#it came to me in a vision so i rushed it

[actualfkingvoid]

mizuki needs a hug i think

[camelspit]

how sophie can still be on the cover

@skylilac @callas-pancake-tree @arson-anarchy-death @steal-nightmares-leave-dreams @neverseen-nevermore @abubble125 @purplesoup-lad-le @gay-otlc @thefoxysnake @keeper-of-the-lost-dadwin @ravs6709 @corruption-exe @kamikothe1and0nly @that-glasses-dog @presidentroarie @even-if-in-another-time @nyxpixels @slozhnos @katniss-elizabeth-chase @sofia-not-sophie @moontoastt @three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat @purpleunicycle @just-a-honey-badger @loverofallthingssmart @antisocialdork @tamsong @cutebisexualmess @tastetherainbow290 @myfairkatiecat @famousinfamous @kale-of-the-forbidden-cities @tw-5 @squishmallow36 @iggydancebreak @cosmxc-ars3hol3

[king-lena]

colorized images of roger waters coming into the studio one morning while pink floyd is working on ‘echoes’ (circa 1971)

[lunatic-pudge]

Pookie, plz, I love you

(Context: Dude's 6'8" and I'm just barely 5'2")

[powderrblue]

"you're not my homeland anymore"

title from "exile"

Sneeg, Charlie, and Ranboo were exhausted.

None of them had slept in what must have been days. Even Ranboo had nodded off a few times, though they jolted awake every time they leaned against something because of the searing pain that would immediately engulf their senses.

Sneeg intentionally hadn't processed the escape yet, spending most of his time going between all three of their wounds left from their last show to make sure none of them would get infections.

To Charlie, though, every mile further away from Showfall was another mile between him and home. And what about Randy, what if there was still a way to save their dad and they'd lose it if they left his corpse in that building, he questioned in his mind, though he never would have said it out loud. Charlie knew he trusted Sneeg with his life. He always had. That couldn't change now, right? Not for anything-

"Time to go," Sneeg said out of nowhere, and Charlie jumped. He nodded at Sneeg before the older could say anything about it, though. Questioning averted. For now.

"For now" only lasted until Sneeg stopped a couple hours' drive later. Ranboo had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, carefully cushioned on the few ragged blankets Charlie had managed to find in the loft bed despite its being hardly a crawlspace big enough for him. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

"I can tell you're thinking about something," Sneeg said bluntly, forcing him into the present once more.

"No, I'm not, I'm just tired," Charlie said with more of a petulant tone in his voice than he'd meant. It wasn't entirely a lie, he supposed he could argue if Sneeg tried anything.

Sneeg shot him a look that made Charlie's resolution to keep that lie going dissolve entirely.

"Alright, fine, I'm just not- not great, man! Alright? Is that what you wanted to hear? I thought it would be fucking obvious-"

"Talk to me, then."

Charlie stopped in surprise, looking up at Sneeg. He paused for a moment.

"You know what? No. You already know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Charlie couldn't fathom why or how Sneeg appeared so calm. Why he was being so patient. Charlie was panicked and tired and he didn't even know where to start. He was scared for Ranboo, yes, but he wanted to go home. As selfish as that was, he wanted to go back. At least at Showfall, they could have gotten reset and none of the trio would be hurting anymore by now.

He realized he must have said something out loud, because Sneeg looked him in the eyes a second later.

"You know in the end, everything would just get worse. I know you do," Sneeg said. There was no emotion in his voice, but his eyes betrayed him to Charlie. Charlie, who had known those eyes longer than he'd known how to say his own name. Charlie who could have seen the faintest flicker in his brother's eyes and known when something was deeply wrong. Like it was now.

"You wanna go back, too," he spat at Sneeg. "Don't even lie to me."

Sneeg huffed. "So what if I do," he said defensively, looking away from Charlie.

The damage had already been done.

"Then why-" Charlie laughed, almost hysterically- "why are you upset at me for wanting to go back?"

"I know what this is about, okay? Showfall didn't love you, Charlie!" Sneeg interrupted him. "Sure, you were the favorite our entire fucking childhoods, but at what cost? Don't you realize what they did to you because of that, Charlie?!"

"Well, what do you know about what they did? Huh?" Charlie retorted, his tone biting. "They never loved you."

Silence fell over the dimly lit kitchen as though it were a graveyard.

"I shouldn't have said that," Charlie's voice finally said, sounding smaller than Sneeg had ever heard it.

"No, you're right," the older said, a fake smile plastered across his face as he looked up. "You're right. I know they didn't. That's why I carried my boyfriend's corpse around for who knows how many years. That's why they killed the only two people who ever fucking cared about me. That's why I was a fool for thinking you would be any different, then or now. That's why I tried to kill both of us, I thought it would change something."

Charlie did remember. He remembered the way Sneeg had loomed over him, knife in hand. He remembered the way he hadn't retaliated, partially because he knew the drones would save him before he fully died but partially too because he did feel guilt for Showfall's complete refusal to acknowledge Sneeg's existence. He remembered wondering if this could somehow atone for everything he'd ever done to Sneeg as white-hot pain shot like a firework through his small body. He remembered the look of instant regret on his brother's face as he backed away in terror. The drones had gotten him a moment later, just before Charlie's vision and any further memory of the event faded out.

Charlie sucked in a breath, swallowing thickly as though that would make the memory leave. "Sneeg, I- I'm sorry-"

" 'Sorry' won't bring Randy back, Charlie," Sneeg blurted out. 'Sorry' doesn't fix over ten years of being abandoned by your own brother."

"I know, I- I know," Charlie managed out. He didn't know what else to say, though he knew it was the wrong thing before it even left his mouth.

Sneeg seemed to recognize that in Charlie's expression, and he finally looked down in defeat.

"Charlie, I'm tired," he finally admitted.

Charlie was already hugging him by the time he closed his eyes to take a breath.

"I hate you," he told Charlie, wrapping his arms around him. A chuckle interrupted Charlie's sobs for a few seconds because here, at the end, they both knew he didn't mean it.

Finally, Charlie pulled away. "Ranboo could- could probably use some company," he pointed out, wiping his eyes. "Why don't you go lay down for a bit. At least try and rest."

"You too," Sneeg insisted. "They- they won't find us out here," he said softly.

The younger nodded, knowing without looking that Sneeg needed the company too. Whether to be sure Charlie wouldn't leave or otherwise, he was too tired to decipher.

Still, Charlie figured, wherever Sneeg was was where Charlie himself was meant to be, for good or bad.

And if Sneeg meant to find a way to live without Showfall, who was he to refuse him that after everything?

[todayisafridaynight]

and if i wrote a short fic or drew up a short comic about jo and ikumi meeting up again like twenty years after The Incident what would we think

[screampied]

☆ cw. fem! reader, college au, first lesson, dumbification, praise, he's so nerdy, squırting, unprotected, mdni.

nerd! nanami who ends up teaching you a few ‘fundamentals’ of squirting after you end up gushing out by accident.

“oh, my,” he’d huskily croon, taking a short glance at your body that’s laid flat on his timber desk. mousy eyes zero up ‘n down your entire frame before he groans, feeling your legs snake around his slim torso. after another hourly long session of cramming your brain with pounds of boring information, you’d probably forget by the next day, you told nanami that you wanted to try out ‘penetration.’ and now, that came with you gushing straight out with his meaty shaft buried snugly deep inside of you. he grows quiet, smacking his lips as he feels your slobbering cunt dripping wetly like a running never-ending faucet. it’s almost adorable with the way your face scrunches up and you’re clawing at the buckle of his drooping belt with shaky hands. “we haven’t gone over that area yet, sweetheart,” and you’re moaning, feeling your back tickle against the scattered piles of marked papers that laid directly underneath you. “ah, ah. don’t close ‘em,” he purrs, staring as your stick-glossed quavery legs try to snap themselves shut. “let me examine the wet problem a bit closer.”

“w- was that supposed to happen?” you breathe through rushed pants, frantically chewing on your bottom lip as you watch him pull out. he’s slow, feeling your slight muscles tense and spasm as you drenched the entirety of his stilled dick with molasses of your webby slick. “f- fuck,” you whimper, and nanami’s pressing a pointed thumb down against the pearly top part of your tender clit. gradually, he’s swirling a plethora of exaggerated shapes alllll around your tender entrance, lowering his head once his turgid cock’s fully out of you.

with a placid hum, nanami nods. “don’t fret, sweet thing. it’s normal,” and you prepare a deep, heavy breath as you try to peek down, watching nanami re-adjust his clear-framed glasses. “but, do you think you can do that again? i’m . . having a bit of trouble with my vision,” and he softly presses a chaste kiss against your cunt. shortly after, a slimy dewy web of stringy juices merrily glues against his lips. “i believe if my hypothesis is correct . . if ‘m closer like thiiiis,” and you moan, feeling the cold lenses of his glasses press right up against your puffed folds. “you’ll help me solve just how much of a wet girl you can get for me this time.”

openly, nanami eyes at your sopping pussy that’s just pouring from all areas with so many dewdrops of slick. a shimmery stream of your syrupy arousal cascades down the slot of your entrance and oh- it’s so pretty. at least to him.

if you squinted enough, you could see the obscene mirroring reflection of the shiny glossed view that rests between your legs from the clear lenses of his glasses. “clitoral glands,” he starts to ramble, rubbing a thumb near the top bulb-shaped part of your twitching heat. “clitoral body,” and you moan, feeling him swerve his digit down lower. “but let’s skip to . . . her,” nanami coos huskily, and you gasp once his round thumb plugs itself inside you after just a few loose inches. you swallowed that single digit right up oh-so blissfully.

like a hidden trick of a magician—his finger disappears inside of your cunt, and it presses against a particular small texture right above your lower opening. “. . that pretty urethra of yours.”

there - that’s where you felt the exact pressure of yourself gushing out, creaming down his cock with such a vivid risqué spray.

you’re still getting over it as your jaw dangles open—mouth cutely wholly ajar and all. as nanami continues to toy with your slobbering clit, he silently grumbles whatever extra clitoris facts underneath his breath. a single finger that was tucked inside of your gummy orifice gradually transitions into two, and you let off the sweetest moan that rang against his ears.

