#i wish i could feel as ordinary as i look

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 23: Wrapped Around My Finger

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Beta read.

Word Count: 5354 words.

A/N: Goddamn I have been so busy lately uwu

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Sukuna had always been a curse shrouded in shadows. Despite his imposing height and bulk, he possessed an unmatched ability to blend into his surroundings. A skill of great importance that allowed him to silently stalk, infiltrate enemy territory undetected, and listen to forbidden secrets just a few meters from his victims. A skill that had guaranteed his survival and made him a legend, along with his ancient technique. However, lately, he was being careless.

No matter where you were, you could feel the weight of his four scarlet eyes on you. A chill ran down your spine every time you felt him nearby, like a ghost wandering around you. When you looked back at him, he would look away with feigned indifference, as if the encounter was mere chance despite living under the same roof and following a random path. If you asked him if you could help him with something, he would always reply with a dry: “Nothing for now.” What was that about then?

Sometimes, you didn't even need to feel the weight of his gaze to know he was near. Small bowls of freshly cut fruit, small flower bouquets, or a cup of steaming tea would magically appear like anonymous offerings. You knew only he could have left them, though he would never do so face to face. Sukuna had a peculiar way of showing interest, a strange mix of pride and caution, and this time, you could understand exactly why he was so stealthy. 

The letter had rattled him. His mind took him to fantastic places when he saw you and thought of the words you had written for him. He was fascinated by the adrenaline that ran through his body when he now knew what you were hiding under that innocent gaze. His daisy wanted him as much as he wanted you, and there was nothing that satisfied him more than that. He wanted to hear you recite that letter so that the words would come to life and fulfill his wishes, but the right moment was just around the corner.

It was finally coronation day. The day Sukuna would become king of the Jogo kingdom and name the land after him. Servants ran around to get the castle ready to welcome all the curses in a grand celebration. Cooks prepared absurd amounts of food, servants placed golden decorations along the walls, and guards calmed the inhabitants so they wouldn't get excited about entering early.

You whined in pain and held onto Mrs. Inoue's shoulders to tolerate it. The 8-armed thin seamstress tightened the corset tightly as if she were stuffing a pig into a tube. The golden corset of the dress was too tight around your stomach and bust. Mrs. Inoue held your hips to hold you in place so you would stay still. This was the first time this happened, and the embarrassment was new. It was a shame, since the dress was beautiful. It had several layers of light, translucent fabrics in shades of cream. The top of the corset had ruffles that highlighted the chest, and the long skirt was as light as a feather. The curse growled profanities until the corset finally closed.

“God, I feel like I’m going to throw up,” you grumbled unwillingly as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Maybe that way you’ll fit into the dress,” the seamstress groaned.

Hearing that, your hands instinctively held your stomach. You didn’t think about your weight constantly, but that comment still made you feel bad. Though, that worry disappeared as you felt Sukuna’s presence upon arriving at your room.

“How’s everything going here?” Sukuna examined you as usual.

Mrs. Inoue and you gasped in unison at the sight of him. His outfit was simply perfect, so much so that it left you speechless. This time, he wasn’t wearing his usual robes that hid his muscles. Instead, he wore a short, bright red jacket, with intricate gold embroidery on the sleeves that caught the light hypnotically. Under the jacket, a tight black top revealed the large mouth on his abdomen. A gold medallion hung over his chest, imposing itself with every movement.

He wore loose black pants decorated with red geometric patterns and leather gloves that left his fingers exposed, adding a touch of toughness. Finishing off the outfit were black shoes that clicked with every step. His hair was perfectly combed back, though some unruly strands fell over his forehead, his eyes were lined, and his eyelashes curled, giving him a magnetic and careless look at the same time. He looked so good that your mouth dropped to the floor.

“Wow, he looks like a prince!” Mrs. Inoue exclaimed.

She smiled at him, thinking he would thank her for the compliment, but instead, Sukuna looked at her with pure hatred. How dare a vile mortal demean him in such a way? He was a king and always would be. He was about to raise his fingers to slit his throat, but you quickly entered the conversation.

“She means he looks really handsome!” You defended her, getting in between them to protect her with your body.

“Ah…” Sukuna quickly calmed down at the clarification. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Inoue and you sighed in relief. You asked the lady to leave the room, to which she quickly obeyed. “I was almost feeling like I was leaving,” she thought, holding her neck as she retreated to prepare for the coronation. As soon as she closed the door, you turned your gaze to him. Even though you had already seen him, your gaze scanned him again.

“And what do you think?” Sukuna asked you, adjusting his sleeves.

It was a difficult thing to answer. Sukuna as a king was intimidating, fierce, and shocking. A curse that imparts terror just by being in the room. But… There was something about him that you liked physically. His well-combed hair, his sharp gaze, and his well-defined abs. After living a year of curses, Sukuna was still the best looking.

“He looks perfect,” you replied with a smile.

Sukuna scanned your dress. The ruffles highlighted your cleavage, the corset narrowed your waist, and the skirt complemented your beautiful legs. He spun you around a couple of times like a lion about to bite. It was just what he had imagined for his coronation. A king couldn't be crowned without having a beautiful woman at his side.

“You look perfect too,” Sukuna answered bluntly.

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to stop at that moment. He took your hand with unexpected gentleness and placed a slow kiss on your knuckles. Heat rose to your cheeks immediately. You felt your heart racing, as if it wanted to escape from your chest, but this time you weren't going to let it dominate you. Now that you knew you were just a piece in his game, you promised yourself not to fall for his tricks. You waited a second, letting him hold your hand, and then, with a slight smile, you pulled it away to smooth out the dress with a certain indifference.

“Good job,” Sukuna congratulated the curse seamstress. “I want to see how the dress will look for the Zen'in ball.”

“It looks amazing, although…” The curse approached Sukuna to whisper something in his ear. “… it would look better on someone who fits into the dress.” ​​

A tic attacked his left eye upon hearing that. He could accept that the curses killed, tortured or ate humans, but he would never accept that they made fun of their physique. Sukuna hid his lower arms behind his back. A reflex from his past that he hated more than anything.

“Y/n,” He called you. You looked up to meet his gaze through the mirror. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

You looked at him through the mirror. Once upon a time you would have obeyed him without hesitation, but this time you hesitated. The uncertainty of not knowing what he was planning ate away at you inside, paralyzing you. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally obeyed. A thin, precise cut resonated in the room, piercing the silence like a fatal warning. It was the unmistakable sound of death, an echo you would have recognized anywhere.

“You can open them now,” Sukuna whispered in your ear.

Your eyes snapped open as you felt his warm breath brush your ear. His firm hand descended to your shoulder, and, without giving you time to react, he pulled you towards him, turning you precisely on your heels. Before you could process it, he was leading you out of the room and into the hallway, his presence enveloping you like an inescapable shadow.

“What happened?” You stammered in confusion, looking back. A large pool of blood marred the beautiful ivory carpet.

“I got rid of a pest,” he said with a macabre smile. You had no choice but to follow him.

The murmur of the crowd increased with each passing second. The coronation was about to begin. Sitting next to Mrs. Inoue, you watched as Kenjaku took care of adjusting the last details of Sukuna’s outfit, making sure every fold was in place. From your seat, you looked at his broad back, his imposing figure ready to step out onto the balcony. Excitement vibrated in the air like an invisible current, but the king, unfazed, did not show a trace of nervousness.

“Ready, my king?” Kenjaku asked, reaching for the door handle to the balcony.

“I was born ready.”

Kenjaku opened the doors to the balcony, and the shout of curses rose in unison, echoing like a wild roar as Sukuna raised his arms, rejoicing in the frenzy of his followers. The curses jumped in excitement, elated at the sight of their new king. They cared little about King Jogo’s death; all that mattered was that an even more powerful curse would take the throne, protecting them and guaranteeing their right to hunt humans without interruption. For curses, there were no bloodlines, wealth, or territories. They only submitted to the law of the strongest.

“Curses, with you, King Sukuna Ryomen!” Kenjaku announced loudly for all to hear.

You looked out over the balcony and looked at the entire kingdom gathered in the courtyard of the castle. It was a festival of monstrosities, an ocean of creatures screaming and singing in wild celebration. The variety of their forms was overwhelming: huge and tiny, with twisted horns, tails, sharp teeth, and bodies that barely seemed possible. Some were almost human in appearance; others were nightmarish distortions, a veritable museum of oddities. Lady Inoue, at your side, looked away in fear, unable to bear the sight of that disturbing crowd.

“It has been six months since I defeated King Jogo. It has been six months since I conquered this beautiful land to make it my own and name it after myself…” Sukuna began his speech.

Under his command, the hubbub immediately died down. The first words of the leader of this new era were to be recorded in history, a moment that everyone there would remember until the end of their days. The curses present felt themselves to be witnesses of something momentous, an event that they would tell future generations with pride: “I was there.” Sukuna proclaimed his absolute power and claimed that he would drive the petty sorcerers from his sacred lands. He urged them to follow only his commands, promising that under his leadership they would prosper far more than they ever did under King Jogo.

“From now on, I will be your king and your lord! The only one you must obey for the rest of my life and the next to come!” Sukuna announced proudly.

Kenjaku approached him with a large box covered in a velvety red cloth, lifting it with ceremonious slowness. With a calculated gesture, he removed the cloth, revealing the magnificent crown that once belonged to King Jogo. It was a work of art made of pure gold, with sparkling rubies embedded around the entire circumference. Its design evoked flames, with spikes rising like tongues of fire frozen in metal. In the sunlight, each ruby ​​sparkled, and the gold seemed to burn with a life of its own. It was an awe-inspiring sight, a jewel fit for a king.

Sukuna took the crown in both hands, raising it so that the ecstatic crowd could admire it. The sun sparkled from every facet, casting golden and scarlet reflections on the faces of those watching from below. You had never seen anything so imposing or beautiful in your life, and judging by the looks of the crowd, neither had they.

With confident movements, Sukuna placed the crown upon his head. In that instant, the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Howls, barbaric cries, and indescribable sounds filled the air, a roar of wild euphoria that reverberated off the castle walls. Sukuna smiled from cheek to cheek, pleased. This was his moment; nothing could match the intoxicating feeling of power, of being the focus of all devotion.

And that, he thought, was the reason he always returned to this land he so despised: for the unmatched adrenaline of seeing an entire nation kneel before him, of feeling his strength and will subdue the masses. But this was only the beginning. When he finally extended his rule over the sorcerer kingdoms, when he crushed each of his enemies beneath his feet, the glory would be indescribable. A new era of obedience and terror was coming, and he, the one true king, would be in charge.

“My first order as king, I want to make it very special.” Sukuna looked at you with a smile as resplendent as his crown. “Y/n…”.

You looked at his hand extended towards you, stunned, as if it were a dream. Now all that deafening attention was focused on you. Your heart was pounding, and you felt the heat and nerves mix in a whirlwind that made it impossible for you to distinguish one from the other. With a slight tremor, you reached out your hand, and he took it with a firmness that anchored you to reality. At his side, on that balcony that seemed to rise like a pedestal, you understood the weight of the position you were in. Sukuna, the indomitable king, had chosen you for this moment.

“Remember this face because in less than a month you will be my equal,” Sukuna exclaimed. “My first order as the king of the kingdom of New Sukuna is…”

He extended his hand to Kenjaku, who handed him a small box wrapped in dark suede, the soft material contrasting with the hardness of the moment. It was almost unreal, but it was finally happening: the day you had waited for a long and torturous month, a time filled with doubt and anticipation.

Sukuna, the imposing king, knelt in front of you. The image was so powerful that you could barely breathe. Slowly, he opened the box, and inside it shone a ring that seemed to absorb and reflect all the light of day. The gold of the ring glowed as if it were alive, and in its center, a large oval-cut ruby ​​sparkled with a deep red, as if it carried fire itself within it. Around the ruby, small flowers of finely cut diamonds sparkle, adorning it delicately. The order you had so long awaited finally happened:

“Marry me.”

There it was. Finally, he had spoken the words you had so longed to hear. But something was different, and it didn't feel the same as that first time. That afternoon in front of the piano had been one of the most beautiful moments of your life. The soft melody echoed in the room as the sun cast its last rays through the large window, bathing everything in a soft gloom just before the candles were lit. You remembered it clearly: his hands on the piano, yours brushing against his with every movement, as if that closeness was enough to break any barrier between you. There was an indescribable peace at that moment, a calm so deep that it made you forget, even for a moment, that you were next to a tyrant who had ordered you to kill one of your own.

Sukuna was a vile and ruthless tyrant, but even so, he managed to make you feel in a way that no one else could. You feared that intensity, not so much for what he could do to you, but for what you would be capable of doing for him. The first order had been clear: a test of loyalty. What else did he have planned for you in the future? Only he would know, and you had to be prepared for any dangerous storm.

“Yes.”

The crowd erupted in jubilation at his words. With a bold gesture, Sukuna lifted you up and placed you over his shoulder, displaying you with unmistakable pride, as if you were a trophy worthy of his power. You could feel the strength in his grip, his confidence enveloping you as he lifted you up for all to see. You smiled nervously, trying to maintain your composure as you waved like a shy princess. The crowd responded with cheers and shouts, a sea of ​​faces lit up with joy and devotion, while you, from on high, tried to adjust to this new role you had assigned yourself.

“Let us celebrate this new era until dawn!” Sukuna announced the beginning of the party.

The band of curses played with unbridled enthusiasm, their trumpets, tambourines and bongos resonating in a chaotic but festive rhythm. It was a grotesque carnival, full of creatures, dancing without rest, devouring enormous quantities of food and drinking as if dawn would never come. The echo of unknown songs bounced between the walls of the empty corridors, mixing with the guttural laughter and the roar of celebration. In the midst of that chaos, Sukuna's firm steps marked a different beat, resonating like a war drum. In the middle of the party, he had ordered you to follow him. He didn't give you time to obey; in the blink of an eye, he took your hand determinedly and led you away from the bustle, towards a silent room.

The meeting room was plunged into darkness. The armchairs, upholstered in fresh and austere fabrics, seemed to await long conversations that never happened. The stone table, imposing, cold and covered in a thin layer of dust, as if it had been forgotten. The curtains, thick and heavy, remained closed, enveloping the room in an air of almost suffocating privacy. A faint smell of storage floated in the air, testimony to the disuse of the place. The candles, extinguished, let the scarce light that filtered through the windows guide their movements.

Sukuna led you to an armchair and, with a gesture that seemed more like an order than an invitation, indicated that you should take a seat. You obeyed silently, placing your hands on your lap, where the ring that adorned your finger captured your attention for an instant. It was a bright and beautiful symbol, but also a reminder of the weight of the promise you had made to the king. Sukuna removed the heavy gold crown and placed it aside, needing a moment to rest from the burden of royalty. His face, though relaxed, did not lose its characteristic severity, and his gaze studied you in the dim light as if he were evaluating something more than just your presence.

“Happy?” Sukuna gently took your hand to kiss the ring.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” You smiled.

“I was saving it to surprise you at the Zen’in ball, but I couldn’t wait any longer to call you mine.” Sukuna purred against your ear.

Sukuna gently pulled you closer, placing small, fleeting kisses on your cheeks, while his chest rested against your shoulder in a gesture that seemed both possessive and warm. The touch of his lips on your skin was enough to make you blush, but this time you were not going to let yourself be dominated by his calculated movements. Not anymore. You wouldn't let him play the same trick on you twice in a row.

"I'll be glad to, my king," you whispered.

With a determination that came from deep within you, you abruptly turned your face and captured his lips with yours. Your hands, firm but trembling, tangled in his hair, pulling him towards you. Sukuna let out a soft moan of surprise, the sound vibrating between the two of you like a low note. But far from stopping, his reaction was different: he adored your bravery, that spark that ignited something wild inside him. Without hesitation, he lifted you up and placed you on his lap, his large hands running over your body with a mixture of delicacy and greed, as if he were trying to memorize every curve, every detail that made you unique. His golden accessories jingled with every movement, creating a hypnotic contrast with the intensity of the moment.

One of his hands slowly ascended your back, brushing each vertebra, until it rested on the back of your neck. With a slight tug, he pulled you towards him, deepening the kiss with an intensity that left you breathless. His other hand found your waist, gripping you with the same strength he had that confusing night, the night you understood nothing and he knew even less. Now, you were in the same page. His lips on yours spoke of understanding, of desire, of something deeper that neither of you dared name out loud.

His dark heart, full of ambition and shadows, beat hard against your chest, ecstatic to finally have you as he had fantasized so many nights. It wasn't just an act of passion; for him, it was a conquest, an achievement as addictive as any victory on the battlefield. The heat of his body seemed to envelop yours, as if the two of you could merge into one, as if the outside world ceased to exist in that instant.

When he finally pulled away, he did so slowly, as if he feared breaking something sacred between the two of you. His lips parted just enough to allow her to take a breath, while his gaze, dark and intense, remained fixed on yours. He still held your face, and at that moment, there was no trace of doubt: both of you were caught in a game that you could no longer, nor would you, stop.

“You have no idea what your letter has awakened in me.” Sukuna smiled, thinking you would kiss him out of excitement, but it disappeared when he saw your frown.

“What letter?” You asked innocently, tilting your head in curiosity.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You know what I’m talking about.” Sukuna tried to pull you towards him to kiss you softly, but you moved away to continue the conversation.

“What are you talking about?” You asked again. Sukuna’s frustration was starting to show.

“The love letter, the one you left under my pillow,” he explained, losing his patience over a stupid joke.

But the serenity on your face made it clear to him that you weren’t joking. Your eyes flickered with genuine confusion, and your lips remained still, not drawing the slightest curve that could be interpreted as mockery. Every line of your expression conveyed sincerity, and it disconcerted him more than he cared to admit. Sukuna sighed in exasperation and reluctantly pulled you off his lap.

“I really don’t understand what you’re talking about,” you commented as the king paced back and forth across the room, wondering how he could get the truth out of you.

“Stop lying!” he exclaimed, annoyed. “You wrote this!” Sukuna pulled the heart-shaped letter out of his pocket to toss it to you. “Did he have it with him all this time?” you thought in amazement.

The delicate piece of paper, which was supposed to contain your most sincere feelings, gently landed on your lap like a leaf carried by the wind. You opened the letter instantly, letting your eyes scan each carefully written line. As you moved forward, the poetic and profound words were laying bare emotions that seemed not to be yours, but were signed with your name. Each sentence surprised you more than the last; the weight of its intensity hit you like an unexpected revelation. This was the first time you had read that letter.

“I wish I could write poetry as beautiful as this,” you commented as if you were talking about another novel in the library.

“You said you had a surprise, and boy was I surprised!” He exclaimed, pointing with his finger of anger, but at your silence, he exploded. “Just admit that it is your letter!”

“So many essays and reports that I have given you, and yet you still don't know how to recognize my handwriting?” You asked with some disappointment.

“What?!” Sukuna snatched the letter from you to examine it again.

He examined every stroke, every curve of the letters, every carefully formed word in each sentence. And there was the truth. Your handwriting, now more elegant and refined thanks to the calligraphy lessons Kenjaku had given you at the beginning of your classes, was unmistakable. The writing on the letter, however, was a mess. Messy, impulsive, lacking the discipline that marked your style.

How had he not seen it before? How had he been so blind, so caught up in his own fantasy, that he did not perceive something so elementary? Reality hit him with the force of a sledgehammer, as if the entire sky had collapsed on his head, crushing him under the weight of his own blindness. His pride, as imposing as his conquests, now seemed to break into a thousand pieces in the face of such a simple and devastating truth.

“Also, how could I have made you two letters with a single sheet of paper?” You asked, confused.

The king’s scarlet eyes widened as he noticed you pulling another letter from your skirt pocket. For an instant, disbelief marked his features. Sukuna took the letter with firm hands, although surprise was evident in his grip. It was a letter to congratulate him on his coronation and the renaming of his new land: New Sukuna Kingdom. The words were proud and had no hint of romance.

This letter did not have the ornate frame like the one that decorated the love letter; it was simple, but it's handwriting, delicate and neat, was unmistakable: yours. As he inspected both letters, comparing them, his eyes darted between the stylized strokes of the new letter and the messy handwriting of the first. The difference was irrefutable. “How stupid I am!”

“So… Who is this letter from?” Sukuna looked at the love letter with some disappointment.

“Maybe some lover.” You crossed your arms in annoyance.

“Lover?! What are you talking about?!” Sukuna roared at such an accusation.

“No idea, but this…” You pointed at your engagement ring. “… It's still mine” You threatened in case I wanted to leave you for the author of the letter.

Sukuna clenched his fists, loaded with exasperation and something deeper: a pang of humiliation that pierced him like a dagger. Never, in his entire existence, had he sunk so low as at this moment, when for a fleeting and miserable second he allowed himself to believe that his fantasies could materialize. The mere idea of ​​having nurtured that illusion infuriated him as much as it embarrassed him. He, the great king, the imposing tyrant, reduced to a naive dreamer by a simple game of letters.

“If you'll excuse me, I'll return to the party. Mahito promised to teach me how to dance,” you bowed and left the room full of confusion as quickly as possible, hiding a victorious little smile.

Sukuna collapsed into the chair, as if the weight of his own mind was crushing him. He put his hands to his head, his fingers pressing against his temples, in a vain attempt to sort out the chaos that consumed him. That you were not the author of the letter, that he had not been able to notice that the handwriting was not yours, and worst of all, that you faced his accusation with such devastating coldness, as if it had not affected you in the slightest. Each thought was a dagger that sank deeper into his chest, making the emptiness inside him feel like an infinite abyss.

The pain manifested itself in a way that he himself did not understand. A couple of treacherous tears slowly rolled down his cheeks, tracing unknown paths on a face accustomed to expressing anger, arrogance or mockery, but never vulnerability. Sukuna stood still, paralyzed by the disconcerting revelation: this was the first time he had cried in a long time.

But why? Was it helplessness at the broken illusion? Frustration with himself for having fallen for something so ridiculous? Rejection for what that brief conversation had made clear to him? You didn't have the same feelings for him. He knew that now. But then, why did you kiss him back? His mind returned again and again to that moment, searching for answers in the movements of your lips, in the way you looked at him. There was something there, something he couldn't figure out. He was lost, confused, and alone.

“Damn it!” Sukuna screamed, throwing the crown across the room, breaking a lamp into a thousand pieces, imitating his sad heart.

The party consumed you completely. You danced barefoot alongside Mahito, Dagon, Hanami, and the rest of the curses in a large circle on the parade ground. They jumped to the rhythm of the band's chase while a curse sang a ballad dedicated to the king. You smiled as Mahito guided you through the movements. Two steps to the left, one turn, then two steps to the right and repeat until exhaustion.

“Let the happy queen dance, let her dance!” The troubadour announced to the same rhythm of the catchy song.

“Let her come to the center, let her come!” Mahito pushed you from behind so you could enter the large circle.

The curses applauded euphorically as soon as you entered the improvised dance floor. Mahito and Hanami encouraged you from their places to bring out your best moves. With a blush rising to your cheeks, you decided to listen to the rhythm. As soon as you began to jump and spin with your hands up, the curses howled in approval. You laughed as the evening wind and the grass tickled your heels.

Everything was happiness until you saw the king on the balcony. He was looking at you with that same face you had seen in the mirror a couple of nights ago. That disappointed, humiliated and frustrated face of not getting what he wanted. You continued dancing so he could see you in all your splendor, until the song ended on a long note. You blew him a kiss in the air as soon as the song faded into the silence of the celebration. Sukuna's face was surprised by that action. It reminded him of that time when you shot his cheek, only this time you shot his heart again. He clenched the balcony railing in frustration that he could alter his emotions with so little.

The next song started, and the curses joined you to dance chaotically around you. You caught your breath after your big solo. Mahito danced with Hanami and Dagon. Kenjaku drank a glass of wine with Mrs. Inoue. Sukuna had finally expanded his kingdom. And you had taken your little revenge, but this was only the beginning of a new stage. You didn't know what the future held for you, but you were sure that you would emerge victorious, as you had Sukuna in the palm of your hand.

“Thank you, Yorozu, for teaching me your disgusting tactics,” You smiled at the ground because you knew that bitch would be wallowing in hell.

Masterlist.

taglist:

Tag list: @bbnbhm @pxnellian @kbirdieee2540 @konigswifeyforlifey @kyo-kyo1 @calico-cheriies @imas1mpp @alone-the-honored-one @vlads-dracula3 @bigraga-sk @neeke-lilac02 @shaazd @airandyeah @energiepie @awkward-walking-potato @delightfully-studying @catobsessedlady @danniwerner @paradisestarfishh

(let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters!)

[rucow]

going to the store is such a refreshing experience. observing every person i pass by, and every person in front of me and behind me in the waiting line rly helps shed some light on how i am in fact Just Another Human, and not some kind of freak of nature! i am in fact just a Girl like everyone else that's doing their groceries

[misaamoure]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭:

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨? 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨… 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭, 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫!!

⋅ ˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬:

“Nnngh, Sylus,” You groaned, tossing your head back into the pillow. “It hurts!”

“I know I know. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Things had gotten a little toooo intense last time the two of you had sex.

You really did have a knack for riling Sylus up. And he played into you every single time. Without fail.

