long req I hope you write it and it's okay if you dont wanna, thankiee 🫶

Your welkiee! Hope you enjoy. 😊 Lucky Fucking Pillow | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 3k words, Rated E

It had been four weeks: four fearful, lonely, miserable weeks. You felt stupid, irritated with him. You hated the fact you were waiting at home for him like the sweetheart of a world war two vet, living on the letters he sent from the front lines. 

You held it together until just before he left, duffel bag over his shoulder.

“The situation’s dangerous; unpredictable. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

On the floors below you, you could hear a bustle of activity as his siblings made similar preparations to leave.

“Why is this your responsibility?”

He looked at you, disbelievingly, the hand not supporting the bag went directly into his pocket.

“This is the world. Am I supposed to sit at home and wait to be subsumed by another apocalypse?”

You shook your head, bringing your knees up to your chest, not able to articulate what you were feeling.

“Let me come with you then.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, picked up the last of his morning coffee and knocked it back, shaking his head. 

“I’m not having this discussion again. I’d want you beside me in anything else, but not in this. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Your best chance of survival is staying well away.”

“What if you die? What am I supposed to do?”

From slight irritation, he softened further. Bending from the waist, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you, okay.”

He crossed to the door, but a strangled sob made him turn back. Your face was suddenly red, tear-streaked. When you spoke, the words tore themselves from a tight throat. 

“Don’t go!” 

He closed his eyes, hand still on the door handle. He let out a breath and dropped the duffel bag, turning back around, crossing the room in two strides and holding you close, your head against his chest.

“I have to, angel. I’m so sorry.”

Since then, your days had been spent scouring the horizon for impending doom and following the news incessantly for any hints of what was going on. Your nights had been spent sleepless, remembering Five’s caresses and trying to get your head around the fact that you and everyone else could die at any moment.

You at least knew he wasn’t dead. He got messages to you sporadically; short dispatches from the field. They appeared mostly via an ancient telegraph machine stowed in Reginald’s old office. The most recent of these hadn’t been very encouraging:

We’ve got a plan, but it’s tenuous. If it doesn’t work, we’ll really be fucked. If that’s the case, then I hope to see you on the other side, -F x

smut below cut

They were four sexless weeks too. You quickly discovered that it takes more than the threat of imminent death to crush the human capacity for horniness. Before that month, you would have thought it would be a deluge of cold water on your libido, but that was far from the case. 

On the contrary, knowing that time could be short, all you could think about was having Five in your arms again: running your hands all over his body, the feeling of his lips on yours and the sensations of his lovemaking. 

As you lay in bed, his phantom was a heavy, intoxicating presence. Your need for him was strong tonight. You rolled to look at his empty side of the bed and imagined his head on the pillow. His eyes (that fickle forest green that masqueraded as blue in some lights and brown in others), you imagined them shaded by his hair. You saw his raised eyebrow, his smile, soft and suggestive, with the dimple that only appeared on one side of his face, recessing two large freckles by his mouth.

You pulled his pillow to you and buried your face in it. It smelled of him. You inhaled it deeply: his aftershave, his antiperspirant, his shampoo, a hint of coffee and something more  indefinable: a more fundamental scent that was all him.

It was this last smell that made your stomach flip, that made you breathe in the scent of the pillow again. It awakened something primal in you: ripples from your center outwards; flutters down each of your limbs. 

Before you knew it, you were stripping off your panties and kneeling up in bed. One hand held his pillow to your face and the other held your own pillow between your legs. When you started to grind, it was him beneath you. In imagination, he was teasing you: not allowing you to get on his dick until you came from humping his leg.

It wasn’t enough friction, so you sped up your hips, snapping them back and forth desperately. There was a whisper of something, a tingle from your neglected pussy, so you chased it, sinking deeper into the fantasy and imagining his hands squeezing your hips, guiding you as you rode him.

“Oh, Five,” you whispered, feeling your body begin to respond, wetness gathering between your labia, “Five, fuck.”

You threw your head back and closed your eyes.

“Hm,” said an approving voice from the doorway, “that lucky fucking pillow.”

You gave a violent start, dropped his pillow and turned around. There he was, framed in the open doorway. You gave a grateful, ecstatic cry.

“Five!” 

In nothing but your t-shirt, you were across the room in a leap and bound and throwing yourself against him, holding him to you with sudden, tight urgency.

He immediately stiffened and let out a sharp groan of pain. You loosened your grip

“Oh my god, what happened? You’re hurt! Are you okay? Is it over? Is everyone okay? Is the world okay?”

He was holding himself stiffly, but now his pain had faded, his face was amused. He leaned forward and kissed your lips. On your side, the kiss was desperate, joy-filled; on his, more passionate. His tongue flicked between your lips before he broke away.

“How about this? l answer each of your questions if, each time, you answer me one in return?” he said, smirking. 

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, smiling gently, “but that wasn’t a question.”

You were too happy to see him to have space to be irritated by this game.

“Fine. What happened to you?”

He moved as if to put his bag down on the chair. Seeing his wince, you took it off him and placed it there yourself.

“Thanks. It’s just a wound. There was an explosion. I was hit by a piece of flying steel.”

“Shit,” you whispered, looking down at his chest and the bandages that must be underneath his shirt, “oh my god, are you okay?”

“Hey,” he admonished, “it’s your turn to answer a question now. What were you doing when I came in?”

You looked at him with annoyance.

“You know what I was doing.”

“Yes,” he smirked, “I want to hear you describe it.”

“I was masturbating.”

“How were you masturbating?” he pushed.

“It’s my turn to ask a question now,” you said, using his own tactic against him, “How long will it take to heal? Are you seriously hurt?”

“That was two questions,” he said, stepping towards you, “but I’m feeling generous: I’m not seriously hurt. It’s a flesh wound. It’ll heal nicely.”

You looked at him with concern and he shook his head with a smile. 

“Now it’s my turn: what exactly were you thinking about when you were humping that pillow?”

“You,” you mumbled, “I missed you.”

“What exactly? You didn’t answer properly.”

You feel your face flush.

“I was thinking about fucking you. On top. Riding you.”

Five’s smirk grew, biting his lip and raising his eyebrows suggestively. You hurried on.

“Is the family okay?”

“All present and correct.” he said, moving even closer to you and stroking your hip in gentle circles.

It was a long, long month without you. There was barely time to think, let alone have the privacy for any ‘self care’ sessions of his own. Now that it was all over, his dick was complaining rather vocally about this neglect; insisting that if it didn’t get inside something warm and tight within the next five minutes, it would be most seriously displeased with the rest of him. 

As if to punctuate the point, it was now requisitioning rather a lot of blood from his brain, leaving him rock hard and almost lightheaded with the rush. 

“You’re so horny for me, aren’t you? Humping your pillow like a dirty little girl?”

“Was that a question?”

“Yes.”

You sighed as his hand snaked around to your ass. He stroked one of your buttocks up and down slowly, palm cupping the curve of your skin.

“Then yes: I’m horny for you.”

“How horny?” he said, immediately, squeezing you gently.

“Did you save the world?”

“Are you wet for me?” he said, huskily.

The fingertips of his other hand came to rest on your thigh. His eyes, dark in the low light of the bedroom, captured yours and held them firmly, authoritatively.

“If you’re not going to answer my question, I’ll have to find out for myself.” 

You looked back at him and his lips twitched. Slowly, he walked his middle and index fingers between your legs and parted your labia. He let out a low ‘oh’ as he felt the sopping folds waiting for him.

A jolt twitched down the boner now pressing insistently against the crotch of his pants. 

“How about you ditch the pillow and have a piece of the real thing?”

His fingers slipped slickly up and down your slit and you nodded, trying not to let your knees go weak. Your hands came to the hem of your shirt, pulled it over your head and discarded it so that you were standing naked before him. 

As your breasts bounced free, his befuddled mind could only think how much he’d missed them. He bent forward eagerly to try and take a nipple into his mouth, but froze mid-stoop with a wince and harsh intake of breath.

“Ow. Shit.”

He straightened up slowly, stiffly and leaned against the door, experimentally stretching out his limbs.

“You okay?” you said, worried. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, hand over his injury, “Got a bad case of hornybrain. Made me forget I was impaled by a steel bar for a hot second there.”

You winced in sympathy and rubbed his clothed stomach in circles. When the pain had abated and he was again looking at you with lust behind his eyes, you leaned in and whispered to him.

“Looks like you’re going to have to stay still and let me do all the work.”

His lips parted but no words came out, for once unable to think of anything cocky to say. You could see the glisten of saliva on his tongue. You smirked and lowered yourself so that you were kneeling in front of him.

He laid his head against the door and exhaled as you deftly freed him of his pants and let them fall to his ankles. He squeezed his eyes closed, thoroughly undone by the mere suggestion of being sucked. He was even hornier than he realized. 

He groaned in a strange mix of satisfaction and need as you licked him through his underwear, using one hand to pull the fabric taught around the thick five and a half inches imprinted there in harsh relief. The stretch and your saliva made the white material semi transparent and you felt a pleasant twist in your stomach as the hint of soft, flushed skin beneath. You lost yourself, aware of nothing but the perfect outline of his glans beneath your tongue and the heady, pheromonal smell of him. 

He made another tight, needy sound as you put your lips around his still-clothed head.

“Please.”

How could you refuse him? Pulling at the elastic and reaching in, you pulled him out to twitch in the open air. It looked painfully hard, as always curving slightly to your left but otherwise sticking straight out like an exclamation point to his arousal.

Slowly, still inhaling that intoxicating scent, you took him into your mouth, slowly sucking him. You hummed appreciatively at his solid, hot skin between your lips. You were in heaven there, happy to keep sucking him as long as he’d let you.

“You don’t know how much I need this,” he said, weakly, knees buckling as you built to a steady rhythm. You paid close attention to his head, enjoying the little pop it made as it left the tight seal of your lips.

He looked down at you with hazy eyes, watching the way your lips pouted as you slid your lips up his length. When you caught his eyes, the pupils suddenly widened and he immediately looked away, head snapping straight back to look up at the ceiling.

“I can’t look at you right now,” he breathed, by way of explanation, “You’re too perfect; I’ll come too fast.”

You flushed, glowing with his praise. Though Five was a loving partner, his compliments were usually hidden beneath layers of self-consciousness and sarcasm. Him saying this now was evidence of how overwhelmed he was: inhibitions swept away in the rush of reunion. 

Slowly, you withdrew and laid your head against his stomach so that his cock rested on your cheek. You looked up at him adoringly, simultaneously enjoying the intensity of his arousal and giving him time to calm down.

“I love you Five.”

“I love you too, baby.” he said, voice breathy and hoarse, “Now, please god, take me to bed and treat me like that pillow.”

You smiled, rose to your feet and led him to the bed, helping him out of the pants around his ankles. Standing by his side of the bed, you kissed his lips gently, enjoying the way his dick stabbed and pressed periodically at your thighs. When you broke apart, you looked into his eyes, at his soft look with his thick eyelashes shading his eyes. 

Aware of his injury, you supported him as he lay down, helping him to ease onto the mattress with the bare minimum of pain. His solid presence in your arms as he let you assist him was bliss.

Though you were being careful not to place any weight where it would hurt him, he pulled you into his arms. 

“Please,” he whispered, “I want you to fuck me. Ride me. Just use me to get off. Use me like a goddamn dildo. I don’t care.  I need you.”

You smirked at this.

“Who are you and what have you done with Five?”

“Please.”

More begging. You didn’t have it in you to tease him, not when you too were desperate to feel his body against yours, to feel him inside you, to mingle your sighs and your pleasure with his.