“such a pretty pussy from an even prettier girl,” and his words smokily deepen as he loudly ‘pops!’ both fingers out of your drenched slit. it’s all puffy now, drooling from each slippery flap. nanami sits up before re-aligning his milky-covered tip against your sobbing cunt.. “mini pop quiz,” he grumbles, letting off a deep sigh once his flushed crownhead languidly slides its way between the split of your folds. you’re laid back against the desk with a pout twisting across both sides of your lips.

pop… quiz?

nanami adjusts his crooked glasses by shoving them slightly back with a middle finger before humming. “riddle me this,” and a sweet moan drags its way past your throat once he’s smearing his bulbous tip across your sticky entrance.

left-to-right and it’s hypnotic. “what is the majorly important gland of the clit that helps lubricate the vagina properly?” and nanami presses a large hand on your tummy, simpering at the cute silence for an answer. with a snicker, he tilts his head at your quirked brow. “oh- c’mon. this is easy, we talked about this two days ago.”

“t . . the um-” you stammer, the throbbing of your clit increasing with each delicious second that passed. with your mind joggling its empty memory, you inhale a moan that was desperately trying to escape from your spit-stained lips. “the clitoral glands?”

“close, but no, dumb girl,” and with a smack, nanami whacks his swollen tip against the front of your weeping pussy. you finally release that moan you were holding onto with heave after heave puffing out your chest. “try again. this time, actually use that brain for me, yeah?”

you pout, and after about four seconds you left off a whiny grump. “is it . . the skene’s glands?”

“good girl,” and you let off a needy mewl once he rubs a palm against your pussy. his personal way of praising you without words, even after calling you a ‘good girl.’

it’s a soft, enticing rub that smears the entirety of your slick around his entire palm, coating it right away.

you’re so wet - pathetically drenched that you stick your candied juices all over the prints of his hand.

“it’s very important that you know about the skene’s glands. just like how important it is for me to teach you how soaked you are,” and you don’t even realize it, but the second he spanks against your cunt once more with his palm, you’re squirting . . again.

it’s a thick shiny geyser that ends up spurting out of you with a loud pssssh! and your toes curled in ecstatic rapture. you’re whining at how sudden and abrupt it was, and nanami just shakes his head with a wry smile. a hand maneuvers in a circular rotation against your pussy as you finish your three-second monumental high. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you whimper out the same colorful syllables through your lips as your eyelids droop.

as you’re panting, still feeling the scattered bundles of paper rub and prick against the back of your skin, you eye nanami through murky peripherals. pretty ‘n glossed-eyed, you let off a shaky puff before moaning. “did . . did i pass?”

“not quite,” nanami takes his glasses off. they were still a bit soaked from earlier, a bit of your own droplets of literal juices fogging the lenses before he gave it a sweet lick. filthy. nanami squints at your twitching body before slithering a fat thumb down your tender, convulsing pussy for the nth and last time. “think we still have more basics to go over,” and he positions his head right back down between the eagle-spread valley of your legs, whistling riiiight between your driveling, puffy slit.

“besides,” and you whine once he gives your cunt its final, sloppy spank. “my only criticism— is that, we could work on that squirt velocity a little bit more,” and he pats your cunt before staring straight at your pulsating entrance, hungrily licking his lips.

“i wouldn’t mind training her, heh.”

[obsesssedblerd]

“Oh, Nanaminnnn!” 

At the familiar, cheery voice, Kento looks up to see no one other than Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorframe of his office with his usual grin. “Saw with my Six Eyes that you came to fill out those reports here instead of doing it from home. Been so long since you showed your face here and—” He cuts himself off with an excited gasp, then walks closer as his smile grows wider. “You brought my little mochi!”

In Kento’s left arm, his daughter—who had woken up from her nap about ten minutes ago—coos excitedly when Satoru enters her vision, reaching her hands towards him. “Well, hello there, sweetheart! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” He slides his hands under her plush arms, then picks her up, skillfully—and safely, Kento notes—holding her in his arms. Tiny hands brush against Satoru’s blindfold, and he lifts it so his niece can see his blue eyes. They immediately soften when the baby girl laughs when he gently tickles her tummy. 

It’s so cute that Kento can’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. 

“Wait—Did I hear that right?! Nanamin’s here?!” 

“Itadori, wait for us!” 

“Kugisaki, you dropped your bag—Oh, come on, guys, slow down!” 

Rapid footsteps approach, then the three first years appear at the door, gasping in unison. 

“Oh, my gosh!” Yuuji, the pink-haired teenager shouts as he points at the baby in Satoru’s arms. “Nanamin, when did you have a baby?!” 

Nobara’s question comes a split-second after Yuuji’s is finished. “Is that why [Y/L/N]-sensei quit a while ago?!” 

Megumi walks to stand beside Satoru to analyze the little bundle in his teacher’s arms. “She’s… adorable.” He mumbles, gently smiling when she wraps her hand around his finger. “Very adorable. She has [Y/L/N]-sensei’s laugh.”

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Satoru asks, proudly showing her off to the first years. “So sweet and friendly, just like her Uncle Gojo.” 

“Hopefully she won’t be as reckless as you,” Kento says as he holds his hands out, and Satoru returns his daughter to him. “[Y/N] and I already believe that she’ll be the exact opposite of me.” 

Yuuji sits beside Kento to get a closer look at her. “She’s so cute. How old is she, Nanamin?” 

“Four months as of yesterday.” 

Nobara crosses her arms and pouts. “How come only he knew?” She asks, gesturing to Satoru. 

“Well, when I had to go away on a long mission, she was only a month old,” Kento explains. “He kept an eye on her and [Y/N] for me; made sure that they were both safe. I’m very grateful. We had plans to tell you about our daughter soon.” 

“Where is she now?” Megumi asks. 

“At home. I wanted her to have the morning and most of the afternoon to herself. I’ll be heading back shortly.” 

Satoru and the students share similar looks with each other, and Kento knows what they want to ask. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. “Hi, baby,” you greet when the line connects, “how’s our girl?” 

“Hi, love. She’s amazing, as always,” he says as he looks down, playfully poking the little one’s nose. “I’m with Gojo and our students. They want to know if it’s alright to come and see you.�� 

“We’ll cook dinner if you’re too tired!” Nobara chimes in hopefully.

“Actually, better yet, I can just order something for everyone,” Satoru suggests. 

“And we’ll clean up,” Yuuji and Megumi say at the same time. 

You laugh, then answer Kento, “That’s more than alright. Bring them here.” 

“Thought you’d say that. See you in a bit.” 

“Yes!” Yuuji cheers. “Alright, I’m gonna ride with Nanamin so I can sit next to the baby!” 

Nobara glares at him. “Not if I get to the car first!!” 

When they sprint out the door, Megumi groans before rushing after them. “Didn’t I just tell you guys to slow down? We’re going to the same place!” 

Satoru laughs, then waits for Kento to finish up so they can walk out together. 

—

there was an ask in my inbox requesting a cute drabble for dad! nanami ft. gojo (as a trusted friend of his) and the first years, but it disappeared. hope u like it, anon <3 

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Lust for love. // Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary: Aemond's life has always been a bitter and sour one, the only sweet thing in his life was you, his wife, perhaps too sweet for his liking, yet he neglected you in the past but a series of events lead you both together into love.

WARNINGS: mdni, smut, unprotected p in v, cunnilingus, interrupted orgasm, horny aemond, martial duties, clit stimulation, tiddy succin, body worship(?), gentle and kind aemond but he gets rough during sex, + not proofread, lmk if I missed any!

WC: 2.9k

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune

The cold breeze brushed against Aemond's face as he walked hastily towards your chamber, his boots clacking against the stone floor heavily while his heart banged in his ribcage.

He was feeling light headed, unable to form any thoughts and only the words of the maester rang inside his skull from earlier. ‘Your lady wife seems to be sick’ he had informed him and those mere words were enough to make Aemond spurt up from his chair in the meeting room and immediately rush towards you.

Aemond, frankly, did not know why he was feeling anxious at the information that you were sick, he did not even like you much and only merely married you for the connections and benefits your family provided.

You were just a mere duty to him, so when did he start caring about you?

He stood in front of your chamber door waiting anxiously as the guard gave him a bow before he opened the door, the mental hinges creaking as it slowly moved. He steps inside hurriedly and immediately lets out a sigh of relief when he sees you sitting up. You just stare at him confused.

“Husband? What are you doing here?” The tone of your voice indicated surprise, because Aemond had never visited your chambers even once since the beginning of your marriage and only called you to his chamber when he wanted to consummate.

“I had been informed by the maester that you were sick.” He replies nonchalantly, tone betraying the true feelings that were whirling on the inside. He wanted to get close to you, embrace you.

“I'm not with child.” You reluctantly tell him while looking down, suddenly feeling as though you are a disappointment. It felt humiliating to tell him that, especially when he came all the way to your chambers, he probably expected that you would be with a child.

Except that was not the case.

Aemond was confused on why you were bringing up that topic now, but then it clicked in his head and he cleared his throat, grabbing your attention before shaking his head, “Oh no, wife, I wasn't here because of that.. I was worried.” He admits and your eyes widen in shock.

Worried for you?

For as long as you can remember Aemond never seemed the type to show affection or concern for anyone, perhaps it was due to his past grievances, you had only heard about his eye through rumours, he never opened up to you about anything. You were a duty for him, someone he needs a legitimate heir from; because it is not as though he doesn’t have whores to seek pleasure from so what is the use of you? ; or at least that is what you had assumed and questioned.

But to Aemond, you were his sweet gentle wife, he was afraid of hurting you, in his vision, you were like a white swan, pure, elegant and graceful, he did not want to scare you lest you fly away from him. He did not know when he started perceiving you in this way, but as time went on, he had developed quite a soft spot for you.

“My apologies, Lord husband, I did not intend to worry you.” You apologised, he shook his head gently. “No need to apologise, how are you feeling now?” He questions and you simply blink at him, “I'm well, better than before.” You reply with a soft smile. Aemond's lip curved upwards slightly as he nodded, “Very well.” He says in a dismissive tone.

Awkward silence falls between you both as you look down, he clears his throat before speaking, “If you'll pardon me- I have to—”

“Would you like to take a walk with me?” The question leaves your mouth in a hurry before you could stop it, a desperate attempt at clinging onto this fleeting moment of affection. He seems slightly taken aback but he nods his head, “I'd love to.” He replies and you nod, stepping in his direction and standing next to him. “Shall we go?” You inquire, “Yes, wife.” He answers and you wait for him to take the first step, which he does; and soon you follow him out of the room.

You both stroll down the garden, admiring the scenery, the breeze was gentle today, and the weather seemed perfect, Aemond linked your arm in his, holding you close to him.

Your skin was soft to the touch and it drove him insane, he couldn't help but stare at the way your breasts pushed up against the material of your dress, he never really properly fucked you like you deserve.