You had been loving it in the moment, throwing your ass back on him and asking him for more.

Sylus rooted a hand in the back of your hair, pulling your back to make eye contact with him.

“Are you going to be a good girl? Hm? Or do I have to punish you again?” He spoke through gritted teeth, speeding up his thrusts.

“Punish me! Oh my… fucking god Sylus please punish me…!”

And he did just that. Making you count each hard smack to your ass as he pounded you into the mattress.

As I said earlier, you were absolutely loving it, creaming all over his cock and driving him just as crazy.

It was after you two had finished, and resorted to cuddling in bed together that your problem had started.

At first it was light stinging… nothing out of the ordinary. This was usual after he spanked you.

But then the stinging evolved to a deeper pain. Slightly deeper than other times, and a little more intense than you cared to deal with.

Awww, poor you.

“Fuck, this is all your fault!” You swatted at Sylus weakly, something he easily dodged.

And the nerve of this asshole… he chuckled in response.

“The fuck are you laughing at? Do something you stupid prick!” Oh if looks could kill.

“Alright. As you wish.” He responded almost immediately, raising your suspicions. Usually he would try and fuck with you more.

You felt the bed dip as he moved, and then you felt him pull your hips off the bed so you were in a slight arch.

“What are you- ack!” You were even more surprised as he pulled your panties down with one swift movement.

“I’m kissing it better, sweetie,” You felt him fondle your ass cheeks before giving the sore red spot a gentle kiss. “Didn’t you want me to do something?”

One kiss. And another. And another. To all the areas that were aching and tender.

You were extra sensitive in those spots, making the feeling all the more intense.

“Sylus…” You sighed out dreamily once he started to knead at your lower back in tandem with the kisses.

Well… it actually felt quite soothing.

“Oh? My kitten finally stopped hissing and scratching. Have I finally pacified her?” You felt the deep rumble of his laughter against your skin.

With his gentle touches and light massage to your lower back… you felt yourself relax and allow yourself to be indulged in his care.

𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞:

“I’m sorry Y/N. I should’ve had more restraint. Forgive me.”

The look of remorse in Zayne’s eyes was unmistakable.

He had let a moment of raw passion in the bedroom get to him.

Zayne had just gotten back from one of his business trips in the arctic. He barely had time for himself in those few days… let alone you.

Just the whiff of your perfume as you jumped into his arms at the airport was enough to drive him insane.

You thought that Zayne had been even more quiet than usual on the way back to his place… and just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, he practically jumped you.

Peeling off all your clothes and quickly warming you up to take his cock.

Bouncing you on his lap and using you like a human fleshlight… Zayne got an exclusively good view of your neck and chest.

And then he had a thought. One that bore deep into his brain and stripped him of reason.

“I want to mark you,” He said breathlessly, running his hand up your body to grip at your neck. “Can I? May I?”

Trying to make sense of his request through the shockwaves of pleasure, you nodded fervently.

That was all the confirmation Zayne needed.

One hickey on your neck. Another on your chest. And then another. And another. And another.

Soon after you had too many to count. It looked like a rash had spread over your collarbones.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Zayne took your hands in his as he looked you in the eye.

He was being so serious about something so small… it honestly made you laugh.

“Zayne, it doesn’t particularly hurt. You don’t have to apologize. I feel fine.” You caressed his face with your hands, which he leaned into.

“You say that, but still,” Zayne sighed. “I should have restrained myself.”

Little did he know you fucking loved it when he didn’t restrain himself.

You found yourself giggling again.

“If you feel that bad,” You leaned forward to bite his bottom lip playfully. “Kiss it better. Yeah?”

Zayne gave you an odd look before pulling you closer.

Leaning your head to the side to give him access, you held his shoulders as he leaned into you.

Feeling his soft lips kiss at the hickeys he left on you, you gasped and dug your nails into him.

The marks were so sensitive… it felt so good.

“Like that,” He pressed another kiss to a hickey on your collarbone. “Does that make it better?”

You hugged him even closer than before.

“A little more.”

And he did just as you asked as you melted into his touch.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Surprise Marriage

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you and Logan receive some...surprising news, it leads to a lot of unanswered questions.

Disclaimer: One or two swear words here and there. Mostly fluff, chaos, little angst, yearning, kissing and a happy ending. Not Proof Read.

The morning, so far, had been slow for Logan. 

Which, thankfully, due to the last couple of years, wasn’t out of the ordinary. Sure, a kid or two might forget to have done their homework or the coffee filter hadn’t been changed. But other than the small, common, everyday mishaps, everything had been pretty normal. 

But somehow, when Logan woke up, something felt off. 

Maybe it was the quiet hallways, maybe it was the fact he hadn’t seen any other professors in the break room or around the school, or maybe it was the fact that when he walked into the Professor's office, everyone looked at him with…worry. 

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“Logan, I think it’s best if you sit down.”

Logan looked around everybody and they all looked worried, too. Not “someone’s dead” worried, but worried enough to make him feel uneasy. 

“What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Y/n today?”

Logan shook his head. “She had a late night. She’s probably still sleeping.”

Professor X looked at Storm. “Go and get her for me, please.”

Storm nodded and made her way out of the door and towards your bedroom. Meanwhile, Logan was still confused. 

“Charles, what’s going on?”

The man took a small sigh and looked at the papers on his desk before looking back up to Logan. 

“Come on, clearly everyone else knows. What is it?”

The Professor went back and forth with himself for a minute before finally looking back up. “I suppose I should tell you. You’re married, Logan.”

Logan laughed. “Excuse me?”

“I received these papers this morning from a law firm in Oklahoma. It seems it took them a while to find an address for you both.”

“Both? What?”

“Here, take a look for yourself.” The Professor pushed the papers to the edge of his desk where Logan took them with caution and a lot of confusion. 

“What the hell? When were these even..drawn up? Better yet, who’s my wife?”

“Well, that would be the other question except-”

Just as the Professor was about to finish his sentence, the door to his office opened and Storm walked in with you not far behind. Everyone looked at you…worriedly. Like they knew something you didn’t. 

Logan looked annoyed as he flipped through a couple sheets of paper but when he saw you, he held the same expression but only for a minute then it turned into…into something else. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

Then you remembered. 

It had been laundry day. 

And you wore one of his shirts to bed. 

Standing in his t-shirt and some plaid pyjama shorts that you found in the back of your wardrobe, your hair down and slightly messy from having only just woken up, you looked around everyone. 

“What’s going on?”

“Well, Y/n-”

“Take a look at this.” Logan handed you the pile of paper he had been reading, and with a slightly tired and confused look, you read through it. 

What was it meant to be? A news article? A government contract? A kid’s essay who’s handwriting they couldn’t read…again?

But no. 

It was anything but. 

Well, maybe a government contract…of sorts. 

“This is a marriage licence.” You spoke aloud. “Logan, why am I looking at a marriage licence at eight in the morning? Oh my god, are Jean and Scott finally getting hitched. About time.”

“No,” Logan said. “It’s ours.”

“What?”

“It’s ours. We’re married.”

You stopped reading. Even if you had pretended to do so, all the words on the page suddenly became blocks of ink that you couldn’t make out. 

“What?”

Then the Professor started to explain. “We were hoping one of you could explain this to us, though if neither of you wish to, that’s completely fine. What happens between a husband and wife is none of our-”

“When did this even happen?” You asked Logan. 

“I don’t know.”

“A law firm in Oklahoma sent it over. Apparently it’s taken them a while to find your address.”

You thought for a moment. Yourself and Logan hadn’t been in Oklahoma for nearly ten months. And you certainly didn’t get married. At least, not from memory. 

“I need to sit down.”

Logan pushed out the chair beside him with his foot and you fell into the softer leather. You had just woken up and all of a sudden you felt like you wanted to sleep for at least a month. 

“We’re married? Are you sure it’s ours? Maybe they got the addresses mixed up and…I don’t know. Got it wrong?”

Logan leaned back and pressed his hand to the side of his face. “Flipped to the back page.”

And so you did. 

There was your name. And Logan’s. Signed and dated. 

You were married to Logan. 

Logan had become your husband as of ten months ago. 

You had become Logan’s wife.��

“I think I’m gonna puke.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Scott said. Jean hit him on the arm. “What?”

“Hard to not be a little offended at that.” Logan said, half under his breath, half to you. 

“Do either of you know when this happened?”

You shook your head, still trying to read the pieces of paper in front of you. When could this have-

“The library.”

“What?” 

Logan sat up. “We signed for a package. What kind of delivery company has us sign a marriage contract instead?”

“I don’t know but it had to be there. That’s the only time we ever…wrote our names, signed a piece of paper. It could have been this.”

“We would have noticed if it said “MARRIAGE LICENCE” at the top of the page.”

Then the bell rang. 

“We…should pick this up later. For now, let's just try and go about today as normal.”

You could only nod in agreement. And as everyone left, the Professor turned to both you and Logan who were sitting facing each other in your chairs. 

“I’ll give you both some time.”

Logan nodded a small thank you and waited until the door closed behind Xavier before he spoke. 

You were silent. Still processing. Your heart was like rapid fire against your chest and your vision was slowly losing focus on the paper in front of you. 

Logan pulled the paper from your hands and placed it on the desk before shuffling closer and holding onto both of your hands. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” One of Logan’s hands came to rest by the side of your face. “Just breathe. I can hear your heartbeat from here. Just…take a deep breath.”

“We’re married, Logan.” Your voice was quieter than usual. 

“I know.”

“We’re married.”

Logan nodded. “I know.”

“What are we going to do?”

“That one I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

You shrugged. “What are we meant to do? By all technicality…we’re married. Husband and Wife. According to this piece of paper, I’ve been a fraud to the government by not going by Howlett.”

“So we…we get a divorce?”

“How? Don’t there have to be…grounds for getting divorced?”

“So, we tell them it was a mistake.” Logan offered. “I’m sure we’ll be divorced as quick as we found out we were- are married.”

You could only nod. 

Logan rubbed a thumb over each of your knuckles. “Hey, we’ll be okay. It’ll all be fine. Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I woke up and found out I’m a wife with a husband. That’s what’s going on. Jesus, are the lights always this bright in here?”

You covered your closed eyes with one hand, trying your best to stop the pounding in your head. 

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Logan shrugged. “Figure you’re freaking out enough for the both of us.”

That made you laugh a little. 

“Come on, we need to get to class. And you need to get dressed. Unless you want to teach in your pyjamas.”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about using your t-shirt. Laundry day.”

Logan smiled. “It’s okay. Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

Hours later, you found yourself in a pair of jeans you fished from the bottom of your semi-fresh clothes pile and decided to keep Logan’s t-shirt on. A, because it’s one of the most comfortable things you’ve worn, and B, it was the only clean top you had. 

And after spending all day teaching classes, you found yourself going through each of your dirty items and throwing them into the washing machine, being careful to make sure there were no sneaky bright or dark colours that made their way into a wash they shouldn’t have been in. 

“Hey.”

You turned to find Storm waiting by the door before walking inside. 

“Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“After teaching a bunch of teenagers all day? Exhausted.” You said with a small laugh. And Storm chuckled for a moment before walking around you and leaning on the wall so she was facing you as you unloaded your dirty laundry into the machine. 

“I know that feeling but that wasn’t why I was asking.”

You nodded. You knew that. “I don’t know. It’s just…new information.”

“Have you seen Logan today?”

You shook your head. “Not since this morning. Though he did leave a coffee on my desk when I got back to my classroom after lunch.”

Storm smiled. Between herself and the others (including the kids - though they were yet to find out) Storm thought the best thing to happen was for yourself and Logan to get married. Okay, maybe not in the way it happened. But it was a positive thing. 

They had been watching you and Logan for years, becoming friends, becoming teammates, trusting each other, finding your own…ways together. Like with the coffee. Logan only did that with you. Or how, despite only knowing him a week, seemed to know more about him than anyone else did. 

You were both so close with each other than some of the kids in the school had questioned your relationship status with each other. 

“Have you talked about what you’re going to do?”

“What can we do? The most reasonable, and sensible, thing to do is get a divorce.”

Storm crossed her arms. “Have you talked about maybe…staying together?”

“What?”

Storm shrugged. “It’s an idea. Maybe this is a sign telling you both that there’s something more than just friendship. I mean, going off what you’re currently wearing…that is his, isn’t it?”

You looked down. 

“It’s laundry day. He let me wear it.”

“And are you going to give it back, or did he tell you to keep it?”

You were silent and Storm watched as small patches of blush warmed your cheeks. She had her answer. 

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is your chance to see if there is something more between you and Logan.”

“If there was, something would have happened by now.”

Oh, how Storm wished that was true. 

But sometimes it was agony watching you both together. Like how at Christmas, you fell asleep against him by the fire and Logan smiled. It wasn’t a big grin, but he smiled. Or how you were the only one Logan would let near him when he had been impaled in his shoulder by a six foot rod. Or how you looked at him. And how he looked at you right back. 

There was more than just friendship. A lot more. 

“Just think about it.”

And with that she left. And you were left wondering. 

What the hell was there to think about? You and Logan were friends, sure, but…more? Sure, when you first met him, it felt instant. Instant likeness, instant trust. And that never came easy for you. Or Logan for that matter. And, yeah, maybe once or twice you had thought something could have happened. 

Like the night in the motel room, funnily enough, in Oklahoma. 

It had been one bed and you had both woken up and turned to face each other. You had both been talking for a good twenty minutes when the conversation lulled and you were both there. You felt something. You couldn’t put your finger on it but you felt something. But everything was cut short when the owner of the Motel came to knock on the door so he could fix the leaky tap in the bathroom. 

Or like the night when you all went camping with the kids. 

Somehow, you had found yourself sharing a tent with Logan even though it had been planned for you and Storm to bunk. 

You teased Logan on how happy he was to be bunked with you and not Scott. And for a split second, you could have sworn you saw him blush. Though it was probably out of embarrassment of your teasing. 

But that couldn’t have been something. It couldn’t have meant anything, could it?

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Logan turned and found the last person he expected to be standing by the door. 

“Scott?”

“Figured you’d still be awake and lo and behold, I was right.”

Logan watched as he walked inside and sat across from him. “Have you come to say something, or just be a dick the whole time?”

Scott chuckled, “Maybe a bit of both.”

Logan raised his eyebrows and took another drink. 

“Have you talked to her?” Logan knew exactly who he was talking about. But he shook his head. 

“Not since this morning.”

“Have you talked about what you’re going to do?”

“What do you want, pal?”

Well, he wasn’t being Logan if he didn’t want to skip the pleasantries. 

“I think you and Y/n should give this thing a chance.”

“Excuse me?”

Scott smirked a little. “Come on, you can’t tell me you’ve not thought about it with her. How close you two are, how you both seem to know what the other does before they even do it. And call it what you want, I think this is the perfect excuse.”

“Perfect excuse?”

“To see if something can actually happen between you two.”

“And why should it?”

“Because you’re in love with her.”

For some reason, that felt like a punch to the gut to Logan. 

“Look, bub, I know-”

“Logan, the way you look at her isn’t the way a friend looks at another friend. I’ve seen the way you look at her. We all have. From day one, that girl has been something else for you, and even if you don’t know it, the rest of us do. You’re in love with her. You always have been.”

“No, I’m-”

“You can’t deny it, Logan.” Scott told him. “Eventually something is going to snap and it might be too late. So, you’ve done the whole relationship a little backwards. So what? You’d only get divorced anyway if it doesn’t work out. But you need to do something about your feelings, Logan.”

Logan had to laugh. “I think I’d know if I was in love with someone.”

Scott sighed. Did he seriously have to paint Logan a fucking picture. 

“You make her coffee every day. You bring her lunch and sit with her every day. She is the first person you go to when you finally want to ask someone for help. And I know for a fact she is the first person you tell anything to. She knows more about you than anyone else in this building does, and that is down to you and everything you have shared with her. Anytime anyone looks in her direction, you aren’t too far behind her.”

“I saw you, that day, when the Mayor and his brother turned up at the school.” Scott continued. “The way his brother was looking her up and down…Logan you were by her side in less than ten seconds and we all saw the look you gave him. That man left the Professor’s office trembling. He also never looked in y/n’s direction again.”

“What’s your point?”

“That you were jealous, Logan. And that, for as much as you can and probably will try and deny it. You love her.”

The conversation lulled for a moment. 

“All I’m saying is at least think about it. We’ve all seen you together. Maybe it’s time you finally noticed yourself.”

Logan didn’t see you until the next day when he caught you folding laundry in your room. 

“Want some help?”

You turned around and saw him. “Sure. You can start with that pile.”

Logan entered your room, a little more awkward than usual, and started folding clothes. 

“How are you…how are you feeling?”

You shrugged. “Like normal, I guess. What about you?”

“Yeah, fine.”

IT was a slight struggle after that but conversation flowed a little easier eventually. 

That was something Logan always loved when it came to being around you. He wasn’t the biggest one for talking to people but with you, it was easy. Probably helped by the fact you could somehow change topics at lightning speed. 

Conversations with you were never, ever boring. 

Even when they were probably meant to be. 

And it wasn’t long before your fear surrounding being married…faded. 

Around a week later, a leak had sprung on one side of the school which meant having to bunk rooms for a while. Of course, all the kids went with their friends. 

But it also meant you had to bunk with someone too. 

“You can bunk with me.” Logan told you. 

You nodded. “Finally sharing a room. Wow, we’re really moving generations in this relationship.”

“After you, wife.”

This became a common theme, until the weight of the words settled down on both of you once more. 

A divorce lawyer had picked up your case. 

It would take a couple of weeks to get all the papers sorted, but yourself and Logan would be divorced by the middle of the following month. 

Like nothing had ever happened. 

Except, it just so happened, that was when something did happen. 

Scott and Storms’s words had been playing on Logan’s mind and yours. Not helped by the fact it wasn’t the last time someone held that kind of conversation with either of you. 

You found yourself in a similar conversation with Scott, whilst Logan had a similar conversation with Jean. 

And then the Professor approached you both, without the other one knowing. 

Except he hadn’t been to sit down and talk to you about it. He just made small comments in passing that left you both questioning more and more about your true feelings. 

And then Logan found you in the library one night. 

“Here you are. You didn’t come to bed so…what are you doing?”

Standing close to the top of the book ladder, you were scanning through different books with a flashlight.

“The main light is too big and the fire’s light doesn’t reach this far back.”

Logan blinked. “That…still didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ve got a new semester of lessons set out. I wanted to get a head start on finding the books needed.”

Logan looked around. “You got a list?”

You looked at him. “Logan, it’s past midnight. Go to bed.”

“That’s not what I asked. Where’s your list? I know you’ve got one.”

Sighing, you reached into your back pocket and held it out. He walked over and plucked it from your fingers. 

“There’s twenty six books on this list.”

“And I currently have three. If you still want to help, any that you find, just place them on the table behind the sofa.”

And so he did. 

By two in the morning, you’d both found twenty three books in total. Just three more left. 

“Is this the right edition?”

“Let me see.”

Logan walked over to where you were still standing on the ladder and handed it up to you. You flipped through a couple of the first pages as you slowly climbed backwards down the stairs. 

“Yeah, this is the right one. The last two should be on a lower shelf.”

As you finally reached the last few steps, you felt your foot slip and your knees crashed against the bars. Except, instead of falling backwards, or rolling with the ladder itself, Logan’s hands steadied you. 

“You alright?”

You took a second to breathe. Having your life flash before your eyes for a couple of seconds really knocks the wind out of you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed a little. “I’m fine.”

You turned in Logan’s arms and was met with his broad and solid chest as his hands held you at your waist. 

“Good,” Logan laughed a little, too. 

The sound of your life had always been like music to his ears. 

A comfort, even when the moment hadn’t been all that comfortable beforehand. 

And for that moment, time seemed to still. Any silence that had been in the room was slowly becoming defending, until your hearing focused on his breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the quickening of your own heartbeat. 

The flashlight that you had held in your hands had rolled somewhere onto the floor when you slipped on the ladder. 

But you had never seen Logan so…clearly. 

You had known him for so long and had even spent nights and mornings in the same bed together. But for the first time, you were committing him to memory. Part of you felt like these moments would go, once the papers came through. That even if neither of you wanted it, something would inherently change between you both once the papers were signed and delivered. 

But something in that moment was changing too. 

Like how you were realising you never wanted to be away from him. That the best place on this earth was right where you were. In his arms, his eyes on you, and yours on him. 

You found yourself leaning in forward, almost as if, if you didn’t get closer to him, he might disappear. 

And he was doing the same. 

One of his hands came up to your face as he rubbed a couple of strands of your hair between his fingers before he slowly pushed it back and let his gaze wash over you. 

He was committing you to memory, too. 

His eyes locked on yours once more, just as his other hand trailed down your waist and to your hip. 

You fell closer to him. 

Or maybe he pulled you closer. 

Either way, you never wanted to be without his touch. 

What felt like an eternity later, you finally felt his lips against yours and yours against his. 

It started off slow. This was new territory for you both when it came to the other. It was slow, full of mixed feelings and…something else. 

Then it snapped. 

Logan pushed a little harder and you felt your legs hit the back of the book ladder just as his hand and arm snaked around and up your back, holding you flush against him as your own arms pulled him closer to you. 

Logan braced the hand that had been by your face, by the side of your head, holding onto the book ladder, keeping you both steady. 

And he felt your breath hitch as he stepped into you. 

Before you knew it, you were braced against one of the bars on the ladder as Logan’s lips went from yours, across your jaw and down the column of your neck. A small grunt escaped him as your own fingers scratched through the back of his hair and down the back of his neck. 

However, just as his lips returned to yours and his hands slipped under the hem of your t-shirt– his t-shirt, as your own started reaching for the hem of his…a clock went off. 

“W-w-w-w-w-wait. Wait. Stop.”

“Is everything okay?”

You swallowed. “Yes…no. I don’t know. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Logan wanted to ask “Why? Why shouldn't we?”. But instead, lowered his head. He knew why. 

“You’re right…you’re right.”

Your own temple came to rest against his for a few moments, neither of you wishing to leave the moment just yet. 

“We should go…before someone comes in.”

“It’s two in the morning, who is going to come in?”

“I don’t want to leave.”

“Then don’t.”

You stayed quiet for a long time, feeling Logan’s fingers draw circles over your skin. Eventually, the only sound you heard was his heartbeat and his breath, slowly matching your own. 

But no matter how much of you told you to stay, you tried your best to fight it. 

You and Logan were friends. Friends who were about to get a divorce from a marriage neither of you could remember fully consenting to. 

“Goodnight, Logan.”

Reluctantly, you stepped out of his arms, his light grip on your hand not letting go until you were both too far apart to hold on any longer, and made your way through the school until you came across an empty room. 

It was the smaller quiet space that overlooked the back of the school. Perfect for the nights when too much noise was keeping you up at night. 

Except, it wasn’t noise keeping you awake. 

It was your own mind, relieving the one thing you thought you would never do with Logan. The one thing you wanted most to keep going. The one thing you would never forget. 

When Logan woke the next day, part of him thought it was all a dream. But even he couldn’t have dreamed up anything from the night before and have it still feel so real in the morning. 

Then he didn’t see you for three days. 

Save for one moment when he brought a box of your things from his room, to yours. You opened the door, wearing another one of his t-shirts. One that went missing months ago. One that he had seen on your at least a dozen times since. One that he felt he was truly seeing for the first time, on you. 

The exchange, coming from the both of you together, couldn’t have felt anything more than awkward. 

And then another moment hit. 

You didn’t close the door. 

He didn’t know what to say. 

All he knew was that he wished he was back with you, in the library. 

And you were wishing the same thing right back. 

“I should-”

“You should-”

A small, awkward laugh came from both of you before eventually you shut the door, wishing you had enough confidence to open it back up and call after him. 

Two days later, Logan hadn’t seen you at all. 

And a morning meeting, with Storm going to get you from your bed, led to Logan realising why he hadn’t seen you. 

“She’s not there?”

Logan turned immediately. “What?”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She’s not in her room or any other place she usually is this early in the morning.”

“Doesn’t she have classes to teach?” Scott asked. 

“She doesn’t teach Wednesday and Thursday.” Logan told him. 

And it wasn’t long before Logan heard his name being called behind him by Xavier as he marched his way out of the office and to every room he could think you would be. 

You were nowhere to be found. It was almost like you hadn’t been there for weeks. The books you had taken out – the ones Logan had helped you find – were piled neatly in your bedroom. On your desk, you had a small wicker basket filled with letters and postcards, all arranged in date order, the newest ones being at the front. 

The pictures you had on your windowsill displayed all the people you loved the most. And included a picture from when you had ambushed him on his birthday. He rarely, if ever, took a photo. 

But he smiled, albeit a little awkwardly, with you. 

“Where could she have gone?”

Logan looked around your room. You wouldn’t have just gotten up and left for good. You loved teaching your kids too much, despite whatever else had happened. 

Then Logan saw the framed pictures on the wall, just across from your bed. 

“I’ll check with Cyerbro. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“She could be half way across the world by now!”

Logan shook his head. “But she’s not.”

A lot of them were confused, but Xavier watched Logan for a moment. 

“Do you know where she is?”

“I have an idea.”