You slipped him inside you and gasped. The resumption of this perfect coupling alone told you just how much you needed it. You knew you missed it, but now he was inside you again, you realized that it made you whole. His small keen as he slid home was enough to send a fluttering shudder from your center outwards.

“Let me take care of you,” you whispered, leaning close to him.

He nodded, biting his lower lip and caressing your hips.

Slowly, you began to grind against him, rolling your hips with him inside you, moving on top of him just as you did the pillow. This time, it really was Five beneath you, his cock twitching inside you, hitting and charging that sweet spot inside you until it felt like you were buzzing with his electricity.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, “Five!”

“I-don’t-deserve you,” he panted, “So perfect. Perfect. Beautiful girl…so goddamn sexy. I love you. I-fucking- Ah!”

He always got more talkative yet less coherent the closer he got. He was watching your swinging breasts, hanging a few inches above his face. You leaned forwards immediately, keen to give him what he couldn’t take for himself a few minutes before.

He took the hint eagerly, taking your nipple into his mouth and groaning along with you at the change of angle. He suckled enthusiastically, hungrily; hand leaving your hip to rub your breast with his palm. 

His groans now sent miniature, warm vibrations onto your nipple, creating a new center for charge to build upon. As it crackled down your limbs, stoking the heat in your stomach and groin, you moaned, wanting to ride him hard- ride him like a bike - but you were reluctant to let loose in case you hurt him. 

Instead, you rolled your hips upon him desperately. Judging by the sudden shout from him and the ache from your pussy, this motion was to both of your liking. You were on the edge now, teetering.

“Gonna come. Gonna come.” he whispered, urgently, removing his mouth from your titty with a wet sound.

He meant this to warn you but, instead, his desperate voice gave you the final push.

As you came, your pussy clenched, squeezing him suddenly. His eyes shot open and he all-but squealed at the unexpected stimulation. His hips surged upwards, the pain from his chest eclipsed for the moment by this maddening, raging orgasm. It felt like your pussy was milking it from him, pulling his rapid shots of come up into itself. 

At last, you came to a stop. 

“Is the world safe?” you asked, after a warm breathless minute or two.

“Yes,” he said weakly, “the world’s all okay.”

You carefully climbed off him, laid beside him and held him. There was the fresh smell of his shampoo and antiperspirant. The smell of home if ever there was one.  After a minute or two becoming heavier in your arms, he spoke again.

“Well, the world’s certainly all okay now.”

He stroked your stomach as if you were made of paper-thin glass, inclining his head towards yours as he spoke again.

"I meant what I said: you are perfect, you know."

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[momentaryescape]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Gibbs x Agent!Reader Warnings: Cursing Word Count: 1406 A/N- When I wrote this the vibe for Gibbs is similar to how he acts at the end of season 7 episode 23 when he is taking to the lawyer. It seems really specific but gives an idea for the vibe.

“Was any of it true?” The anger you tried to hide was boiling inside you. You thought you meant something to him. That it was real and not pretend. But here you were, standing in his living room feeling like a fool.

“You knew what this was. It was fun y/n, nothing more. I don’t know what made you think this would be anything but that.” Gibbs seemed like his normal emotionless self. Hell by the looks of it he seemed more annoyed you were bothering him with this conversation

“For months you would get mad if a guy even so much as looked in my direction. Tony brought me coffee and you dismissed him over some bullshit thing he didn’t even do. Mcgee gave me his coat after mine got fucked chasing down a perp and you ignored him for the rest of the case. So nothing my ass Jethro. You want to act like it was nothing but I know that deep down you felt something.” That was your breaking point. You grabbed your stuff before leaving his home, slamming the door on the way out.

~~~~~

“Hey y/n, everything good?” Mcgee gave you a questioning look.

“I’m fine.” You snapped.

“Ohhkay.” Mcgee’s seemed shocked at the outburst.

“Fuck. Sorry Mcgee. I had a rough night. I'm better now, some things have been cleared up.” You smiled back.

“Well if you want a different kind of rough, let me know.” You Didn't see Tony walk up behind you, his comment making you jump in your seat.”Here, brought you coffee.”

“Thank you Tony.” You shot him a flirty smile. Tony winked back at you before sitting at his desk.

Gibbs was watching the entire interaction play out from his desk. He knew what you were trying to do. The remarks of a rough night, the flirty look at Tony. You were trying to get under his skin. He hated it. Not just what you were doing but the fact that it was working.

It had been a few days since the moment you had in Gibbs’ living room. There hadn’t been any new cases the past few days, so the team was catching up on paperwork. Disrupting the silence, Gibbs slaps a hand on your desk.

“Can I help you?” You don’t even bother looking up, already knowing who it is.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gibbs snapps through gritted teeth. Irritation clearly written across his face.

“Work Gibbs. I have a job to do and that's what I plan on doing.” You still hadn’t looked up from your computer.

“Agent l/n, I expect you to look at me when I’m talking to you.” His outburst drew the attention of everyone around. Questionable faces wondering what the hell was happening.

“Careful Jethro, people might think you have emotions, wouldn't want that to happen.” You looked up at him, clearly annoyed with his presence. Your quip had also clearly pissed him off.

“Leave.” His voice had a bite to it.

“Why? You're the one who came over to my desk, got annoyed I was focused and not looking up at you, and now you want me to leave? I get it, you're the boss man, but I still deserve respect. So give me one valid reason that I need to leave, aside from hurting your “feelings”.”

“Y/n-” Zive tried cutting in before things got more heated.

“Thank you but I’ve got this Ziva. I'm not scared of an emotionally immature man who thinks he can stab me with his words like pins. You want to act all big and bad, but we both know what you are.” You could hear a pin drop with how quiet it was.

“Thats it agent l/n. You need to leave, and until you can act like an adult don't feel the need to come in.” Gibbs was pissed. At this point he was practically yelling.

“Gladly. I would rather be anywhere but near the smallest man who ever lived.” With that you grabbed your bag, collected what you would need to finish your work from home and started toward the elevators.

~~~~~

Gibbs knew he had fucked up. Both in front of everyone and during the original fight. He had cared. He loved to show you off, but always made sure nobody the two of you knew could see. He was a private man, he told himself. But looking back you're the only person he hid. He felt ashamed. You were younger, happier, all the things he wasn't you were.

And now here he was, at your front door. He straightened his stace before knocking on the door. At first he thought you might not be home, but that thought was whipped away when he saw your frame in the open door. He heard you scoff, before asking him what he was doing there.

“I wanted to apologize.” He stated with a small hint of softness.

“Really?” You were calling his bluff.

“Yes, I had no right to yell at you in front of everyone. We should've talked privately.” You rolled your eyes at his statement.

“Yeah I tried that with you, remember? What was what started thin. I wanted to talk and you acted like it was nothing. I'm over it. I can deal with arguments, but being pretty much getting told I was delusional for believing that we had something killed any spark I had.” You meant every word.

“I’m trying here y/n.” His plea fell on deaf ears.

“Next time don't think “I’m sorry” will fix all your problems. You're a grown man Gibbs, act like it.”

“Its always the dramatics with you isn't it?” You scoffed at his remark. “Listen, I meant what I said. What we had, it was great. I’m sorry I said it was only fun. I had feelings for you, but we both knew it wouldn’t last.”

“Why not? Was it not fun once it wasnt forbidden? Once we were seen together was the thrill gone?” You thought back on all the times he would make excuses not to be seen with you. You felt stupid.

“Don't act like you didn't know that this was only meant to be between the two of us.” He knew he was pushing your buttons, but he kept going.

“Are you that ashamed of me? Years of friendship, months of passion, and after that you still hide me away. I don't want to be some secret.” You wanted to smack his chest, cause the same pain he caused you.

“Do you not understand what would happen if they knew? How many rules I broke every time we were together?” He was yelling at this point.

“You know what the saddest part was? I would have died for you, but instead I just died inside. And you deserve prison but you won't serve the time.” You felt hot tears fall from your eyes. The realization you allowed yourself to cry over him fueled your anger. “It's over Gibbs. No second chance. No “it's different this time”. And no more acting like I’m nothing. We still work together. And as much as I would love to say "Good riddance", I love my job too much. I will take punishment for the show he had in the office, but I will not let you take my career.”

He didn’t say anything, he just looked at you, trying to read your expression. Without saying anything you walked to the door, opening it. A silent tell for him to leave. Taking in a slow deep breath you turn to face him. “Leave Gibbs, please.”

“I understand you're hurt y/n, and I know I'm the reason. I will still have your back, and I will still be your boss. But for both our sakes, I think it's best we keep the rest of the details between the two of us.”. You watched him walk out your door, down your steps to his car, and drive away from your home, shutting the door when you could no longer see him. And just like that it was over. No more late nights after cases where you end up in bed together, mornings shared over fresh coffee, and one less friend. Maybe some day the two of you could be friends again, but as for now that wasn’t something either of you wanted, or more realistically could handle.

[hells-wasabii]

A/N: in case it isn’t obvious this is another heavy work, so do with that information as you will. I took a completely different approach to this one than the one with Velvette, I don’t feel that Carmilla would actually act on the information unless it was something you explicitly expressed desire for. I didn’t fully proof read this either so lemme know if I’ve made any mistakes

Character: Carmilla

Type: Fic (Carmilla x fem!reader who had abusive ex, Angst, Fluff)

You had just wanted a cup of coffee. That’s all it had been. Coffee and a muffin during an early morning in hell.

It should have been simple. It was simple. But still, you found yourself tucked into a booth with your face buried in your hands on the verge of a breakdown.

And yet your heart still pounded away in your chest. One moment had been fine, and the next notes of an all too familiar cologne met your nose. You would have recognized that scent anywhere, the notes of pine stinging your nostrils. It was the sort that did little to cover the smell of cigarettes, you remembered. The smell was burned in your mind, embedded in the deepest recesses of your worst memories. Fuck, you hated it.

With each panicked breath that entered your lungs, your fear grew. Screwing your eyes shut you tried to will yourself to calm down. They weren’t here, you tried to remind yourself. You needed something to ground you, anything. And so with shaking hands, you wrapped them around your cup. The heat seeped through the porcelain and into your palms, but even still it wasn’t enough.

All at once, it was like you could hear everything and nothing at all. It felt akin to drowning. And you were alone with no one to save you. It was a fact that only served to unsettle you more. You couldn’t help but wonder, would the other patrons jump to your aid should they make an appearance? Or would they turn a blind eye and whisper amongst themselves just as they did when you lived?

They weren’t here, you tried to remind yourself. They weren’t even in the same city for fucks sake. You’d made damn sure of that when you chose to settle in Pentagram City. Rationally, you knew this, but it did little to settle your nerves. You thought that you had done so well to make progress, but now you weren’t so sure. Had all that work to get away really been for nothing? Maybe you really should have killed the bastard sooner…

You screwed your eyes close tightly, gripping the hot cup even tighter. The cup in your hand burned, but you didn’t care. It helped ground you to reality. This would pass, you told yourself just as you had countless times before. It had to.

But you couldn’t help but half expect them to slide into the booth opposite of you.

Your blood ran cold when you heard the door to the shop open. The thought of potentially getting up from your seat and quickly leaving the cafe sprung to your mind, yet you remained frozen in place.

A soft conversation between three women met your ears, light-hearted. It’s not much but the voices sooth you, even from across the cafe. It wasn’t them.

Once more the noises melded together, a horrible amalgamation that was quickly becoming too much.

A sharp gasp left your lips as you felt a hand rest upon your shoulder. You nearly spilled your coffee as fear flooded your senses. Your head whipped around to find a tall demon with white hair and sharp eyes staring back at you, looking almost as surprised as you felt. You realized that you recognized the woman as she quickly retracted her hand, as though if she weren’t careful she would burn you.