Yet now, he just wants nothing to do but push you against the castle wall and fuck you relentlessly in the garden. Aemond realised that he never heard you moan, or show any type of reaction when he consummated with you.

He wondered how your soft voice would shriek in pleasure, calling out his name in pleasure, how you'd cling so tightly to him, he wished he could witness such a sight. He wished he hadn't gone to whores to receive pleasure while he left his wife dry. He missed out on a lot of things due to his decisions.

He mentally made a note to stop visiting brothels as it would taint your honour, he could simply seek the same pleasure from you. He became more bothered as his imagination went wild.

“... husband…? husband…!” He snaps out of his imagination, looking at your confused expression, “Y-Yes? Please excuse me, I was lost in thought.” He apologises and you give him a soft smile, “You were saying something?” He asks and you nod, “I was thinking about; well; if you excuse my rudeness, I realised we don't know much about each other.” You truthfully tell him.

Aemond furrows his brows in question, “What do you mean by that wife?”

“I want to get to know you, husband.” You stare at him in the eye and his eye widens slightly, and just then he recalls the memory of Aegon's words.

“That woman in the brothel knows more about you than your own wife, don't you find it amusing?” He was taunting Aemond, and at that time Aemond ignored those words, but now that you've openly admitted that you don't know him much made his heart shatter.

“Of course wife, what do you wanna know?” He decides to let his guard down, ready to tell you whatever you ask for. “Everything.” You reply, biting your lip anxiously, your hand travels up to his face, caressing his cheek before you trail your thumb down his scar. He knew what that implication meant and he smiles at you in a gentle manner, his own hand coming up to grab your wrist.

“Of course.”

Days pass by just like that, your marriage with Aemond had improved tremendously after your little effort to get to know him better, you felt bad for him when he began to reveal such vulnerable things, yet you never judged him.

He had shown you all of his vulnerability so openly, from the matter of his eye to everything else. You listened in silence, and he appreciated that.

As Aemond grew more comfortable, he began to show his emotional side, which included both his vulnerability and anger. He would utter treasonous things about his own brother.

This night was one of those cold nights, the cold breeze flew into the martial chambers you were waiting in, the maids prepared you for the consummation as they do, you and Aemond consummate according to your moon cycle since your only duty is to provide him with a heir.

And besides, he probably did not want to lay with you in an intimate manner, or for pleasure. You felt insecure because of that.

You were scared that after all this progress, everything would return to the same way it was before because of this night, you doubted that it would happen but your thoughts plagued you.

You winced when you felt the maid tug at a hair strand accidentally, “Sorry my lady.” She apologises to you, “It is alright.” You respond softly, you stare at your own reflection in the mirror, eyes trailing down your features.

The door to the chamber opens, and Aemond strides in hurriedly, the maids quickly finish fixing you up and leave the room immediately, you get up from your seat and turn around to see Aemond undoing his clothes.

“Let me help you.” You offered, usually he would decline and continue to undress himself, and you expected that again, but his actions shocked you.

He immediately dropped his hands to the side and turned to look at you, waiting for you to walk over to him and help him. You blinked rapidly before rushing over to where he stood before you stood in front of him.

Your hands immediately began to work on removing his vest, your fingers delicately undid the loops, you were too focused on the job that you failed to notice Aemond's piercing gaze. He watched with intent as you worked on removing his clothes, his eye taking in your form. His breeches felt tight.

You pushed his coat off his shoulders and peeled away the vest, revealing his tunic beneath the layers, his garments fell to the ground with a shuffle, you stepped back, leaving him in his undergarments.

He grabbed the hem of his tunic before he pulled it off and then began to undo his breeches, untying the strings. You took that as a gesture to lay down on the bed, facing up.

This is what you did when you both consummated before, you would lay down, he would spread your legs, insert himself, finish and leave.

You expected that to be the case, but you were surprised when climbed on top of you, his face right in front of yours, platinum locks curtaining around you. He stared at your lips for a moment before he leaned in, capturing your lips with his.

You were surprised, and didn't know what to do, so you stayed still, but he bit your lip, indicating his disappointment at your freezing up, and so you immediately tried to mimic his movements.

Your lips danced against his, yet it couldn't match the fervent passion he moved with, it was desperate, intimate and most importantly, filled with love and lust.

All your prior insecurities melted away under his warm lips which were filled with desire and want, he wanted you, he seeked you out.

You both pulled away to catch your breaths, his lips were glossy from your saliva and slightly swollen. Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest.

Aemond moved your night off your shoulder before ripping it apart, revealing your breasts which you immediately covered out of instinct. But he gently grabbed your wrists and pinned your hands to the side of your head.

He leaned down, tracing kissing down your jawline, to your neck and to the soft flesh of your chest. His hot breath against your bud made you shiver in delight.

He hooked his tongue on your hardened nipple before engulfing it with his mouth, you let out a squeal of surprise at his actions but you didn't stop him.

He suckled on it gently, using his teeth to trap the bud in between before licking it with his tongue, he grunted in delight, his grip loosening one of your hands, freeing it from his hold.

He grabbed your unoccupied breast with his now free hand, giving it soft squeezes and playing with the bud, rolling and pinching it. You were new to this, not having any understanding of what was happening, after all, you've only read about it, never experienced such intimate acts yourself.

You rubbed your thighs together, trying to ease the ache that was forming in between them, you realised how sticky the area felt, and how it made it difficult for the friction of rubbing to work.

He notices this, lets go of your breast with a pop, he smirks before he rises off from you and settles in between your legs, this was the position you were more used to.

He spreads your legs wide apart, pulling up your nightgown, revealing all of you. He pressed his thumb against your clit which made your breath, you stared at him confused until you felt him rub small circles upon it.

Your body felt pangs of delightful stimulation, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling, all of this was foreign to you. Aemond takes a deep breath before he closes in on your cunt, before licking a stripe upwards to your clit. You jolt from the sudden pleasure.

Aemond wrapped his lips around it, sucking on the bud slowly, you whined, grabbing his head for support as his mouth worked wonders down there. You tasted absolutely divine to Aemond, your essence trailing down his cheek as your body produced so much of it. You whimpered, thrashing around lightly as his warm tongue flickered with your bud.

Aemond's tongue swirled around your clit before he captured it with his mouth once again; “Oh! Yes!” You moaned, throwing your head back in pleasure when you felt him nibble on your bud. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth rose in your lower abdomen, you felt as if there was a fire inside you, waiting to combust any moment.

Just when you feet the flames beginning to erupt, Aemond stops his manoeuvres, putting out the fire, you furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering why he stopped.

But when you looked at Aemond, he seemed like an entirely different being at that moment, he had risen up back to his haunches again taking deep breaths almost as if he was trying to contain himself.

He was.

He had never felt such an overwhelming of desire in his body, every time he touched you; his mind scrambled into pieces, he wanted to fuck you so badly.

“Aemond?” You call out softly, confused, wondering if he was disappointed by your behaviour but it seems to snap him out of his daze and he stares at you. “I apologise; I'm finding it hard to control myself.” He admits his thoughts.

“Then don't.”

Aemond swore he heard you wrong.

“What?” He questions you.

“Don't try to Aemond, Don't hold yourself back, I want this, I want you.” You admit shyly.

The atmosphere fell silent for a second and you could feel the awkwardness from your own words beginning to sink in, that was until Aemond moved suddenly.

You shrieked as he pulled your hips onto his lap, wasting no time in inserting himself, you gasped at the sudden stretch, feeling yourself become full of him. You grabbed onto his shoulders for support.

He held your waist tightly, grabbing onto your hips for leverage as he began to move, thrusting himself in and out.

This was a movement you were familiar with, yet somehow it still feels new because of the strange sensation, it felt more intimate and passionate, his thrusts held meaning and it was as if every time he pushed inside you; he was reaffirming his love and desire for you.

He pushed you into the mattress, grabbing your legs and shoving them to your chest as he thrusted hard, his skin slapped against yours loudly, the room echoing the noises.

You threw your head back at the sensation, and you felt the fire in your stomach rekindle and you couldn't help but desperately chase it. “Ah, right there.” You moaned, feeling him hit a sweet spot inside you that fueled the fire in you, you gasped for air as every thrust of his knocked it out of your lungs. “You feel so good, you're driving me insane, wife.” Aemond grunts, his thrusts never once faltering.

Everything about this night together was very different from the previous ones, Aemond had never felt this good and neither have you, he regrets not trying to get to know you earlier. He felt like he was in heaven with the way you clenched around him.

He felt his high approaching, and he desperately ran after it thrusting deeper inside as he groaned and moaned.

Your body jolted up and down the bed and you felt the fire beginning to spread out slowly, you closed your eyes, when you felt the fire suddenly go out, you were confused but as Aemond thrusted one more time it erupted in your body like volcano, coursing through your veins and to your mind.

You moaned loudly, grabbing the sheets and arching your back as your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the intensity, you have never felt this way before.

Your vision went completely white before you could see once again, you felt Aemond finish inside you, his cocking twitching as he spurted his seed deep inside you.

“Seven hells.” He groans, riding his orgasm off, you watch as he clenches his eye shut taking deep breaths.

He looked so ethereal.

He immediately falls down next to you, catching his breath, he pulls you close and kisses you on the forehead, “You did so well for me.” He praises you, and you blush shyly.

Neither of you moved from the bed, having no intention to.

Typically Aemond would leave the room right after.

Yet he didn't.

He was stroking your shoulder gently as you dozed off, head resting on his shoulder.

He looks at your closed eyelids and thinks you're asleep.

“I love you.” He confesses, realising his true feelings.

Your lips quirk up into a smile before you open your eyes slightly.

“I love you too.”

You then doze off into slumber immediately, Aemond's heart picks up its pace, embarrassed and shy that you had heard him, but your response made him smile.