With that, Logan reached for the wall and pulled down one of the smaller frames and carried it out with him.

“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” Storm called out to him. 

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“Logan, you look like you’re just about ready to punch a bull. I know, right now, even if you are the last person she wants to see, you are the first person she needs. But that also means I know what you’re going to do and, love you or not, Y/n wouldn’t want you to hurt someone or even yourself to find her.”

And Storm was right. 

And she was right to tag along. 

Because just five hours later, Logan had pulled up outside a local pharmacy. They had received a call on the way; they were heading in the right direction, but they needed to go into the town first. Any chance of finding where she was in the mountains lay where she had been all day. 

And it wasn’t long before Storm had to step in to stop Logan from almost killing the cashier. 

He had been dancing around the question, leading them all on different tangents of conversation about the town and the people in it before finally he got to his answer.

The cashier nodded. “I don’t know where she lives, but Connie might. She knows everything in the town.”

“Where is Connie?”

The cashier pointed out of the door. “In the bakery, across the street.”

“Thank you,” Logan told him, swiping the picture back up from the counter and walking outside. Storm stopped short behind Logan when she saw he wasn’t moving off the sidewalk. 

Then she saw. 

You had just left the building and climbed inside your beaten up, old Jeep Wrangler. You pulled out of your parking spot and drove off down the street. 

And Logan followed. 

However, halfway up the road, he started to recognise the place. He’d been here before, except he was going up the way he would come down and out of the cabin. 

So, he took a turn. 

He was at your cabin ten minutes before you were. Storm had stayed behind in the town to call the others and let them know what was going on. 

“You fixed her up well.”

You jumped at his voice and threw a can of pumpkin puree at his head. Though he managed to catch it before his head made a dent in the can. 

“Jesus, Logan.” Then you realised. “How did you find me?”

“You forget that I know you. The pictures on your wall. They’re a lot more recent.”

You didn’t know what else to say so you turned back to your front door and pushed it open, Logan hurrying after you. 

“Why did you leave?” He called out, placing the can on the side. 

“I didn’t leave.” You called back as you unpacked some of your groceries. 

“You disappeared into thin air but you weren’t abducted. I’d call that leaving.”

“I needed a break, Logan. I needed…time.”

“Time from what?”

“From everything. From you, from marriage, from the school, from the library. It’s like I woke up one morning and, quite literally, everything had changed. One day we were- we were teachers and friends…we were us, Logan. And then…we kissed and…I don’t know what we’re meant to do, Logan.” You dropped your head as you pressed your palms onto the kitchen counter.

“Maybe we’re meant to do nothing.” Logan walked towards you. “Maybe we keep things as they are.”

“What? Single and married?”

Logan shook his head, bringing his hand to pull yours to look at him. 

“Married and together.”

Your lips parted for a moment, your eyes scanning his face, waiting for the joke to have its punchline. 

“So, we did everything a little backwards?” Logan shrugged. “So what.”

“Logan…”

“I love you, y/n.” Logan told you, nothing but seriousness and truth in his eyes. “And I think you love me, too. But you’re scared. And so am I. Do you love me, y/n?”

You were trying your hardest to keep your emotions inside you, but something was failing. “Of course I do.”

“Then we start here, just you and me.”

“If something goes wrong, I can’t lose you. You mean too much to me, Logan.”

Logan smirked. “Good job I can regenerate.”

You scoffed and hit him in the shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Logan nodded, a faint smile on his face. “I know. You’re not going to lose me, Y/n. You couldn’t ever.”

“Promise me.”

Logan nodded. “I promise. Can I kiss you now?”

Logan didn’t have time to finish his question before your lips met his in a searing kiss, your hands pulling him closer to you whilst his own arms wrapped around you. 

Maybe you had done the whole relationship thing backwards, but that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

Not when you finally had each other for life. 

[aphrogeneias]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 — squirting

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: shy!reader (not "innocent" or inexperienced, just a little more reserved). penetrative sex.

Chrissy didn't know what she was doing.

It was an innocent question — as innocent as the questions being raised could be, that night. The conversation had quickly descended into more risqué subjects after Steve had gotten a little too tipsy and started complaining about his lack of luck on his latest escapades.

Nothing out of the ordinary, really. You were all used to talking about sex in one way or another. Eddie was famously loud about it, always having a story to tell, his or otherwise. Stories that made you imagine yourself on the receiving end of, guiltily wanting your friend to do those same things he was describing to you.

You kept those fantasies to yourself, though. Not wanting to be teased by the girls, maybe even worse, have them try to set you up with him. You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if Eddie ever rejected you, or dated you out of pity. There was no scenario where this would work in your mind, no "you and Eddie", just you and your thoughts of him, where he would never hurt you, where all he did was make you feel good, imagining it his hands on your body, roaming until they found that place between your legs, instead of your own.

That night, it was no different. After Steve started the conversation, there was no stopping it. You often listened more than talked — not due to lack of experience, you were just a little too shy to share too much, even among close friends — but when the talk switched to Robin commenting about making her girlfriend squirt, you slipped.

"Good for her."

Your reply may have sounded a little more bitter than you'd anticipated, because, one by one, all of your friends looked at you. Maybe it was the scoff that has left your mouth, maybe it was the alcohol that had loosened your tongue. 

"What was that?" Nancy asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you.

"Yeah. What was that?" This time, it was Eddie who repeated her question. He sat on the opposite couch with his legs spread, tight black jeans stretching on his lean legs, making you wish you sat between them. You avoided his eyes.

"Nothing. I mean…", you signed, already regretting having said anything, "it's good! Good for her. Robin is good to her, that's a good thing."

You cringed even before you could finish all those convoluted sentences.

"Honey, have you ever… you know," Chrissy asked from her place on the floor, sitting as delicate as a fairy. "squirted?"

"No." You said, simply. Scared to run your mouth even more. "It's not a big deal. Doesn't happen to everybody."

"Have you tried?" Steve asked from behind his beer. He got a myriad of answers ranging from "that's not how It works, dingus!" from Robin, "it's not a matter of trying" from Nancy and "don't ask that, dude" from Eddie.

"I don't even know where to start, Steve. And before anyone asks, yes, I have cum from sex. Just not… like that."

You wanted to crawl into the nearest hole. It was even worse when you could feel Eddie's eyes on you, like he could see right through you. He tilted his head, and you weren't able to handle the kindness in his brown eyes. You looked away.

Your friends' opinions diverged again, making questions and trying to get you to speak, but you couldn't deal with their scrutiny anymore.

"C'mon, guys. It's fine! Can we change the subject, please?" You tried to swerve them. "Like I said, it's not a big deal. Maybe I'm just broken like that."

They shrugged. You shrugged. They moved on — but Eddie's eyes stayed on you for the rest of the night.

You're on Eddie's passenger seat, right in front of your apartment building, later that night when he brings the subject up again.

"I don't think you're broken."

The two of you had spent the entire ride silent, which was odd since Eddie was the chatterbox between the two of you, always filling the gaps with anything that would cross his mind. Neither that, nor his music filled the silence between you.

"What?" You looked at him, still not believing what you'd heard.

"You said that maybe you were broken like that. That's not true, you're… you're perfect."

That feeling of wanting to hide came back tenfold, making your eyes fill with tears. "Eddie, forget about it, please."

"Hey," he brought your gaze back to him with a finger to your chin, delicately turning your head. "I meant what I said. You're perfect, it's just that no one's taken the time to treat you right. It takes patience, from both sides."

"Yeah, and?"

"I was thinking that maybe I could change that. If you'd let me."

One thing you'd always admired about Eddie was his strength of conviction. He never said anything he didn't believe in, and backed it all up. His voice never faltered, he doesn't shy away from speaking his mind — and you hated that you were forcing yourself to disbelieve him.

"Eddie…"

"Look at me." He pleaded, and in spite of your concerns, you did as he told. His eyes bore into your with a sincerity that was so painfully him. "You can say no. I'll go home and we'll forget about everything I just said. But, sweetheart… I'm dying to prove you wrong."

Eventually, he did.

After you'd gotten up the stairs to your floor kissing and tugging at each other's clothes, letting Eddie's tongue taste yours over and over, stopping to let yourself be cornered against the wall by him. Getting lost in the feeling of his solid body against yours, the smell of him — a strong, masculine perfume, cigarettes and beer — making you dizzy, his lips on your neck making you even dizzier.

After he took your clothes off halfway down your living room, reverencing your body with his rough hands, kneeling between your feet in the middle of your halfway. He made you cum for the first time that night with his mouth, kissing your pussy the way he kissed your mouth, sucking on your clit the same way he sucked on your tongue. You came as you pulled his hair, his strong arms around your hips preventing you from falling.

After he guided you to your bed, still craving a taste of you. Hands not knowing where to sit still while he pulled another orgasm from you, his fingers deep within you, curling and stroking your walls, his mouth still not leaving your clit. Your ears buzzed with the force of your climax, not being able to hear Eddie's praise. "That's my girl," he said, head resting on the plush of your thigh, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, "doing such a good job, but I'm not done with you yet."

After he made your eyes blur with pleasure when you finally entered you, rubbing the head of his cock on your sensitive bundle of nerves, once, twice, three times before putting it in, slowly bottoming out. Leaving kisses all over your face, shining with sweat. You didn't think you could take it, curling your toes and hugging his narrow hips with your spread legs, feeling each thrust with a tenderness you never did before.

After he filled and stretched you to the brim, pulling out only to push it all in again. Uttering against your skin, broken whimpers, your name on his lips like a prayer. You were beyond the point of forming words, kissing him to stop yourself from screaming. You could feel yourself dripping down your pussy, and into the sheets, soaking Eddie's cock.

After he pulled your thigh higher up his waist, and stood on his knees, pounding into you with measured speed. He hit your spot over, and over, and over — you grabbed the sheets with both hands, repeating his name like a broken record, music to his ears.

"Yeah? That feels good, baby? Am I making you feel good?" Eddie looked like a god above you. Wild hair down to his shoulders, pale skin slick with sweat, eyes drilled on you. You made the mistake of looking down to where your bodies met, watching his thick cock drenched with your juices, going in and out of you. His pubic hair, also matted with your wetness, creating a delicious friction against your clit. "Tell me. Who's making you feel this good?"

"You, Eddie." You whimpered. "You, you, you. Always you."

"That's right, baby. That's" a hard thrust, "fucking," a a squeeze of your thigh, "right."

You felt your orgasm approach with a  deep pressure on your navel, building and building until you couldn't keep It down anymore. You let yourself go, the ringing in your ears louder and cleared, cumming with Eddie's name on your lips.

That's when you felt it. You were limp in your bed, with Eddie above you. You'd felt him cum too, dropping his weight above you, but still keeping himself steady by his elbows. but everything was distant, like it was happening in a dream. Slowly, you came back to yourself — to Eddie, gently coaxing you with sweet words, and to the warm wetness coating your thighs, your ass, and Eddie's lower half.

"Did I…?"

"Fuck yeah, you did." His boyish smile, so different from the confident smirk you saw not moments ago, made you smile too, weakly and still a little embarrassed, but too satisfied to care.

"Happy now?"

"Only when you do it again." 

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 6

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 5 | Series Masterlist | Part 7

Chapter Summary: You're determined to have a quiet rest of the day without seeing or thinking about Bucky.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.5k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, stalking, inner conflict, insecurities, manipulation, possessiveness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You sat in the tub, the cascading water from the shower head flowing over you as you stared at the opposite wall. Normally you welcomed the heat and billowing steam, but you shivered the longer you stayed there. The sound of the water droplets couldn't drown out Bucky’s moans or words from your mind.

“I’m so hard for you. And you’re wet for me, aren’t you? Fuck, I wish I was there to take care of you.”

“You’ll take it. You’ll take me. Like a good girl.”

“Wish I was there to help clean you up and get you dirty all over again.”

With a groan, you leaned your head against the wall. The man jerked off to the thought of you. No one ever desired you like that, at least not that you knew of. More than that he wanted you in his home. By his side. Why? You couldn't grasp why he wanted you so badly.

You also couldn't deny that his words got to you, if your wet your underwear was anything to judge by when you peeled them off. Were you so desperate for a semblance of affection that a few dirty words from a terrifying man turned you on? What did that say about you?

Just like the last couple of days, that was too much to unpack.

“I’m not special,” you whispered.

You could practically see Bucky across from you with sadness in his eyes, the way he looked at you when you argued last night that you weren't special. He didn't believe that for a second. Quite the opposite. He saw something in you that others didn't. Wasn't that what you wanted deep down? To be seen? Cherished?

Not like this.

“Get up,” you muttered, carefully getting to your feet. You weren't going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself. Things could always be worse. All things considered, Bucky hadn't hurt you. Hadn't lied to you either, as far as you knew. Which made your heart ache at that thought of leaving your place behind.

If Bucky kept his promise and forced you to move in, what would you tell your friends? Would they think you were crazy for moving so fast or would they not question it at all because Bucky was rich, handsome, and they would assume he made you happy? You’d say what you had to if it meant keeping them safe, but feared it could possibly put up a wall between you and the group since you couldn't tell them the full truth. Maybe his intention was to drive you away from them and bring you closer to him.

Your head began to ache from the overanalyzing. “I’m not going to think about Bucky Barnes.” Shutting the water off, you pushed the questions and scenarios as far from your mind as possible as you went about the rest of your morning. The rest of the day would be routine, normal, nothing out of the ordinary.

Naturally, Bucky messaged you once you finished getting dressed to prove you wrong. “Thinking of you. Are you thinking of me?”

You swallowed dryly as you typed back to him. It was like he knew you were trying to forget about everything. “I think you want me to think about you.”

It didn't take him long to respond. “Of course, I do. I hope you’re thinking about our chat from earlier and when we can finish it.” The man didn't want to just get in your head. He wanted to get under your skin. “Is it too much to ask for a photo? You have such a beautiful smile.”

You scoffed both from the audacity and boldness. It wasn't enough that he pleasured himself while talking to you, he wanted a photo of you, too? He specifically noted your smile. Was it really beautiful? “Just because you sent me photos of you in your jackets doesn't mean I have to send photos back.”

“Pretty please?”

It was almost cute. “Not today. Sorry, Bucky.”

“That’s okay. Was worth a shot. Maybe I can convince you to let me take a photo when I see you tonight.”

You froze. There it was. Not “if” he’d see you tonight, but “when”. There was no stopping him, was there? Maybe it was that thought that possessed you to goad him because you couldn't otherwise explain why you sent what you did. “You won’t see me because I have plans. But tell you what. If by any chance you do see me tonight, I’ll let you take a photo.”

You blinked and reread your message. Why did you do that? Sending that was as stupid as it was impulsive and would only encourage him.

“Is that a challenge or a promise?”

Your stomach twisted in knots, but you sent one last reply. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Bucky was so convinced he’d see you and there was a good chance he would, but you’d make him work for it a little. You wouldn't stick around your apartment. That would probably be the first place he’d look for you.

Catch me if you can.

Your shift went as normal as could be. Steady enough to keep you busy, but not feel overwhelmed. No difficult customers. No surprise visits from Bucky either, though you kept waiting for him to walk through the door.

There was no relief though once you clocked out since you had no idea where you'd hide out for the rest of the day. Everyone you reached out to was busy. Addison, of course, was going out to dinner with Brady and you didn't bother messaging her. Dana had a double date with another of your friends. The rest all had romantic evenings planned, too. They apologized like always.

Was it bad that you were kind of used to it?

A message from Bucky appeared the second you stepped out of the shop. “Any chance you’ll give me a clue where you’ll be?”

You sighed, a sense of weariness seeping in that you couldn't blame on work. “Not a chance.”

“Should I go find you now? I’m a little bored.”

Your gaze darted from left to right. Was he already nearby somewhere watching? “If you're bored, read a book.”

A smile crossed your face when you suddenly thought about where to go. You told yourself earlier you didn't want to think about Bucky for the rest of the day. What better way than to distract yourself with a book? And what better place than your favorite bookstore, Turn the Page?

Before you tucked your phone away, you turned the GPS off just in case Bucky had a way to get access to it. You wouldn't put it past him to try. You wouldn't take your normal route either. It was crazy to think things like a routine could be a bad thing, but Bucky made you question everything.

Walking through the city, you occasionally glanced back over your shoulder to make sure no one was following you. No one looked your way, too occupied with their own agendas as they shuffled around you. Something still felt off, goosebumps forming on your arms and your heart sinking as you felt a pair of steel eyes on you.

You didn't realize you stopped walking until someone nearly collided with you. “I’m so sorry,” you said, giving you the push you needed to move again. Quickening your pace, you reminded yourself it was still light out. People were around. Even if Bucky was following you, what would he do?

You moved forward and didn't look back until you found yourself at the bookstore, taking a calming breath before you walked in. Turn the Page had a cozy and peaceful atmosphere with a range from classic to modern stories. You could spend hours there and feel perfectly at home.

“Hey, Marc,” you smiled at the man behind the counter.

“Hey. Good to see you,” Marc smiled back. He took over the bookstore over a year ago. Friendly for the most part and took pride in the shop. “Anything I can help you find? Just finished setting up some new releases.”

“No thanks,” you replied, selecting a thick romance novel that would pass the time. “I was just going to hang around and read for a bit if you don't mind.”

“Not at all. Can I get you anything to drink or eat? Coffee? Baked good?” He offered, nodding to the tiny cafe area in the corner.

“Just water for now, please,” you said. You probably needed to eat, but you’d wait for your nerves to fully settle. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?” He asked, going to grab you your drink as you followed.

“Have you heard of The 107th?” You asked. You weren't sure what possessed you to do so. Maybe it was because he seemed like a neutral person to talk to.

“The nightclub?” Mark eyed you curiously. “That doesn't seem like your scene.”

“I’ve only been once. A friend's bachelorette party over a month ago,” you explained, assuming he meant it wasn't your type of scene since you weren't a party girl. “But I may have met the owner recently.”

Marc kept a neutral expression, but noticeably paused before he handed the glass over. “You met Bucky Barnes?”

“Yeah,” you answered, shifting on your feet. “Do you know him?”

He busied himself by cleaning the counter. “Yeah, I know him,” he said, your chest tight. How? “Well, I wouldn't say I know him well. I’ve only met him a couple of times. A lot of the local owners have since he has a hand in quite a few endeavors. Donates to the local hospital and charities, too.”

“That’s nice,” you croaked, taking a sip. If he had a hand in local businesses, was it possible that he met your boss? “He seemed very driven when I spoke to him.”

“That he is,” he agreed, tossing the rag away. “Also dangerous,” he added under his breath.

“Dangerous?” You repeated. The man threatened your loved ones, but why would Marc call him that?

He paused to look at you, his eyes wider than before. “Yeah, but you’re too sweet to get mixed up in any of that, so forget I said anything. Please,” he urged. You wished you could. “He hasn't been poking around your shop, has he?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you said. You hoped not.

“Sorry, I just assumed since you said you met him. Wouldn't surprise me if he stops in soon though with the anniversary coming up and all.”

“Anniversary of what?” You asked.

“His family. They…” He trailed off when the phone rang at the counter. “Sorry. I need to get back to work.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just start my book,” you said, going to take a seat on the other side of the shop. You took your usual spot on the couch and wished you hadn't said anything. Marc knew Bucky enough to say he was dangerous. And why would he eventually poke around your shop? Anniversary… Flowers…

“I wish you could've met my mom. She would've loved you.”

“She’s gone and that’s a topic for another day.”

You settled further into the couch with a huff. Bucky’s family and endeavors were none of your business. You weren't going to question it any further. You were going to sit and enjoy your book.

That was exactly what you did.

A few customers went in and out of the shop as you lost yourself in the story. It was easy to imagine snuggling with the hero as he whispered how much he loved you and always would. The sweet sort of romance that brought a smile to your face and allowed you to relax against the cushions. You were surprised you didn't fall asleep.

What time was it anyway?

“How’s the book?”

A shiver rolled over you as you peered up from the page and saw Bucky standing in front of you. He wore the blue jacket and his eyes stood out just as you said they would. Where you expected to see triumph in his gaze, there was only curiosity and awe. Like he happened to bump into you by accident instead of intentionally.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper shouted, not wanting to draw attention. While it wasn't a complete shock that he managed to find you, it was a miracle your heart hadn't given out from how fast it pounded over the last couple of days. “How did you find me?”

Did he actually follow you?

He smiled a little. “You’re the one who told me to read a book since I was bored,” he said, taking a seat beside you and slipping his arm around you. You tensed as he pulled you close, but he merely rubbed your arm with his gloved hand until you relaxed. “And finding you was just a process of elimination. I know you didn't go back to your place after you left this morning and there aren't too many places you like to venture by yourself in the city.”

“And just how do you know I didn't go back to my apartment?” You asked.

“I may or may not have an eye on the building,” he said casually. It could've been a joke or serious answer, neither of which were a laughing matter. “Or maybe you knew that would be the first place I’d try to look for you, so you decided to avoid it.”

You bit your tongue. That was exactly what you did. “Or maybe I wouldn't be there since I was supposed to go out.”

He nodded. “You were supposed to go out, but your plans fell through, didn't they?” He asked sympathetically. You didn't want his pity. “If I had to guess, they fell through even before we talked this morning.”

“My original plans fell through, yes,” you confirmed.

He hummed. “Were you embarrassed to tell me?”

You wrung your fingers together. There was no reason for you to feel bad for not telling him. You didn't owe him anything because he wasn't your boyfriend. “No,” you whispered.

“Did it just slip your mind when we talked?” He teased. At least he didn't sound upset or disappointed. Why wasn't he upset? Was he testing you?

“No. I just wanted a night off from being…” you trailed off, not sure how he would react in public to something he didn't want to hear. And what was it a night off from exactly? Being his new girlfriend?

He scratched along his chin, drawing attention to the gray hairs. “You know what I think?” He asked.

“I have no idea,” you replied.

“I think you were testing me because you wanted me to find you. You want me more than you want to admit,” he said. Your mouth fell open, but you couldn't speak. “Otherwise, why push me to look for you? Why hang out in one of your favorite shops knowing I could easily track you down?”

“I didn't…” You took a breath. You didn't want him to chase after you. That wasn't it. “I didn't push.”

“Moyo Kotyonok, you dared me with that message and you know it,” he smirked.

Biting your lip, you didn't deny it any further since he was partially right. You egged him on by offering to let him take a photo if he found you, which wasn't smart. If you had real plans, you wouldn't have done that. But you didn't do it because you wanted him to find you or wanted him in general.

You didn't.

“But we can talk about that later,” he said, gentler than you expected. “I’m sorry about your plans. What happened?”

You finally closed the book in your lap and exhaled. “Addison and I were supposed to hang out, but she’s going out to dinner with her fiancé instead,” you explained.

He narrowed his eyes. “So, she ditched you,” he said, disappointment finally seeping into voice.

You shook your head. “No, she didn't ditch me. We rescheduled,” you argued, quick to defend her. She didn't maliciously blow you off. “Things come up. It happens.”

Bucky smiled softly. “You stuck up for her immediately. I admire that,” he said, shifting to face you more. He practically crowded you. “Why not hang out with another friend?”

You looked at your lap. What was he playing at? “Because my friends are busy,” you whispered. It hurt to say it and it shouldn't. It was just a downside of being the single one in a group of friends who had significant others. No one was obligated to keep their schedules open in case you wanted to hang out.

He tilted your head up. Why wouldn't he just let you hide? “Just so you know, I will never be too busy for you,” he whispered. It wasn't fair that he looked at you like you mattered. “You’re my top priority.”

You ignored the warm sensation that spread from your heart. So many people made you an option. “I shouldn't be,” you whispered.

“But you are and that isn't going to change,” he said, steadfast as always. “And since this shop is going to close soon, why not go to the club with me? It'll be fun.”

You gestured to your comfortable outfit. “I’m not dressed for your club. Besides, I was going to call it an early night after I left.”

His eyes roamed your body with interest before he shrugged and took the book from your lap. “I have that dress waiting for you, but you can wear whatever you want since you look beautiful in anything.”

“Are you listening to what I'm saying? I said I want to call it an early night.” You moved to stand, your limbs tired from sitting. “For someone who claims to care, you don't take my feelings into consideration.”

He reached to grab your hand and took it before you could walk away. “I care more than anyone else,” he whispered vehemently before he took a breath, his eyes burning with passion as he stood up, too. “I’m not ignoring your feelings. It’s a compromise. We won't stay long, so come with me.”

“Thank you for the offer,” you began, trying to put out the fire in his eyes. “But why would I want to go to your club when all I want to do is read and relax?”

“Do I need to remind you that some of my friends will be there and they still want to meet you?” He asked, gently guiding you toward the front of the store. “And I can take your right back to your place after so you can rest. You'll still have an early night.”

He considered that a compromise? “But I-”

“You’ll be in bed before 10. You have my word.” He walked you toward the exit, past the remaining customers, and gave the associate behind the counter a smile before you could protest. “And don't worry about the book. I paid for it.”

“Wait, where’s Marc?” You asked. You hadn't spoken to him since your earlier conversation.

The associate looked at Bucky before she smiled. “I think he went out back for a quick break.”

“Before closing?” You asked.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said, heading out the door with you.