Carmilla Carmine, the biggest name in arms dealing in the pride ring. A powerful overlord whose reach even extended to the other rings. You knew each other, or at least knew of each other.

The overlord's eyes scanned your features, taking only a moment to gather herself before she spoke. “Are you alright?”

You didn’t reply at first, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Instead, you nod, shifting under the arms dealer’s gaze. She stood there, silent, as if she were deciding something.

“Girls,” Carmilla called out gently after a moment, and soon two younger women were at her side. Her daughters, you realized. “Go on without me, I believe I’ll stay just a bit longer.”

The overlord’s daughters looked between themselves and then back to their mother. Both of the young women seemed to have a look of understanding when the one in the white coat replied. “We’ll see you at home, mother.” Carmilla watched as they left, setting her drink at the table as she settled into the booth opposite of you.

“Now, would you like to talk about what’s going on?”

Truly, you couldn’t understand it. You had only spoken once, maybe twice before and that had been in the company of others. Why was she doing this? You couldn’t help but wonder if something like this was what you had so desperately wished for when you still breathed. And so you let this woman distract you from your panic.

What followed was a conversation that would change your afterlife. While you didn’t dive into specifics. You expressed your fears, and her, understanding and support.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to other things. The conversations that fell between the two of you felt effortless. She had gotten you to smile, to laugh even. You had felt a rare sense of pride when you had managed a chuckle out of the overlord in return. You weren’t sure you had felt this at ease in a long time.

To be quite honest, you hadn’t even realized how long you sat in that cafe with the overlord until Carmilla’s phone began to buzz, her screen lighting up as a few messages appeared on its screen.

“I’m afraid that’s my cue.” The arms dealer sighed, seeming a touch disappointed as she rose from the booth. Though she took a pause, her eyes locking with yours again a moment. She reached into her pocket, receiving what had appeared to be her receipt from earlier, and quickly jotted something down on the receipt before she folded it neatly. “It seems my daughters are expecting me home for a late lunch.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,“ Carmilla slid the folded receipt in front of you, offering one last gentle smile before she left. And so you watch her go, offering a small ‘yeah,’ though you doubt that she heard.

Once she had exited the cafe it was like you had broken out of a chance. With a shake of your head, you sank back into your seat as you turned your attention to the slip that the overlord had left behind for you. Carefully you took it into your hands.

Your eyes widened as you opened the folded slip, revealing her name and phone number.

‘In case you want to talk more.’

[my-my-my]

Hello! I haven’t figured out if your requests are still open, in that case I apologize. You write Aizen in a magnificent way and I was wondering if I can submit a request. I was thinking of “Aizen x female reader”. To be specific, Aizen having sex with Urahara’s sister? I see him as the type to do that, help😽

Thank you for your kind words! Also I LOVE your idea. It took me a fair bit to grapple with it, but I hope you like and enjoy it! I've also been an AU mood, so I hope that's ok!

I low-key hc Urahara as a little brother since he gives spoiled baby brother vibes, so reader is his older sister for this 🤭.

NSFW: Aizen x (Slightly) Older Reader, Kisuke's out-and-about... and may have an idea of what's happening.

Word Count: 3970 words

[Click here to read on AO3.]

This is arguably one of the longest things I've written. I really ran with this idea lol.

It bothered Sosuke to no end to see his lab mate, Urahara Kisuke, clumsily complete his portion of the PowerPoint presentation that they were both presenting… one hour before their class.

Beyond the fake, thick lensed glasses, and the tight, yet polite smile, Sosuke was seething that the clown in front of him was getting a higher grade in their Applications of Chemometrics class.

“Urahara-san, I can help with your portion of the PowerPoint.” Sosuke offered, to the bewildered-looking Kisuke. His pale blonde hair was disheveled, his clothes in disarray, and the dark bags under his eyes emphasizing how haggard he looked.

Kisuke made a motion for Sosuke to stop talking, as he focused on the screen in front of him, muttering his key points under his breath.

“Have this then.” Sosuke curtly said, handing him a medium cup of coffee with some sugar. The one thing he knew Kisuke wouldn’t say no to. Kisuke immediately grabbed the drink and chugged it down quickly, surprising Sosuke at how the man didn’t flinch at the hot liquid burning his throat.

“Thanks for that, Aizen-san!” Kisuke beemed at him, as if the coffee was key to transform him into his usual, lackadaisical self. The man had a large grin on his face as he happily typed the rest of his points on to the slide deck.

Sosuke looked at him, dismayed again, by the notion that someone of Kisuke’s intellect, was still so… foolish.

“That went well, don’t you think Aizen-san?” Kisuke laughed as he patted Sosuke on the back.

Sosuke let out a sign, “yes, it did. But it surely would’ve been better if you spent more time preparing.”

Kisuke’s laughs increased, as if he was snickering, “and where would the fun be in that?”

“You call this fun!?” Sosuke asked, exasperated.

“Anyways, why don’t you come to my family home for Golden Week? And don’t tell me you can’t because, you’re going to be studying.” Kisuke said, drawing out his sentence in a teasing tone. “We’re taking the same courses, and we don’t have any assignments due for the next few weeks.”

Sosuke glared at him, “no.” Kisuke pouted, which Sosuke hated.

“C’mon!” Kisuke whined, “I know you’re just going to hole yourself in the library.”

“I don’t want to meet the family of whoever gave rise to you.” Sosuke remarked, making his way to the chemistry labs.

“I have it on good authority, that there is only one of me, Aizen-san!” Urahara said, snickering at him. “The rest of my family, is what you would call…” Urahara tilted his head to the ceiling, thinking, “normal.”

Sosuke scoffed again, “I doubt that.”

“Then let’s have a bet! If you stay with me for Golden Week, and you don’t find my family normal, I owe you 20,000 yen.” Kisuke said, grinning as he extended his hand. Sosuke glared at him, staring at Kisuke’s open hand and the smug look on the blonde man’s face.

“You have yourself a deal.” Sosuke said, shaking Kisuke’s hand in a firm grip.

“And welcome to my humble abode!” Urahara exclaimed spreading his arms wide at the entrance to his home. The Urahara estate was surprisingly grand in nature. Well, Sosuke wasn’t too surprised, because the careless behaviour Kisuke exhibited from time to time always came across as someone who didn’t really understand the value of money.

The garden seemed well maintained, and the house was in perfect shape, with modest decor. A complete contrast to the utter disgust and horror of Kisuke’s personal apartment near campus.

Kisuke instructed Sosuke to leave his belongings near the entrance, as “the housekeeper will put in your room.” Which again, did not surprise Sosuke that Kisuke relied on a housekeeper.

“How long have you had a housekeeper for?” Sosuke inquired, as Kisuke led them to the sitting room. There were no family photos, but beautiful pieces of artwork and paintings filling the space.

Kisuke shrugged as he explained there was always one when he grew up. Sosuke made no remarks but noted that the man had some kind of upper-class upbringing.

“Oh Ki-chan, is that you!?” Sosuke turned around, seeing you enter the room.

Kisuke gave a sheepish laugh as he waved at you. “Aizen-san, this is my sister.” As he introduced you. Sosuke bowed towards you, “thank you for having me, I’m Aizen Sosuke.”

“Oh of course! A friend of my brother is always welcome!” You beamed at him, taking note that how polite Aizen was, and quite handsome, albeit a bit nerdy looking with his glasses.

“I didn’t know you would be home” Kisuke explained, “mom said she’d be away for Golden Week. She didn’t say anything about you staying or anything.”

You laughed at his response and patted Kisuke’s hair, earning him a grumble of “I’m a grown man.”

“Midori mentioned you were coming over with a friend so I wanted to say hi.” Your head patting became slightly more forceful, “since someone doesn’t like texting me back.”

Sosuke stared at the scene in front of him, thinking of how Kisuke not only blew off his classmates and friends, but also his sibling.

“He doesn’t respond to my texts either.” Sosuke interjected with a soft laugh. “I thought he would at least have some courtesy to respond to his family.”

You sighed dramatically, letting go of Kisuke’s scalp, “See, Ki-chan? It’s normal to check-in every once in a while. Have you been to his apartment, Aizen-san?”

“Please call me, Sosuke.” Aizen politely requested, giving you a kind smile. Kisuke narrowed his eyes as he watched the scene unfold, but his expression was unreadable.

“Sure! Sosuke-kun it is. Have you been to Ki-chan’s apartment? Has he cleaned up after himself yet?” You giggled as you looked at your brother. Kisuke gave you a glare, but nothing you weren’t used to.

Sosuke shook his head, “I try to avoid it if I can. I don’t think it’s habitable for humans.” The two of you shared a laugh as Kisuke scoffed.

“Stop bothering Sosuke-kun and get out of here sis.” Kisuke said, as he tried to push you out of the room. Sosuke gave a pointed look at Kisuke at the use of his first name, but said nothing of it.

“Fine, fine! But let me make dinner for you two, it’ll be my treat!” Kisuke rolled his eyes and agreed for the both of them as you went about the rest of your day.

Three days had passed as Sosuke stayed with Kisuke on his estate. He hated to admit it, but once Kisuke was serious about something, he was a great conversation partner. A larger part of himself also didn’t want to admit he enjoyed your company during dinner or lunch. You insisted that Kisuke eat homemade meals, and made “Ki-chan’s” favourites. Sosuke took in great pride watching Kisuke embarrass himself over your fussing. Sosuke also didn’t want to admit how attractive you were to him. It bothered him immensely to have developed an attraction so quickly to someone, let alone Kisuke’s sibling. So many things bothered Sosuke about this “vacation.” But there were only a few days left during this stay at the estate, and Sosuke was never one to quit.

Which is why he resorted to masturbating to fantasies of you during his routine showers.

As the water rained down his body, Sosuke stared at his growing erection, his thoughts still lingering of you from last night’s dinner. The way your eyes lit up as he complimented your dishes, the slight blush of your cheeks for every praise he doled out to you. Or the way you would bite your lip or pout whenever Kisuke did something that annoyed you (and Sosuke).

He slowly began to pump his cock, thinking about how you had tried to grab some ingredients from the top shelf of the pantry closet, and he held the small of your back. The soft gasp that escaped your lips and the way your eyes widened at his touch. The way your lips curved to give him a gentle smile.

Sosuke let a groan as he thought about the sound and looks you gave him, thinking of you underneath him. Groans were followed by pants before hot liquid covered his hand, that was sooner washed away by the shower.

Sosuke knew he had to get a grip. There were only a few days left and he would leave this estate and you behind.

Walking through the estate, Sosuke couldn’t find Kisuke anywhere. In fact, it felt like no one was around, until he walked by the kitchen. Sosuke stood near the door, as he quietly watched you put away groceries, your eyes lighting up, from what he assumed over ideas on what to cook. You had music playing in the background, as you hummed and sang along. He watched you intensely as you danced around the kitchen, putting things away.

It amazed him how similar, yet dissimilar you and Kisuke were. You were thoughtful, respectful and generous. You took initiative in trying to understand Kisuke (and Sosuke’s) interests and hobbies, even if it went over your head sometimes. Yet at the same time, you and Kisuke had the same affinity for childish humour and pranks. You played along with his bizarre ideas, often encouraging him. Sometimes Sosuke felt that Kisuke was being spoiled, and that made him a bit jealous.

Just a bit, he thought to himself.

You were lost in thought and didn’t realize Sosuke was behind you until you turned around, faceplanting yourself in his chest.

“I’m so sorry Sosuke-kun! I didn’t notice you were here. I thought you went out with my brother.” You explained, brushing Sosuke’s shirt for nonexistent dust.