[candy-ing]

you don't really know where the seed of insecurity took place in your brain but it's roots are so in deep you can't do anything about them. it's not that you can't moan, you want to but you also don't want to ruin your boyfriend's mood. everything about your relationship is new and you don't really have much of an experience in bed so you hold back the sounds of pleasure that try to escape your throat everytime because you're scared, so scared that he'll not like how you sound. you never initiate things in the fear of being too needy. what you don't know is that it's driving your boyfriend crazy. you're the love of his life, someone he's willing to die and kill for and not hearing your voice while he's pleasuring you makes him think he's.. not enough. that doesn't stop him from giving it his all.

it's a normal evening, you and him cuddling on the couch. though now you don't remember how you're on your back with his face between your legs, lapping at your cl¡t like he needs it more than you do. you're holding your voice back, biting every whimper and moan instead of focusing on the pleasure. "you okay baby? want me to continue?" he asks because he's unsure now, you want it right? he doesn't want to hurt or force you and the nod you give isn't enough for him. "use your words, pretty". if you speak now you might let a whimper slip so you take deep breaths, "yes, please, don't stop" you manage to squeak out. with the verbal consent he's back at it with urgency this time. his longest finger rubs around your slit causing you to writhe and bite your bottom lip so hard you think you taste blood. "can I?" he rumbles between his licks, and you know better than to just nod "please, ..please" you beg and he slowly enters his digit in your warm heat leaving you to arch under his ministrations. his tongue swirling around your puffed clit as he curls his finger in, its too much but not enough, your fingers grasp his hair to ground yourself though you don't get a chance to breath as he enters another, cooing sweet nothings, you're overwhelmed as he keeps a steady pace, he's desperate to hear you, to know he's doing good. your grip on his hair causes him to moan around you and you let a whimper slip, he freezes, you freeze too. just when you're about to spiral, he kisses you so hard it's like teeth clashing, you don't get to overthink as you taste yourself on his tongue and he starts to curl his fingers in you again. he keeps his pace steady though all he wants rn is to hear you moan because goddamn that whimper leaving your pretty little mouth had him cum in his pants if he hadn't controlled himself. he trails kisses along your thighs, then makes you hold them as he adds the pleasure of his tongue on your bud to the pleasure his fingers are giving you and all you can do is writhe and gasp as he knocks the breath out of you by finding the spot that drives you insane. "I'm so close" you gasp out and the way he growls in response around your clit has you arching. his constant movements push you to the edge and as your vision whitens, you gush out around his fingers moaning his name and he helps you ride it out. the after effect is that you're shaking, rightfully so. once you've calmed down you realise simon hasn't lifted his face, you gather last bits of strength to lift his face up to see he's.. embarrassed? and when you ask if he's okay, he confesses, "i.. came, you moaned my name for the first time and it made me-" you don't know how to process his words, they somehow heal your insecurity and drive you crazy with arousal at the same time.

here's a plate of smut y'all requested, it's rushed and not my best but yes snjdj, not proofread and also if there are any mistakes please hmu bc english isn't my first language. likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

@lauratang @honethatty12 @sir-heichou-smith @kentuckyhobbit @acoopsahoy @tysukier @robinfeldt98 @nexthyperfix @cryingoverafictionalcharacter2 @hajixmee

@mvstercvrd

[quickestgold]

1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?

Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)

Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.

You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.

You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.

But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.

The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.

So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.

Maybe you were embarrassed.

Definitely ashamed.

Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.

“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.

The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.

“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.

“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”

Why is everything spinning?

“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.

“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.

“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.

You can't remember any of it.

You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.

Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.

But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.

“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.

Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.

Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.

“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.

But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.

Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.

You’ve become friends.

You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.

“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.

You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.

Until you get to say goodbye.

But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.

You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.

You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?

Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.

“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.

Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.

“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.

Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.

Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.

He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.

Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.

His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.

“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.

Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.

Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.

He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.

Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.

“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.

Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.

“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”

“Time of death: 10:35”

Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.

He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.

Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.

“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”

Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”

“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”

“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.

Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.

But there’s something else. Panic.

Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.

But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”

In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.

Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.

His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.

The one that was supposed to be forever.

“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.

“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”

The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.

The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.

There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.

“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”

He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.

He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.

Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.

Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.

“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.

Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.

“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.

Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”

“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.

“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.

“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.

Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.

Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.

The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.

Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”

Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.

The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.

“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.

You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.

Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.

“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.

Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.

“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.

“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.

His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.

With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.

Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

[gf2bellamy]

hi!

Can you do one where reader gets injured but doesnt want to bother anyone so she doesnt sag anything. The catch unsub, and maybe spencer notices something is off but is not sure. Eventually she loses so much blood and collapses on spencer or something like that. Not sure how it ends. Fluffy and angst

thankkkssss

xoxoxoxo

collapse — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , reader is hurt , lots of blood , mention of stitches , reader got stabbed a/n: hi hi !! hope you like this <3 i might've gotten carried away

The adrenaline was the only thing keeping you upright.

You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic tang of blood blooming across your tongue as you suppressed a groan of pain. The unsub thrashed violently between you and Spencer as he fought against your grip.

Your side burned—a deep, throbbing ache—but you refused to loosen your hold.

Just a little longer.

To your relief, the unsub finally stilled, his resistance crumbling as Spencer adjusted his grip and shoved the door open with his shoulder.

Spencer’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

You could see the concern etched into the lines of his face—the way his brows furrowed, the slight downturn of his lips. You had taken a nasty hit during the struggle, but you had brushed it off, insisting you were fine.

You weren’t fine.

But now wasn’t the time.

You forced a soft smile, willing your voice to stay steady. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Derek was already at the car, his expression hardening as he took in the unsub’s snarling face. He reached out, wrenching the man from your grasp and shoving him into the backseat with a muttered, “Nice try, pal.”

The moment the weight was gone, your knees nearly buckled.

You leaned against the car for support as the world tilted slightly. Spencer stood in front of you, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You swallowed hard, willing the black spots at the edges of your vision to fade. “Yes, Spence. I’m okay.”

You pushed off the car, determined to prove it—to him, to yourself. You took a step forward, reaching out to touch his arm, to reassure him—

And then, everything gave out.

Your legs crumpled beneath you, the pain exploding in a white-hot burst as your vision blurred. The last thing you registered was the warmth of Spencer’s arms catching you, his voice cracking as he shouted your name.

Then—

Darkness.

Spencer barely caught you in time, your weight slamming against his chest as his hands scrambled to keep you upright.

“Hey—hey! Look at me!” His voice was too loud, too sharp, cracking under the weight of sudden terror.

Your skin was pale, your breathing shallow. His fingers brushed against your side—and came away wet.

Blood.

His stomach dropped.

“Morgan! Hotch!” The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

Derek whipped around, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “What the hell—?”

“She’s bleeding!” Spencer’s hands were shaking as he lowered you to the ground, his mind racing through symptoms, probabilities, how much time—

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, struggling to focus on his face.

“Sorry…” you slurred, the word barely audible.

“No, no, no—don’t apologize, just stay awake, okay? Look at me.” His palm cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in frantic, soothing strokes. “You’re gonna be fine. Just keep your eyes open.”

Hotch was already on the radio, calling for an ambulance, but every second stretched into an eternity. Spencer could feel your pulse under his fingertips—too fast, too thready.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He should have noticed. He should have known.

His breath hitched as your eyes started to close.

“No—hey, no! Stay with me!” His voice broke, fingers tightening around yours. “Please.”

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

The sound should have been a relief. But as the paramedics rushed toward you. Spencer couldn’t breathe.

“We need to move—now!”

Hands reached for you, but Spencer’s grip tightened instinctively, his fingers tangled in the fabric of your shirt. A paramedic pried his hand away—gently but firmly.

“Sir, we need to treat her.”

He forced himself to let go.

The seconds it took to lift you onto the stretcher felt like hours. The moment they strapped you in, Spencer was moving, climbing into the ambulance before anyone could stop him.

“I’m not leaving her.” His voice left no room for argument.

The doors slammed shut. The ambulance lurched forward.

And then—there was nothing but the sound of the heart monitor’s steady beep and the too-slow rise and fall of your chest.

The paramedics worked quickly, cutting away fabric to reveal the wound—a deep, angry gash just below your ribs, still bleeding.

His stomach twisted.

The EMT pressed a fresh bandage to your side, and even unconscious, you let out a weak whimper.

Spencer’s hand shot out before he could stop himself, his fingers tangling with yours. Your skin was ice-cold, your grip limp.

“Hang on,” he whispered, voice cracking. His thumb traced frantic circles over your knuckles, as if he could somehow transfer his own warmth into you. “Just hang on, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

The ambulance hit a pothole, jostling you slightly. Your face contorted in pain, and Spencer’s free hand hovered uselessly above your shoulder, desperate to comfort but terrified of hurting you more.

“Can’t you go faster?” he snapped, his voice fraying at the edges.

The paramedic didn’t look up. “We’re almost there.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes darting between your face and the heart monitor. The numbers taunted him—too low, too slow.

This was his fault.

He should’ve seen it. Should’ve known. He’d watched you take that hit during the struggle, seen the way you’d stumbled afterward, the way your hand had pressed discreetly to your side. But you’d smiled at him—soft and reassuring—and like an idiot, he’d believed you.

A sudden twitch of your fingers against his snapped him back to the present.

His breath caught. “Hey—?” He leaned closer, his free hand brushing your cheek. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

The ambulance screeched to a halt. The doors flew open.

And just like that, you were ripped away from him again, whisked into the bright, sterile chaos of the ER.

A nurse stopped him at the doors. “You’ll need to wait here.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue—but the doors swung shut in his face.

Alone in the sterile, suffocating silence of the waiting room, Spencer Reid— man who always had an answer—could do nothing but stand there, your blood still drying on his hands, and wait.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. He couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe.

So he paced.

Back and forth, back and forth—wearing a path into the linoleum like a man possessed. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers stiff with dried blood. Your blood. The sight of it made his stomach twist.

The team came and went in shifts, each checking on you, each casting worried glances his way.

Then, the adrenaline crashed.

Exhaustion hit him like a physical blow, but he refused to sit. The hospital chairs were too stiff, the silence too loud, the waiting unbearable. His mind, always too sharp for its own good, raced through worst-case scenarios.

He should’ve seen it. Should’ve known.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the static in his head. Spencer hadn’t even heard him arrive.

The unit chief stood beside him, his usual stoicism softened by the faintest crease of concern between his brows. “Any updates?” he asked as his eyes flickered toward the treatment doors.

Spencer shook his head, his throat too tight to speak.

Hotch didn’t push, before stepping aside as Garcia burst through the entrance, her heels clicking frantically against the linoleum.

“Oh my god, is she okay?” Her voice was high with panic, eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses. She zeroed in on Spencer immediately, her hands fluttering toward him like she could physically tether him to the present. “Spencer, talk to me—”

“They haven’t told us anything yet,” Hotch answered for him.

Garcia’s lower lip trembled. “But she’s tough—she’s gonna be fine, right? She has to be—”

Morgan arrived next, his usual swagger replaced by a grim tension. He took one look at Spencer’s ashen face, the blood still streaked across his sleeves, and exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn't say anything.