He helped you into the car by the curb as you were still catching up to what was happening. He effortlessly coaxed you out of a store with people around and into a car, alone. The man had no fear.

“Where's Ray?” You asked since the partition was up. “Shocked you didn't send him in to get me.”

“He actually offered, but I wanted to go in myself,” Bucky replied, chuckling at your expression. “And don't worry. He's close by.”

You huffed and stared at the garment bag where your dress waited when he put an arm back around you. “I just wanted some peace and quiet tonight.” But he got you right where he wanted you.

“Like I said, you'll meet my friends and you’ll be in bed by 10.” Bucky dragged his nose along your throat and inhaled your scent. Your eyes closed, but your body didn't freeze up the way you expected it to. “We’ll both get what we want.”

What you wanted didn't matter. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

You closed your eyes. “Just how dangerous are you?”

“I’m the most dangerous man in the city, but you're safe with me,” he replied against your skin.

“And what if your friends don't like me?” You asked.

“You have nothing to worry about. They’ll love you,” he promised, bringing his head up to kiss your temple. “But no one will ever love you more than I do.”

Love.

You shuddered. You weren't sure what you feared more. That his friends would love you enough to help keep you by his side or how much Bucky claimed to love you. Because there was nothing more dangerous than a powerful man in love.

Which friend do we think is the most excited to see you with Bucky? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[semification]

- DIE WITH A SMILE . . . VERITAS RATIO ✧.*

Veritas comes to realize that he loves you, but perhaps he comes to that realization far too late.

content: fem reader, death, penacony quest spoilers, angst with comfort (?), blood & injuries, veritas is a meanie (but he INSTANTLY regrets it!1!), friends to (grins evilly) …lovers

authors note: first fic on this account i hope you guys like it <3 i ran out of motivation while writing this halfway can u tell. anyways go stream die with a smile by bruno mars and lady gaga because i was listening to that song on loop while making this fic and i think its a super fitting song for this hehe

wc: 5.9k (its a quick read i promise)

masterlist

“You’re being ridiculous, Veritas.”

Bickering with Dr. Veritas Ratio was not out of the ordinary. In fact, it was a pastime for the two of you, engaging in various academic debates to see which party presented a better argument. It was seen as a great deal of praise to be able to do such a thing with an esteemed man like Veritas. It made it seem like you two stood on the same ground–the same ground of a man who felt so out of reach.

“Oh, really now? I’m the one being ridiculous? I am ‘ridiculous’ simply because I am looking out for your safety, Y/N?”

This… however, this was not normal. This quarrel felt personal, stemming from your feelings instead of facts and objective data. This felt like an attack on your friendship–but from the amount of vile he’s spitting from his mouth, you wonder if Veritas has ever considered you as a friend in the first place.

The more he speaks, the more you are reminded that you didn’t stand on the same ground as him. You felt terrifyingly inferior, and even though he was right in front of you, you felt like you were miles away from him. 

“No, I’m saying you’re ridiculous for calling me weak and incapable because apparently, I’m not good enough to go on this expedition when it’s my fucking job.”

However, you mostly felt like a fool.

You felt like such a fool for falling in love with a man like him. You fell in love with him because of his neverending thirst for knowledge. You fell in love with him because you were just as much of a bibliophile as he was. You fell in love with him because you wanted to spread your knowledge around the universe as much as he wished to. You fell in love with him because, for a moment, you thought he saw you differently from everyone else, and that he truly enjoyed being in your presence.

You turn away from him, tears forming in your eyes. You stubbornly blink them away, because you think back to what started this argument in the first place.

You had just finished detailing your mission to Veritas, which was your routine every time the Intelligentsia Guild dispatched you on some kind of research expedition. This mission was different, however. You would be gone for three months, longer than usual–and the mission was very combat-oriented and dangerous, which wasn’t like your usual expeditions. Despite the warnings, you still accepted it, thinking of it as something new, but nothing that you couldn’t handle.

Veritas seemed to think otherwise, however, because when you peer over to look at his reaction, he looked very displeased. 

(It wasn’t a very uncommon look to see on his face, but you could tell he seemed more serious–like how the frown lines on his face were deeper than usual.)

You weren’t particularly surprised by the expression on his face. What surprised you the most was the first thing that came out of his mouth after hearing your expedition’s rundown. “Are you sure you’ll be able to go on that mission?”

You look at him incredulously, surprised at the amount of distaste in his voice. His displeasure was directed at… you? “What is that supposed to mean, Veritas?”

“I’m saying that you’re too weak and incapable to go on that expedition, Y/N. I do not know why the Guild would assign you such a difficult mission. They truly are overestimating your power.” The words came out of his mouth so casually, like you had just asked him about the weather. Is this how his students feel when they take his infamous course with a passing rate of a mere three percent? How his students feel whenever they get scolded by him?

You just can’t believe it. He said those words like it were a fact—straight from the myriad of encyclopedias that he’s read. Maybe because it was a fact in his head: he saw you as nothing but “weak” and “incapable”.

A stray tear manages to escape from your eye, and you quickly wipe it away angrily before turning back to Veritas with a sniffle. No. You cannot cry in front of his face. Crying is an expression of weakness–of vulnerability. And what you are trying to prove to Veritas is that you are not “weak”. You are not “incapable” either, and you are going to prove that to him by going on this mission and making him eat his words. 

“I will be leaving in three system hours. Do not bother showing up during my departure.”

You cringe at the way your voice shakes at the end, but you stand firm. Those words were the last thing you said to him before leaving his office with a bitter heart. When you exit his room, you finally let your emotions run free, letting the tears stream down your face without end. You quietly sob as you retreat to your own office, closing the door and letting out a shaky exhale, escaping all the nosy whispers and chatter of the Guild members.

You sob at the heartbreaking realization that just when you think you’ve gotten close to the “untouchable” Veritas Ratio, he pushes you away just like how he does to everyone else… because that’s just simply what you are to him. 

Another person who fades into the background, and nothing more.

Dr. Veritas Ratio is a man who exhibits prestige and greatness like no other. Throughout his academic career, he obtained eight PhDs and graduated with the First Class Honors Degree, which hadn’t been awarded to anyone for two Amber Eras. He was gifted with knowledge, and now he uses that knowledge and spreads it far across the cosmos to “cure idiocy”, treating it like a disease that needs to be treated.

And yet, for once in his life, he refuses to admit it out loud, but he’s acted like the one thing that he completely loathed. The very thing that he was trying to exterminate.

An idiot. He was an idiot, and it was all because he could not word himself correctly when he spoke to you. He has written hundreds of papers, essays, and dissertations, but time and time again, he could not seem to think—to be able to formulate the proper words to say when it came to you.

And now, Veritas has royally messed up, and for once in life, he has no idea what to do.

He was just genuinely concerned for your safety. It was all he thought about once you had finished detailing your expedition to him. He wanted to convince you—to pick the right words to say so he could persuade you not to go, but it seems that his fear of being seen as vulnerable shone through first. It reminded him of the days when you two weren’t close; the days he spoke to you while wearing his alabaster head.

He only wears that head because he “can’t bear to see idiots,” but given how he just called you “weak” and “incapable” in the argument that just transpired, one could almost laugh at the hypocrisy of it all. Veritas may as well talk to himself while wearing the alabaster head.

Because only idiots would address you with those terms. 

You were an enigma to Veritas from the very beginning. People from the Intelligentsia Guild rarely stood out to him, but you were different—sticking out like a sore thumb the moment he laid his eyes on you. 

That’s because your presence utterly enchanted him—you had similar tastes in literary works, you matched his sarcasm and topped it off with even wittier replies, and you also wanted to use your knowledge for other people to learn.

You were not weak and incapable. He saw you as anything but that, in fact. He was at fault for the argument, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, for Aeon’s sake.

He knows that he owes you an apology, it’s the least he could do... He just needs to apologize, then convince you to not go on that expedition. You’re scheduled to leave soon—approximately two and a half system hours—he still has time.

And yet, his mind is being stubborn. He knows that he needs to apologize, but he just can’t bring himself to. He can’t remember the last time he’s genuinely apologized to someone—an apology without a trace of sarcasm at that.

“Trouble in paradise, doctor?”

He could recognize the esteemed gambler’s voice from miles away, and it irks him how he always seemed to show up at the worst times. Aventurine’s got a knowing gaze on him—a stare that can pierce through any poker face so he could see exactly what they’re thinking. “I suggest not meddling in any business that doesn’t concern you, gambler.”

Except he’s already got him. “This is about Y/N, isn’t it?”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Aventurine believes that one’s eyes are the windows to the soul–and he doesn’t miss the way Veritas’ eyes soften when he says your name, smiling at the unintentional answer to his question. He definitely doesn’t have the best poker face in town. For such a stoic man, he surely cannot put himself together when it comes to anything that has to do with you.

Aeons. Just what were you doing to him?

There was no use hiding it from him, so he just silently nodded, with Aventurine clicking his tongue. “Rumors fly fast in the guild, especially when Dr. Ratio’s dear friend Y/N was seen walking out of his office crying. I just had to see what this was really about, you know?” 

You were crying when you left?

He doesn’t voice his concern out loud, of course. Instead, Veritas just sighs heavily. “All I wanted to do was convince her to not go on that mission that she’s currently dispatched on. It just seems… far too dangerous.”

Aventurine’s got an idea of what happened next considering how you ran out of this room crying, but he decides to ask anyway. “Oh? And how did that work out for you?”

Veritas refuses to meet his gaze, his heart sinking when he simply thinks about what happened earlier. “…”

“At least humor me, doctor.”

He turns away from Aventurine completely, a deep shade of red coating his cheeks. Was it out of embarrassment? Shame? Whatever it was, he didn’t need him to see it. “…I called her weak and incapable.”

When Aventurine doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, Veritas speaks to fill the silence. “I admit, I did not know what was going through my head when I addressed her with those words.”

The uncomfortable silence drags on for a little longer until it’s interrupted by the piercing sound of Aventurine’s laughter. His laugh makes the red spread across Veritas’ cheeks even more—uncharacteristically so, especially since he’s normally so put together. He doesn’t even have the heart to tell Aventurine to stop laughing, because a small huge part of him feels that he deserves this.

He deserves to sit through this feeling because he knows you faced the same humiliation when he shut you out.

“Hahaha! I can’t—“ Aventurine’s nearly keeling over in laughter, and the gambler swears he could feel tears build up in his eyes. “Oh, please! You have such a way with words, don’t you?”

Aventurine continues, failing to conceal his hysteria. “Weak and incapable? If anything, that’ll only fuel the fire. She’d want to go on that mission just to prove you wrong.”

“I’m well aware. It is exactly what happened after all.” You’re leaving soon. The thought of you leaving makes Veritas’ stomach churn, and he has no idea why. Out of all the many expeditions you’ve been sent on, this is the first time he’s felt this way–been filled with so much dread.

“Well,” Aventurine pretends to think for a moment, putting his hand on his chin. “It won’t hurt to sacrifice a little bit of your already enormous ego to apologize to her, no? There’s enough of your pride to go around.” 

I don’t know if I can bring myself to.

Veritas doesn’t say those words out loud. Instead, he masks his worries with a scoff. Aventurine doesn’t have to know. “Watch your mouth, gambler.”

“Oh my, I really struck a nerve there, did I?”

“Researcher Y/N? I’m sorry sir, she just departed a few minutes ago.”

You left.

The three system hours hadn’t even passed yet—there were still two hours before your scheduled departure—and you left early.

You left, and he didn’t even get the opportunity to apologize. 

The researcher could only watch as the great Veritas Ratio, normally so composed, looks away from him wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. He’s utterly dumbfounded, a look that is never seen on his face. What is he supposed to do now?

You’re too late.

For the next several weeks, Veritas could only wait anxiously for your return. Worry follows him like a cloud, and even his students pick up on his weird behavior. It’s all so grueling—waiting for you without so much of an idea of how you’re doing or if your expedition is going well. 

While waiting for your return, he plans out his actions for the next time he sees you. He doesn’t want to apologize over text–Veritas sees it as inappropriate and prefers to show his sincerity in person. Face-to-face is how he is going to do it, and he sends you a message in preparation for that. “I’d like for us to talk when you’re back. Please message me immediately upon your arrival.”

…Except an error message stares at him back when he presses the send button. It’s almost mocking him in a sense, like the universe is doing everything in its power to prevent him from atoning for his mistakes. Of course you weren’t going to have signal when you’re so far away from him. Just what was he expecting?

You were scheduled to return after another few weeks, and Veritas could only prepare for the days to pass by excruciatingly slowly. Until then, he thinks over what he’s going to say for his apology. Maybe he could give you something too. He thinks that finding a way to get your favorite flowers is a nice start.

You’re tired.

Exhaustion envelops you like a blanket, and after trying your hardest to resist, you just can’t anymore.

You’re so tired. 

You finally succumb to the fatigue, falling onto the ground as your sword clatters with a thud. You lay there, lying in a pool of your own blood, accepting that this was the cruel fate that the great Aeons above bestowed upon you in the end. You laugh at the absurdity of it all, but it only comes out as a weak cough, which quickly transitions into a fit of hacking up crimson droplets—lighting your throat on fire.

It was a fragmentum monster ambush. The planet you were exploring contained a lot of them–mainly due to the Stellaron corrosion that it was experiencing. After three weeks of exploring, it was supposed to be just another day of collecting data and extracting information for the guild. You’ve done this countless times already–anything out of the ordinary happening was beyond you.

The ambush had occurred when you least expected it–you barely even had the time to draw out your sword. One thing led to another, and at some point, there were just too many of them that leaving the battle unscathed was out of the question. And at the end of it, you were a mess, standing in a field of bodies with blood sticking to your clothes–a mix of the fragmentum and your own. The worst part was that it was mainly your own, with the source coming from a deep gash in your abdomen. You were losing blood at a terrifying rate.

Panic fills your veins once you fully process the gravity of the situation. Heart thumping, you realize that you’re going to die–and you are going to die alone.

What a pitiful end this was.

You’ve sent a distress call to the guild, but you know that your fate has been sealed already. You’ll be long gone before anyone will be here to help you, and they’d just be here to clean up your remains. You hope that the guild would at least grant you a proper funeral.

It’s truly comical how fate works. People your age are usually too busy thinking about marriage, or deciding how many kids they want to have in the near future. And yet, here you are, on the precipice of reaching death’s door, thinking about your funeral. 

Your vision turns blurry, and you sniffle as hot tears begin to roll down your cheeks. Fuck, you don’t want to die. There are far too many things that you haven’t done. And yet, you can’t find the strength to continue on either. You’re just so, so tired.

In the midst of your cries, you softly mumble out a name. A name that you love, hate, and everything in between with a passion.

“…Veritas.”

You initially wanted to go on this mission with the intent of exploring this planet, but after the argument, you know you went mainly because you wanted to prove him wrong.

You wonder if he truly meant those words. Even if he didn’t, maybe he was right, because look at what your determination had cost you–lying in a pool of your own blood, all because you wanted Veritas to see that you weren’t weak and incapable.

Even though you went on this expedition angry at him, (a part of you still is angry) you’ve never wanted to see him so badly in your life. You were going to die with many regrets–perhaps the biggest one was that you never got to tell Veritas how you truly feel about him.

You just want to see him once last time. Is it selfish to ask for one more day with him? One more hour… or to engage in at least one more heated debate. Hell, you’d even take one more minute with him. And in that minute, maybe you’d slap him in the face for what happened. But maybe you’d tell him you love him and kiss him over and over, apologizing for even thinking about slapping his stupidly perfect face. 

Despite how much of an asshole he can be at times, you love Veritas Ratio. You love his snark and sarcasm and everything about him, and you’re going to die without even knowing if he loves you back. This is your biggest regret.

No, you can’t die like this. You need to tell him. You have to.

As darkness starts to cloud your vision, you use all of your remaining strength to pull your phone out from your pocket despite the wound in your abdomen screaming in protest. Your fingers shakily make their way to Veritas’ contact, and with a pained breath, you begin to type.

“Take me to where she sent the distress call, now.”

There was a bunch of commotion in the guild—too much commotion considering how early it was. Veritas could only wonder what all the clamor was about, but he froze once he heard your name leave one of the researcher’s mouths. 

And his biggest nightmare is now a reality once someone finally fills him in on the situation: Your signal had disappeared off the radar, but not after you sent a distress call to the guild. You needed help, yet you were so far from his grasp. “But Doctor, we-“

“I need not repeat myself. Her life is in grave danger, and yet here you are, arguing with me and wasting precious time when this time could be used saving her.” His words surprised both himself and the guild member, who shakily nodded at his request. Veritas was certain that if you were just anybody else, he could have less of a care about your distress signal. But no, this was you—and he needed to make sure that you were okay.

Veritas looked calm and collected on the outside, but on the inside, he was falling apart. Calm yourself, you need to be the strong one in this situation. She’s the one in danger here.

Aeons, all he had to do was convince you to not go on this expedition. Instead, he made everything worse with his poor choice of words, and now he’s paying the price for it. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late.

Wait for me Y/N. Please. That’s all I ask.

In his office, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers resting on his desk, and they’ve slowly begun to wither away.

When Veritas finally arrived at where you were last seen on the signal, there were bodies littered everywhere, and he could only hope that none of them were yours. Paired with those bodies was the color red—crimson was scattered all over, and it was practically all he could see. Did you take all of these fragmentum down by yourself?

As Veritas inspected all of the fragmentum bodies, all slain by a single blade, one of the researchers accompanying him pointed out a trail of blood leaving the site. It makes him freeze, because it might be…

“Y/N.”

Shit.

He immediately goes after the trail without an ounce of hesitation. The scene laid before him is something that has only haunted him in his nightmares, yet at this very moment, it lies before him as a terrifying reality. 

His blood runs cold, and for the first time in his life, Veritas Ratio is rendered speechless.

Your limp body lies in front of him, in a pool of so much blood that just seeing it sickens him to his stomach. He can’t feel his own body as he falls to his knees, paying no mind to the other researchers around him. No, right now, it was just you and Veritas. Nobody else.

With trembling hands, he pulls your body close to his own as your blood taints his clothing. Even though he knows you’re too far gone already, he can’t help but try to feel your pulse, because there’s a part of him that just refuses to believe that he’s too late.

There was nothing.

It probably hasn’t been beating for a while, and that thought leaves him utterly empty, with a single stray tear rolling down his cheek.

If he were just a little bit faster, maybe he could’ve saved you. If he could’ve just formulated his words correctly so he could convince you not to go on this expedition. If he could’ve just apologized…

If he could’ve just been… a better friend.

All these could haves, yet Veritas didn’t act on any of them.

Pathetic.

Your phone is beside you, and Veritas gingerly picks it up. The screen was still lit, despite it being shattered to oblivion. It was open to the messaging app—specifically his contact.

It was never sent due to poor signal, but you were messaging him before you died. He was your last thought.

“I’m sorry Veritas. I just don’t want you to think I’m weak and incapable.”

“Still, I want you to remember that”

You were the one apologizing to him, even after everything was said and done. He can’t even fathom that.

And weak and incapable, huh. You were anything but that. If anything, Veritas was the weak and incapable one. He was weak for not being able to swallow his pride even if he was the one in the wrong—and he was incapable of simply apologizing to you.

And the last message… What is it supposed to mean? 

What do you want him to remember?

When Veritas was sent to Penacony and matters with the head of the Oak family, Sunday, had been dealt with, he was finally allowed to leave. It was the first mission the guild had assigned him since you left, and his efforts to prevent Aventurine from going on an all-out suicide mission helped Veritas take his thoughts away from you, even if it was just for a moment.

And yet, you always find your way back to haunt him. Not even the Land of Dreams could prevent that.

Still, he had done his part, sorted out his deals in Penacony as a representative sent by the guild, and it was time to go.

It’s been a few months since your death, and Veritas thinks that living without you is like living without the sun. It’s funny how he’s only realized how much you’ve changed his life only after you’ve gone. You lit up his life, both metaphorically and physically—and now, everything feels so dull, and he constantly longs for your presence in the darkness. 

But now you’re gone, and he feels so terribly lost, even now as he does paperwork in his office. Life became way more monotonous after you had left. The quiet is suffocating, because Veritas can only think about the times that the quiet office was filled with your voice instead. 

Even now, in the rare moments that Veritas picks up a book nowadays, he thinks about how much you would have enjoyed it as well.

Paperwork is one of the few things that he finds solace in anymore, as it helps him drown out his thoughts so they don’t end up drifting back to you.

…You.

His eyes land on your sword before he can even do anything about it, and he swallows thickly. Your blade is displayed on his wall, another way for Veritas to show his honor for you. 

The blade you singlehandedly used to defeat all those monsters, and the blade you’ll never be able to wield again.

He tears his eyes away from it before his thoughts can spiral again. He can feel his vision start to blur, and he blinks the tears away before they escape. He wonders how many tears he’s shed for you since you’ve been gone.

Veritas tries and fails to focus on his paperwork once more until he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

He thinks a walk will do him good.

He stands up from his desk and slowly walks over to his office door, wondering who it could be. He rarely gets visitors nowadays, unless it’s something that’s of utmost importance. Everyone else is afraid to talk to him, as Veritas became… colder after your death.

If anyone were to ask why—it’s because when you died, a part of Veritas did too.

He turns the door’s handle, only to see…

You.

You were standing right in front of him, in the same outfit that you were in the day you left for your mission. Except this time, you were alive, and Veritas has no idea what to think.

You’re the first one to break the silence, whispering his name. “Veritas?”

Hearing you say his name feels like he can finally breathe again. “Y/N? Is it really you?”

Before you can even answer his question, he engulfs you in a tight hug, breathing in your scent. Veritas held you like his life depended on it—because at this moment, it felt like it did. He says the words that hve been on his mind for the past few months. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry darling. If only I hadn’t-“

You pull back from the hug, putting your pointer finger against his lips as a signal for him to stop talking. Barely even registering the endearing name that he called you, you smile, cupping his cheeks before sighing tenderly. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Veritas.”

He only hugs you tighter, coming to a revelation that only makes the pain in his heart ever worsen. He saw your lifeless body himself, he paid respects to your body at your funeral… and he laid your favorite flowers on top of your gravesite where your body rested, even though those flowers were supposed to be an apology gift. “You’re… not real.”

“I’m still in Penacony, right? This is all a dream.”

You smile, nodding in conformation. “Nothing truly gets past you, does it? You’re dreaming what you desire the most right now.”

“I promise you that we will meet again, Veritas. it will not be today, but the day will eventually come, and I’ll be waiting for you every step of the way.” You breathe in deeply. “But right now, you need to wake up from this dream, before it's too late.”

He’s not sure if he wants to wake up, though.

“But what if… I just want to stay here with you?”

“We both know it’s not what you really want.” You can see right through him. “If you stay with me in this dream, you’ll be living nothing but a simulated life. I may be here with you, but you’ll never truly fill that hole in your heart, because I am not Y/N. I’m just a creation of your deepest desires, and you know that I’ll never be her. That is not a life worth living.”

“I know she would want you to live your life to the fullest, to truly experience things, to teach your students unforgettable lessons… so they become great people like you.” You pause, looking right into his eyes. They’re filled with pain, sorrow, and the desire to cling on to the past. “And when your time comes eventually, she will be waiting for you. You will apologize once again, because you never got to apologize to her before she died, but she has forgiven you long ago, and it’s all because…”

Despite that, you have to teach him that it’s time to let go. “She wants you to remember that she loves you, Veritas Ratio.”

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

A tear rolls down his cheek at your words, and then another…. and another. “Even if I don’t know how to apologize?”

You let out a watery laugh, nodding your head. “Even if you don’t know how to apologize.”

“Then… I will do as she asks. It is the least I can do to make up for what I’ve done.” He says, and he takes a deep breath before his next words. “Can I… hug you one last time? Even though you aren’t… actually her.”

“Go ahead, Veritas. But I’m afraid that after this, you have to let go.”

You need to let go.

He nods before wrapping his arms around your figure. It was such a vulnerable act, like a man putting the entirety of his heart and soul out for you to take. He breathes in your scent, wanting to take it in once last time before he has to bid you goodbye. You feel a few of his tears staining your clothing, but you pay it no mind. 

How many tears has he shed for you since you’ve been gone? Not enough. He doesn’t feel that it’ll ever be enough.

When he opens his eyes, you’re slowly fading away from him. There’s a melancholic smile on your face, your eyes meeting his—filled with pain, sorrow, a desire to cling onto the past, and yet… a hint of acceptance.

“Still, I want you to remember that… I love you.”

Yes, he remembers. And he’ll remember your words for the rest of his life, until the moment that he leaves this cosmos on his deathbed. He’s just hoping that you’ll wait long enough for him to say it back.

Before you’re about to fade away completely, you lean in one last time and whisper to him…

“It’s time to wake up, Veritas.”

He wakes up from the dream pool with a gasp. The water splashes around him, and a few stray tears roll down his cheeks. 

The rest of his actual Penacony trip went by surprisingly smoothly, and he doesn’t mention the dream that he had to anyone. It was like a secret shared between you and Veritas–and he was going to treasure that secret forever. 

And now, the Charmony Festival has commenced, and the fireworks have begun. As he watches the sparks explode into thousands of dazzling rays of light above, he pulls out his phone to text you. Almost like one final goodbye, because he knows it’s what you would’ve wanted.