“It’s quite alright.” Sosuke said, with the ever so kind smile again. You couldn’t get a read off of him. He was incredibly polite and thoughtful, to the point you were surprised your brother had made such a friend. “Do you happen to know where he is?” Sosuke inquired, a puzzled look on his face.

“Sadly I don’t, and I tried texting him as well. I’m guessing he didn’t say anything to you either?” You asked, leaning your back to the counter. Sosuke shook his head, to which you sighed in response, “what am I going to do with him…”

Sosuke stood there, still with the same smile on his face. “Sosuke-kun, would you like me to make you anything in the meantime?”

Sosuke sat in the parlour room with you as you had prepared him a pot of your favourite Western tea. You explained to him how you enjoyed “afternoon tea” lately, and the variety of sweet and savoury dishes that accompanied it. Sosuke, of course, had already known about the concept, but indulged you as you explained it to him. His eyes would soften as you looked at him with smiles and the fluttering of your voice as you shared favourite aspects for him.

“I hope my brother hasn’t been too much of a bother for you, Sosuke-kun.” You said, refilling his porcelain cup with more of your favourite tea. “Ki-chan can be peculiar about things, and he never was great at keeping friends.” You had admitted, “well there’s Yoruichi-san and Tessai-san, but he doesn’t bring them up anymore. It’s been years since I last saw them with him.”

Sosuke vaguely recalled Yoruichi, but Tessai was someone he was unfamiliar with. “I see, well we’ve been classmates for years, at differing moments of our life, but I suppose you can say that graduate school is where we got to know each other.” Sosuke explained, taking a sip of the tea.

“Really? You’ve known Ki-chan for longer? He’s never mentioned you before.” You were shocked at the revelation, but Sosuke didn’t seem bother by it.

“We went to the same elementary and high schools, but weren’t in the same classes, were in different friend groups and had different extracurriculars.” Sosuke continued on, unsure as to why he was sharing this with you.

You laughed to yourself, “extracurriculars? Ki-chan wouldn’t even bother. Our mother tried so hard to get him to do something with his time, but he had no interest in it. I’m honestly surprised he mustered up the discipline to do his PhD.” You said, swirling your teacup before taking a sip.

“He’s a brilliant man,” Sosuke admitted.

“Yes he is, but so are you, Sosuke-kun! Don’t sell yourself short.” As you gave him a big grin.

For once, Sosuke felt flustered at your response. He felt his cheeks warm and muttered a thank you. He thought he was used to praises and admiring remarks from men and women alike, but from you, it was different – it felt heartfelt and sincere.

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the afternoon in quiet conversation, from the weather outside, to childhood memories and everything in between. But still, Kisuke was nowhere to be found.

Sighing in defeat, you began to gather the tea ware to clean, but Sosuke, ever the gentleman, helped you carry some of the fine porcelain pieces back into the kitchen.

“I don’t mean to offend,” Sosuke said, calling your name, “but I’m surprised you cook and clean. Doesn’t your housekeeper do it for you?”

“Oh, Midori-san? When I was a teenager, it didn't feel right with me to have a housekeeper, so when our mother was away, I asked Midori-san to teach me things. I never saw myself living in this house forever, so I wanted to know how to cook and clean on my own.”

“Hm, so Urahara-san never bothered to learn with you it seems.” To which you laughed in response.

“Yes, I suppose so!” You smiled at him, as the two of you quietly cleaned the cups and cutlery together.  

“Sosuke-kun, do you know how to play Koi-Koi?

Koi-Koi was a game Sosuke knew of in passing but had never actually played. You provided him a cheat sheet with all the possible pairings and explained the rules to him. His face as emotionless, but your excitement over the game was cute.

“Do people make bets with this game?” Sosuke inquired, as he inspected his hand.

“Oh, I suppose some might. Would you like to bet something, Sosuke-kun?” You asked politely.

Sosuke nodded his head, “how about we decide after we play?” He suggested, giving you again, the same kind smile. You didn’t think he was being genuine this time but wanted to play along.

“I’ve never made a bet playing koi-koi, but I also don’t play it as often as I’d like. Ki-chan hates playing it.” You said sadly.

“Why?”

“I think it’s because this game is left to chance, and he is someone who always works with plan after plan. He may have devised a strategy to secure whatever combinations with what he was dealt with, but koi-koi can be unforgiving.” You explained, as you dealt the cards for the table. “He can build the combinations he has planned out, but he will never know when I can end it for him. I think it’s for that reason, it bothers him.” You surmised, a wistful look on your face as you neatly arranged the cards for the table.

Sosuke had to agree to play for three rounds, which he learned, were also referred to as months. He inspected the cards and noticed that they were fairly faded, with the black edges fading to white. He was also surprised by how small the cards were, his hands engulfing them, while again, you looked cute holding yours.

Sosuke had drawn the better card, determining him to go first. You had offered to go “easy” on him by showing your hand and he would show his, but he explained it wasn’t necessary. “You said I was a quick learner a few days ago.” Sosuke said with a chuckle.

He played conservatively the first round, securing five points after building “Blue Ribbons,” which allowed him to go first again for the second round. Confident with the rules of the game, Sosuke could see what possible combinations he could make with his hand, and repeated “koi-koi” as he built his growing point pile.

Then you had to ruin it. You made a measly junk pile, worth one point and refused to call koi, ending the round.

All the points Sosuke had built, the Rainy Four Lights, Red Poetry Ribbons and both Moon and Cherry Blossom Viewing… all gone.

Sosuke furrowed his eyebrows and exhaled. His eye twitching at how quickly it came apart, remembering your words about Kisuke’s disdain for the game, “but koi-koi can be unforgiving.”

You gave the same wistful smile at him and prepared for the final round. Since you had won the second round, you went first. Cards were taken, others were put on to the table. Sosuke felt vindictive as he saw you growing “Boar Deer Butterfly” in your pile along with “Three Lights.”

Yes, koi-koi was unforgiving. As if to punish you for ending the round with one point, he had built “Red Poetry Ribbons” again and snagged the Butterfly you needed for your own pile, “I end the round.” Sosuke said with a smirk.

“You really are a fast learner, Sosuke-kun!” You smiled at him as you began to pack the cards away. But as soon as your hand reached out to grab his pile, Sosuke caught your wrist, catching you off guard.

“Since I win, I know what I want.” Sosuke said, staring right at you. It was the first time you gave a good look at his face, noticing how sharp and intense his eyes were beyond the lenses. It startled you, but you again, played along, curious to see where this would go.

“And what is that Sosuke-kun?” You politely asked, relaxing your hand in his grip, leaning closer to him over the table.

Without saying a word, Sosuke pulled you in for a kiss, sealing the distance between you two. Your eyes were wide open, shocked over what was happening… but you didn’t mind it. You gently pulled him away and watched him take off his glasses, both of you breathing heavy.

Nothing was said between you, just stares and heavy panting, with Sosuke’s grip on your wrist still ever present. Closing your eyes, you took an inhale, knowing you two were going to cross a line (what line? A small part of you wondered.)

“Maybe we should stop, Sosuke-kun.” You said, regretting each word escaping your mouth. “Kisuke won’t like this.”

“I don’t care what he thinks.” Sosuke said in a pointed tone, his eyes narrowing in anger, “the man plays by his own rules. I think it’s time we play our own.” You were transfixed by his voice, nodding and agreeing with what he was saying. “Let’s finish this elsewhere, Sosuke-kun.” You murmured, pulling him away from his seat. The grip on your wrist tightened as he led you to the guest bedroom.

Clothes were strewn about in Sosuke’s bedroom, as he pulled you against him for more kisses. Sosuke hated how needy he felt, but wanted more of your kisses, more of your attention on him. He held your face in his hands as he peppered kisses across your face, paying special attention to your lips.

He pushed you on to the bed, and continued down your body, nipping across your neck and chest. The greediness he felt grew the more he touched your body, leaving him with the urge to mark you. Harsh bites and sucks across your neck and chest, surely strong enough to bruise later, but you welcomed you. Curiosity and excitement grew in you to see Sosuke go further.

Sosuke parted your bare legs and dipped between them, as he immediately lapped at your wet pussy. He took care to with gentle licks to your clit, then pushed one finger inside you. You moaned loudly, without a care as to who would be able to hear it. You chanted Sosuke’s name, praising him with how good he made you feel.

Your orgasm was approaching, and you had a feeling Sosuke knew that too, with the way he began to pump his fingers faster inside you and the licks to your clit growing more intense. Your legs shook as you felt your orgasm crash around you, a loud scream piercing the room.

Sosuke dropped your legs and pushed his hand through his hair, a lone strand in front of his face. He watched you with a satisfied smirk as you tried to regain your strength. You were shaking trying to sit up, and he watched you with glee.

His cock was hard and erect, with precum dripping down the tip. He gave himself a pump as he watched you struggle to get up. Once you managed to do so, you leaned towards his cock, pushing his hand away.

His cock was thick in your mouth, but you wanted to reward him with the same pleasure you felt. Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you began to suckle on his tip as you pumped the base of his shaft. Sosuke threaded his fingeres in your hair, pushing you down further along his cock. He groaned your name as you swallowed his cock whole.

You bobbed your head up and down, keeping the pace as you savoured the precum escaping from Sosuke’s cock.

Until you heard the familiar, sing-song voice of your brother. You tried to pull away, but Sosuke gripped your hair tighter, forcing his cock in your mouth.

You could hear Kisuke’s footsteps coming closer, and then a sudden knock. “Aizen-san, are you there? Do you know where my sister is?”

You looked up at Sosuke, eyes widen while your mouth was filled with his cock. He grinned menacingly at you, shoving your head further towards his crotch. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t see her at all today.”

“Oh…” Kisuke said, “Can I come in? I have some exciting news to share.” He said in a sing-song voice.

“I’m about to take a shower.” Sosuke said, his voice even as if he wasn’t throat fucking you, “I’ll meet you at your parlour room.”

Kisuke made an appreciative sound and went away, with Sosuke letting go of the grip on your hair. Your hair was a mess, with drool and cum dripping down your mouth on to your body, your lips swollen from Sosuke’s kisses and from sucking him off.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Sosuke said, pushing you back down, “but we can make up for it later.”

You gave him a kiss as a sign of agreement, as he spread your legs apart again. He pushed the tip of his cock into your wet pussy. The slopping noises echoed in your ears.

Sosuke put a hand over your mouth as soon as he saw you moan. He slowly pushed himself in and out of you, your eyes rolling at the sensation of him repeatedly filling you up. Soon his pace quickened, and from your earlier blowjob, Sosuke knew he wasn’t going to last long. He pushed himself down against you and kissed you deeply as his thrusts became erratic. Then, without warning, and your own orgasm approaching, he pulled out his cock and came all over your pussy, rubbing his tip along your clit, earning him a small shriek from you.

You sighed, knowing that you couldn’t bask in the moment with Sosuke, so you quickly gathered your clothes and slowly opened the door, peering down the hallway to ensure no one was around. But before you could leave, Sosuke’s strong arms were wrapped around your waist, as he nuzzled your ear.

“Let’s continue this later tonight.” You turned around, giving him a quick peck on the lips, “I’ll be waiting, Sosuke-kun.”

Thanks for reading!! I had a lot of fun writing this 😅.

[kijimha]

Nahyuta is the most OVERHATED character in SoJ

"He's constantly repeating the Holy Mother stuff" yes, because a character's speech should be recognizable to some extent, especially if they important. Religion is also a very important part of Khura'in and its legal system, too. Of course he'll rely on the Holy Mother a lot. Not to mention many characters have repetitive speech (For example, Franziska is an amazing character and uses the word "fool" a lot)

"Ema says he's a good person outside of Court but he isn't" We have BARELY seen him outside of Court, but you don't even have to in order to know he is a good person. He suffered in silence so Rayfa wouldn't have the same fate as he did, gave a witness a name despite having no need to, and didn't confiscate Dhurke's badge when interrogating him in hopes that he'd save him.