Spencer's gaze was fixed on the clock above the nurses’ station, barely noticing anything around him.

Twenty-seven minutes.

Too long. Too long.

Rossi appeared with coffee no one drank. JJ murmured reassurances no one believed.

And Spencer paced.

At the fifty-three-minute mark, a doctor finally emerged.

Spencer’s heart stopped.

She looked at him first—of course she did—and offered a small, exhausted smile.

"She's going to be okay."

The words struck Spencer like a physical blow to the chest. Oxygen flooded back into his lungs so violently it burned, his knees nearly buckling under the sudden weight of relief. Behind him, Garcia gasped - a wet, shuddering "Oh thank God" muffled against Morgan's sleeve as she fisted her hands in his leather jacket.

Spencer remained frozen. Rooted to the spot.

Because the doctor was still speaking, her lips forming words that dissolved into meaningless static before they reached him.

—significant blood loss—

—no organ damage—

—lucky the blade missed the artery—

Lucky. The word turned to ash in his mouth.

There was nothing lucky about how your body had gone limp in his arms, your blood seeping through his shirt as he'd screamed for help. Nothing lucky about the way your eyelids had fluttered weakly before going still—

"—kept asking for you."

His head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. "What?"

The doctor's expression softened around tired eyes. "During moments of consciousness. She was disoriented, but she kept saying your name."

Something vital fractured behind his sternum. You'd asked for him. Even half-conscious. Even bleeding out.

"When can I see her?" The demand ripped from his throat, jagged and desperate.

"She's in recovery now. Give us another hour to get her settled, then one visitor at a time."

An hour. Sixty more minutes of this agony. Spencer's fingers twitched at his sides, still tacky with your blood.

"Reid." Hotch's voice dropped into that particular tone that brooked no argument. "Sit down before you collapse."

Spencer barely registered the hard plastic chair biting into his back. His hands trembled violently in his lap - the same hands that had failed to notice your injury, failed to protect you—

Garcia thrust a paper cup of lukewarm coffee between his shaking fingers. "Drink this," she ordered, her usual bubbly cadence replaced by steel. "

The coffee tasted like ashes, but he drank it anyway, if only to stop the trembling.

The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly. Each second stretched into eternity. Around him, the team moved quietly - Morgan pacing like a caged panther, JJ making hushed phone calls, Rossi leaning against the wall with a tension that belied his casual stance.

And Spencer sat. And waited. Counting each breath, each heartbeat, until he could see for himself that you were truly alive.

The hour passed in agony.

At first, there had only been relief—a dizzying, all-consuming wave of it that left Spencer lightheaded. You were alive. That was all that mattered.

But as the minutes crawled by, other emotions began creeping in, slithering through the cracks in his composure like poison.

Anger.

It started as a spark, small but insistent.

How could you not tell him?

The question burned through him, relentless. You’d lied to him. Smiled right at him, blood soaking through your shirt, and told him you were fine. He could still hear the way your voice had wavered—just slightly—when you’d said it. He should’ve known. He should’ve—

His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms.

And then, worse than the anger at you—the anger at himself.

He was a profiler. It was his job to notice the details, to see what others missed. He’d watched you fight the unsub, watched you stumble afterward. He’d seen the way your hand had pressed to your side, the way your breathing had turned shallow. But he’d let you brush it off. He’d believed you.

Idiot. The self-loathing settled heavy in his chest.

Across the room, Morgan shot him a look. “You good, Reid?”

No. He wasn’t.

“Peachy,” Spencer bit out, the word brittle.

Garcia frowned, reaching for him, but he stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. He needed air. Needed to move.

The hallway outside was quiet, sterile. He braced his hands against the wall, head bowed, breaths coming too fast.

He’d studied every microexpression, every twitch of every unsub they’d ever hunted—but he hadn’t seen this. Hadn’t seen you.

What if the unsub had gotten another hit in? What if—

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral. Spencer didn’t turn.

“She’s alive,” Hotch said, quiet but firm. “That’s what matters.”

Spencer’s jaw worked. “She could’ve died.”

“But she didn’t.”

Because she got lucky. The unspoken words hung between them, heavy as a verdict.

A nurse appeared at the end of the hall. “Agent Reid? She’s asking for you.”

The nurse's shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she led him down the hallway, the sound grating against Spencer's frayed nerves. His pulse hammered in his throat with each step closer to your room. When they reached the door, he froze in the threshold, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Thank you," he muttered to the nurse, barely recognizing his own voice.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And then—your eyes flew open, locking onto his like you'd been waiting.

"Spencer."

Your voice was rough, but the relief in that single word nearly undid him. A shaky exhale escaped you, as if you'd been holding your breath until this moment.

Each step was measured, unsteady, as if his body had forgotten how to move without trembling. He had counted every agonizing second until this moment, had played it over in his mind a hundred times—how he would rush to your side, how he would take your hand, how he would finally know you were alive.

But now that he was here, his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

And then he was at your bedside, close enough to see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lashes fluttered weakly with each blink. His throat tightened.

"You're awake," he whispered, the words cracking under the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets—a weak, aborted movement, like you wanted to reach for him but didn’t have the strength.

"Told you I was fine," you murmured, voice hoarse but laced with the faintest tease.

A broken sound escaped him—half-laugh, half-sob. His hand finally lifted, hovering just above yours before he let it settle, his touch feather-light, terrified of hurting you.

"You collapsed," he said, the words raw. "You—you bled out in my arms."

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching weakly beneath his. Then, with effort, you patted the empty space beside you on the hospital bed—an invitation, a silent plea for closeness.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. His gaze flickered over the IV line taped to your arm, the bandages peeking out from beneath your hospital gown, as if weighing the risk of hurting you against the unbearable need to be near you.

Then, carefully—so carefully—he sat down on the edge of the mattress, his weight barely disturbing the sheets. His hands trembled as he reached for you again, but this time, you were the one who bridged the gap. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles, tracing the dried blood still smudged there—your blood—before curling loosely around his palm.

"But I'm okay now," you murmured, your voice soft but steady.

His breath shuddered out of him. He turned his hand beneath yours, intertwining their fingers with aching gentleness, as if you were something fragile. Something precious.

"You scared me," he whispered.

"I know. And I’m sorry," you whispered.

A flicker of guilt passed over his face, but before he could spiral further, you added with a weak smirk, "The nurses told me about a tall, pretty guy not letting them work properly."

They hadn’t, of course—but you knew him. Knew he’d hovered, frantic and pale, demanding answers they couldn’t give fast enough. Knew he’d probably been seconds away from reciting medical journals at them just to feel some semblance of control.

Spencer blinked, then huffed—a startled, breathless sound caught between indignation and reluctant amusement. "I—that’s not—" He faltered, then exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. "Okay. Maybe."

You grinned, despite the dull ache in your side. "So you admit you’re pretty?"

His cheeks flushed, but his grip on your hand tightened—just a fraction—like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. "I admit," he muttered, "that you’re impossible."

"And yet," you teased, shifting slightly—then wincing.

Instantly, his expression sobered. His free hand hovered over you, uncertain. "Don’t—don’t move, just—"

"Spencer." You caught his wrist, guiding his palm to rest gently over your uninjured side. His breath hitched as his fingers skimmed the dip of your waist—careful, reverent, like he was relearning the shape of you.

He bit his lip, his thumb brushing once, twice, over the soft fabric of your hospital gown, as if to reassure himself that this part of you, at least, was unharmed. Then, with a quiet exhale, he murmured, "The rest of the team is waiting outside. I’m pretty sure Garcia got you a bunch of different plushies."

You could practically see it—Garcia bursting in with an armful of absurdly cheerful stuffed animals, each one louder and more ridiculous than the last.

"How many are we talking?" you asked, lips quirking. "Enough to start a zoo?"

Spencer’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. "At least three with googly eyes. One of them might be a neon pink llama."

You snorted, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through your side. His hand tensed against you, his face flooding with concern.

"Hey—easy," he murmured, shifting closer instinctively. His other hand came up to brush a stray hair from your forehead, his touch lingering. "No more making fun of Garcia’s questionable taste in plushies until you can laugh without wincing."

"That might take a while," you admitted, but you were smiling again—small, but real.

Spencer’s gaze softened. "I’ll wait."

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension. Then, Spencer uttered the words like they'd been clawing at his throat:

"You lied to me."

His voice was quiet—too quiet—but the hurt in it cut deeper than any blade. His fingers still rested against your side, but they'd gone stiff, like he couldn't decide whether to pull away or hold on tighter.

You swallowed. "I didn't lie. I just... didn't mention the part where I was actively bleeding out."

His jaw clenched. "Semantics."

"Spencer—"

"No." His hand finally withdrew, raking through his hair instead. "You smiled at me. You said you were fine. Do you have any idea what it was like, watching you collapse like that? Thinking—" His voice cracked. "Thinking I'd just let you die?"

The raw pain in his words stole your breath. You reached for him, ignoring the protest of your stitches. "Hey. Look at me."

He did—reluctantly—and the guilt hit you like a punch. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale with exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't want you to worry. I thought I could tough it out until we got him cuffed."

"That's the problem," he said hoarsely. "You don't have to tough it out alone. Not with me."

Your throat tightened. "I know. And next time—"

"There won't be a next time," he interrupted, voice fierce. Then, quieter: "Please."

You caught his hand again, pressing his palm to your cheek this time. "Okay," you murmured against his skin. "No more lies. Even the stupid ones."

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "...Even the stupid ones,"he agreed.

And just like that, the weight in the room shifted—not gone, but lighter. Bearable.

Outside, Garcia's voice suddenly carried down the hall, "—FBI, ma'am, I promise the emotional support alpaca is essential to her recovery—"

Your gaze drifted down to his hands—those beautiful, trembling hands still streaked with rust-colored stains. The sight punched through you harder than the wound ever had.

"You should wash up," you whispered, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the dried blood caking his knuckles.

Spencer flinched as if burned. He hadn't even noticed. But now the evidence clung to him like a second skin, flaking when he flexed his fingers. Your blood. The realization sent a violent shudder through him.

"Right," he choked out, standing abruptly.

He made it two steps before turning back, his voice cracking. "Don't— Don't disappear while I'm gone."

The joke fell flat, undercut by the raw fear in his eyes.

"I'll be right here," you promised, patting the sterile sheets. "Go."

The bathroom fluorescents buzzed overhead as Spencer scrubbed at his hands with surgical precision. Steam rose from the scalding water, turning his skin an angry red. He didn't stop until every last trace was gone.