“I love you too, Y/N. I will love you my entire lifetime–past beyond the boundaries of eternity, even after all the stars long die out in the cosmos.

I long for the day that we will meet again… because then, I’ll finally be able to tell you this confession in person. For now, I hope you can continue to find the patience to keep waiting for me. 

…Until the stars align, and we’re able to see each other once again.”

He looks up to the endless bursts of blazing rays lighting up the night, mixed with the eternal shine of the cosmos. It was truly a sight to behold. And for a split second, he could feel someone by his side watching the fireworks with him. It warmed his heart, even if it were just for a moment. 

“Aren’t these fireworks beautiful, Veritas?”

“They will never be as enchanting as you, Y/N.”

[dolene]

GET BACK ON TRACK ; charles leclerc x reader

summary: after carlos's wedding announcement is everywhere and taking over your entire life, you decided to break the slump and getting back on track by moving on.

...★...

carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 Carlos & Rebecca. 5.5.25

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username fuck. yncarlos shipper we lose

username We've been losing since day one, there is no winning. Only losing 😔😔

username MY SUN????? MY MOON???? Okay what kind of torture are you guys gonna get me for this week

landonorris happy for you, mate!

yourusername Happy wedding to the beloved couple!! I wish you the best years of love and a great future together ever after 💗

username NO Y/N DON'T PRETEND

username i feel sick

danielricciardo Congratulations, and don't forget to spare the wine! 😄

alex_albon Lily and I wished you both a joyful wedding and a happy life! Don't forget about Lando, though.

username another day another cry (for y/n)

charles_leclerc Congratulations to the happy couple! Glad to be there and watch the sweet moments unveiled.

pierregasly The two of you were looking so sweet together. I hope I can make a good uncle in the future 😁🤣

carlossainz55 It's far still away from that and you're already thinking of that is insane

lewishamilton Happy wedding day to the couple.

username google, play no ordinary love by sade

yourusername

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yourusername Rats street avenue

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username oh she's serving

sabrinacarpenter WOOHOO GOOO GIRLL

username This is the face of a woman who LIED but still slayed

username pls get a bf that's gon be better than him

alexconsani My name is not Alex Albon, but you know who could Thai-you-down-tnite😏

alex_albon I would never do that though 😂😅

alexconsani Understandable. if I had your girlfriend, I would never cheat on her either

luisinhaoliveira99 I wish I met you when I was still in France

username She flew right away to France because she know she's the realest

username SHE TURNED EMO 💀💀

username the impact of losing him is real

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc and 830,934

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username No captions just a pure masterpiece

username after seeing charles liking this, my feelings said something so gossipy

username mother's slaying again

username funny how i remember yesterday's bangs are still short

username It's an extension btw

yslbeauty Stunning as usual ✨✨

gigihadid I miss Australia and the photo booth

charles_leclerc 🤪🤪

yourusername What are you even talking about

username What is this silly ass interaction

username since when did he even being serious

charles_leclerc added a photo to their story! · 2m

TWITTER, 10 MINUTES AFTER:

yourusername

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yourusername Gossiping with my new friend

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username Um is it gossiping about the whole thing with Charles?

username if it's real idk how to even react

username she literally said "i'll snatch your ex teammate"

chloe_stroll That red dressss 🫨🫨

username SHUT UP FERRARI LIKING

username girl it's over, she really going out with charles

username NOOOOOOOOOOOO 💔💔💔

yourusername added a photo to their story! · 10m

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc and 875,116 others

yourusername Feelin’ good

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username OH NAWW IT'S REAL

username at least she moved on... (jumping off a burj khalifa right after)

username idk if i have to be happy or be depressed rn. but anyway congratulations for the HARD launch last night, enjoying it sm 💀🫶

alexconsani Ooooo Charles's gfffff

alex_albon I'M SAAAAFFFEEEEEEE

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[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

More of my diabetic Steve verse!

Steve, who doesn’t realize that Eddie is super famous and robin who could literally not care any less.

Steve and Eddie exchange numbers and text all of the time. It takes a week for Eddie to crack and send this message:

Eddie: Please for the love of god let me take you on a date I need to wine and dine you so hard I think I might pass out

Steve obviously says yes.

Eddie takes them to a small diner because he doesn’t want to risk being seen by crazy fans who somehow always find out where he is. If Eddie is being honest, he blames twitter.

Eddie gets there to find Steve already sitting at a booth, fiddling with something on his phone. His glasses are sliding down his nose again and he is wearing a Wham! graphic t-shirt and light wash jeans. He stands up once he notices Eddie and flashes a huge grin, which causes Eddie to also smile.

They both sit down on their respective sides of the table and get comfortable, making small talk. It takes a bit, but Eddie notices that Steve has the menu pulled up on his phone and laughs.

“Doing some homework?”

Steve looks confused for a second before glancing down.

“Oh yeah! I always make sure to look at it beforehand whenever I go out to make sure that I have options depending on my blood sugar level.”

“What’s your… number, is that the correct term, now?”

Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yes! And let me check.” Steve pulls out a cute green pouch and takes out a bunch of supplies. “I just changed my CGM—“ At Eddie’s confused look, he says, “My glucose monitor. It’s not completely synced yet so I can’t rely on my pod to tell me what level I’m actually at.”

After he says that, Steve cleans his finger with an alcohol wipe, lets it dry, and then pricks his finger. He squeezes the pad of his ring finger and blood pools to the surface.

“Yikes. I’m gonna have to give myself a correction or two.”

Steve cleans up the space but leaves his pouch out, and then wraps a sparkly bandaid on his finger.

“What’s a correction?”

Eddie feels dumb. He wishes he knew more about diabetes and actually researched it before showing up to the diner with no prior knowledge.

“I just give myself a little extra insulin to make my blood sugar go down. I’m flirting with 250 right now and I really want a burger.”

—

The date passes swimmingly and the two men find themselves sitting in the same booth at the same diner, but on the same side. Their hands are intertwined and Steve wrapped up half of his meal to take home.

“I made this for you!” Steve says suddenly. He grabs a stack of stapled papers and hands them to Eddie. “I made you a ‘diabetes guide!’ Since I plan on our relationship being permanent, it would give me peace of mind if you knew what to do in case of an emergency.”

Steve begins thumbing through the packet and explaining everything, but Eddie can hardly focus.

Not with Steve clutching his hand or with him wanting their relationship to become “permanent.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve waves his hand in front of Eddie’s face. “I understand if this is a dealbreaker or whatever, but I just like you so much and I want to be your boyfriend as of two weeks ago.”

Eddie just blinks. Then he smiles. “We only met a week ago, Stevie.”

Steve blushes, tucks some hair behind his ear. “I know that. I just had a feeling that I would meet the one.”

“Yeah?” A pause. “Can I kiss you?”

Steve releases a breath. Puts his hand on Eddie’s cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask. I hope you don’t mind the taste of hamburger.”

Eddie laughs before lunging forward.

—

As they head back to Steve’s apartment hand in hand, Eddie tells him about his more than ordinary job. Explains what might happen when people see them together.

Steve just laughs and says, “I’ve fought literal monsters from hell, I can handle anything.”

Eddie falls more in love than he knew possible.

[httpiastri]

"lando."

there's no reaction the first time, so the next time, your voice is just a tad louder and you give his shoulder a slight shake.

"lando."

he turns around in bed but only lets out a humming sound in response, his head nuzzling into his pillow. his breath is slow and steady, and you can't really tell if he's actually awake yet. your next words definitely wake him up, though.

"she just kicked."

his eyes fly open instantly, looking at you almost in disbelief. "what?"

"i could feel it, it was so hard," you tell him with a nod. "she really did kick, i promise."

lando almost can't believe his ears. you'd both been waiting for this moment for so many weeks now – a baby's kicks are something every expecting parent eagerly anticipates, after all – and here you are, telling him it finally happened. your little one has been very inactive so far, with basically no movement or activity of any kind. but the doctors and midwives all told you it was normal, nothing out of the ordinary, so you haven't worried.

your little daughter may have been late to the party, but it doesn't matter to either of you – because here you are with a suddenly very much active and living baby in your stomach. suddenly, you have a confirmation that all of this is actually real.

lando lies frozen, so you reach over to grab one of his hands and place it on the side of your stomach, right where you felt the first kick. you're both silent in anticipation, as if your speaking would hinder him from feeling it properly. your eyes shut as you wish over and over that she'll kick again, just to prove that you didn't just imagine things, and just to prove that she's there and alive and well and-

lando's heart almost jumps out of his chest when he feels it. a kick. and quite the strong one, even. he feels his entire body softening as a giant smile reaches his lips. he leans forward slightly, head tilting down towards your bump. "hey there, baby," he starts. "daddy here." his palm strokes up and down your skin. "you're growing and moving already, huh? are you getting ready to come out here and meet us soon?"

as if she's been listening to his words, she answers his questions by kicking yet again. and again. and again. lando's eyes flicker between your face and the bump, mouth gaping wide. you both break out into giggles like a pair of teenagers, smiles so big your cheeks start to hurt. "i'd take that as a yes," you say, intertwining your fingers with his on your belly.

lando leans down to press a sweet kiss to the bump, imagining your little daughter feeling his adoration through your skin. if he could shower her with affection and love already, he would. but he'll just have to wait until she arrives, though every day that passes without him getting to hold her in his arms is unbearable.

"i don't think i'll be able to go back to sleep," you tell him after a few moments of silence. "i'm too eager to feel her kick more."

he nods agreeingly, the excitement inside of him too big to contain, too. now he leans in to kiss your cheek instead, giving your fingers a slight squeeze. "twenty more weeks," he whispers.

"twenty more weeks."

[romcomeon]

Hello can I get headcannons of the brothers reacting to mc turning from a sheep into a human please?Thank you ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

❝ 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐩-𝐢𝐬𝐡 ❞ Ver 1

╰┈➤ LOVE ME DESPITE IT ALL? | HEADCANON POST

question : "Can you just get even more adorable?" AKA demon brothers seeing their beloved sheep... as a human!

requested.by : @tiny-axolotl-things

part.s : demon brothers | triworlds | nondateables

pairing.s : Lucifer x MC, Mammon x MC, Leviathan x MC, Satan x MC, Asmodeus x MC, Beelzebub x MC, Belphegor x MC [all separately]

note : hi hi, thank you for the request!! <33 I apologize how this is shorter than what I wish to go for, but with a prompt already done by many, I could only bring so much to the table ;v;

Welcome to the Devildom, where dreams are your darkest nightmares.

Navigating through the exchange program in stereotypical Anime Hell while being an amnesiac sheep was beyond exhausting. More often or not, you have dreaded at least once the thought of not being able to return to your normal self after this. Yes you did get along with these terrifying all-powerful demons, angels, and a sorcerer and they seem more than enthusiastic about you in your plush wooly form. It's just... you know this isn't you.

And so days passed by. . .

Nearing the end of the exchange program, you all of course exchange small bittersweet moments in preparation for your farewell. Who knows when will be the next time? You wouldn't want to wait for the afterlife. So the day before your departure, as you got up from your bed, did your morning routine [ or not ], and marched forth towards the dining hall, you were greeted by. . .

LUCIFER ; "My... you're quite the sight."

Did you...?

Granted, he's the least surprised among all of them.

He was the one who stumbled upon your paper while selecting for the perfect candidate, so he already had a grasp on what you looked like prior to this program.

That doesn't necessarily mean he was less than surprised.

In fact, Lucifer had to do a double take before glancing over your human-esque form.

You didn't need to know that, however.

Lucifer acts like seeing you as a human was nothing out of the ordinary: perhaps more of as a burden since now you have to quickly adjust to these new conditions while setting in the last days of your stay.

He's quick to notice his brothers' reactions to your new form, as the avatar could feel another migraine forming.

Just what he needed on a Thursday morning.

Though, when you ignore his monotonously disappointed words, and focus on the way he acts around you, got to say...

Lucifer can't deny that he's been wishing for this moment.

With the amount of times you have spent together as a sheep, it's no surprise how the Avatar would get used to your small, more subservient form.

His dearest Zephyr whom he had kissed as a sheep...

And whom he'll do more to as a human.

MAMMON ; "Er- shattap!! It's nuthin'!"

HOLD UP—

Goddamn, who's this beauty right here?

W- yer the human??? Eh.. uh.. ya heard nothing!!

Okay but in all honesty he thought you were some weirdly attractive burglar who snuck into the House of Lamentation at the wrong time.

He was disappointed that he didn't notice that it was YOU at first.

Shock, bafflement, and offence aside— he's hooked.

Man, he's been craving for this moment.

You in your actual human flesh? I mean don't get him wrong he was fine when you were this adorably small sheep and pft- you're just a human now it's the same difference—

Wait.

That means... he can flaunt you now for the whole world to see...

...

Ya better be prepared when the avatar of Greed clings to you like a lovesick puppy. He was given the bragging rights to HIS human.

The GREAT Mammon's human now!

I'd leave it up to you if you're still gonna go by his actions or not [please do].

Sheep or not, Mammon loves you in whatever shape or form. Heck, nine times out of ten that if ya ever asked him the "will you love me if I was a worm?" question — no matter the answer, he would always mean "yes".

He will be missing your much cuter self, though...

He could settle for this.

He WILL settle for this.

[Both forms are equally as lovable in his eyes.]

LEVIATHAN ; "OMGOMGOMGOMG—"

WAHHH ! ! ! ! ! CHAT IS THIS REAL!?!?!

He was right!! He CALLED it!!

You were HOT. Anime and Manga don't lie, the little animal companion is almost ALWAYS some hot-ass human form.

And you really fit the description up to a T!

Any form of denial has got the third born ventilating. Sprinkle in some "What do you mean you're not hot? What is he then? Trash?"

This was the final ending of "Reincarnated as a sheep and ruled over hell with 7 lovers" and he was RESISTING the urge to just point out the many references.

May his father save his heart.

When he sees Mammon get close to you he pulls up the official Human Police card. No no no!! No one's monopolizing his player two right this instant!!

Though in all seriousness, let him take a picture of you. Just a quick snap...

This is totes like meeting an online friend — but also not since you've seen eachother irl for a year— BUT also you haven't done a face reveal until now so there's that—

Cosplay with him, will you? You were already like a cute side-companion for cosplay but.. now? That he gets to see the real you?

If you give him an adorable pout, he has officially short-circuited.

Leviathan.exe has stopped working, please wait.

You're too much for his heart.

SATAN ; "There are a million little things I'd like to tell you."

But he only had time for one.

You, human... have surprised him in many unexpected ways.

Satan had perked up from his booklet, taking in all your appearance.

So THIS was how you looked like. . .

A lot of words are circulating his mind. It's just. . . wow.

You have him enthralled.

Emerald eyes scanned over your body as he thought of over a million words to describe you. It didn't help that your sudden morph was in perfect-sync to the plot-twist of his current read.

Unlike some of the others, he's more respectful with his actions. He would pretend like nothing happened if it caused you discomfort, or he'd give you all his time and attention if you didn't mind.

He loved you as a sheep, but there's just something intimate with seeing his darling as an actual, walking, fleshy, human.

Satan felt embarrassed feeling a rush if emotions over something so... it's undescribable.

He took notice of someone leaving the room, though he couldn't pay attention enough to know who it is. It felt strange. Akin to a live-adaptation of his favourite novel.

But he didn't want to look so confused.

The blonde was trying to make sense of his emotions, though me masks it off with a casual smile.

That's right, we shall stay classy for now... for his kitten's sake.

Or would you still prefer the lamb nickname?

So many questions. . .

ASMODEUS ; "You're just soooo CUTE!! Eek!!"

[ *inhuman squealing* ]

Aren't you JUST the cutest!?!?

If no one stopped him, he's got his hands all over you.

Are those your clothes? Cute! Mind if he dressed you up even better?

He's gawking at your appearance, singing praises towards every itty bitty detail he notices about you.

Hello? Aren't you pretty?? Not as much as he is, duh!! But second place isn't so bad. . .

Asmo puts you up at a pedestal at the sight. He adores you even more.

Picture here!! Picture there!! Pictures everywhere!! Every snapshot in every angle all to just CAPTURE your all too captivating presence.

It doesn't even matter if your hair is messy, glasses need fixing, or whatevs. You got him enchanted and that doesn't even encapsulate the excitement he has.

Better do something before Asmodeus goes to post some of the best shots he's taken— hey!! Your beauty is too picturesque to not be shared!

Hm? Your sheep form? Not to worry!!

Okay but don't be surprised if he dressed you up in sheep-inspired outfits for the first few mini fashion shows he hosts in his room.

Seriously, if it wasn't the near end of your stay he'd do a lot more!!

#supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, aren't we?

Asmo won't stop gushing about you for the next few hours so, well, beware of that.

BEELZEBUB ; "Mm..? Mfmmm.."

So shocked he stopped eating for a few minutes.

No joke. You were a showstopper.

To be honest, you looked more delicious in your sheep form.

Hm? Adorable? No you are equally as adorable.

Beel's more chill with your appearance. Sure, it was a shocker, but he didn't want to cause you discomfort by doting all over you.

He was kind of glad that you're now in a more comfortable form. You wouldn't have to worry over them while being so... short... and stubby... and fluffy... and—

He took note that you were probably getting overwhelmed, so he offered to help.

He wouldn't want you to suffer while getting used to your newer- err- older? form.

Okay but it will take him a while to stop looking at the floor whenever you talk to him. You might be short [or not] but, hey, a reminder that you're at a more reasonable height now.

Beel would also shield you from the peering eyes of his brothers in case you show any sign of discomfort towards all the attention.

Seriously, he's just both captivated and concerned.

However, Beel couldn't help but notice the eerie silence of his twin. He would go over and ask if Belphie was okay.

The latter didn't answer, choosing to just leave the room.

Beel's reaction grow even more worried, looking at Belphie walking away and back at your form.

It was conflicting, to say the least.

BELPHEGOR ; "..." // implied events of lesson 16 [OG]

He's staring.

Really staring. Silently.

Not just in any part of your body, but your neck, specifically.

While to his brothers it was a shocker, but at the same time ethereal sight to see you as you—

— to Belphegor, it felt different. In the demon's eyes he's replaying that very moment.

How your neck had markings. Bruises. All from his own hands during that incident.

It didn't matter if it was only him seeing it, Belphie only felt an unnerving tow of guilt.

Didn't matter how long since that incident been, it's fresh in the Avatar of Sloth's mind like yesterday.

He excuses himself from his brothers, going up in the attic. He was deep in thought, clutching against the pillow.

It was blank. Numbing. You looked just as adorable as he imagined... it drove him mad that it was the same body that he—

Oh?

Belphie perked up at the ding! of his DDD. He swore he had that on silent. Grabbing it, he checked what it was all about.

Asmodeus had already shared your photo to everyone else... [ *sigh* ]

Typical of him.

But as he looked closer in the photo... Huh.

You were more than adorable — a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

All those negativities put aside, he wondered if you were just as warm to cuddle as when you were a sheep.

AS FOR YOU . . .

It took you a long moment to realize, maybe since you're so used in navigating as a sheep that you never really thought much about it.

You could've sworn that you woke up as a sheep, did your routine as a sheep, and got ready as a darn sheep...

Did the magic just poof'd away at this convenient moment? Eh, be glad you still had the clothes you wore prior to this exchange program.

So congrats, human, you finally got your form back.

As a bonus all your memories before the exchange program had also returned — so it was a win-win in your favour. Although, the headache wasn't something you were prepared for.

Still, how does it feel like being stared at by the demon brothers? Watching as they admire your true, human form?

Seeing the soul behind the magic and wool was a breathtaking sight. You basically held them captive for the first few moments.

You still held their attention on a leash until now.

That was then followed by the usual chaotic banter between the brothers, calling dibs on who gets to have you first.

Albeit, you haven't really gotten used to being human now... A year depraved of all familiar senses has made you feel foreign to your own humanity. Furthermore, you have changed a lot in the past year; that couldn't be ignored.

Even your mannerisms still resembles of the sheep. Of their precious lamb that they brought down to the Devildom...

You should probably find a uniform before someone notices that you've been wearing the same garment for a year.

ADDITIONAL A/N: hi hi!! Will do the more formal A/N once I wake up later haha ;v; a bit tired from.going out earlier but I had the sudden urge to finish this. Sorry I had to go to the Lesson 16 route for Belphie- I couldn't imagine it any other way even though I and many others have moved on from it ToT

Might do a Ver 2.0 of this with side characters, or a different way to interpret the prompt haha... lemme know what you think!!

divider/s by @/cafekitsune | artwork by NTT Solmare

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Cradle Song.

Spencer Reid x Pregnant!reader

Summary: The situation is complicated when Spencer is trapped in a lab with anthrax and worried about communicating with you and his future child one last time.

Words: 2,4k.

TW: mentions of death, therapy. spoilers for s4 e24 ("amplification"). anthrax. established relationship. angst with a open ending. implication that the baby is a girl. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I've seen a lot of sad videos of Spencer with kids, so I had to do this to calm my brain. It's dramatic, but if you've read me before, you know how I am (an extra dramatic and a little cruel girl).

Update: I wrote this after posting my first two one shots here (several months ago), and now I just found the uncorrected text and decided to improve it for posting lol for you to mentally decide if it's a happy or sad ending, because I could never write one that I really liked.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Your phone rang somewhere in the room, but you had no idea where. In the distance, you could hear the classical symphony by Johannes Brahms that your boyfriend had chosen especially for you, with the excuse that it would calm you and the baby every time it played.

Unfortunately, this time it wasn't helping to calm you down.

After tossing and turning around the room several times, you sat up in bed, completely exhausted and hopeless. That's when you felt the noise nearby and realized that the phone under your pillow was vibrating nonstop. You were about to snort with stress from being so distracted lately, but an automatic smile appeared on your face when you saw that it was a call from Spencer. You hadn't heard from him in several hours, the last being his usual call to wish you a good morning every time he was away on a case.

“I think I'd lose my head if I didn't have it attached to my neck.” Was the first thing you said as you tried to tuck your pillow behind your neck to make yourself more comfortable.

“You've lost your phone again.” You heard him let out a small, weak laugh, followed by a cough that caught your attention and made you frown. “Sorry, I got stuck.” He quickly excused himself.

“Are you okay?”

In response to your question, he looked around the lab where he was confined, focusing on the broken vial of anthrax on the floor that had caused all his problems so far. Reid didn't know how to explain that an ordinary case had turned into a national problem that was taking over his life and future moments with you with every passing second.

And he certainly knew even less how to tell you that this would probably be the last time you would hear from him if the team didn't find a cure soon.

“I'm fine.” He lied immediately, feeling his breathing getting harder and harder. “Really, love.” He tried to reassure you, but he lost his balance and leaned heavily on the counter, his free hand gripping it hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

All you had to do was hear him call you that and your whole world would light up, you could even feel the baby in your belly kicking at the sound of his voice. You smiled as you realized that you were both happy to hear from Spencer after not seeing him for most of the day due to the demands of his job.

Although you've never said it out loud for fear of making him feel guilty, you miss him excessively, and you're always trying to multitask and be productive, so you don't think as much about how much you need him by your side. Especially when dinner time comes and his seat next to you is empty, or when night comes and his side of the bed is cold.

Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, but you seemed to have a stronger need for him than ever.

“And how did you feel today? How are my girls? Did she kick a lot today?” The usual questions he asked you every time he was on a long case began to appear. “I need to hear everything.”

“She just kicks a lot when she listens to you and you know it.” You replied, stroking your belly out of laziness. “She’s definitely a daddy's little princess.”

The lump in his throat and all of his fears became more intense and uncontrollable. The tears he had tried to keep from escaping to stay strong and focused began to flow unchecked down his cheeks. Hearing you talk like that, knowing it might be the last time, was killing him much faster than the anthrax itself.

“And what are you doing? All your agent stuff?” You spoke again at his silence, trying to ignore the bad feeling something was giving you. “Are you coming home soon?”

“I don't think that's possible, love.” He replied quickly, his voice hoarse and raspy, the lie slipping from his lips almost too easily. “I'm doing some paperwork, it'll take some time.”

It was the second time he had called you by that nickname in just a few minutes. Something seemed a little off, as he only used it when he wanted to calm you down. You knew him too well to miss it.

“Oh, okay.” You said it in a way that showed you were a little disappointed.

Spencer was about to try to comfort you when he suddenly felt the cough return to his throat and he put a hand over his mouth to stop it. It was no use, the cough shook his whole body, spinning him around and making him pant in between. He tried to cover the phone with his hand so that the sounds coming out of his mouth would not be heard, but it was useless. The hacking cough seemed to tear at his lungs, leaving him breathless, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, and he could only hope you didn't hear it, because the last thing he wanted to do was worry you. He knew it would hurt you and the baby.

“Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should drink some water. It sounds pretty bad.”

He tried to answer you right away, but the cough took over and prevented him from speaking. He gripped the phone tightly, struggling to breathe, trying to force his lungs to stop spasming. And when he finally stopped coughing, he managed to speak, his voice cracking and rather hoarse.

“Yes, I'm fine. It's probably just a cold.” He lied again, breathing shakily. “But it’s nothing so bad.”