"He's annoying and extremely ruthless" Because his perception of defense attorneys was completely warped. When you live in a place where they're hated, you'll be bound to as well. Besides, he never believed that the person he was prosecuting was innocent and just wanted to give the victim their last rites. He is literally shown praying for the fallen, proving he has immense respect towards them.

Not to mention Khura'ins legal systems rely on Rayfa. Outside of Khura'in, naturally he is going to believe the accused is guilty and will do his best to make them pay for their crime.

"He was rude to Athena" Because she is young and, again, he does not like defense attorneys. He at least saw her as a worthy adversary after seeing her strengths.

"He kept throwing beads at people" As if the other prosecutors haven't done WORSE? Throwing coffee, whipping people...

"If his rude persona was an act, why was he mean when outside of Khura'in?" Okay, one, maybe he didn't want to break the persona. It'd be weird if he were mostly ruthless and suddenly switch personalities. If he wants to help Rayfa, he can't show something is going on at home. And if that won't help; maybe he's just a bitch???? He has every right to be. So many other characters are flat out mean. Also; he's in only ONE GAME so far. He still has a lot of his personality to develop.

"His writing sucks, he's basically a second Edgeworth" I agree some parts of his character are not as good as I wish they'd be, but he and Edgeworth are quite different. Even if the character arcs mimic each other, it isn't as if it hasn't been done before. Also, many just refuse to see Nahyuta past the stuck-up religious guy perspective. It's so interesting to wonder how his relationship with religion, rebellion, obedience, etc. would be before, during and post canon.

"He's the worst prosecutor of the series" Because he wasn't easy to beat? He was described to go from place to place, solving difficult cases. Of course he's not going to give up easy and will be a challenge to face

I admit his writing is not the best and could have been better. His redemption arc was a bit short and I think it could have been more interesting if he actually believed in Ga'ran, but Nahyuta is being treated as if he killed everyone's families. Seriously, people seem to forget so often he did so much for Rayfa, even working under someone he didn't believe in.

"He's still my least favourite character" then why are you still reading. I love him. he's my favourite character in SoJ and so mecore. skill issue skill issue

[janeyseymour]

A story where R is really self conscious about their mobility aid (a cane if possible). Maybe one of the middle schoolers says something rude. And mostly a lot of comfort from Mel

i hope this is good enough because i wrote it in between teaching a bunch of first graders and babysitting two little gremlins

Lean On Me

WC: ~2.5k

You had finally decided to bite the bullet and get your knee replaced after months of agonizing pain with a little nudge from your wonderful wife. You had hoped it would be replaced and healed by the time the school year started up again, but unfortunately that was not the case. You weren’t able to get it replaced until the end of July, and with class being back in session at the end of August, you’re still using the cane and you’re under pretty strict restrictions.

“Maybe I should just take a month’s leave until I can walk without this damned thing,” you mutter to yourself as you’re sitting in Melissa’s classroom while she finishes prepping her room for this year’s upcoming little eagles. “I don’t want the kids to see me with this.” You lazily gesture to the cane that’s next to you.

“That’s up to you, my love,” Melissa tells you as she passes you by to hang a new Eagles sign. “But I do think that you’ll be incredibly bored while you’re recovering and no one is around.”

She’s right. You’ll be bored out of your mind if you decide to take off for a month- especially without her to keep you entertained. And you know that you hate having subs; if the principal would even be able to find a substitute for you this late into the game. So you decide that you’ll just have to tough it out despite the fact that you’re incredibly self-conscious of having to use the mobility aid at such a young age. You get stares while you’re just in the grocery store and hobbling around with your wife (she tries to insist that you stay home and rest, but you tell her that you like spending the time with her and that you need to stay at least somewhat active).

Development days come and go, most of your staff and team doing everything they can to make life easy for you- Ava even going as far as spray painting your parking spot in the front so that she knows not to rent out the space during the Eagles barbecue that she holds every year (both you and Melissa thank her for that). Janine and Jacob help you to set up your classroom while Gregory finds different workouts that are supposed to help it heal faster on top of the rigorous physical therapy that you’ve been attending. And Barbara is there to make sure that both you and your wife were well-rested and eating- offering moral support in any way she possible can.

And so, the first day of school is upon you. The redhead insists on carrying your things to your room, and she sets a chair outside of the door for you to be able to greet your students when they come in. As your old students run past you to get to their new teachers, they give you the biggest and warmest hugs, telling you that they hope you feel better. You see Melissa standing outside of her door, greeting her new students with the same gusto that she always does, and then she looks over to you. She gives you a questioning look, and you nod and smile in her direction- quietly raising your mug filled with coffee in a toast. She reciprocates your action and blows you a kiss subtly.

You hobble your way back into the classroom and take a seat at your desk while the kids settle in and do the morning work that is on their desk. After morning announcements, you have them all gather on the carpet and explain to them how this year is going to work. One of them raises a shy hand.

“What’s up, hun?” you ask one of the girls.

She asks you hesitantly, “Why do you have a cane? I thought only old people have a cane.”

You smile at her gently. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart. Mrs. Schemmenti had a knee surgery over the summer, and I’m still recovering. I’ll only need it for another month, maybe a little longer. But while I have it, everybody needs to be careful and gentle. I can’t walk around much either, so I’ll be teaching from my desk for the time being.”

Your class is overwhelmingly supportive of this, and they are so sweet about asking if you ever need anything or if they can help pass out papers for the entirety of the morning. This group is a bunch of love bugs who make you get well cards when you give them a bit of free time while you’re waiting to be called down to the gymnasium for the beginning of the year assembly.

You’re incredibly thankful that Ava calls your grade first so that you can make your way down slowly and find a seat before anybody else can swoop in- the last thing you need is to have to stand in the back because all of the chairs are taken. You’re pretty sure if that happened, your wife would riot for you, but that isn’t necessary.

You have your kids take a seat, Melissa slides in next to you and takes your cane to prop it up against the wall, and then you settle in for whatever ridiculous first day of school assembly will present itself this year.

Because you were the first ones in, you’re also the last ones out. It gives you time to get yourself and your kids ready to head back to the classroom for the small break they have before they head to lunch.

But when lunchtime comes, you get swept up in the sheer chaos of trying to get your students to the cafeteria in time so that you have your full lunch break. There are the little ones who are walking through the halls with their eyes wide and full of wonder, your kids who are walking at a fast pace that you’re having a hard time keeping up with, and then there are the older ones who couldn’t care less that you’re attempting to make your way through the halls without bumping into anyone. It doesn’t help that half of the middle schoolers now tower over you.

In a rush, one of them knocks the cane out of your hand with their lunch bag and snorts with laughter. “I thought canes were for old heads!”

Another one of them shouts that you’ve really let yourself go, and maybe it’s time for you to go into early retirement if you can’t walk around without the help of your mobility aid.

You stumble without the crutch there to lean on, and you nearly fall until Melissa has looped an arm around your waist and is helping to hold you up. You lean against her heavily as you try to steady yourself again. She turns to shout at the two who were making fun of you, but they’re already swept up in the sea of children that are all wearing the same uniform. She doesn’t know who to yell at, so she quickly turns back to you.

The student that is standing next to you looks absolutely appalled and picks up your cane immediately. She hands it to you gently. “Are you okay?”

You nod and gesture for her to continue walking. Your students do as they keep their eyes trained on you to make sure that you’re okay.

Once all of your kids are in the cafeteria and you see that they are all seated and eating or in line to get a school lunch, you turn. Melissa is still right at your side, her arm still looped around you.

“Go enjoy your lunch, babe,” you tell her gently as you take her hand away. “I’m just gonna sit in my room for lunch if you wouldn’t mind bringing my kids back down with you when the period is over?”

“You don’t want to have lunch with us?” the redhead asks you quietly.

“I don’t know if I can make it down to the staffroom, and then the lunchroom, and back today,” you admit softly. “My knee is really hurting from physical therapy yesterday.”

“I’ll be down with your lunch,” Melissa promises. She squeezes your hand gently before turning on her heel.

You settle at your desk, and despite yourself willing the tears not to spring to your eyes they do. You wipe at them furiously. The comments from the older kids really shouldn’t be affecting you the way that they are. And you really would rather not have your wife see you shedding tears over their idiotic comments- you know she’ll be roping Ava into a manhunt to see who it was anyway, and it’ll only be that much worse for the students if she catches you crying.

Your wife comes in with both of your lunches and an icepack for you- not that you requested one. You quickly wipe your tears as you hear her heels hitting the tile underneath of her, but she still sees it.

“Hun, does it hurt that bad?”

You turn to her with a sad smile. “No. I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, but your voice betrays you and it cracks ever so slightly.

She sets your lunch in front of you and pulls up two chairs. She gestures for you to set your leg up on the second chair as she sits int he one next to you.

“Mel, you really can go enjoy lunch with he crew,” you tell her gently. “I’ll be okay by myself.”

“Ice,” is all she says as she takes a bite of lunch. She sets the pack on your knee, and you flinch slightly as the cool sensation ripples through your body, sending a shiver down your back.

You sit there, and she watches worriedly as you don’t make a move for your lunch at all. 

“Babe, you have to eat,” she says softly.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not that hungry.”

“My girl? Not hungry?” the redhead teases you. “C’mon.”

You don’t know what happens, but something within you snaps. “When I’m not burning nearly as many calories as I used to because of this fucking knee, I don’t get as hungry!” You burst into tears again. “God, I never should’ve gotten it done, and then I wouldn’t need this damn cane!” You throw it across the room in anger before curling in on yourself.

Your wife is up and retrieving it in seconds, only for you to throw it past her again.

“Babe,” she warns as she picks it up again.

“I don’t fucking want it! I’m sick of everyone staring at the young woman who has to depend on a god damn cane to walk!” you cry.

“Is this because of-” she starts to ask you, but you cut her off. 

“I’m sick of being stared at in the grocery store, or when we decided to go to Hershey and I had to use one of the wheelchairs! I don’t want the kids to go home and tell their parents that I’m some poor, crippled woman who can’t teach standing up!” you choke out. “I- I just want to be normal again!”

“So help those kids who pushed past you,” she grumbles before taking her seat back and wrapping her arms around you. She kisses you gently. “It’s all part of the healing process. You’ll be back to running around in no time, and you aren’t going to be in as much pain.”

“It’s going to be at least another month before I can walk without the cane,” you yell, frustrated tears falling down your cheeks.

“And you know I’ll always be here to lean on, your kids will clearly do everything they can to help you, and you know the staff here has your back,” she tries to comfort you.

“I couldn’t even properly take my kids to lunch,” you sigh, and you hate how whiny you sound.

“So I’ll take them and bring them back for you with my kids,” your wife tells you. “That way all you have to worry about is getting to and from the staffroom.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You already do so much for me.”

“And I will continue to do everything I can for you for the rest of my life,” she tells you with confidence. “When I said for better or for worse, I was serious.”

“I love you,” you whisper as the first genuine smile appears on your lips since the lunch incident.

“I love you too,” she mumbles as she leans in to kiss you. Then she pulls away and pushes your lunch towards you. “Now eat. I know you’re hungry.”

You pick up the fork and shovel some food in your mouth. So maybe you lied to Melissa when you said you weren’t hungry.

Come the end of the day, your wonderful wife picks up your kids and takes them out for dismissal while you ice your knee again. You see the kids off with a wave and a smile as they tell you that they hope you feel better soon. You’re given quite a few hugs, and a few drawings of you with the students are mixed in.