The water ran pink, then clear, swirling down the drain with the last physical remnants of your blood.

Then — voices. Loud. Familiar.

Garcia swept in first, arms overflowing with plush animals—including, as promised, a neon pink llama with absurdly large googly eyes. "Oh, sweetheart!" she wailed, nearly tripping over her own heels in her haste to reach you. "Look at you, all brave and beautiful and—oh my God, is that a bullet wound?!"

Morgan followed close behind, rolling his eyes. "She was stabbed, Garcia."

"Details!" Garcia sniffled, dumping the stuffed animals onto your lap with surprising gentleness before cupping your face. "The important thing is, our favorite badass is still kicking."

JJ appeared next, balancing a tray of suspiciously green hospital Jell-O. "We brought contraband," she said, grinning as she set it on your bedside table. "Well, contraband adjacent. It's still hospital food, but it's the lime flavor, so…"

Rossi lingered near the foot of your bed, arms crossed, but his usual smirk was softer than usual. "You gave Reid ten years off his life, kid."

"I know," you admitted, your gaze flickering toward the bathroom door.

Hotch stepped forward. "You did good work today," he said simply. "But next time, maybe mention when you're bleeding out."

The apartment was quiet when Spencer brought you home.

He'd already fluffed the pillows on the couch, laid out your favorite blanket, and arranged a small army of Garcia's plushies along the back—including the neon pink llama, which now sat proudly on the armrest like some kind of fuzzy sentinel.

You barely had time to take it all in before he was at your side again, hovering. His arm hooked gently around your waist, his touch feather-light, like you might break.

"Sit," he murmured, guiding you down onto the couch with the same careful precision he usually reserved for rare first editions. "Do you need water? Pain meds? I bought those crackers you like—"

"Spencer." You caught his wrist as he started to turn toward the kitchen, tugging him back gently. "Breathe. I'm okay."

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over you—checking, always checking—before exhaling sharply. "I know. I just…" His hands flexed at his sides, restless. "I need to do something."

You understood. This was Spencer Reid, after all—the man who needed equations to make sense of the world, variables to control. And right now, the only equation that mattered was you, alive and here, and he had no idea what to do with the leftover terror still humming under his skin.

So you gave him a task.

"Okay," you said softly, nodding toward the blanket. "Then sit with me. And tell me about the book you’ve been reading."

Something in his shoulders eased. He sank onto the couch beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours, and reached for the blanket.

"It's about quantum entanglement," he started, his voice warming as he draped the fabric over your legs with meticulous care. "The theory that particles can become linked, so that what happens to one affects the other, no matter the distance."

You smiled, leaning into him. "Sounds familiar."

His breath hitched. Then, slowly, his arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you carefully against his side.

"Yeah," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It does."

Outside, the world kept turning. Cases would come, and wounds would heal.

But here, tangled together on the couch, you were perfectly, irrevocably linked—and nothing, not even blood or time or space, could change that.

[sinsofsummers]

keep quiet

1.3k words | logan x fem!reader

summary: logan can smell how much you need him as soon as you enter the room. what kind of man would he be to let you go unsatisfied? warnings: all smut. literally nothing else. dom!logan, he's kind of mean, hint of a humiliation kink, hair pulling (m receiving, logan asks for it), the cat ears get a lot of love, oral (f receiving), fingering, pure filth. if i miss anything pls let me know. note: andddd i was trying to write a full length fic. i ended up here instead. it's so rushed i apologize. pls logan let me give u a full litter.

He can smell it on you as soon as you walk into the room, and you can see the switch in his body language almost immediately. His shoulders tense, and his hands twitch into loose fists. His jaw ticks. 

You’re meeting Logan at a party. He’s been there for a bit already, but you came late. You can’t even remember what the party is, what it’s for, or who’s there. You can only see him. The way he’s got his thighs spread, one foot propped up on the coffee table in front of him, leaving a wide — and perfect — spot for you on his lap. Just like always, Logan’s dripping in sex appeal.

You’ve already been having…a day. All you want and need is his touch, his tongue, his everything. But here you are, trying to keep it a quiet afterthought as you stare at his lap, wishing you could put your lips over his cock and let it grow in the warmth of your mouth.

“Hey,” you say breathily, the syllable hardly leaving your mouth before Logan’s on his feet.

You can’t even register who else is in the room; his broad chest already blocks your vision and he drags you down a hallway, into the laundry room not far from the earshot of the living room.

You’re pretty sure the other party guests share an awkward chuckle at what they think is about to occur, but you can’t tell. Logan’s cologne is all over you, and you think you might slip your own hand into your panties if he doesn’t give you what you want right now.

“Here,” he snarls, “gimme these.” He’s got you shoved up against the washer, the perfect height to sit atop the cool metal.

He grabs your wrists roughly and shoves them into his hair. His teeth are gritted menacingly, but you’re practically keening at the sight of it. You know what’s about to follow. He can be cruel when he’s like this, but you know you’re about to get what you want.

“Now,” he hisses, leaning close to your face. “You’re gonna keep quiet. You’ve already made it obvious enough how fuckin’ desperate you are.”

You whine softly, and his eyes darken. “I wasn’t even here for more than—”

“No, no, no,” he growls. “None of that.” He lets go of one of your wrists, reaching up to squeeze your cheeks together in one hand, hard enough to make the heat rise in your face. 

He likes to see you like this — humiliated.

“You’re gonna keep quiet,” he repeats. “Anytime you wanna make a noise, you’re gonna pull.” 

He uses the hand still locked onto your wrist as a demonstration. His eyes are hard, and his mouth is still pulled back in that scowl that makes your core weep. 

“Pull hard, pup. You know I can take it.”

You try to squeeze your thighs together at the nickname, but he’s standing between your opened legs. It’s so animalistic, so filthy. You never last long when he’s like this.

But all you can see in front of you is Logan, his cruel face just a centimeter from yours.

You lean closer, wanting a kiss, but he denies you as he moves his hands to your hips, digging roughly under the hem of your shirt to unbutton your pants and yank them to your ankles. He lifts your legs so he can slip closer to your core, your legs resting atop his strong shoulders. 

Any other day, he might have teased you, might have drawn out your orgasm until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. But this Logan isn’t playing around. He doesn’t have time for this, as he’s made clear enough. 

Only in moments like this does he make your desire feel like an inconvenience, like he’s mad at you for being so desperate for his touch. Such a dumb little pup, huh? 

But as soon as he sinks his nose into your pussy and inhales the scent of your desire straight from the source, you know he needs this just as badly. That his every thought is plagued with the reminder that your pussy ruins every pair of panties you own because of him.

His tongue goes to work quickly; he’s brutal in his ministrations, and you tighten your grip in his hair. 

Bless these fucking cowlicks, you think. Or you might have, had you any mind to form coherent thoughts. 

“Insatiable,” he takes a breath and rolls his eyes as he looks up at you, but the sight of your wetness on his beard and nose takes away the exasperation. You can see how his pupils are blown wide.

You open your mouth to let out a moan, but he grunts. “No,” he demands. “Pull.”

So you do. Hard. Your hands card through the rest of his head of thick hair as he dives back to your clit, swirling tight circles around the sensitive bud, practically drinking your arousal right out of you. 

Your abdomen tightens, and you know he’s going for speed over anything at this point. He wants to get you off, and do it fast. You claw at his head, and relish in the deep groans that vibrate through your slick folds like an electric shock. 

“Logan,” you whisper, “I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah. I fuckin’ know, you dumb slut.”

Your eyes widen and you see white at the edges of your vision, your mouth hanging open as you catch some of his shoulder under your nails, dragging your hands across his skin. 

If anything, it spurs him on more. Two of his fingers play at your entrance, and — the mean fucker — he shoves them into your pussy without caring to stretch you out like he normally does. 

But it doesn’t matter. He knows you can take it. The stretch is something you chase, something you cherish every time. You reward him with a particularly strong yank on his hair, afraid you might pull it out of his skull.

He starts to let out a groan so loud it might come off as a roar, but then he catches himself and pistons his fingers in and out of you, his dark eyes lifting to hold onto you as he shoves you over the edge and into a leg-shaking orgasm.

Your hands twist in his hair and you just barely hear the high-pitched whine that falls from his lips. It’s almost feline coming from him.

Logan sits still for a second, his eyes still on you as he laps at your pussy softly, an amused smirk on his face when you shiver at the overstimulation. 

Finally he stands, feeding his fingers to you, nodding as he watches you lick your ecstasy off his digits.

You catch your breath, still feeling wobbly. Your eyes catch on the bulge in his jeans, and you reach a tired hand for his belt.

He chuckles, and it’s almost like he’s mocking you. “Oh, you wanna help me out, sweet pea?”

“Yes, please.” You hope you sound coherent, like you’re apologizing for not being able to make him feel good yet, but you can’t even keep your eyes on him. The treat in his jeans is too tempting. Your tongue absentmindedly darts out to wet your lips.

Logan lifts your chin roughly with one hand, forcing you to look at him. His hair is wild, and you bite your lip at the sight of how disheveled you’ve made him. 

His beard still shines with your release as he shakes his head. “Should have thought of that before you showed up like you did. Can’t control yourself, even in public.” He pulls you to your feet and helps you pull your pants back on. His roughness starts to subside, and left behind is the gentle giant that you recognize.

“You’re gonna wait til we get home,” he says with a gentle kiss to your forehead. But you don’t ignore the tension in his promise that follows: “Then you’re repaying me, bub.”

-

ANYWAYS! i'm crying like a bitch in heat for this man feel free to send me any and all thoughts u have on logan pls

see u for the next one! i hope u enjoyed :)

[lovableapocalypse]

weather the storm

dr. jack abbot x female!wife!reader

wc: 1.8k

summary: you take you and jack's son to the er in the middle of the night when he's sick, but your marriage happens to be on the rocks atm

warnings: reader and jack have 11 year old son, medical inaccuracies, mentions of marital differences/separation, mentions of surgery/medical procedures, established relationship, light angst but happy ending, not canonically accurate, reader has her dogs out

a/n: i don't know why i'm struggling so bad to characterize/write for abbot but i hope this does him justice. i def think he's more goofy in the show but this is a more sensitive situation so idk? i hope you like it okay!!! ugh!!!! i want to write sm more for him so maybe it will come easier to me

You were deep in sleep when you felt a familiar small hand grasp your shoulder. Your eyes shot open and you inhaled sharply as you sat up on your elbow. Your son’s face came into your weary vision. He was grasping your arm and bent over the bed, a distressed look on his face. 