“Take care of yourself, don't let it get worse.”

If only you knew that there was no way to make it worse, that it was already at its worst point and unlikely to improve.

“I will, don't worry.” He tries to sound convincing, but his voice comes out rough and raw, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from coughing again. “Just focus on you and the baby, okay? I'll be fine.”

He spoke again so quickly that it was difficult to think of an appropriate response.

“Could you do something for me, love?”

“Of course, I'll do whatever you need.” You reply, feeling a little perplexed by the urgency in his voice.

There was a long, awkward silence after you answered, and you could feel your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. You had a feeling that Spencer was holding something back from you, and the thought of what it could be made your left leg start to twitch nervously. You didn't even bother trying to make yourself more comfortable in bed.

“Go to my part of the closet, to the top drawer. Open it and take out a box next to the socks.” Finally he spoke and began to give you instructions, which you followed as best you could. “Let me know when you have it, carefully. Don't rush or-”

“I've already got it.” You interjected.

“That was quick.” You heard the surprise in his voice as you looked at the box, curious to know what was inside, after having seen it several times and thinking it was just more socks.

You smiled before speaking again. “What should I do with this, love?”

The mere word coming out of your mouth made him tremble.

Love. Love. Love.

He was your love and you were his. He refused to accept that this would be completely shattered in a matter of minutes if he could not find a way to keep his eyes open and his heart still pumping blood.

“I need you to open it, but be careful. Take your time and don't rush. Don't make any sudden movements.” He said, trying to relax so that when he spoke again his voice would be calmer, softer. “And once you open it, I want you to imagine that I'm there with you, okay?”

You couldn't help but open the box quickly, even though you were careful. You were surprised to find a bunch of envelopes and papers inside. You left them on the bed, wondering what they were about. It had been five months since you knew you were pregnant, and all the envelopes and papers were the same age according to the dates in the top corner.

“Have you seen it yet?” Spencer asked.

“I'm sorry, I don't understand, could you explain what this is?” You asked, carefully running your hand through the neatly organized papers on the bed.

“Could you close your eyes and imagine I'm with you, like I told you before?” He asked, trying to keep a neutral tone as you complied with his request.

He needed you to see him there with you, he needed to say goodbye and at least touch you one last time.

“That's what I'm doing. I'm holding your hand right now.” You said with a small smile, feeling the warmth.

It was like feeling an automatic medicine with your name on it flow through his system and relieve a few aches and pains. His hands stopped shaking automatically as he imagined himself holding yours again.

“Okay…they are notes and letters.” His voice was soft, the intensity of his heartbeat gradually increasing as he remembered each time he wrote those words to you. “I started writing them when we found out you were pregnant. They're for our baby.”

He still remembered the day he found out you were expecting a baby, his baby. He recalled how he felt his whole world stop and turn a different color, his hand sliding down to your stomach, and his breath hitching in his chest as he held your face in his hands and kissed you lovingly, overwhelmed with joy and so in love that he hadn't known what to do with his own feelings.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I...I found myself writing frequently and my therapist said it was fine…I was inspired to write about my feelings for you and our baby."

From the moment he revealed to you that he had resumed therapy with the goal of healing the wounds of childhood and becoming the father he never had, it was clear that his dedication surpassed any commitment. Now you just added to the list of reasons why he was already an exemplary father, one that any child would be lucky to have.

“Spencer, this is so sweet.” You said, completely moved and on the verge of tears, as you noticed all the dedication I had put into each and every piece of paper. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

He felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on him at that moment. It was so hard to explain, to tell you that every thought and every dream he'd ever had included you and the baby now growing in your belly, and his great fear of not being able to be there for you someday.

“I-” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “I just wanted you to know now how much you mean to me and how blessed I am that you gave this to me. I've spent the last few months trying to even talk to some kind of God, and I don't even know if exist...” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, the words lost somewhere in his throat, making it burn and hurt. “I just...I need the baby to know what you and her mean to me, how I see you, how I feel when I wake up next to you. What I want, what I dream for her, what...”

I want to marry you.

The thought almost escaped his lips, his aching heart pounding hard against his aching chest. He felt as if a pair of strong hands were strangling him.

“I don't understand...Tell me what's going on.” You interrupted him with a shaking voice, knowing that there was definitely something more to all of this.

Oh, how you know him and his big, messy, troubled brain.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, though you couldn't see it, knowing that you already read him like an open book.

“Nothing...Nothing's wrong, love, just...” He tried to breathe deeply through the phone, his heart pounding in his chest and his mind racing too fast. “I love you so much. Don't forget that, okay?”

“Spencer-”

He always loved your voice calling his name, and now, in his weak, tired, fearful state, he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

“I want you to know that you'll be okay, that she'll be okay, that everything will be okay, and that I love you. I love you both very much. Please, please...” He kept going. He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop. His mind was racing, and his words came out like a confession.

He was an expert profiler, a genius with an eidetic memory and a sharp mind, but at that moment, with his body weakened and his head spinning, he found himself unable to contain himself. He was exposed, open, and experiencing discomfort. All of the things he wanted to tell you, all of the questions he wanted to ask, and all of the concerns, worries, and thoughts in his mind came pouring out, like a dam breaking. He sensed that you could feel it through the line, and he realized that he could no longer deny it any longer.

“I love you. I have to go now.”

“Wait.”

You had a feeling something wasn't quite right, and those letters seemed to confirm your suspicions. They were a precautionary measure, a way of ensuring that everything would be taken care of in case something happened to him.

“I have to go, I'm...I'm busy, love.” He tried to sound convincing, and he knew he was failing miserably, but if he stayed a moment longer, he would continue to talk and confess more. “I love you both.”

“We love you too.”

If he wasn't already weak and trembling, hearing your voice telling him that you loved him, in that soft tone, would have made him fall to the floor again. He closed his eyes again and leaned against the wall, his own trembling hand going to cover his mouth so he wouldn't say more, because he would tell you everything if you kept talking in that sweet tone.

He wasn't ready to say goodbye.

So it was that he thought of you and your kind way of loving him before he felt his head hit the floor and his eyes close.

[reidmotif]

For the Love of Lace

Summary: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend, Spencer, anymore, but still needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her upcoming date.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: breast and nipple play, fingering (r!receiving), lingerie talk, unprotected penetrative sex, no implied breast size, couch sex, best friends to lovers, possessive Spencer

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist

Pining for your best friend definitely has its lows. There’s a certain sense of pathetic-ness that comes about when your friend is simply speaking, and your mind is occupied with the yearning to bridge the gap of distance between you two, and kiss them senseless. I think perhaps the biggest low that I’d hit, however, in the two years I’d been pining for Spencer Reid was the sexual frustration that came with being unable to see myself with anyone else. 

I’d never meant for it to play out like this. I thought it was an innocent crush, a byproduct of all the time we’d managed to spend with each other divulging into our personal lives and sharing the ordinary comings of the day together. However, there came a point where I looked at him and could see my future laid out so perfectly with him. A future of love, and laughter, and God, so much sex.  And no matter what I’d tried, the thought was too good to let go. 

It didn’t help that not only was he oblivious, he clearly didn’t return my affections. There were no signs of longing that I could deduce from his actions, and I’d decided to be reasonable about this. His actions were always remnant of a good friend, but a lover? No. There were no longing stares. No stolen brushes of fingers, or hushed whispers. It seemed that anything romantic about our relationship only emanated from my fantasies of what I wish we could be. 

And so here I was, unable to get past the mental block of wanting anyone as much, and it’d resulting in a long, exasperating two-year stint of celibacy. And Jesus, did it show. The tiniest thing Spencer did would set me off in a frenzy, and it left me feeling nearly perverted at a certain point. There’d been a day that he ran his finger down a page, attempting to locate a passage to display to me and all I could think about was how badly I wanted that finger in me. My mouth. Me. Anything. And then I realized I was lusting over my best friend’s hand, and considered the possibility of this being a serious problem on my end. 

My only block to getting laid was my own self.  And I certainly didn’t relish in the debauchery I’d clearly stooped low enough to indulge in, and so it was decided. This Valentine’s Day? I wasn’t going to watch rom-coms and wonder if Spencer and I could ever have a happy ending like them.

 I was going to man up, and go on a date. Easier said than done. 

I’d found the date, that bit was easy enough. Trying to find someone to hook-up with on Valentine’s Day is like trying to find sand on a beach. Plentiful and simple. 

What wasn’t easy? Feeling ready for it. I hadn’t been like that with anyone for nearly two years, and found myself worrying that my sexual skills had deteriorated with lack of practice, even though the thought was rooted in some ridiculous notions about myself. I knew that logically the sex would be fine, and hopefully, exactly what I needed to get over Spencer, but still. I wanted to ensure the best possible experience. 

I found myself going through the motions of date preparation. A manicure and pedicure. A facial. I even bought a fancier perfume to wear the night of. And of course, a trip to procure some new lingerie for the night. 

I’d always been indecisive, and with the choices presented in the shop, I found myself overwhelmed. I’d decided and picked up 3 possible pieces, and instead of determining between them whilst buying, I bought all of them, with the intention that I’d be able to make a choice in the comfort of my own home. 

Except now, it’d been a week, my date was tomorrow, and I still couldn’t figure out what would work for me. All three were equally as appealing, but which one was the best? The question haunted me, and continued to  haunt me as Spencer and I hung out. Despite my date tomorrow, I’d promised to keep up our tradition of binging episodes of Star Trek on Friday night together, except my head was clearly elsewhere, which he quickly noticed. 

Damn profiler best friend. 

“Alright, what’s up with you?” Spencer asks, reaching for the remote and pausing on some random frame of Spock’s face, the show taking less precedence than my lack of attention. 

I sigh apologetically, quirking my mouth to the side. “I’m sorry, Spence.” I say, taking a deep breath. “Just a lot on my mind.” 

Spencer tilts his head, his expression a little more worried. “Something important?” 

I shake my head quickly, not wanting to disclose the reasoning for my distraction tonight. Especially to him, considering my date tonight had the sole purpose of me getting over the man currently sat to my right. 

“No, no.” I say, softly. “Just.. stuff.” I voiced, quickly.

“Stuff?” Spencer inquires. 

“Stuff.” I affirm. 

Now it’s his turn to sigh, making a slight groaning noise whilst he did so. “Come on. I’ve known you for years. I know there’s something on your mind, and it’s clearly distracting you, so.. Please? Tell me?” He asks, giving me those eyes. A look that would make anyone weak in the knees. 

I find myself hesitating, and bite my lip, and in the end, it’s the way he’s looking at me that does me in. I opt to stay vague, but give him a bit more insight into my wandering thoughts. 

“My date tomorrow? I don’t know what to wear.” I say, shrugging. “It’s not very important, but I want to make it work, you know?” I continue. 

“Why don’t you just show me your dress then?” Spencer inquires. “I’m not a fashion expert, but it’s not like I’m unable to have taste.” 

I laugh a little self consciously, shaking my head quickly. “Oh no, no. It’s not a dress. It’s okay, Spencer. I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.” 

“Shoes? C’mon! I’m your best friend. I’d do anything for you.” He protests, coming closer to me now. 

“Not shoes.” I say, still shaking my head. “And no! I mean, seriously. There are some things you can’t do for me, and it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

“Jewelry? Hair? Makeup?” He implores continuously. “I’m all ears.” 

I realize there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to let this go, so I blurt out with little thought, “It’s lingerie!” 

He goes a bit quiet in thought, and then raises an eyebrow. “And that poses a problem?” He asks, softly. 

I blink a little. Yes. Of course that’s  a problem. I love you so much that it makes me feel weak, and I can’t be even more vulnerable in front of you. Not like that. 

But instead I shrug, running my hands through my hair. 

“I just.. Wouldn’t that be weird?” I say, hesitantly. 

“Not really.” Spencer replies, nonchalantly. “You’re my best friend. And I want to help you in any way I can. Nakedness doesn’t really bother me, and if it doesn’t bother you, I’d love to help you decide.” 

“Spencer..” I mumbled, still incredibly hesitant. 

“I’m your best friend!” Spencer articulates. “And logically, I can provide you with insight that only another guy could give.” He points out. “In a purely platonic, and logical sense.” 

I had to give him credit for that. It’s true. Spencer did have insight that none of my friends could provide, and I’d always entrusted him in helping me make decisions for myself and my life. And honestly, it was starting to get suspicious with how much I’d been objecting to this. The man had helped me decide bikinis, clubbing dresses- this couldn’t be any more different, could it? 

“Okay. Okay. Fine.” I give him a resigned nod, getting off the couch. “Alright. Wait here.”

He plants himself more firmly on the couch, his eyes trained on where I’d disappeared into my room, rummaging through the shopping bag until I’d found the first lingerie piece. 

It was a simple black lace bra and matching panties. The bottoms were a bit cheekier than a normal pair of underwear, and my legs were on display in full. My hair framed my pushed-up breasts, and I looked at myself in the mirror, slightly self-conscious at the fact that I was about to present myself this way to Spencer. 

How did I get into this mess? 

I slowly twist the doorknob, calling out to him. “Spencer! I’m coming out with the first one.” 

“I’m here.” is his reply, and I know he’s waiting, and so I slowly push open the door and come out in the light, a little more in his view. I give a half-hearted 360 degree turn, and look at him. 

“So?” I ask, my eyes finally meeting his, but the sight I’m met with is a lot different than the one I’m expecting. He’s slightly red in the face, his hands fidgeting in his lap- quite different from the more composed version I’d seen of him. 

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, quickly, feeling even more vulnerable as I stood there, half naked in front of a blushing man. 

“No, no!” He sputters. “I’m sorry. This is normal.” He gulps a bit and gives me a quick once over. “Sorry, I’ll be normal.” He clears his throat again and nods more definitively. “This one is nice. It’s simple.” He replies, as diplomatically as I’ve heard him. “Black works well with your skin and hair, and I feel like it brings out your eyes.” 

I nod, biting my lip. “Anything I could do to make it.. more than nice?” I queried. 

He narrows his eyes in thought.  “It’s already really, really nice, but I feel like stockings, or even a garter would even the attention from your breasts, more to your legs- which already look really nice, by the way.” 

It's my turn to blush and I nod quickly. “Stockings, got it.” I say. I blow out a breath of air. “One down, two to go.” I say, absentmindedly. 

“Better go back and try the other two, then.” Spencer says, with a smile. 

I attempt to return his smile and disappear back into my room, putting on the next piece. It was red, and a bit more showy than my previous piece. It was a criss-cross, cut-out lingerie. Lines of maroon fabric danced around my skin in a way that exposed the curve of my breasts, and connected to a simple, red thong. I walked out quicker than last time, a little less nervous now that the initial nervousness of appearing naked in front of him had faded. 

Despite my nervousness fading, it seemed like his had only increased. I’d only caught a glimpse of it in my hurried departure from my room to his line of sight, but had he.. been adjusting his crotch area?

 No. No. I mean, maybe he was turned on, but that was a completely normal reaction to a half-naked girl in front of a man. To my knowledge, Spencer hadn’t dated anyone in 2 years either, so it was completely possible he also had pent-up desires. This was normal. Spencer Reid did not feel the same way for me, not in the same way as I did for him. 

He quickly looks up and his hands are by his side in record speed. “This one is.. Wow.” He marvels, his eyes boring into my body. “Your breasts. They look great.” 

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me, a part of me secretly delighted that even if this was friendly, Spencer was enamored with my body in the way I’d always wished he would be. 

“Was that too much?” Spencer questions, upon hearing my laugh. “I’m only being honest. Your breasts look nice in this one. My eyes immediately went there with this piece.” 

I smile. “No, no. That’s what I need from you, anyway. That’s what I want my date to do too, anyway.” I say, dismissing his worries. 

“Right. Your date.” He says, curtly. 

I raise an eyebrow at the snippy reply, but don’t think much of it. “So.. the last one then?” 

“Yep. The last one.” 

“Right..” I mumble, going back to my room, slightly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, but ready to get this over with nonetheless. 

The last piece was a lot more revealing, in the sense that my nipples were exposed from the get-go with this one. A lavender slip, with transparent lace covering the breasts, and the silky fabric stopping right below my crotch. It was a bit more daring, but I still enjoyed the way it framed my curves, my hips, and my breasts. I wondered what Spencer would think, and out of modesty, I placed both my hands over my nipples, wanting to show the lingerie without fully exposing myself to him. 

I walk out, and this time, his gaze is intense. More so than I’d ever seen him in our years of friendship. 

“Spence..?” I ask, when he’s silent for a beat too long.

“Turn around.” He says, firmly, and I find myself listening instantly, baring my back to him, and no doubt he’s focusing on the way the fabric wrapped around my ass, leaving me slightly flustered and more on display than I’d ever felt tonight. 

“Spencer? Come on. Say something. Feeling a bit like cattle right now.” I voice, laughing a little nervously.

When I hear his voice again, I nearly jump out of my skin because he’s right behind me, his hands ghosting across my bare shoulders. 

“Don’t go.” He whispers, his hot breath fanning around my neck, sending shivers up my spine. 

I’m too nervous to turn around, so I keep my hands planted firmly on my breasts and murmur out my confusion. 

“What?” 

“Don’t go.” He repeats, more firmly this time, and I can feel his hand moving to grip my hip, orienting me to face him. “Please.” 

“Why not?” I ask, softly, my eyes wide as I try to read his expression. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, and I could feel his hands moving to cup my face, bringing us even closer. 

“I’d be an idiot to have not at least tried.” He whispers. “I’m sorry for doing this now. I’m sorry if this ruins everything. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try.” 

I feel my confusion bubbling up, my eyebrows furrowing a little bit. “Why.. what is this? Is this because of the lingerie?” I ask, my lips parting slightly. 

“No. God no.” I can see him emphatically shaking his head at my rumination. “This has been coming for a long time.” He murmurs. “I thought I could ignore it, but I can’t. I can’t physically stand the thought of someone worshiping you the way I’d like to.” He rasps out, and I feel my heart jump, my breath coming out faster. 

When I’m silent, unable to respond,  his fingers run across my lips. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. 

I nod, and it’s like he’s been waiting all night, and then some. His grip on my face tightens and he brings me in for a searing, earth-shattering kiss. His lips move over mine desperately, and I feel his grip shifting to bring my hands off my breasts, and to replace them with his own, his hands now pawing and squeezing at the flesh, which draws a soft moan from me. 

He throws his head back at the noise, leaning to kiss my neck. “Fuck yes.” He mumbles, seemingly goaded on by the noises slipping through my lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” He groans out, to no one in particular, just wanting to get the words out there somehow. 

I nod rapidly, and his hands are on my hips again, guiding me to the couch and laying me down. I move easily in his grasp,  a slight gasp escaping me as he climbs on top. His thumb goes to graze my jaw, leaning in for another kiss. It’s less rushed this time, slow and passionate. His tongue darts out to swipe over my bottom lip, and I open my mouth easily for him, reveling in the sweetness of how he tasted. 

He breaks off the kiss and moves down, kissing my breast between the lace. His tongue goes out to wet the fabric, and I’m arching my back at the sensation of the rough lace and the warm wetness now rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“You taste so good.” He mumbles. “God. Why did I wait so long?” 

“No clue.” I whimper out, desperately. “But don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stopping.” He says, gruffly, moving to bunch up the fabric of the slip until it pooled around my waist, exposing my dripping cunt to him. 

“I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you like this.” He whispers, his finger running up and down my wet folds, causing me to moan out needily. 

“Shh, shh, baby.” He murmurs. “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” 

Without warning, he easily slides two fingers inside me, and I can’t help but wonder if he was made for me. Given the way he effortlessly reached that spongy spot so deep inside me, I was compelled to say yes. The action prompted me to release a string of desperate moans and whimpers, increasing in octave with every second he pumped the digits in and out of me. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He mumbles, almost entranced with the way my cunt was sucking him in, tightening around his finger with each second he continued. 

“Yes. Yes, oh God.” I moan out, my eyes squeezing shut. 

“Open your eyes.” he demands, his thumb now darting out to rub harsh, tight circles on my clit. “I want to see your face when you come on my fingers.” 

My eyes snap open, and I can’t help it when I release another moan and feel my orgasm absolutely shred through me. My hips raise in an attempt to move off Spencer’s fingers, but he manages to follow my movement, nursing me through my orgasm, and watching every second of it. 

When it's over, he removes his finger and brings it up to his lips, sensually tasting my release right in front of me, never breaking eye contact- and the sight itself makes me need him all over again. 

I pull him in by the collar of his shirt, and my hands move to remove his buttons, wanting to feel his skin on mine. He laughs a bit and admonishes me, removing my shaky fingers. 

“Let me.” He mumbles, leaning back between my spread legs, and removing the clothing, before moving to his belt. 

I bite my lip as he hovers over me, and kiss him again. I can’t get enough of him. He’s all I wanted for so long, and here he is- mirroring my desire in the way I’d always hoped he would. 

“No man-” He breathes out, in between kisses, “could do this for you.” 

I nod in affirmation, continuing to kiss him. No argument there. 

“No man deserves to.” He adds, possessively, and it’s enough to make me clench around nothing, and I know at that point I’m more desperate for him than I had been the whole night. 

“Spence, please.” I groan out. “Need you.” 

He understands immediately and wastes no time, pulling himself out from his boxers, giving himself a few tugs before pushing inside of me, groaning as he feels my warm, wet walls grasp onto his cock. 

He remains there for a second, allowing me to adjust to his size. When he looks at my face again, and I nod, he starts to move, pulling out until only his tip remains inside of me, before slamming in. My jaw drops in a silent scream, and my hands go to grip his shoulders, and with the confirmation I was enjoying myself, he set on a ruthless pace, snapping his hips over, and over again, until I was reduced to a babbling mess in front of the man. 

He’s all I can feel at this point. His hands on my breasts, my hips, before he eventually rests both hands on either side of me and envelops me in his being. I can smell him, and the familiar scent only serves to tighten the coil in my stomach, reminding me that this was someone I’d loved so deeply for so long. Someone who was interwoven into the fiber of my being, and I know this is all I want, and all I’ll ever want. 

As we both feel our releases coming on at an alarming pace, he leans up to kiss me one more time, moaning against my mouth. I feel myself whimper before I feel my walls contract around his cock, my orgasm causing my back to arch even closer to him. The clamping of my cunt seems to drive him to finish too, and a warmth fills my deepest point as he groans into my ear, pulling out and lying against me. The two of us are panting, sweat sticking to both of our bodies and hair, lost in the post-sex haze and enjoying the proximity. 

He kisses my jaw and I giggle out and give a soft moan. “God.” I whisper. 

“Yeah.” He murmurs against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “Are you canceling your date then?” He says, a slight bit of glee in his voice. 

I giggle a little, finding his delight adorable and endearing. “Yes, Spencer. Obviously.” I murmur. 

“Good.” He whispers, laying his head on my chest. There’s a lull of quiet as my hands stroke through his hair, smoothing it out from our illicit activities just a moment ago. I can hear his grin as he breaks the silence. 

“Guess you could say I liked this piece the best.” 

hiii!! omg. this took a while. yes this is more of a valentines day fic and its a bit late but hey!! got it out in february. this was actually written for @imagining-in-the-margins new beginnings challenge, so go ahead and check that out when you can. i hope you guys like this one. as usual, please reblog, like, comment, and show your support any way you can. thank you for reading, and i hope it was enjoyable <333 ty ty ty!!

[6ronze]

BOSS’S WIFE

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ ─── 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍!𝐑𝐀𝐍 w fem!reader who’s his boss’, Mikey’s, wife. warning(s) -> angst. nsfw. mdni. ran x reader + mikey x reader. infidelity obvly. a lil bit apathetic reader. dark themes(prostitution mention, drugs, murder). hints of lovesick ran. unrequited love from ran to reader. one-night stand vibes. near death experience. cheater!reader ig. alleged cheater!mikey. there’s some slowburn cs you’re stubborn. miscommunication between mikey and reader. endearments (darling, princess, etc.). car sex. praise. a lot of plot. i dont condone cheating whatsoever. not proofread. wc is 4.5k

author’s comment. mmyyeaahh so i def have a fav haitani now + urghhh not too happy w this BUT i liked exploring the idea

It was hours past midnight, the city cold and humid from recent rain that had stopped minutes ago. You sat beside your husband, Manjiro ‘Mikey’ Sano, on the couch of the isolated jazz club that he owned. He was talking business with some other yakuza men, something about delivery and drugs, perhaps a brief topic of prostitution exchange.

The unsettling environment wasn’t out of the ordinary for you anymore, not since you’ve known Mikey. You’ve stuck to him since middle school—more like he made you stick to him. But you never really made an effort to leave.

He satisfied you enough, your needs, emotionally and physically. Nothing made you feel better than the feeling of being needed, and your husband was the same. He needed an anchor, a reason to be. Coincidentally, you were willing to be both.

“You don’t have to stay here if you’re getting bored, baby. ‘Could always walk around the building or take a smoke outside. I’ll have someone guard you,” you heard your husband speak, snapping you out of your trance. Mikey held an arm around your shoulder, fingers rubbing up and down your arm comfortingly—the complete contrast of the look he had in his eyes. His dark depths gazing at you as if he couldn’t give a fuck if you lived or died the next few seconds. But Mikey never acted like that, of course. He was a great husband considering the lifestyle he led.