When you expect her to come back in once the kids are gone though, she doesn’t. And you can’t really leave without her because you can’t carry everything and navigate the halls with your cane just yet. You shoot her a text.

Did you forget about your crippled wife?

I’ll be down in a few, she responds quickly. Just chatting with Ava.

She’s telling the truth because the next thing you know, she’s in your room and grabbing your bags along with all of hers, and you’re heading out for the night.

“Why were you chatting with Ava?”

“Just had a few questions for her about this school year,” is all the redhead says. “Now let’s get going- you have physical therapy at 4:30, and then it’s an early night for the Schemmentis. I am wiped.”

The next morning, you and your wife are sitting and standing outside your classrooms getting ready to greet your students when two of the older kids come up to you. They hand you apology notes and hazard a glance at Melissa- they look terrified of her. She just folds her arms over her chest and smirks.

“Mel,” you sigh once they walk away. “I appreciate you defending my honor, but do not make two middle school boys look about ready to sh… their pants on the second day of school.”

“Nobody makes fun of my wife,” she shrugs. “Especially when it’s about something she’s already insecure about.”

“Is that why you were with Ava? You were looking at the security footage?”

Again, she shrugs. “Let’s just say, we’re having a school wide assembly next week about how we shouldn’t make fun of people who have mobility issues or any other sort of disabilities.”

[bloodywickedlips]

It's a start

Summary: Spencer recently got out of prison and has been distant but it's a major shock to you when he breaks up with you and you can't hate him because you love him still.

You walked to the only person that you wanted to see right now.

Penelope Garcia.

 Opened the door and saw her sitting by her desk drinking tea like usual.

“P I need to talk to you” you said and slipped into the office, Penelope turned around with one of her bright smiles but it quickly dropped as she saw your face.

“Oh sugar what’s wrong?” she asked and you shrugged and pulled your jersey closer around your body.

“Spencer broke up with me” you said and she gasped as she stood up and gave you a tight hug, once she pulled back she grabbed your hand and pulled you to sit down.

“Why, what happened?” she asked and you couldn’t answer as you have been asking yourself that question since last night.

You closed your eyes and the memory hit you straight away.

You and spencer were having a coffee by your usual bookstore and you were telling him about the new book you started but you noticed spencer wasn’t paying attention.

“Spence love? Where is your brain right now?” you asked with a laugh but spencer only frowned and straightened up with the affectionate name you always called him.

“This isn’t right” he said out loud and you frowned. “Your coffee? I can order you a new one” you said and went to stand up but he grabbed your hand and you sat back down.

“No, this. Us. We aren’t right, I can’t do this anymore” he said and you stared at him in shock.

Sure he was a bit distant after getting out of prison but you knew he needed time to adjust to being out of prison but you didn’t know things were this bad.

“What do you mean? Love I understand if you need space but nothing changed between us, I still love you” you replied back and you saw him clench his jaw. “I’m sorry, it’s over” spencer said and then stood up and walked away, leaving you there to wonder what the hell happened.

“And he just left, I sent a few text messages but he never replied. He didn’t even greet me this morning” you said to Penelope and you could see she was upset as well.

“Penelope tell me things to hate him. Cause I still love him with all of my heart and for me to move on I need to hate him, please?” you asked her as you felt tears well up in your eyes.

“Y/N I'm sorry, I can’t tell you anything to hate him for but believe me I will be having a word with him” she said and you knew she was right. Nobody could hate spencer, sweet boy genius with the most gorgeous brown eyes and sweet smile.

You nodded and stood up to walk out not knowing that someone was standing by the door and heard every word.

You were sitting on the plane after a new case came rolling in. You were avoiding spencer in everyway you could and you could see the team noticed something was up but decided not to say anything.

Three days later the profile was completed and you and spencer were the closest to the house, so Hotch ordered you two to head there while they were on their way.

Both you and spencer walked through the house guns aimed but no one was in the house, as you looked out the kitchen window you saw a small shed out back.

“In the back” you called out and made your way there. When spencer pulled the door open you saw the unsub standing with the latest victim, knife at her throat.

“Michael look at me, you don’t want to hurt her okay?” you spoke out looking at the girls terrified eyes. “Shut up, you know nothing!” Michael spat out at you and you held your hand up as you put your gun away. “I’ve got the shot” spencer said and you shook your head. “No, not in front of her” you hissed out and stepped forward.

“Michael listen to me, what her parents did to you isn’t her fault. That whole friends group bullied you as a child but don’t you see? She’s also just a child. You are better than them” you said to the unsub trying to let him put his knife down.

“No they deserve to feel the pain I felt” he said out loud and gripped the girl tighter.

“Michael she’s innocent, don’t let their bad decisions affect the rest of her life. Just because they are her parents doesn’t mean she will be like them” you explained and with his hand wavering you knew you had him.

You stepped forward once more as he nodded and you grabbed the girl and pushed her behind you.

“Alright now drop the knife and we can get this sorted” you said and reached out for him but his eyes shot up to you “I don’t like your tone, you are a bully just like them!” he shouted out and sliced the knife out towards you, slicing your arm. You hissed and stepped back but flinched as you heard not one but two shots along with a shrill shriek. You opened your eyes to see Michael on the floor with two gunshots to his arm and shoulder. Spencer was busy handcuffing him and walking him out as you just stood there.

The little girl was out with her parents as you walked out still in a daze.

“Hey Y/N get that checked out” Hotch called out and you looked down at your arm seeing the blood run down your arm but you were looking for spencer.

You saw him by one of the cars and marched over to him. “What is wrong with you! You didn’t need to shoot him” you hissed out and spencer looked at you. “He had a knife and attacked you, so I shot” he said and you shook your head.

“He didn’t attack me! He barely grazed me, we could have taken him without shooting him, I told you not to shoot him in front of the little girl!” you yelled out and saw spencer clench his jaw.

“You are weak, you’ve become too weak for this job! It’s my job to take out an unsub if they attack, not spare a little girl from seeing her kidnapper shot!” spencer hissed back out at you and you stared at him in shock. He’s never spoken to you in such a way, not even with your worst fight you’ve had.

“Face it, I saved you. You just cant admit that you have gotten weak on the job” spencer yelled out and stormed off.

You felt the tears run down your cheeks as morgan pulled you over to the ambulance. The medic bandaged your arm as it wasn’t just a graze and would need a few stitches.

The plane ride was very silent as the team heard everything that was shouted and when you stepped back into the BAU Penelope was waiting for you.

“What happened? Morgan told me you and spencer were screaming at each other?” she asked and you looked over your shoulder to spencer who was right behind you with the rest of your team.

“Well I got my wish, I hate him” you said and you knew spencer heard you as he looked at you as you said the words and saw guilt flash over his eyes.

You told Penelope you would catch up later as you had a lot of paper work to do and made your way over to your desk.

Spencer’s pov:

“I hate him” I heard Y/N say and the guilt hit me like a punch to the gut. Before the case started I was on my way to ask Penelope about  Y/N. but before I could go in I heard her say to Penelope that she still loved me but in order to move on she wanted to hate me.

“You, my office now” Penelope said and I sighed as I walked with her. “What is wrong with you?” Penelope asked me with anger lacing her voice. And I knew I messed up badly because Penelope hardly ever got angry.

“You won’t understand” I told her as I sat down and played with my fingers, a million thoughts running through my head.

“Then explain, because what you did is not okay” Penelope said and I sighed out.

“She told you the other day she needed to hate me to move on, so I called her weak, I said she’s too weak for this job” I said and I heard Penelope huff.

“Spencer why would you break her heart like that?” she asked and I felt the tears brim in my eyes.

“Because she deserves better than me. Penelope I just got out of prison, I was an addict amongst other things, she deserves better than me and I want her to be happy. I’m broken and I will just pull her down” I explained as the tears finally fell down my cheeks.

“Oh sweetie, you’re not broken. And she is happy, no matter what you went through she doesn’t judge and she loves you” Penelope said and I sobbed out knowing that Y/N never judged me about anything I told her and I knew she did love me. But inside I felt like she deserved more.

“Penelope how do I fix this, I do still love her but I want her to have the best” I said and knew I wasn’t ready to let Y/N go.

“Apologize and talk to her, explain to her and open up” Penelope said and I nodded as I wiped the tears away from my cheeks.

“Do you think she will forgive me for hurting her?” I asked Penelope not knowing if I even deserve the forgiveness.

“Not yet but it’s a start” Y/N said in the doorway and my head shot up to meet her eyes.

“Do you still love me?” she asked me and I nodded yes, sure that she heard most of the conversation.

“Then we go from there, because I love you spence, I really do. We work on it” she said and stepped towards me and I pulled her in for a hug, nodding into her shoulder “We work on it” I whispered and closed my eyes as I felt the raging thoughts in my head quiet down.

[unnaturalequilibrium]

Capítulo 12

- Mafin rewatch (Sueños de Libertad)

Here we go. It’s the photographer. I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet, I haven’t even found the seatbelt yet, but we’re already taking off.

Marta wanting something modern, but knowing very well not to try to be too transgressive. A quiet kind of revolution that sneaks up on you is to be preferred. She wants a campaign ad that plays on a woman’s own agency though. I don’t know how to tell her, but that’s still a pretty hot topic no matter how much traditionalism you try to steep it in. I approve though. Sisters doing it for themselves, so to speak.

Hihi, her shocked eyebrows when he notices the perfume she’s wearing.

Oh honey. You clueless little inexperienced puppy. I can’t unsee my own perspective or hindsight, but I wonder to what extent we were supposed to believe that something might happen between her and the photographer. I assume most straights did, but even for them - I mean that opening credit. 

Either way, Marta being a clever business woman and a closeted feminist is nice. Smart and smart. Hits my spot.

Fina mocking Claudia as the lavender triplets are having coffee together is cute. She also catches on to Carmen’s sadness and ask if it’s in relation to Voldemort. Carmen reveals she’s not able to tell if she should do the right thing with Tasio or follow her heart. Fina deadpans and tells her the heart is a treacherous mistress. She is the lesbian friend every straight and bisexual woman needs.

The photographer is a bit creepy though. It’s not cool going around photographing women without their knowledge or consent. Especially not when you have a moustache, that just makes it twelve times as creepy. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.

Carmen covering Tasio’s gambling ass. You hate to see it.

Marta for the first time on this show getting truly excited about something. Excited about her idea of selling their latest perfume through a more relatable woman than your standard model. The joy she expresses when the photographer comes back with a whole portfolio full of pictures of the shop girls is fucking pure. This isn’t just an ice queen, this is a woman trying really fucking hard to make a difference in her own way. She has a vision and I honestly don’t think it’s only about the cashflow. I do think she wants a different world for herself and for other women too.

This scene also hits with one of those lines that are pretty fundamental to her as a character, even though she likes what he’s done, she tells him she won’t make a decision “hot”. She needs to let the emotions land and turn it all over in peace. This is Marta at her core. Everything about her as an emotional being can be narrowed down into this. She did the exact same thing with Petra. She gathered the data, went away, made a case for herself and then returned with a plan of action. If you want Marta’s cheat code, then it’s this behaviour. Pretty much everything else about her will fall into place when you understand this. And the best way of breaking her is to force a reaction out of her before she’s had a chance to digest in silence.

Yeah, even if we ever were meant to think something was about to happen with the photographer they also made sure to be pretty fucking unsubtle about the real direction they were taking this story in.

[specialagentlokitty]

Hotch x reader - look after you

Hotch x reader who gets injured and he grows very protective of her🥰🥰 hes just so sweet and cute - Anon💜

You hated this, you hated not being able to go out in the field, but you couldn’t exactly be running around on a case with a broken leg.