“Mom.” He spoke in a pained whisper. 

“Benjamin?” You blink and clear your eyes, anxiety skyrocketing at the sight of Jack and your son’s form. You grab onto his arm that’s gripping your body and squeeze. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

His voice is soft and broken, “My side. My side really hurts.”

You sit up immediately and push the covers back. “Your side?” 

You run your hands over his arms and move the one that’s covering his midsection, lifting his pajama top. It looks normal to the eye.

“Here?” You place a gentle hand on him.

He nods, grimacing. 

You curse under your breath and stand, guiding Ben to sit on the edge of your mattress. It’s definitely his appendix and you’re praying to yourself it hasn’t ruptured.

You grab your phone off the nightstand. “You’re okay, baby.” You reassure him as you dial Jack’s number. 

You know it’s a shot in the dark. Jack was working an overnight shift again and you had been separated for two months now. Your marriage was one full of love and a deep connection to each other, but lately you’d been struggling. He’d been working nights full time and barely saw you. He tried to make time for Ben, which you appreciated, but it was a different story for you. 

You started spending more time at work in his absence and found yourself desperate for his attention. And when you reached a breaking point you pushed him away. You two fought like you’d never fought before and things buried deep inside came to the surface. After the two of you cooled down, you spoke with a marriage counselor and a brief separation was suggested.

So, here you were. At home in the house you used to share, the bed that you still kept to your side of. Jack had gotten a small townhouse closer to the hospital and stopped by for the occasional dinner and to pick up Ben. But, as the phone rang you internally begged him to pick up, all drama aside. 

You get his voicemail. Realistically, you know the ER can get chaotic at night, but you can’t help the curse that escapes again. You toss the phone down and grab your shoes from near the closet, the ones you swore you’d pick up days ago. 

You help Ben move to the car, holding his groaning form up. You hide your fear and anxiety and whisper reassurances to him. 

The dashboard reads 2:38 am as you drive the fastest and safest way you can to the hospital. You park and help your son to the familiar ED’s waiting room. It’s less busy than you would have thought, the night shift seeming to usually catch the weirdest cases. 

The receptionist is one you recognize thankfully, and her eyes shoot up when she sees you and Ben.

“I think it’s his appendix.” Your voice shakes. 

Ben leans into you, his eyes tearing. “Mom-”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here now.” You repeat. 

The receptionist pages back and Dr. Ellis exits the locked doors with a nurse not a moment later. 

“Abbot?” She uses your last name as she rushes over and assesses Ben’s state. The nurse follows with a wheelchair and she helps you sit Ben in it. 

“I think it’s his appendix. Jack didn’t pick up and I have no idea if it’s ruptured-” 

Ellis cuts off your rambling, “Don’t worry, we got him.”

You follow her as they put Ben in a room and start an IV. You step forward and run a hand over your son’s hair, trying to comfort him. 

“Is Dad here?” He groans. 

“He’s in Trauma 1.” Ellis answers, giving you a look as she pulls the ultrasound over. 

“He’ll be here in a little, baby.” 

Ben nods but drops his head back defeatedly. 

Ellis moves closer to her boss’s son and speaks gently. “I’m going to lift your shirt and check out what’s going on, okay, kid?” 

Ben nods and she puts the soft gel on the wand, moving it over his abdomen. She watches the screen and Ben holds onto your hand, wincing softly. 

Ellis hums to herself, before placing the wand back and wiping your son’s side. “Good news is it’s not ruptured yet. I’m going to admit him to General Surgery and they’ll get him in pre-op.”

“He needs surgery?” You thought you’d heard of doctors being able to reverse appendicitis with medication. 

She nods. “It’s pretty inflamed, I’m not sure the antibiotics would work in time to stop a rupture.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah. Thank you. Can- can you just get Jack when you have a chance?” You know he’s working and you’re not in the best place but you want him here. 

“Of course.” She takes a moment to explain what’s going on to Ben before exiting. You sit on the edge of the mattress and squeeze Ben’s hand, trying to soothe him. 

Jack had been in Trauma 1 when you had entered the ER. A GSW had come in through the ambulance bay and the patient was critical. He had spent the first 10 minutes coding him, then working to stabilize him enough to send him up to the OR. 

When he finally exited and shoved off his gown, exhaling a deep sigh, he wasn’t in the mood to find out why Ellis was moving towards him in such a grim way. 

He went to glance up at the board but Ellis’ tone caught him off guard. 

“Dr. Abbot,” Her inhale was shaky, “Your son is in South 15.”

His world stopped. His years of training and education abandoned him in that singular moment. “What?” His voice was barely audible. 

“Your wife brought him in, looks like appendicitis. It’s inflamed and I don’t think there’s time for antibiotic treatment. He’s getting prepped for General Surgery-” He didn’t stay to hear her finish. His movements were controlled but hurried as he moved to the curtain he would find you behind. 

He shoved the curtain back and took in the scene before him. You were sitting on the small hospital bed, still in your tank top, striped pajama pants, and familiar worn flip-flops you’d had since before Ben was even born. You were whispering soft words to your son. Your son, whose face was scrunched up and who was lying back in a hospital gown, IV dripping into his arm. 

You turned at the curtain’s movement and sighed deeply in relief. Ben glanced up. 

“Dad.”

Jack was by his side in an instant. “You okay, buddy? What happened?” 

You stood and watched Jack run his hand over Ben’s hair, pushing the curls he’d inherited from the man back. 

Ben spoke softly, “My side started hurting, it woke me up. I woke Mom up and she brought me here.”

“I tried to call. I got here as quick as I could-” You continued. 

“You did everything right.” Jack nodded, his voice soft and eyes firm. 

He grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the wall and pulled the ultrasound machine back over. 

You knew he trusted Ellis and her professional opinion, but he also wanted to make sure his son was okay for himself. 

Ben laid back as his dad examined his abdomen. You ran a hand over your bedhead and watched Jack shift into the all too familiar doctor he was. His expression unreadable, his movements precise. 

He wiped the machine and his son’s stomach before speaking, “You’ll be okay, kid. One less appendix for you.” He smirked, winking at the young boy.  

Ben smiled weakly at his dad and you let out the breath you’d been holding. Hearing that everything would be okay from Jack was the most reassurance you could get at that moment. 

A few more nurses came in, giving Jack sympathetic glances and prepping Ben to head to the OR. When Ellis came back in and gave the all good, you pressed a long kiss to your son’s head. Jack squeezed his hand and whispered ‘I love yous’ in his ear. You watched as they wheeled him towards the elevator. 

You knew he would be okay and that he was in the best hands, but your eyes watered. The night was catching up with you. A sob wracked through you and Jack watched your shoulders shake. 

He stepped close behind you, his hands finding your shoulders and his mouth pressing a soft kiss to your head.

“It’s okay.” His voice was quiet and that was all you needed to let the tears fall. 

Turning in his arms, you fell into his chest. His familiar hands, rough and calloused, wrapped around your crying form and his head came to rest on yours. 

It was overwhelming. Ben needing surgery in the middle of the night and Jack not being there next to you to know or help. You let yourself cry for a while, before pulling back. You said nothing as you let Jack lead you to the elevator. 

He kept his arm around you as you moved to the surgical floor. He sat with you in the waiting room, even finding a PTMC hoodie to wrap around your shoulders. He didn’t push you. He let you lean on him and intertwine your fingers with his. 

“Do you need to go back down to the ER?” You sniffle, head on his shoulder. 

“Shen can manage. I told him to page me only if there’s an emergency. I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed your hand. 

You lift your head and his eyes meet yours, serious and soft. 

“I’m sorry,” you start, “about everything. Tonight- the whole night, I just kept wishing you were there with me. That I didn’t have to worry about calling or you being across town if something happened.” 

A tear escapes as you continue, “I don’t like this. Not knowing where we stand. It’s killing me. I miss you, Jack. All the time.”

His face contorts in emotion and he swallows before responding in that soft tone of his. “I miss you too. All the time. I’m sorry, baby. I thought- I thought this would help. That you’d feel better away from me.”

Your head shakes and a few more tears fall. “I don’t, I don’t. I want you to come home.”

His thumb catches your tears as he takes in your words. His touch is soft and casual, a motion you’d found comfort in for years.

His jaw visibly clenches and his nod is firm, but it carries the emotion you know he’s feeling. “I want that, too. I want you, Ben, all of us together.”

“Together.” You repeat and clutch his hand tighter. 

He pulls you into his arms and you let him. You fall into him for the first time in months with no second guesses. No imaginary lines being crossed. 

You feel his lips graze your hairline and you pull back slightly, hands cupping his face. His lips find yours easily and it feels brand new again. Your heart full and your mind at ease. 

“We’ll be okay.” His words wrap around you like his arms and you know in all certainty they’re true.

[iqxatlantic]

"good god, she's on the floor rollin' her eyes at me"

ft. itoshi rin . aged up! . inexperienced x experienced . ooc!rin ? . rin lwk go easy on u . fem! reader . established relationships . fingering . cunnilingus . smut . unreliable narrator

wc: 0.7k (715)

imagine the amount of pride the itoshi rin had received when he finally was able to convince his always hesitant n worried partner to let him pleasure her. huh... crazy to believe this itoshi has some experience despite being a disrespectful, unfriendly, idgaf ahh attitude man.

he swore you were like a siren luring him in. you being splayed across the bed as he was prodding and sliding his fingers in n outta your slit while eating away at your pussy like a fucking starved man...

never in your damn life would you expect to see the seemingly cold but, beautiful man in between your legs — makin' a damn mess. "r-rin!" you managed to moan out. your voice was so strained after all that screaming.

your legs wrapped around his head into a headlock. your grip on his hair got tighter and tighter. that wasn't the only thing that got tighter. your core was burning, his tongue flicking up n down your clit while he slip his fingers out of your heated hole. stroking the lips sensually.

"r-rin i swear t'god you gotta stooop!" you whined, biting your lower lip. tears were going to rush out of your eyes, it felt so good.