“Alright, I’ll do that then,” you nodded obediently, not finding the harm in accepting the given opportunity to leave the monotonous conversation. So you got up after leaving Mikey a quick kiss to his cheek, walking away from the table and walking over to the backdoor exit of the building.

As you did so, you walked past one of Mikey’s men, a familiar tall purple haired man. You recognised him from the corner of your eye, your peripheral vision doing you a favour by informing you who your guard for the night was. It wasn’t a surprise he followed you without having to be ordered, always doing such things involving you voluntarily.

“Shouldn’t stray too far from the building, darling,” you heard him call out to you, most likely, from behind as you stepped out into the window streets, road pretty empty save for the occasional passing cabs.

Your lips strained downward for a split second.

“You’ll be here to lead me back, Ran,” a breathy sigh left your lips, faint smoke leaving your lips from the cold. Your hands tugged on the white faux fur coat you had on, a vain attempt to keeping your tense torso warm. With a confident stride, you kept on walking ahead, paying no regard to the man who tagged behind you like it was his personal wish rather than a dull order from his boss.

“That doesn’t guarantee that I’ll lead you back healthy. You’ll definitely get a cold if you keep walking out here like this,” he retorted without much effort, his tone slight frustrated despite his matter-of-factly manner of answering you. It made your brow twitch, your lips pressed to a thin straight line.

You didn’t add another word to the exchange, letting it hang. Cars proceeded to drive past the road beside you, your legs bringing you further and further away from the jazz club you recently left. It was almost like you were running away. And you were almost determined to do so, though you long knew that was never an option anymore.

Ran noticed every change of your body language even though he only had the view of your back. The subtly tremble of your legs were enough to alarm him, narrowing his lilac eyes and fueling his resolve to keep an eye on you, not for his boss’s sake—for your sake.

Subtly splashes of water from the passing cars filled the atmosphere, faint engines and dim city building lights and with lamp lights setting the perfect atmosphere for you to envision your escape. Everything seemed so perfect, so staged, too good to be true. You were so focused on getting ahead, on heading away miles away from wherever Mikey was—until you were pulled out of it.

A sharp car screech filled the previously silent noise. Suddenly your ears were ringing, all the noise you cancelled out returning to you again. You turned your head, heels backtracking from shock. Ran’s hand held a nearly painful grip on your upper arm, pulling you back with reasinably strength.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed? If that’s what it is then I got a gun with silencer on it for ya to use, for fuck’s sake!” Ran was practically yelling, his voice raised and his expression contorted to one of anger and worry. His brows were furrowed deeply, vein on his forehead and neck practically bulging as he pulled back a bit more before finally releasing you.

“W-what?” was all you could utter, blinking up at him with wide eyes, a bit dumbfounded about the situation.

“You almost got yourself run over by a car, what’s gotten into you? Ya need sleep, or something?” Ran seemed to answer your confusion without hesitation, the realisation that you almost died making you turn around and take in your surroundings.

Shit.

A sports car was practically swerved over to the sidewalk, thankfully not crashing into a post light. The driver drove off after yelling crazy bitch out his window. The insult made Ran grit his teeth, head tilted in further annoyance. You stopped him with a hand on his arm before he could do anything, stealing his attention quite quickly.

“I’m fine. Really. Just tired, like you said,” you muttered with a soft sigh after, lowering your head to gather yourself. All the while you had your lids closed shut, you felt a warm arm circle your shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s get you back,” he murmured, almost trying to comfort you. And in a way it did, he did—his warmth did. You followed him silently, letting him guide you back to the jazz club where Mikey was again.

While you were mostly silent throughout the walk, you eventually spoke up when you realised you were gonna have to face Mikey again. You felt a bit guilty for feeling like this, for wanting to avoid your own husband. But it wasn’t your fault you needed some space, some air to breath away from the heavy atmosphere and tension that was always there with him.

“I don’t wanna go back yet,” you objected, halting your steps abruptly.

Surprisingly, or not, Ran doesn’t scold you. Instead, he stops with you, arm never loosening around you. He merely looks down at you, taking in every detail on your expression at that moment and taking a moment to think about where he could possibly whisk you away to.

“Fine. My car. Then we head back, you hear me?” Ran conceded with a soft huff, centre of his brows still slightly creased from his frowning. He exhaled a quiet okay when you nodded in agreement, hand squeezing your upper arm gently to urge you to keep on walking.

It didn’t take too long for him to find your way to his car parked a few buildings away from the jazz club where Mikey was still in probably. Ran unlocked the car, opening the door of the backseat before gently nudging you in, following suit right after you.

Ran didn’t bother moving to start the engine, knowing the last thing you needed was the AC making you colder than you already were. Speaking of which, Ran couldn’t help but notice your shivering self that quivered against him, the sight of you leaning into him so desperately making him feeling a heavy pang of affection, worry, and a whole bundle of emotions he knew he shouldn’t have, things that he kept buried in the depths of his heart. And yet being in your presence for a few minutes was enough to unravel all of it, every dark detail of it.

“You’re actually chittering, princess,” he muttered, leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto the top of your head, a soft chuckle leaving his lips too in an effort to lighten the mood.

“And you’re actually annoying,” you refuted, voice small yet breathy as you shifted yourself on the leather seats, nuzzling under his arm and into his chest. Your arms were folded over your chest, holding your fur coat close to you. “Hmph, so mean,” you heard him whisper back, sarcasm lacing every syllable.

You more focused on warming yourself up at the moment, but that didn’t mean you didn’t notice how touchy and warm Ran was being. All the questions popped up in your mind about him, until you started questioning yourself, your own actions. You allowed him to do everything he did. You followed him back and forth, allowed him to bring you close to him, hell you even agreed to get in his car when you could’ve suggested some random alleyway to get a breather.

At some point, your shivering stopped. Your arms were wrapped around yourself, eyes staring mindlessly at his lap with your expression awfully neutral—the opposite of your mind that spiralled.

But a few breathers was all it took for you to forget. To dismiss everything. It wasn’t unlike Mikey had done the same anyway, entertaining other people like you were. For all you know, he’s probably done worse considering the amount of clubs he’s went to without you.

Now you’ve somewhat rationalised your actions, you lifted your head from Ran’s chest, tilting your head up to look at him. It seemed like he was staring at you already with how your gazes locked immediately.

“What is it, princess?” He broke the silence with that hoarse yet gentle voice of his, smiling faintly at you as if you were a stray cat he was trying to coax closer. As much as he loved staring into your beautiful eyes, he knew if he allowed to moment to stretch any longer his lips would end up pressed against yours—and just maybe more.

“Just wondering why you give a fuck about me in the first place.”

Ran could feel his smile fade from his face, his violet eyes no longer making an effort to look lighthearted for you. Those downturned eyes of his shifted to a stern gaze, almost determined.

If you thought your mind spiralled, his was a whole damn hurricane now.

“That’s an easy question. Though the answer’s probably something you don’t wanna know,” he answered cryptically, hand on your shoulder squeezing you once.

“You’d wish you never knew,” you heard him add, voice low yet barely above a whisper. You felt your breath hitch in throat, eyes fixated on him still. You felt your mouth dry up and closed your lips, brows furrowing slight as you turned away from him.

“I want to know. I don’t care about some creepy consequence you’re so worried about, Ran. All I’m asking about is why you act so nice w—,” you were stopped between your rant, your attempt to persuade him to be honest with you backfiring.

In a blink of an eye, he had his hand push you back against the seat, lips parted from his persistent tongue. You mumbled something but the kiss muffled your words, previously widened eyes now turning half-lidded from his warmth and shortness of breath.

“R-Ran, get a hold of yourself,” you panted once he broke the kiss, your hands reaching up to his chest and shoulder, failing to push him off of you. He kept you corner between the small space of him and the backrest behind you, face inches away from yours still.

You caught your breath, hands pushing him growing weaker until you decided to let up. Your eyes flickered from your lap up to his face, the resolve in his gaze unwavering.

“What does this mean?” You whispered, quizzically looking at him. The confusion on you towards his actions almost made Ran smile, but all he could manage was a faint laugh.

“Means that I love you.”

The crease between your brows deepened at his confession.

You weren’t exactly pleased per se, but it did make sense. It made a lot of sense. Made his demeanour towards you logical.

You suspected his feelings for you before, though you never entertained the thought. Ran was busy beyond words being Mikey’s executive, and you on the other hand were married. Yet it seems like that didn’t seem to bother Ran much.

“How exactly am I supposed to respond to that, Ran?” You sighed, almost pleading, beautiful orbs of yours falling to your lap once more.

“That’s the thing. You don’t.”

Huh?

Before you could open your mouth, he sealed your lips in another kiss, needier this time. He wanted to shut you up, to take your mind off things—everything. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working.

How could you possibly think about anything else when Ran had a hand on your thigh, running up the thin pantyhose you wore under that dark red leather miniskirt. The force of his greedy kisses made you slump up the plush seat behind you, making you lean over to the side until your back was against the window of the car door. Ran had another hand on your waist, skimming under your coat to cup the flesh your side.

“You don’t have to say a word—I don’t want an answer from you. Just want you, baby,” the man grunted into your mouth, tongue swiping against yours and teeth tugging on your lower lip. His breath was as heavy, much like yours.

It was hard for you not to reciprocate his kisses, his touch, not when he had you cornered with little to no space to move or focus on anything but him. And that was exactly what he wanted—your undivided attention, even if it was just for the moment.

Ran was tired of just admiring you from afar, exhausted from having to settle with the women that kept throwing themselves at him in the clubs he went to after work.

What he hated most was having to imagine you and your stunning figure beneath him whenever he was fucking those girls, having to wish he could see you every day after work like his boss could. Ran wanted the real thing so badly, he fucking craved it. But he hid those desires so well that it would leave anyone in Bonten in shock if they knew he had the fattest, more ridiculous crush on you.

Like a student to his teacher. It was humiliating, yet so fucking thrilling. And that was just it with Ran. Nothing had him more addicted to something other than the excitement.

So while Ran had his hands all over you, lips kissing you everywhere, he made sure to savour it. To take his time suckling on your red tongue, nibbling and marking on your swollen bottom lips that he had damp with saliva. Ran had to make sure you enjoyed it too—‘cause fuck if you didn’t want him as much he wanted you—

“Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,” he whispered through bated breath, shifting himself and grabbing one of your legs to lift on the car seat, wanting to be between your legs.

His demands were almost impossible to deny anymore. He’s made your mind hazy from the lewd, sloppy kisses he’s given you. The cold air only made it worse since it only made you crave warmth more than you should—his warmth.

“Good girl, that’s it,” you heard him praise you, his slender fingers running over the waistband of your leather skirt, unfastening the metal button and pulling down the zip. His violet eyes were sickeningly fixated on your lower-half, as if in anticipation to see your most intimate parts—more like anticipating what kind of panties you were wearing, what kind of lingerie you preferred.

You whined softly, still unsure what he was praising you for exactly. Was it for your cooperation? If so then he’ll have to keep on praising you for the next few minutes ‘cause you’d seriously consider acting up if he stopped. What kind of woman were you if you asked him to stop now? Sure, a woman with a moral compass. However, such a thing was discarded by you the first few seconds you entered his car.

Married or not, you didn’t know if there was any kind of woman out there that would resist Ran when he was like this—so attentive, so careful with touching you but gazing at you with predatory-like eyes. You almost felt naked under him even when you weren’t. It was like he saw all of you, inside and out.

And that was when you were beginning to truly be naked under him. Decisive fingers peeling off your leather miniskirt, then hooking under the waistband of your pantyhose to pull it down to your knees.

“Do you trust me?” The question threw you off for a moment, watching him move to sit on his knees on the carseat horizontally and carrying your legs over his shoulders, nearly folding you against the small corner he drove you in.

Your head was practically forced up against the window, back bent forward and legs held by Ran. Your lips quivered subtly, the discomfort adding to your anxiousness. Yet that question of his seemed to stem from that exactly.

With a meek nod, you mumbled a soft yes to assure him. Not a second later he slid his hand down your lifted thighs, rubbing and gently squeezing the inner flesh, cold fingers dangerously close to the apex of your legs. You followed his every move as best as you could, swallowing the lump of nervousness in your throat.

It was almost tantalising, the way he navigated his way down and up your body with such ease, such adoration. If you looked closely enough, you could have seen the gleams of mesmerisation in his violet eyes. And holy fuck, did that turn you on even more, thighs twitching close together with the wet patch on your panties growing bigger.

You could feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of Ran’s lips curling to a smirk. He clearly noticed your arousal, especially so with the view he had of you from that position.

“Ah-ah.. you don’t get to be shy,” Ran warned, hand gripping your thigh tighter to peel them away from each other when you subconsciously started to cross them to hide yourself.

“I’ve been so long for this, darling. So fuckin’ long,” he breathed, impatience evident in the way his gaze alternated between your heaving chest and your fat folds covered by the thing fabric of your panties. Without wasting a moment more, he moved a hand down to your pussy, slipping the long index between your folds, middle finger joining to find your clit with ease, rubbing the sensitive nub up and down in slow motions. You gasped sharply at the sudden pleasure, legs on his shoulders quaking from the stimulation alone.

“So damn soaked for me, baby. Did ya wait for me too?” He cooed, shifting the focus of his slender fingers to your aching slit, gently digging inside through your panties to give you a taste of what was to come.

The soft moans from you was enough to spur him on, half-heartedly fucking you with his fingers through the clothes. It reached a point where the tip of his fingers were soaked in your nectar, all sticky and lubed up to fuck you for real.

Low groans rumbled in his chest with every move he made on your cunt, dipping down your panties until he could feel your walls flutter around with need.

“Need me to fuck you, don’t you darling? Need me balls deep inside you,” you heard him grunt, fingers probing your wet pussy until he wasn’t. He withdrew his fingers, hand moving to his belt instead, unbuckling it to unbutton and unzip his pants with ease.

Ran found it adorable how engrossed you were in the scene of him tugging his pants and boxers downwards to pull out his cock, already hard and throbbing for you.

Bending down to you, Ran had your legs pushed up not from your chest, threatening to squash your tits for the soft jiggle effect he’d drool over.

“Gonna have to relax a bit more, darlin’. I gotta fuck you in the best angle,” he drawled, fastening your legs to his neck and snug on his shoulders. His cologne was borderline intoxicating, the intense scent inducing your lightheadedness.

“‘M not that flexible,” you grumbled, trying to relax your limbs like he said regardless. When you did, he folded your limbs further, adding a little bit of force to reach his desired position. “There ya go, angel,” he murmured just for your ears, earning himself a soft whimper from you.

Not a second later, Ran aligned his cock right up your entrance, the head leaking beads of precum smearing up your folds, pushing his hips forward until he slid up past your entrance. He had you reach up to cling onto his suit jacket, clenching your fingers around his arms while he dug his dick into your depths to the hilt, breath stuck in his throat as if you were choking his throat instead of his cock.

“Holy fuck—feels so fuckin’ good, you feel so good,” he crooned, staying still for a while to let you adjust to the intrusion before he started moving again, pacing it slow at first and subtly progressing to frenzied tempo, hips rocking uncontrollably.

Your lips hung open, eyes darting from Ran’s face to the mess that was your squelching cunt, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the car along with.

“Ran—! Want you cum, cum for me,” you whine, heart hammering in your chest in sync with the seconds he drove his pulsating cock in and out of your gummy walls, the hold he had on your thighs turning desperate as he chased his orgasm, and yours. “Careful what you—fuck-wish for,” Ran stuttered, his arousal amplified with your constant moans and begging, the cramped space thickening the air and tension around your sweat sheened bodies.

“Cum for me, darling—fuck-ngh, cum with me,” he groaned with heavy pants, jaw clenched at the slick feeling of your juices dripped down his shaft to his tense balls, feeling it tighten along with the knot in his lower belly. A few short, frenzied thrusts was all it took for him to finally come undone along with you, your sopping wet pussy clamping down on his heavy cock triggering his orgasm.

Your features scrunched up in pleasure along with Ran, your legs quaking around his shoulders and your toes curled from the feeling of his semen spilling inside you in thick ropes. Ran stayed inside you even after your orgasm, basking in the afterglow with shared breaths and groans.

“I.. hate you,” was all you could breath out at the moment, eyes fluttering and threatening to close with your head rested on the mirror of the car door. Slowly, Ran withdrew his cock from your well-filled cunt, leaving a string of your mixed juices that soon broke to stain your inner thigh.

“Can’t say the same for you, princess..,” Ran chuckled half-heartedly, pulling away and shrugging your legs off his shoulders to lay carelessly on the carseat as he grabbed a tissue to wipe the mess on lingering on your skin.

Your eyes followed the movement of Ran’s hand, watching him clean you up so carefully unlike the roughness he had when he was fucking you earlier. Didn’t even need to glance at your thighs, you knew there were red welts everywhere on them from how much he was clawing onto your flesh desperately.

Silence filled the car for a moment, unspoken words kept deep within yourself as he helped dress you up again, sitting you up properly on the seat and asking if he went too rough on you anywhere.

It wasn’t like he was doting you either. Not too much anyway. He gave you space as much as he gave you his concern, probably aware he crossed some lines that he shouldn’t have. Despite that, Ran being Ran, he wasn’t ashamed, nor did he feel guilty for any of it.

“You know he’ll kill you, right?” your hoarse voice whispered to break the silence, illuminated only by the dim street lights around you.

“Only if he knows.”

“He’s definitely gonna fucking know.”

“He won’t really kill me,” Ran shrugged, stuffing a hand into his pocket to take out a packet of cigarettes, wanting to light one up to take a smoke as if none of it bothered him. And in a way, it really didn’t.

“Ran,” you warned, furrowing your brows and glaring at him in a sideway glance. Your arms folded on chest, head leaning back against the headrest as you turned away and sighed.

“Doesn’t matter. I got the fuck the love of my life—so if he kills me, I’m gonna die with a fucking smile, you hear me?” Ran spoke, his tone of voice clearly set as if he made up his mind when he turned to you, lit up cigarette held between the fingers of his right hand.

“Besides. You sure as hell enjoyed it, hm? Bet you haven’t had an orgasm like that in a while, have you?” he added, hints of teasing lacing his voice with his free hand reaching out to cup your face.

That playful mood of his was short lived when he felt you lean into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. He felt his heart being tugged on.

“You poor thing,” was all you heard him whisper lowly a moment after his lighthearted remark, hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to pull you into him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A click echoed in the room and the beeping stopped.

“We got this from the bug we planted in executive Ran’s car, sir.”

A pathetic scoff left Mikey’s lips, his lips curling to a faint smirk before it faded to a straight line again.

The white haired man stared at the voice recording the device laid on the table by one of his men, hands curling to fists as he tried to quell the urge to destroy it—to destroy something.

Except he didn’t. Patience. That was what you taught him.

You taught him patience like it was the best thing in the world, calmness, since he always killed people on sight without hesitation. Mikey tried, for your sake. He worked on more negotiations rather than ordering his executives to go on murder sprees, and one of those negotiations happened tonight at the jazz club.

He thought maybe by now, that he’s got the hang of it. But Mikey doesn’t know if ‘patience’ was good anymore. How was it as ‘good’ as you said, when because of patience, he lost you.

Mikey waited, and waited, and waited for his chance to get closer to you. To open up to you more than the surface level relationship you two had. He wanted to be a real husband to you, to be your lover.

Maybe calmness wasn’t something he should practice anymore. Since you succumbed so easily to what Ran forced on you.

Well, at least you knew he’ll kill Ran.

[reidmarieprentiss]

hii wondering if you could write a little something about to how spencer would react to an undercover mission going wrong with his gf??<3 whether she’s on the mission alone or together with him is up to you

Where We Were Meant to Be

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, guns, typical case talk, break ups (not spencer), feelings talks, being injured

Word count: 7.8k

a/n: i took a little bit of creative liberty with this one i hope that's okay! it's spencer's best friend that he just so happens to be in love with heheh --- also this is meant to be a treat because i only posted once yesterday <333

main masterlist

Spencer Reid was a man of many secrets, but the one that weighed the heaviest on him was the love he harbored for you. It was a love that grew quietly over time, nurtured by the countless hours spent together, the late-night conversations that often veered into deep, uncharted emotional territory, and the shared experiences that bonded you in ways that words could never fully capture.

Everyone at the BAU knew how close the two of you were. It was impossible not to notice. From the way your eyes would light up whenever Spencer entered a room to the ease with which you could communicate without saying a word, it was evident that you shared a connection that transcended the ordinary.

"You two are like two halves of the same brain," Derek would often joke, a knowing grin on his face as he watched you and Spencer exchange another one of your silent conversations.

"Or the same heart," Penelope would add with a playful wink, causing you to blush and Spencer to give her a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

But despite the teasing, no one knew the depth of Spencer's feelings. No one knew that every time you smiled at him, his heart ached with a longing that he buried deep within himself. No one knew that every time your hand brushed against his, he had to remind himself that it meant nothing more than friendship—because that was all you could offer him.

You had a partner. A good one, at that. Spencer had met them a few times, and he couldn't find a single flaw. They were kind, intelligent, and treated you with the love and respect you deserved. It made things easier and harder all at once. Easier, because he knew you were happy, and that's all he'd ever wanted for you. Harder, because he couldn't help but wish that he were the one to make you feel that way.

But Spencer was nothing if not practical. He had always been good at compartmentalizing his emotions, and he used that skill now to keep his feelings in check. He accepted your relationship with grace, never once letting on that every "we" you mentioned with your partner's name attached chipped away at his heart. He forced himself to focus on the friendship you shared, cherishing every moment, every laugh, every secret confided.

In his quieter moments, Spencer allowed himself to dream. He imagined what it would be like to be the one who held your hand as you navigated life’s challenges, to be the one who made you laugh on your hardest days, to be the one you turned to when the world felt like too much. But those dreams were fleeting, and he always pushed them away, reminding himself that you were happy, and that was what mattered.

One evening, after a particularly tough case, the team decided to unwind at Rossi's place. The atmosphere was relaxed, the tension of the day slowly dissipating as everyone gathered around with drinks in hand. You sat next to Spencer, your shoulder lightly brushing against his as you leaned in to whisper something that made him chuckle softly.

"See, this is why you're my favorite," you teased, poking him playfully in the side.

"Flattery won’t get you anywhere," Spencer replied, his voice tinged with affection as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long.

You caught it, your smile softening as you reached out to squeeze his hand. "You're the best, you know that?"

"Only because I have the best friend," he responded, squeezing your hand in return before letting go, trying to ignore the way his heart raced at the simple contact.

The night continued, filled with laughter and stories, but Spencer couldn’t help but feel the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him. It was a bittersweet sensation, knowing that he would never be able to tell you the truth, that he would never be able to cross the invisible line that separated friendship from something more.

As the evening wound down and people started to leave, you lingered behind with Spencer, helping him clean up the remnants of the gathering. It was something the two of you often did, slipping into a comfortable rhythm as you worked side by side in silence.

Once the dishes were done and the living room tidied, you both collapsed into your car, a comfortable silence settling between you.

"Thanks for sticking around," Spencer said, his voice soft as he turned to look at you.

"Of course," you replied, meeting his gaze with a tired smile. "You're my person, Spencer. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Your words hit him harder than you could have imagined. He swallowed, forcing himself to smile even as his heart twisted painfully in his chest. "And you're mine," he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You rested your head on his shoulder, letting out a content sigh as you closed your eyes. Spencer remained still, afraid to move, afraid that the moment would shatter if he so much as breathed too loudly.

In that moment, Spencer allowed himself to believe, just for a second, that things could be different. That maybe, in another life, in another world, he could be the one you chose. But as your breathing evened out, signaling that you had fallen asleep, he knew that such thoughts were futile.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he pulled back, his heart heavy with the weight of what could never be. 

And so, he continued to keep his secret, burying it deep within himself as he held onto the one thing he could have—your friendship. It wasn't everything, but it was enough. It had to be enough.

—

The briefing room was unusually quiet as Hotch laid out the details of the mission. The tension in the air was palpable, the seriousness of the situation evident in the way Hotch’s voice took on that hard, steely edge he reserved for the most dangerous of cases. You sat next to Spencer, your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying to keep your expression neutral as the reality of what was being asked of you sank in.

The unsub had escalated, and the BAU was running out of time. The only way to catch him was to go undercover, to insert yourselves into his world, to become the very thing he was hunting. And for this, Hotch had chosen you and Spencer to pose as husband and wife.

The room emptied out after the briefing, but Spencer lingered, his brows furrowed, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. He looked at you, searching your face as if trying to find a way to convince you to change your mind before he even spoke.

“This is too dangerous,” he began, his voice low and urgent. “You shouldn’t go. We can find another way—there has to be another way.”

You reached out to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Spencer, we’ve been through worse. We can handle this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, his voice trembling slightly. “This isn’t just another case. This is… it’s different. If something goes wrong—if he even suspects for a second that we’re not who we say we are—” His voice caught in his throat, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

You squeezed his arm, trying to anchor him. “Spencer, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he turned back to you, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and desperation that broke your heart.