So you were confined to the office, doing whatever you could to help with the case from back home.

Signing, you rolled your shoulders a little as you turned away from the computer screen.

You wanted coffee, so you got up, grabbing your crutches, you only managed to take a few steps away from your desk when Hotch appeared in front of you.

“Sit.” He said.

“Come on, I’m bored.” You whined.

“And you have a broken leg, sit down.”

Huffing, you went back over to your desk and sat down, crossing your arms as you glared at your boss a little.

He smiled, setting a cup on the table for you and dragged a chair over to your desk.

“You can only keep me locked up for so long boss man, I’m going to break free.”

“Right, and were you planning on running or?”

He smirked and you laughed a little.

“Wow, ouch okay. That’s brutal Hotch.”

“It’s true, you’re not going to make it very far.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“Well if you actually went on the case maybe I would.” You huffed.

He shrugged a little, leaning back in his chair.

“And if I went on the case you’d be stuck somewhere.”

You went to reply but closed your mouth because you knew his was right.

You didn’t like to be sat still for a long time, you were restless, you liked moving about and going places, but with the broken leg all you could do was sit.

Hotch wouldn’t let you do anything, he picked you up, drove you home, when Jack was having a sleep over he would stay with you.

He had become like your personal bodyguard, and it was nice, but you just wanted to do things.

“Can we at least go out and get lunch?” You asked.

Hotch looked up from the papers in his hand and nodded his head, grabbing your jacket he helped you put it on and waited for you to get up.

“Okay, but just lunch, no wondering (Y/N).” He warned.

“Fine! No wondering.”

You knew Hotch was going to ask you where you wanted to go, and you knew a place that you had to walk to because you couldn’t park near it.

So you chose there.

Hotch parked the car and helped you out, making sure you were okay before he let you go.

“You did this on purpose.” He said.

You grinned and slowly started to walk.

“I’m shocked you didn’t notice before we got here.”

Laughing to himself, he followed next to you, and he stopped at the bottom of some steps.

“(Y/N) no.” He said.

“(Y/N) yes.” You grinned.

Holding out one of the crutches you waited for him to take it, and when he did you took hold of his arm.

It was a lot of work but you finally got up, and not only did you enjoy a free lunch paid for by your boss, but you got to wonder about.

But the wondering took its toll on you, because when you went home that night, you were in agony.

“I told you.” He sighed.

Hotch put his blazer in the back of the chair in your bedroom and walked away, coming back with your medication and your drink.

He handed them over and sat on the bed next to you, watching as you shuffled in pain, unable to get comfortable.

Sighing to himself, he grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your leg, putting it underneath and placed your leg in it.

Then he grabbed a blanket and covered your leg with the blanket.

“I made a mistake…” you mumbled out.

He nodded his head and leant back, letting your rest your head on his shoulder, and you took his hand, holding it tightly.

“Next time will you listen?” He asked.

You sighed and nodded your head.

Hotch rested his head on yours, running his thumb along the back of your hand.

“Try get some sleep…” he whispered.

He had already asked Will to look after Jack for the night, because he couldn’t live with himself if he left you while you were in this much pain.

He was going to stay with you, get you anything you needed, hold you if you needed because he hated seeing you like this.

Seeing you in so much pain made him upset, and it hurt him because all he wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe

[da-rulah]

For the lyric game…

I know you said a Papa or Ghoul, but would you make an exception for Mary Goore? 👉🏻👈🏻 Our beloved corpse needs some more loving lol. The song I had in mind was Merry-Go-Round by Mötley Crüe with the line: 🎶She waits at home just to love him through the night, thinking, he’s been gone so long now. Is he coming home?🎶 Can be both NSFW or SFW 😉

Oh, of course I can make an exception for our dear sweet Mary Goore... 😈

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm feeling some angst. No one fits angst quite as well as Mary, hm? Just something about it works. So I apologise if this isn't what you wanted, but this is what came into my mind...

NSFW 18+, MDNI! Mary Goore x gn!reader TW: Angst, jealousy, accusations of infidelity, domestic arguments, insecurity, angry sex, hate fucking, penetrative sex, manhandling, slight pain kink.

You stared at your phone screen, watching as if anything were going to change yet knowing it wouldn't. But you hoped; you always hoped.

"Read 19:09"

Those three little dots never appeared. No new messages. It had been hours... His set would have finished around 11, so why, at 2:47am were you still sat up, waiting for him to so much as text you back.

You were getting tired of this. The "I'll be home before 2" promises, or the "I was just grabbing a drink after the show" excuses. Each one fell short, and he avoided the topic. All you'd text him was a simple "Hope the show goes well, baby. Kill it!" and yet, nothing. He used to reply right away, even if just with an emoji when he was busy or pushed for time.

But lately, with the late nights and the ignored texts, you were beginning to wonder if there was something he was hiding. He never had a good reason for his late returns, just that he was "networking" or "having drinks with the guys". And when he did finally show, he'd just crawl into bed beside you without a word, and fall asleep while you waited for something; even just an arm draped over your waist, a kiss to the forehead.

There was only one thing circling your mind; Mary was sleeping around.

When you heard the lock of the front door click open, your heart dropped into your stomach. All night you planned what to say, how to approach this. You wanted to be strong, but the second you were confronted with the reality of Mary coming home, you backed out, and words failed you.

Sat in the dark, Mary didn't notice you at first. Being a small studio apartment, he never turned the lights on when he came in, knowing they'd wake you - which he never wanted to do. So you heard him tiptoe into the apartment, setting his guitar case down and start to make his way over to the bathroom to wash the face paints and fake blood from his face.

Before he made it there, you quietly popped a cigarette between your lips and sparked a lighter to light it. The sudden noise and flash of light halted Mary in his tracks, startling him.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, babe... Scared the shit outta me!" he laughed clutching his heart over his cut-off t-shirt. You said nothing, not bothering to turn in his direction and instead taking a drag and letting the smoke billow into the glow of street lamps streaming through the windows.

Mary stood confused for a second, his eyes adjusting to your form on the couch and waiting for you to say something else, maybe ask about the show or something. But nothing. You just took another long, deliberate drag of your cigarette, staring straight ahead.

He knew you were pissed. And if he was being honest with himself, he knew why, too. He sighed to himself and trundled over to the couch, clicking on the lamp on the side table before sitting in the empty spot beside you.

"I'm late again, I know..."

"Is that your apology?" you snapped back, flicking the ash fro your cigarette into a tiny ashtray on the coffee table. You still couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

"No... I was getting to that." his tone sounded annoyed, like he didn't appreciate the way you spoke to him. It was as if he were answering back to his mother, catching him coming back late from a party. This was far beyond that.

"Go on then. What bullshit excuse you got this time?" Any previous thoughts of diplomacy in your approach went out the window now, too pissed off to hold back.

"Jeez, so I was late. It's not a big fuckin' deal," he defended, poorly. "Where's the attitude coming from?" He sat back into the couch with a harsh slump, bouncing his knee in annoyance.

You took another drag of your cigarette, before stubbing it out in the ashtray and standing up to stomp over to the bed you shared with a mumbled, "Fuck this."

Mary's eyes followed you, watching as you angrily shed the shirt you were wearing, throwing it to the floor and rooting in your drawers for something to wear to bed. He stood up too, pushing himself from the couch and following you.

"Look I said I'm sorry," he attempted, but you spun around to face him, finally looking him in the eye.

"Actually, no you fuckin' didn't. But you 'were getting to that'. So go on, give me your sorry. We'll see if it works." Mary stared dumbly at you. This wasn't the first time you'd brought this up, but it was the first time you'd got this angry...

"The guys just wanted to get some drinks, we had a good gig. Just wanted to celebrate! I'm sorry, alright?"

You scoffed and turned back to root through your draws, trying to find a shirt that wasn't Mary's just to make a fucking point. He sighed behind you, chewing the inside of his cheek while he tried to swallow his pride.

"I should have text you," he stated plainly. You ignored him, which pissed him off more. "I will next time, I swear."

That made you spin around again, looking at him with vague disgust. "Next time? So this is just gonna keep happening, huh?"

"Drinking with my friends? Yeah, probably." His sarcasm pissed you off even more.

"Don't bullshit me, Mare... You've been doing this at every damn show, and when you come home to me, you don't even touch me!" You were yelling at him now, too hurt to let it go. "If you wanna fuck around Mary, go ahead and live that life but stop making me sit up waiting for you in the hope that you want my love instead!"

Mary was stunned, his eyebrows screwed tightly together as he stared down at you. You stood before him, rigid in your accusation and not backing down this time, angry tears in your waterline that you refused to let fall. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"...Is that what you think I've been doing?" He was livid now, offended.

"Don't fucking lie to me. Why else would you constantly get home late? Ignore my texts or calls? Climb into bed without so much as a second look my way let alone wrapping an arm around me, heaven forbid!"

"Because you're asleep, and I'm fucking tired?" he spat. You laughed, no humour in it at all. It was dry, sarcastic and venomous. You didn't believe him.

"Fuck who you want, Mare. I'm done." You started to turn away from him as the tears betrayed you, but he grabbed your wrist and span you back to face him, stepping into your personal space as rage and adrenaline pumped through his body.

"Only person I wanna fuck is you," he growled, backing you up against the open draw behind you until it slammed shut and you stumbled, the edge of the dresser hitting the bottom of your back. You'd never seen him like this, like he was possessed... His eyes were wide with anger and the threatening paints on his face did nothing to put you at ease.

"You want me to touch you, hm? All you had to do was ask..." He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss that caught you off guard for a moment, before you regained some kind of awareness and pressed both hands to his chest, pushing him off you in one hard shove. He stood there, out of breath much like you were, neither one of you knowing what to do or say now. It was as if you were in a stand-off, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Unfortunately for you, it was you who made that first move.

You pounced on him, smashing your lips against his as you grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Whether it was desperation to keep him close or spite to show him exactly what he'd be missing when you walked away, you weren't sure but your reaction was visceral.

Mary quickly dove back in too, his grip on your hips pulling you close to fuse your bodies together as you violently made out with him, weaving your fingers into his hair to pull it at the roots and angle his head to where you wanted it. Before long, you were tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head, both of you now shirtless.

Then you were pushing him, manoeuvring him towards the bed to push him back onto it with all the strength you could muster. You didn't wait for him to do anything, to say anything, reaching for his jeans to pop the button and drag them down his thighs. He kicked them off without arguing, his eyes dark and trained on you as you removed everything from the waist down and climb on top of him.

Something about this had your core stirring, arousal pooling where you needed it most, where you'd craved him for the longest time. Spite was a powerful aphrodisiac it seemed, because the only word Mary could think to describe you right now was rabid.

You used all of your body weight to push him to lay back, no care taken to go slow or build anticipation. This was hate fucking. This was furious passion, building and bubbling and boiling over uncontrollably. Both of you were powerless to stop it.

You ravaged him again, kisses so brutal you'd be feeling them for days after while your hips ground down into his exposed and already solid length beneath you. You heard him groan with pleasure, and it pissed you off, spurring you to bite on his lip until he grunted in pain. His hands gripped your ass in fistfuls, nails digging into the supple flesh and he pushed and pulled to grind you harder against him.

By the time you were ready to take him inside you, he was leaking precum profusely from his tip. It only aided you in lining him up, and sinking down until he was fully sheathed inside you. You took him slowly, teasing him but frankly you were in no mood for slow and steady.

You set a savage pace, riding him while your hands held him down. Your own nails dug into his shoulders as you cried out in both pain and pleasure, a delicious mix that fuelled the pair of you.

"Oh, fuck baby, just like that..." he groaned, not expecting you to slap his chest to force his eyes back on you.

"Shut the fuck up," you roared, only riding him faster, harder. All those jealous emotions, all that bottled up insecurity was coming out now and he was letting you take it out on him. If he'd known you had this in you, he might have pissed you off a lot sooner.

But Mary couldn't let that mouth of yours slide, he couldn't let you win. He had as much to lose tonight as you did, whether that was his fault or not. And he was very aware it was his fault.

Using the adrenaline that pumped through him, he lifted you off him, forcing your off to the unoccupied side of the bed so you faceplanted in the sheets. This move was too unexpected, and before you could recover and fight back for control he was already on top of you, pinning your wrists behind your back and contorting you to raise your hips up and have you on your knees, face still buried in the sheets beneath you. He wasted no time in lining himself back up to your entrance, and pushing back in to find his own vicious rhythm.

You wanted to fight back, but you couldn't. The pleasure was building to a point of no return and you wanted to cum more than you wanted to control him. This is what you'd missed, if you were honest with yourself. When you'd first started dating Mary the sex was hot, freaky, a little weird... It was unlike anything else. And then you both got complacent, too comfortable and taking each other for granted and now here you were, after weeks of barely there mediocre sex. Both of you just needed a little spark to light the gasoline inside you.

Mary kept your wrists held tightly against your lower back in one hand, while the other snaked around your waist, using it to pleasure you even further.

"Come on, baby. Cum on my cock, hm? Just like you used to. Fucking squeeze me," he ordered, his hips slapping hard against your ass and filling the room with lewd noises. All you could do was cry out, to moan into the sheets and let go completely.

You barrelled towards your orgasm hard and fast, stimulated in every way possible, inside and out. The way your walls contracted around him made it difficult for him to keep up his pace, and damn near impossible to stave off his won orgasm. Too soon, he was filling you, his cock kicking inside you over and over until he was completely drained both of his spend and his energy.

He fell forwards, leaning over you as he held you tightly against him to ground himself. His mind felt hazy, he could barely think straight through the bliss and exhaustion. But he was in for a rude awakening, when he felt you heaving beneath him, silent sobs wracking your body over and over.

Stabbing him in the chest would have heart less. Seeing you so hurt, so broken was devastating to him. He panicked, removing himself from you and flipping you over with very little resistance. But what you did resist was eye contact, staring directly up at the ceiling as you slapped a hand over your mouth to contain the sobs.

"Hey... Shhh, it's okay. I'm here," he soothed, pushing strands of hair from your forehead and gently trailing his fingers along your cheek and jawline.

"I-I don't... want to... lose you," you sobbed. "Want to b-be enough... for you."

This was his fault. His neglect had led to this. You'd never been anything but doting, supporting, loving. And he wasn't sued to it. It scared him, the feelings he harboured for you. He'd never felt so intensely, never loved anyone like this before. He'd taken you for granted, been so selfish in focussing on himself and the band and not you.

Mary had never cheated on you. He never would. All he could do was try to tell you that, to show you that you were the only one he wanted.

"You're more than enough, you're too good for me. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," he cooed, pressing his forehead to yours while you cried beneath him. "I swear, there's never been anyone else. You can ask the guys, it really was just drinks with them."

You weren't sure you believed him, the insecurity so deeply rooted that talking to his bandmates might only be the start of rebuilding the trust you'd once had in him. But it was a start.

Mary lay himself down next to you, wrapping his arm around you and snuggling into your side while you let everything out. He peppered softer kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the top of your head while you held onto the arm wrapped around you for dear life. Eventually, exhaustion crept in, and you started to drift off in his arms.

He didn't let go of you all night, barely sleeping himself as he thought of all the ways he could right his wrongs, prove himself to you without it feeling insincere. Step one was to bring you to his shows, to have you around like you used to back at the start. From there, he'd work on this.

Seeing your breakdown, being so close to losing you tonight was the wake up call he'd needed to see what was at stake. He'd be damned if he let himself get complacent again.

He'd be damned if he truly lost you.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 11: ~

In Times of War:

Last chapter before the official Rescue Arc begins.

TW: War, PTSD and Death.

Part 12:

'Attention, all personnel. Message from the mainland has stated that the rescue will be here by 13:00 hours. I repeat 13:00 hours. Gather your belongings and prepare closing down.'

Roper had to admit. He found great joy in making an announcement instead of Rennick.

It was a busy yet strange morning for Beria. The crew ate their breakfast as they worked on getting the rig closed. None of them had done this before. Only gotten themselves ready in swapping shifts or leaving it stable enough for another set of crew to arrive. They'd all been trained, but it was the case of remembering.

Roy, Caz, Finlay, and eventually Innes and Muir worked on moving food from the pantry and into the containers. Leave nothing purchased from Cadal's pockets behind. The last thing you want is to be in debt to them. Brodie and Raffs focused on The Stack with the help of Engineering and Pontoons. There is no need for an explosion now. Luck was on their side, and they'd like to keep it that way.

O'Connor left the Pontoons to Fergus. He accompanied Rennick to Administration to collect all the important documents Beria will need. Despite Rennick seemingly hating everyone, O'Connor was someone he always tolerated. He was one of the few who never got a verbal beatdown and knew to stay in his lane. Plus, working in the depths of the rig meant the pair never saw each other. Just quick acknowledgement as they entered the canteen. Currently, the pair sat outside the building, eating their breakfast in mostly silence.

'I can't believe we're doing this,' Rennick muttered as he chewed through the sausage barm that dripped grease and tomato ketchup. He never knew how hungry he was until his infection. Before, Rennick just survived on coffee and stress. He often wondered how he hadn't dropped dead from it all. 'Sneaking us back to the mainland and hoping they let us go.' Of course, it was McLeary's idea.

'If you have a better idea, then I'm all ears.'

'No. But...' Rennick did not have any other ideas. 'Operation Spy?' Once again, of course it was McLeary. 'We're not spies, Dónal. Look at us.' He pointed to him. 'Tinker.' He pointed to Dobbie, who was walking by. 'Tailor.' He pointed to Innes. 'Soldier.' He pointed to himself. 'Twat.'

O'Connor tried not to laugh through the sip of his coffee. Then, it hit him.

'Did you say my first name, Davey?'

'Oh get fucked, O'Connor. Of course I know your name. I know everyone's first, middle, that you don't have, and last name.' He tossed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. 'Now, get your specks on and help me.'

Like the old fud he was, Rennick sulked towards his office to begin the search for documents. With a last sip of coffee, O'Connor followed. Good thing, too, because he side-stepped a tendril Rennick was going to use to drag the older man along. 'Alright. Alright.'

'Well, move it.'

Apart from the knocked over books, Rennick's office was practically untouched. Might be because The Shape didn't make it this far before dying. O'Connor went first, put on his round glasses, and began to shift through.

'Surely, they wouldn't need half of this?'

'You'd be surprised,' Rennick scoffed. 'They'll want all of our documents and any damage updates.' He paused. 'Which I never reported.'

'What could you even put in a report now? Beria damaged from an ancient entity we drilled through and royally pissed off?'

Okay, Rennick had to chuckle at that. Just one chuckle, though.

O'Connor continued to shuffle. From daily records to first aid and payments. All were needed. He tucked the most recent file of contracts under his arm and slid the rest of the files towards Rennick, who lingered halfway through the door. O'Connor went to stand, but a glint from a picture frame caught his eye. It sat on a shelf under the desk, and curiosity got the best of him. The resemblance was undeniable. Of course it was Rennick. He was younger. Early 30s. Leaning against a military jeep with two other blokes. They all held their issued rifles with wide smiles and dripping with sweat as they wrapped cloth around their foreheads. Rennick wasn't wearing a shirt, where a tattoo could be seen on his upper arm. What it was was hard to tell due to the angle. O'Connor glanced to his manager, who was shuffling through the files. He slowly walked over and offered the frame. 'I don't think you should leave this behind, eh?'

Rennick looked up from the paperwork, and his eyes widened. He gently took the photo and gazed at the memory. The same feeling from yesterday came back. The nostalgic feeling and the yearning to be young again. O'Connor noticed the hurt look in Rennick's eyes as he dazed off into the past.

The day was a scorcher, expected for the desert. As the soldiers could finally take a break and check their equipment, Rennick was called over by the men who stood beside him. George and Kenneth. The trio had been thick as thieves, and George was going to make sure this was a memory to keep. Rich lad from Cornwall. Always had the best technology. The camera was a birthday gift from home. He gave it to a clearly bored Officer, who had to be walked through how it even worked. Rennick remembered rolling his eyes. He was always impatient.

'Come on, whilst we're still young!'

'Young?' Geroge called as he jogged over. 'I thought Churchill dragged you out of a retirement home, Rennick?'

'By the end of this war, I'll be frog-marched into one.' The three wrapped one arm around each other's shoulder and raised their rifles with the other.

'Say Churchill!'

'Churchill!'

Click

'Africa?'

Rennick snapped back to reality. 'Yeah. We'd just captured Fort Capuzzo. What about you? I never saw you there.'

'I was never in Africa.' O'Connor leaned against the desk. 'I was in Dunkirk.'

'Oh, you poor fuck.' The pair shared a chuckle.

'What happened to the others?'

'Kenneth went to join the R.A.F,' Rennick explained. 'George and I went home at the end of it all and stayed in touch.' A pause. 'He died from a heart attack four years ago. Lucky bastard.'

'And Kenneth?'

'Haven't the foggiest.' If he had to guess, he was either dead or the one sitting in a retirement home. But, enough about that. Rennick focused his attention on O'Connor. 'Didn't agree with Ireland kicking their feet up with The Swiss and Spaniards?'

'Yep. It wasn't right. We were at war. Lives were at stake, and I had a job to do.' With a brief story to tell, O'Connor lit a cigarette. He knew Rennick wasn't a smoker. 'I was a driver. You felt so powerful driving troops across France's fields and roads, avoiding enemy fire. Younger me saw this as an adventure.' Like Rennick, a look of nostalgia washed over him. Then, the hurt look crept in his eyes. 'Until I got too cocky and sent the us into a death trap.'

The crushing pain of the jeep landing on his leg ran through his body. It was a feeling that would never leave. Some would say having a constant limp for the rest of your life was enough punishment, but for O'Connor, it was when he saw...

'Nigel? Nigel? Answer me, please. Get this jeep off me.'

'NIGEL!'

The pair fell silent. They looked at each other for some form of comfort. There was no need for clarification. War was Hell, but there were good moments. It's how you stayed sane. The toughest challenge for both men was returning to civilian life. But, here they were after thirty years. They had to be thankful for that.

Rennick broke eye contact and huffed. 'Well, let's get out of here.' No reason to dwell on the past. Rennick went to move. And he couldn't. Whenever he tried to move his head and 'arm' out of the doorway, he just lightly shook the office. He was stuck. 'One moment. Just...J...' Nope. Completely stuck. 'Can you help me?' He looked at O'Connor, who was trying with every fibre of his being to not laugh. Which lasted about five seconds. He let out a scream-laugh, leaning on his knees and sounding like a dying pterodactyl. It was the mood booster he needed.

O'Connor's laugh must be contagious because Rennick just started to laugh along. His was a hysterical cackle in comparison. Everyone on Deck heard the pair, and Muir could see what the problem was, thanks to his height, causing him to snort.

Through their laughs, O'Connor leaned against Rennick's head and helped him shuffle the arm out, which was causing the block. If he could get himself in, then he could get himself out. Once free, Rennick pulled backwards, causing O'Connor to trip onto the handrailing, but still they laughed.

When all was said and done, they began to head for the Deck.

'So, what was your tattoo?'

'That's something I'm taking to the grave, Mr. O'Connor.'