“We’re the best shot at stopping him,” you said gently. “You know that. If it were anyone else, I’d be just as worried. But it’s us. We’ve got this.”

His hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles white. “But what if something happens to you? I couldn’t—” He stopped, his breath hitching as he tried to compose himself. “I couldn’t live with that.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, at the raw vulnerability he was showing you. “Spencer,” you whispered, stepping closer, “I know it’s risky. I know you’re scared. But I’m scared too. And that’s why we have to be careful, why we have to trust each other.”

Spencer’s eyes softened, but the fear was still there, clinging to him like a shadow. “I do trust you. It’s just… I can’t lose you.”

The intensity of his words hung in the air, a confession of something deeper, something unspoken between you. You felt your heart twist, knowing how much he cared, how much he had always cared.

“You won’t lose me,” you promised, your voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “We’ll go in, do what we need to do, and get out. Together.”

He nodded slowly, though the worry in his eyes didn’t diminish. “Promise me you’ll be careful. No risks, no heroics.”

You smiled softly, trying to ease the tension. “I promise. We’re in this together.”

The days leading up to the mission were a blur of preparations, briefings, and final checks. Spencer was quieter than usual, his mind clearly racing with thoughts of what could go wrong. You tried to stay focused, knowing that you both needed to be sharp for this to work.

When the day finally arrived, you found yourselves in a small, nondescript hotel room that served as your cover. The ruse was simple: you and Spencer were a newlywed couple, traveling through the area, the perfect targets for the unsub’s twisted games.

The charade was almost too real, the way Spencer’s hand rested on the small of your back as you entered the hotel lobby, the way he leaned in to whisper something in your ear as you checked in. The familiarity of it all was both comforting and disconcerting.

The hotel room’s dim lighting cast a warm glow over the space, but it was nothing compared to the light in Spencer’s eyes as he looked at you. You had just finished getting ready for the final phase of the mission, slipping into the elegant dress that completed your undercover persona as the charming, newlywed wife. As you turned to face him, adjusting the last of your jewelry, Spencer’s breath seemed to catch in his throat.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. There was a softness in his tone, a tenderness that seemed to seep into every syllable. His eyes, those expressive hazel eyes, were locked onto you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, the world outside the room ceased to exist. The mission, the danger, the need to keep up the pretense—it all faded into the background. All that mattered was the way Spencer was looking at you, with so much love and adoration that it was almost overwhelming.

But then, as quickly as it had surfaced, Spencer seemed to reel it back in. He blinked, his expression shifting as he forced a small smile, trying to play it off. “I mean, it’s… it’s perfect for the mission. You look exactly like someone who would turn every head in the room.”

You could hear the faint waver in his voice, the way he tried to rationalize the emotion he had just displayed. He chalked it up to the nature of the mission, to the need to sell the story, but deep down, he knew there was more to it.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the feelings that were bubbling just beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniably present.

Spencer nodded, averting his gaze as he adjusted his tie, trying to focus on the task at hand. But the way his hands trembled ever so slightly, the way his jaw clenched as he fought to regain his composure, didn’t go unnoticed by you.

You took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. “We’ll be okay, you know,” you said, trying to reassure him, to reassure yourself.

He looked up at you, his eyes once again filled with that same deep, intense emotion. “I know,” he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper. “As long as you’re with me, I know we’ll be okay.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with unspoken words and hidden desires. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath as you both stood on the precipice of something that could change everything.

But then, with a deep breath, Spencer forced himself to step back, his professional mask sliding back into place. “We should get going,” he said, his voice firmer now, though there was still a lingering softness in his eyes.

You nodded, trying to push down the emotions that were threatening to spill over. “Right. Let’s do this.”

And as you left the room together, hand in hand, the lines between mission and reality blurred just a little more, leaving you both wondering what would be left once the dust settled.

—

The situation had spiraled out of control so fast that it felt like a nightmare, the kind where everything you feared the most came true. One moment, you and Spencer were navigating the careful dance of your undercover roles, blending into the crowd at the lavish party where you hoped to catch the unsub off guard. The next, everything went dark—both literally and figuratively.

The unsub was smarter than they’d anticipated. He saw through the act, his twisted mind zeroing in on your every move, every glance exchanged with Spencer. And then, in an instant, the plan unraveled. The lights flickered, and when they came back on, you were no longer standing by Spencer's side. You were in the unsub’s grip, his arm around your throat, his gun pressed against your temple.

“Spencer!” you cried out, your voice filled with a terror that tore through him like a knife.

Spencer’s heart stopped in that moment. The blood drained from his face as he saw you, saw the fear in your eyes, the way you struggled against the unsub’s iron grip. His mind raced, every possible scenario playing out in rapid succession, each one worse than the last. He could feel his entire world crashing down around him, the panic setting in, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“Let her go!” Spencer’s voice was raw, desperate, his hand reaching out instinctively as if he could pull you back to him by sheer force of will. “You don’t want to do this. We can help you. Just—just let her go, please.”

But the unsub only sneered, tightening his hold on you, dragging you backward toward the exit. “Help me? You’re the ones who need help. You think I didn’t see through your little charade? You think I didn’t know?”

Spencer felt his knees buckle as he watched the unsub’s every move, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. The thought of it was too much, too overwhelming. He tried to take a step forward, but the unsub jabbed the gun harder against your head, making you gasp in pain.

“Stay back, or I’ll blow her brains out right here!” the unsub snarled, his eyes wild with a dangerous mix of paranoia and rage.

“Please,” Spencer begged, his voice cracking, his eyes pleading as he tried to reason with a man who seemed beyond reason. “Don’t hurt her. You don’t have to do this. We can talk, we can—”

But the unsub wasn’t listening. He was already backing out of the room, dragging you with him. And then, before Spencer could react, you were gone—thrown into a nondescript van that peeled away from the curb, leaving Spencer standing there, frozen in horror.

The moment you disappeared from sight, something in Spencer snapped. He was a man undone, no longer the composed, brilliant profiler but a man in the throes of utter despair. He spun around, his eyes wild as he looked at the rest of the team, who had arrived just in time to witness the tail end of the horror show.

“We have to find her!” Spencer’s voice was a shout, laced with a hysteria that made everyone in the room tense up. “We have to find her now!”

“Reid, we’re going to do everything we can,” Hotch said, his voice calm and steady, trying to contain the situation, but it only seemed to fuel Spencer’s rage.

“You sent her in there!” Spencer roared, pointing an accusatory finger at Hotch, his voice trembling with fury and anguish. “You sent her in there, and now she’s gone! You did this!”

“Spencer, we’ll find her,” JJ said softly, trying to step in, but Spencer wasn’t hearing it. His mind was a blur of panic, grief, and guilt. All he could see was you, the terror in your eyes, the way you had been dragged away from him.

“No! You don’t understand!” Spencer was nearly hysterical now, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face as he continued to lash out. “She’s out there alone, and it’s our fault! We have to get her back! We have to—” 

“Reid, stand down!” Hotch commanded, his voice taking on a sharper tone, but it did nothing to calm Spencer.

“No!” Spencer screamed, his hands shaking as he pointed at Hotch again. “You don’t get to tell me to stand down! You don’t get to tell me to do anything after what you’ve done!”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Rossi, who gave a small nod, understanding that Spencer was too far gone, too deep in his emotions to be reasoned with right now.

“Reid, go back to the hotel,” Hotch ordered, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “We’ll handle the search. You need to stand down.”

But Spencer didn’t move. He just stood there, shaking, his eyes wild and red-rimmed, the pain etched so deeply into his features that it was almost unbearable to look at. He wanted to fight, to do something, anything to bring you back. But all he could do was fall apart, right there in front of everyone.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he finally gave in to the grief that was tearing him apart. “Please bring her back.”

“Go back to the hotel, Reid,” Hotch repeated, softer this time, but still with that commanding presence. “We’ll find her.”

Spencer didn’t want to go. Every fiber of his being wanted to stay, to fight, to tear the city apart if that’s what it took to find you. But he was too broken, too shattered to argue anymore. So, with one last, desperate look at Hotch, he turned and left, his heart heavy, his mind spinning with every horrible possibility.

Back at the hotel, Spencer was a man possessed. He couldn’t sit, couldn’t think straight. He paced the room, his thoughts running in endless circles, every one of them coming back to you and the unimaginable fear that you were out there, somewhere, hurt or worse. The room felt too small, too suffocating, and he found himself screaming, yelling out your name, cursing at the walls as if they could give him answers.

When the anger wasn’t enough to dull the pain, the tears came full force. He collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed, the grief pouring out of him in waves. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. The thought of it was too much, and yet it was all he could think about.

Hours passed, though it felt like an eternity, and still, there was no word. No update. No sign of you. Spencer felt like he was drowning in the silence, the waiting, the not knowing. Every second that ticked by felt like another piece of him being torn away, until there was nothing left but the hollow shell of a man who had once been whole.

When the phone finally rang, Spencer lunged for it, his heart in his throat as he answered, his voice shaking with desperation. 

But it wasn’t you. It wasn’t even news about you. It was Hotch, telling him to stay put, telling him that they were still searching, still trying to find you. It was a command wrapped in reassurance, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside Spencer.

“Just bring her back,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely audible, broken. “Please, bring her back to me.”

And as he hung up the phone, Spencer curled up on the bed, clutching your jacket that still held the faintest scent of you, and prayed with every ounce of his being that you would come back to him, that this nightmare would end, and that he wouldn’t lose the most important person in his life.

—

Spencer was pacing the floor of the hotel room, his mind a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and desperation. The silence of the room felt like it was closing in on him, pressing down on his chest until he could hardly breathe. Every minute that passed felt like an eternity, and the only thing keeping him from completely unraveling was the hope that the team would find you before it was too late.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he nearly fumbled it in his haste to answer. “Derek?” he gasped, his voice tight with panic.

“Reid        , we think we found her,” Derek said, his tone serious but laced with urgency. “She’s at an abandoned warehouse on the east side, just off of River Street. We’re heading there now.”

Spencer didn’t wait for another word. He grabbed his keys and bolted out of the hotel, the thought of you in danger propelling him forward with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of. The drive to the warehouse was a blur of speeding cars, red lights he didn’t bother stopping for, and the singular focus of getting to you as fast as he could.

When he pulled up to the warehouse, he barely threw his car into park before he was out the door, sprinting toward the cluster of agents and medics near the entrance. The sight of them only made his heart race faster, a mix of relief and dread coiling in his stomach.

“Where is she?” he shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation as he pushed his way through the crowd.

The sight of you nearly brought him to his knees. You were lying on a stretcher, your body bruised and battered, your face pale and drawn, as if the life had been drained out of you. The medics were working quickly, checking your vitals, hooking you up to an IV, but all Spencer could focus on was the faint sound of your voice, weak and trembling, as you mumbled incoherently.

“My love,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “Where is my love?”

The words broke Spencer’s heart into a thousand pieces. He rushed forward, ignoring the shouts of the other agents as he made his way to your side. You were so fragile, so small against the harsh metal of the stretcher, and all he wanted to do was gather you in his arms, protect you from the world, from everything that had hurt you.

The medics began to wheel you toward the ambulance, but as they moved, you caught sight of Spencer, your eyes fluttering open just enough to recognize him. Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion that weighed you down, you tried to sit up, your hand reaching out toward him as if he were the only thing that could keep you tethered to life.

“My love,” you said again, your voice cracking with emotion, your eyes filled with tears as you looked at him.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, grabbing your extended hand and squeezing it tightly. “I’m here, I’m right here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held onto you like you were his lifeline.

The medics glanced at Spencer, recognizing the emblem on his jacket, the desperation in his eyes. “I’m riding with her,” Spencer told them, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The medics nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. They helped Spencer climb into the ambulance, making room for him next to you as they continued to work. Spencer never let go of your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your bruised knuckles, his heart breaking at the sight of you so weak, so vulnerable.

As the ambulance sped away, sirens blaring, Spencer leaned in close, his voice soft and soothing as he whispered to you. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, your gaze locking onto his as you tried to muster the strength to speak. “I was so scared,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you clung to his hand.

“I know,” Spencer said, his own voice cracking as he fought back his tears. “I was too. But you’re safe now. We’re going to get through this, okay? I promise.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes drifting shut again as exhaustion took over. But even as you slipped into unconsciousness, you kept your hand in his, holding on as if he were your only anchor in the storm.

And Spencer held on too, refusing to let go, refusing to let the fear, the guilt, the overwhelming emotions consume him. All that mattered was you—keeping you safe, getting you through this. He couldn’t think about anything else, couldn’t allow himself to imagine a world where you weren’t with him.

As the ambulance raced toward the hospital, Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, his voice a quiet promise in the chaos. “I love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them, before he could overthink them.

But it didn’t matter now. There was no taking it back, no more hiding how he felt. And as the ambulance tore through the night, Spencer made a silent vow that he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, to bring you back to him—because losing you wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.

—

The antiseptic smell of the hospital was a sharp contrast to the warmth of Spencer's presence beside you. The sterile environment only emphasized how vulnerable and fragile you felt, lying in the hospital bed with a sling supporting your broken collarbone. The pain was manageable, dulled by the medication the doctors had administered, but the emotional whirlwind you were caught in was another matter entirely.

Spencer had been there since the moment you arrived, never leaving your side. His eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, had stayed fixed on you, watching over you with a mix of concern and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. He was a mess of emotions—fear, relief, and something bordering on anger, though you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

You were just beginning to doze off when a nurse entered the room, gently informing you that your partner had arrived. Your heart clenched at the words, not out of relief or comfort, but out of a confusing sense of dread. Spencer’s hand tightened slightly around yours, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but one that spoke volumes. He was still there, still holding onto you, but you could feel the shift in the air, the way his grip loosened as the footsteps approached.

When your partner stepped into the room, their eyes filled with worry and love, Spencer immediately withdrew his hand, standing up to make room. You could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched as he forced himself to step back, to let go.

“Thank you for taking care of her,” your partner said softly, their voice sincere as they looked at Spencer with genuine gratitude.

Spencer nodded stiffly, the bitterness in his expression barely hidden. “Of course,” he replied, his voice tight. “It’s what anyone would have done.”

But you knew that wasn’t true. Spencer had done more than anyone else would have, more than your partner could even begin to understand. He had been your anchor in the storm, the person you had instinctively reached for when you were at your weakest. And now, with your partner standing there, all you could think about was how much you had wanted Spencer—needed Spencer—when everything was falling apart.

Your partner leaned down to kiss your forehead, their touch gentle, comforting. But it wasn’t the same. It didn’t ignite that spark inside you, didn’t calm the commotion in your heart the way Spencer’s presence had. Your mind kept replaying those moments in the ambulance, when Spencer had whispered those three words that had changed everything.

“I love you.”

The weight of those words settled heavily in your chest, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend that it hadn’t meant the world to you when he said it. But now, looking up at your partner, you felt trapped between two worlds—one where you were safe, where everything was familiar, and another where your heart was pulling you toward something deeper, something more complicated, something you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

Spencer stood there, watching the exchange with an expression that broke your heart. You could see the pain in his eyes, the bitterness that he was trying so hard to hide. He had given you everything he had in those terrifying moments, and now he was being pushed aside, as if all of that meant nothing.

But it did mean something. It meant everything.

“Spencer…” you began, your voice soft, uncertain.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for something—anything—that would tell him what you were feeling, what you were thinking. But you didn’t know what to say. You were too confused, too overwhelmed to put your emotions into words.

Your partner squeezed your hand gently, drawing your attention back to them. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” they whispered, their voice filled with relief.

You nodded, trying to smile, but it felt hollow, forced. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m okay.”

But as you looked back at Spencer, you knew that you weren’t okay. Not really. Because all you could think about was how much it had hurt to watch him leave, to see the pain in his eyes as he stepped back, knowing that he was walking away from something that had just barely begun.

Spencer took a step toward the door, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. “I should go,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “You need time with your partner.”

The word "partner" seemed to catch in his throat, and you could see the way he flinched as he said it, as if acknowledging their presence hurt more than he could bear.

You wanted to call out to him, to tell him to stay, to tell him that what he had said in the ambulance had changed everything for you. But the words wouldn’t come. You were too afraid, too unsure of what any of it meant, or what it would mean if you acknowledged it out loud.

So you said nothing, letting him walk away, letting him leave the room with a heavy heart and a bitterness that you knew was only going to fester.

As the door closed behind Spencer, you felt a tear slip down your cheek, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. Your partner was still there, still holding your hand, still trying to comfort you, but it wasn’t enough. Because the person you needed most had just walked out the door, and you didn’t know if you had the courage to bring him back.

—

When you returned to work after your medical leave, there was a part of you that was eager to get back to a sense of normalcy. You thought that once you were surrounded by your colleagues, by Spencer, things would start to feel right again. But from the moment you stepped into the bullpen, you knew something was different.

Spencer was there, of course, as he always was—dutiful, courteous, offering you a small, polite smile as you walked in. He asked how you were feeling, made sure you had everything you needed, even went out of his way to help you catch up on what you had missed during your absence. But there was a distance to him, a careful politeness that felt foreign between the two of you. It was as if there was an invisible barrier between you, one that he had constructed with precision and intention.

He wasn’t your Spencer anymore. He was still the brilliant, kind-hearted man you knew, but the easy closeness, the spontaneous laughter, the silent conversations that you had once shared—those were gone. And as much as it pained you, you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him about it. You were too afraid of what you might find out, too scared that if you asked him what was wrong, you would only confirm your worst fears.

So you stayed quiet. You forced yourself to smile when he spoke to you, even though his words were measured and distant. You nodded along when he offered advice or assistance, even though the warmth you used to feel in his presence was replaced by a hollow ache. But the more time passed, the more you began to realize that this wasn’t just about Spencer pulling away—it was about what that distance did to you.

It felt like half of you was missing, like you were a shell of yourself without him by your side. You’d never felt this way with your partner, not even when they were out of town or during the rare arguments that led to hours of silence. There was something about Spencer, something about the bond you had shared, that had become an integral part of who you were. And now that it was gone, you were lost.

It was that realization that led to the end of your relationship. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when your heart was somewhere else, when the person you thought you loved couldn’t fill the void that Spencer’s absence had left. Breaking up with your partner was one of the hardest things you’d ever done, not because you were still in love with them, but because they were such a genuinely kind-hearted person. They deserved better than to be with someone whose heart wasn’t fully in it.

When you sat down with them, your voice shaking as you tried to explain, they listened with a quiet understanding that made you feel even more guilty. “I’ve known for a while that something was off,” they said softly, their eyes sad but not angry. “I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “You didn’t deserve this.”

They shook their head, reaching out to gently squeeze your hand. “You don’t have to apologize. I’d rather you be honest with yourself—and with me—than stay in a relationship that doesn’t make you happy.”

Their kindness only made the pain of ending things more acute, but you knew it was the right thing to do. You couldn’t keep living a lie, couldn’t keep pretending that you were in love when your heart was somewhere else. And as much as it hurt, you felt a strange sense of relief when they walked away, knowing that you were finally free to face the truth.

But now that the relationship was over, you were left with an even bigger question: What do you do about Spencer? The very person who had unknowingly driven you to this decision was the one you felt you had already lost. The thought of telling him how you felt was terrifying, especially when you weren’t sure if there was anything left between you to salvage. Would he even care, or had he already moved on, content to keep you at arm’s length for the rest of your lives?

As you sat alone in your apartment that evening, the silence pressing in on you, you found yourself picking up your phone, your fingers hovering over Spencer’s contact. You wanted to call him, to tell him everything—to tell him that this whole mess had made you realize just how much you needed him, how much you missed him, how much you loved him.

But fear held you back. Fear that he wouldn’t feel the same way, fear that he would reject you, fear that you had already lost him forever.

In the end, you put the phone down, your heart heavy with the weight of your unspoken feelings. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to move forward. All you knew was that you couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in the limbo between what you had lost and what you could never have.

But as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you made a silent vow to yourself: You couldn’t let things end like this. Spencer had meant too much to you for too long to let him slip away without a fight. And even though the thought of confronting him scared you more than anything, you knew that you had to try. You had to tell him how you felt, even if it meant risking everything.

Because losing Spencer without ever telling him the truth—that was something you couldn’t bear.

—

Spencer sat in his reading nook, surrounded by books that had once brought him comfort but now served as a distraction from the thoughts he couldn’t escape. The words blurred together as he tore through page after page, trying to keep his mind occupied, to drown out the memories of you, the sound of your voice, the way you used to laugh at his terrible jokes. It wasn’t easy, keeping you at arm’s length, but it was the only way he knew how to protect himself. He couldn’t endure watching you be with someone else, not when every part of him yearned to be the one you turned to, the one you loved.

The soft knock on the door startled him, pulling him out of the world he had tried so hard to lose himself in. His heart raced as he set the book down, a sense of unease settling over him as he stood up. He wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all you.

When he opened the door, the upper chain still in place, his breath caught in his throat. “Y/N?” he asked, his voice full of surprise.

You stood there, looking up at him with an expression that was both determined and vulnerable. It was clear you had made a decision, one that had led you to his doorstep on a Friday evening, one that had left you standing there, waiting for him to let you in.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest. “I think we need to talk. Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of what this conversation might bring. But the sight of you, the sound of your voice, was too much for him to resist. He needed to hear what you had to say, even if it meant reopening wounds he had tried so hard to close.

With a sigh, Spencer undid the chain and opened the door fully, stepping aside to let you in. “Of course,” he said, his voice softer now, tinged with the familiarity of your presence.

You stepped inside, taking a deep breath as you crossed the threshold. The air in the apartment was thick with unspoken words, with the tension that had been building between you for weeks. You could feel it, the weight of everything you hadn’t said, everything you were about to say.

Spencer watched as you took a moment to compose yourself, his heart aching at the sight of you in his space, a place you had once felt so at home in but that now felt foreign, distant. He wanted to reach out, to close the gap between you, but he held back, reminding himself of the boundaries he had set.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this,” you said, turning to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of what he was feeling. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. I have a lot to say, and I kept repeating it in my head. I was driving myself insane,” you laughed a bit at your own expense.

Spencer nodded, his throat tight as he gestured for you to sit on the couch. He took a seat across from you, his hands clasped together in his lap as he waited for you to speak, his heart pounding in his chest.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, the ones that would convey everything you had been feeling, everything you had realized over the past few weeks. “Spencer, I know things have been different between us since I came back. And I know it’s because of me, because of what happened.”

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell you that it wasn’t your fault, that he had been the one to pull away, but you held up a hand, stopping him.

“Please, just let me finish,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, about what we had, and what we lost. And I realized that… I realized that I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. I miss you, Spencer. I miss my best friend.”

His heart twisted at your words, the pain of losing you sharper than he had expected. “I miss you too,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… it’s complicated.”

“I know it is,” you said, leaning forward, your eyes locking onto his with a determination that took him by surprise. “But that’s why I’m here. I need you to hear me out.”

Spencer nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he braced himself for whatever was coming next.

You took another deep breath, your heart racing as you finally found the courage to say the words that had been weighing on you for so long. “I ended things with my partner.”

His eyes widened in surprise, the words catching him off guard. “You did?”

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief at finally saying it out loud. “Yes. I did. Because I realized that I couldn’t keep lying to myself, or to them. I realized that the reason I was so unhappy, the reason I felt like something was missing, was because… because I was in love with someone else.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding as he tried to process what you were saying. “Y/N…”

“I’m in love with you, Spencer,” you said, your voice steady now, the weight of the truth lifting from your shoulders. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time I think, and it took almost losing you to realize that. I don’t know how you feel, and I’m terrified that I’ve already lost you, but I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. You deserve to know the truth.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as your words hung in the air, the enormity of what you had just confessed settling between you. Spencer’s mind raced, a thousand thoughts colliding all at once, but the one thing that stood out above everything else was the overwhelming relief, the joy, that came with hearing you say those words.

You loved him. You loved him.

“Spencer, please say something,” you whispered, your voice trembling now as the fear of rejection crept in.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of emotions—relief, love, fear. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “that I didn’t think it was possible for you to feel the same way. I’ve been trying so hard to protect myself, to keep my distance, because I didn’t want to get hurt. But all it did was hurt me more, because all I wanted was to be close to you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words sank in, as the truth of what he had been feeling all this time became clear. “Spencer…”

He stood up, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest as if he was afraid you might disappear. “I’m so sorry for pulling away,” he whispered into your hair, his voice choked with emotion. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I need you in my life, Y/N. I need you more than anything.”

You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the tears finally spilled over. “I need you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling with relief, with love, with the overwhelming emotion of finally being in his arms again.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, holding onto each other as the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had felt, finally began to lift. 

“Please don’t ever pull away again,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

He shook his head, his thumb gently brushing away your tears. “I won’t. I promise. I’m done hiding.”

With that, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was long overdue, a kiss that spoke of all the love, all the longing, all the unspoken words that had been building between you for so long. It was a kiss that sealed the promise of a future together, a future where you didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to hold back, a future where you could finally be with the person you loved.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Spencer rested his forehead against yours, his arms still wrapped around you. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. And I’m never letting you go again.”

“I love you, Spencer,” you whispered, the words feeling right, feeling true.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice full of conviction, full of the certainty that this—being with you—was where he was always meant to be.

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