"you're gonna kill me rin! rinnie stop- i- can't! i'm gonna die !" you choked out. your last straw was him shoving his fingers back in, curling them inside your hole. it hit that damn sweet spot. fuck. he bit your clit as your legs loosened around his head. you swear you felt a smirk when you came all over his gorgeous face.

he spent zero time lapping your juices all up. rin had a deadpan face as he removed his face from your soaking cunt. his fingers were still in you, showing no remorse. finally, there was some emotion shown in face. "you'd die for me right, [name]?" he chuckled. "with the way your pussy is clenching against my fingers, the way you taste, fuck. i think i'd die for you too."

you were finally catching your breath before he dived right back in. you let out a yelp as you pulled his hair. "rin- rinrinrinrinrin!" you repeated almost religiously with tears in your eyes.

the striker had made you came god knows how many times now. . no clue. all you knew was this man would be the fucking death of you the way that warm tongue swirling around in your hole. his tongue was stimulating your labia.

you thought you were goign crazy 'til he hummed a little against your poor poor pussy :c something inside you sparked as you gripped his hair harder. your core tightened. the heat was getting to you. your legs were jus dangling down his shoulders as he kept eating you ut.

his tongue were hitting that sweet spot within you again. was it just you or did it feel like he had found a spot even sweeter n deeper than that spot? ah. whatever. you were going insane from the stimulation. his fingers were playing around with your little bud.

you were going crazy. genuinely insane at this point. you pulled so damn hard on rin's hair as a scream had erupted from you. your core was so heated and tight. your hands loosened, so did your legs. you squirted all over him. you were panting, heaving all of the above.

rin withdrew himself from your pussy after "cleaning" it up (basically licking up all ur juices lol.) "[name]?" he began, "was that your first time squirting..? that was so damn hot." his words came deaf upon your ears. c'mon. you were literally trying to catch your breath.

he slipped hisf ingers out, giving you a soft kiss in your inner thigh. he tapped you after kissing your plush thighs. you finally calmed down — recovered a lil. "you good?" rin asked. you look at him with a softer expression. "mhm." weakly left your lips.

"you better be. cause i can't wait anymore." he grunted as he stood up, looking down at you. "h-huh..?" you mumbled confused as your blurry vision became clear again. your eyes widened as you saw his hard, girthy n lengthy cock.

before you knew it, he was aligning his member along your slit. oh you were in for a ride tonight.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

a/ n: ew ew first time writing smut LOL hpefully its readable.. i did not proofread at all cus um... i have to focus on school but oh my gaaawd.. i have such a soft spot for rin. sorry if this is extremely bad written n bad plot i lack experience. the english is also uh.. please spare me! anyways rin brainrot fdjgjeafud hehe rin reminded me of the song die for me hence the title kkejrjre

[thevillainswhore]

Dancing With The Devil II

Pairing: Alternative!Bucky Barnes x Cheerleader!F!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: It’s the night of the fundraiser, and after a few heated encounters with the one boy you should be staying away from, the tension between you finally comes to its peak when Bucky visits the kissing booth.

Warnings: College AU, bad boy v. good girl trope, inexperienced!reader, jealousy, kissing, dirty talk, smut, fingering, daddy kink, p in v penetration, tit/ass slapping, tit sucking/biting, degradation, mentions of fisting, mild drug use.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Divider by @saradika-graphics. Part 2 and the final installation to this fic — Dancing With The Devil ❤️ song inspo: Chase Atlantic - Slow Down. Thank you for all the lovely comments for the first part, I will get round to responding, I promise 🤍 enjoy x

The night of the fundraiser had arrived; your college campus was set up with an array of stalls that were all decorated beautifully. But you were proud to say, thanks to your hard work, that the cheerleader’s stall, embellished in shades of pink and red, was a show stopper.

The kissing booth had been a huge success so far. Hundreds of students had joined in on the fun and you witnessed many shy pecks to the cheek, some very awkward kisses and a few audacious make outs that had the gathered crowd whistling and hollering. 

Even your own cheeks heated as you discreetly watched the more outgoing boys slide their tongues into your teammate’s mouths, wondering how such an insatiable kiss felt. 

Luckily, Sharonl had been by your side all night, inadvertently keeping you self-aware and in check of your own thirstiness. 

Somehow, you had managed to convince Daisy to let you be a part of the kissing booth. You weren’t all too fussed that she had put you on the sidelines, unable to participate as you were stationed on ticket collection. In fact, you were more relieved. 

A few students had tried to choose you for a kiss and without fail Daisy came rushing over each time to instantly shut them down, harshly explaining that you were only the help. 

While it stung, you were kind of grateful. You had no desire to kiss anyone. Almost anyone, anyway.  

Sharon had redirected your wandering gaze every time you looked through the crowd. You knew it was silly to look for Bucky, even when he asked for you to be there. But a small slither of hope within you couldn’t shut the possibility down, even if it was just to see him in passing. 

Your thoughts had been stuck on him all week. From your waking moments to the silent ones at night on your own while you were trying to fall asleep. His scent seemed to follow you, no matter where you went and his salacious grin, rotting your brain, had gotten you in trouble a few times while you zoned out in class. 

Bucky was a drug you craved — one you couldn’t shake, even if you didn’t really want to. 

In your peripheral vision, you caught a familiar face trying to discreetly peek around the side of a stall opposite you and get a glimpse over in your direction. 

“You know, Shar. You never actually told me if you had any plans tonight.” It was true. She had been too busy dealing with your own crisis for you to consider how she could be spending her time. 

Your friend shrugged while sipping on her fruity slushie. “Nope. I’m a free woman, spending time with my girl.” 

Guilt began to settle in your stomach, then. Sharon had been by your side all night, refusing to help set up the kissing booth when Daisy set you on the sidelines. And by the sight of her man, hiding out just to get to see her, you knew she must have blown plans with him to be with you. Instead, she had decided to be a good friend and keep you company. 

You slammed your own drink onto the makeshift table with a sigh. “Sharon, you can’t stay here.”

She abruptly stopped sucking up the last of her drink through the straw to look at you like you had grown two heads. “And why the hell can’t I?” 

Pointing your finger over to a freshly caught, red faced Steve, you gave her a deadpan glare. “Because right there is your man, literally stumbling over his own feet just to see you. That’s why.” 

You watched closely as your friend took a quick glance at her boyfriend, tightening her lips with amusement before shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you scolded, ignoring her attempt to butt in. “Just because I’m on ticket duty, it doesn’t mean you have to waste your night with me. You should be over there with him! He looks like a lost puppy.” 

Sharon scoffed and shook her head. “Don’t be silly, I like being over here with you.” But you couldn’t quite believe her when you caught her once again sneaking a look over to him with a longing in her eyes. 

“Shar.” You leveled with her, grabbing her hand with an honest smile. “I promise I’ll be okay, go have fun with your man.” 

She looked as though she was about to retort back, though before she could, you stood up and brought her with you. “I mean it.” 

Your best friend looked skeptical for a second before she gave in with a sigh. “You’re sure you’ll be fine?” 

“Positive.” You reassured her instantly with a bright smile. “Now go! Shoo—go smooch Stevie and tell me all about it later.” 

Sharon pulled you into a crushing hug, rocking you dramatically from side to side while she squealed in excitement. “I promise, I promise! Thank you, sweets! You’re a fucking angel.” Squeezing you tightly one last time, she eventually let go, kissing your cheek with a wet smooch and taking off to her boyfriend. 

Slumping back into your seat, you wiped your cheek and watched as Steve caught your friend into his arms, spinning her around with a huge grin and bright eyes. You sighed in bittersweet happiness, truly glad to see your friend so loved up — you didn’t regret sending her off at all. 

Even if you were now pathetically alone, working the ticket collection of the kissing booth you put together. 

The line of students queuing up to hand in their one free kiss tickets seemed never ending as the night went on. You collected so many that the thought of seeing another physically made you feel sick — you didn’t even bother to look at whoever was in line anymore, fixated on your only entertainment of the evening; watching everyone but you enjoy the kissing festivities. 

So when the next forsaken pink ticket with a lipstick print came into your line of vision, you sighed with bitterness. 

“You can go through,” you mumbled while you reached up to take the token. But as you tried to pull it into your hold, you were met with resistance. 

You frowned, beginning to look up. “I said you can—“ 

“Oh, I heard you loud and clear, Bunny.” Devilish, bright blue eyes stared you down. “But believe me when I say I’d rather stay here.” 

It took everything in your power to stay composed. Bucky actually came, your mind internally screamed at you. 

Your nerves went haywire while the two of you still held onto the ticket. As the night had progressed, your hope to see him dwindled by the second until you eventually gave up. But as he currently stood in front of you, eyeing your body in your cheer uniform, you had a hard time not throwing yourself over the table at him. 

“H-Hi, Bucky,” you whispered, still a little awestruck. 

He smirked. “Hey, you.” The finger that held tight to the ticket caressed over yours, sending a shudder down your spine. “Good turn out, then?” 

You cleared your throat. “Mhm, we’ve raised a lot of money so far.” That’s when you noticed two of his friends behind him. “I see you brought company.” 

“I’m a man of my word, sweetheart.” Bucky grinned until he raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’d actually be at the kissing booth, though. Not collecting the tickets for it.” 

“Oh,” you muttered. How could you put it without sounding so lame? “Yeah about that—“ 

Before you could try to explain, Daisy came trotting towards you and the entirety of your body filled with dread. Instantly dropping your hold on the ticket, she was soon by your side wearing her practiced fake smile. 

“Newbie,” she called, gratingly. “What is with the hold up? I gave in and let you do this because I thought you weren’t so incompetent after all.” 

Daisy’s harsh words cut into you like a knife and you slumped into yourself, embarrassed to be scolded in front of Bucky. 

You missed how she glanced to the queue, subtly changing her tune once she realised who was watching. “Come on, honey,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. “You’re not just letting me down, you’re letting the team down. I know you can do better than this.” 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled, “Sorry, Daisy.” You were so angry at yourself. The thought that Bucky had seen the whole exchange had you suppressing the urge to bolt it out of there.

But you were even more mortified as you looked up and witnessed Daisy twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes in front of him. “You’re Bucky, right? The one who beat up Tony Stark?” 

You watched silently while he looked her up and down. Though it was the exact opposite of the way he looked at you, you couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your stomach that he may be interested in her. 

“It’s actually James,” he said, face devoid of his  happy expression from earlier.

“Huh?” Daisy replied. 

You thought you heard Bucky scoff, but you told yourself you were hearing things. “My name is James.” 

Daisy laughed. “But I’ve heard people call you Bucky.” Leaning over the table, she not so discreetly pushed her chest together with her arms, a pout on her lips. “Don’t you want me to call you that too?” 

A thick haze of green burned your skin. You weren't sure how long you could take watching their back and forth, especially when the one person who disliked you was so obviously flirting with your crush.  

To your surprise though, Bucky didn’t once let his gaze falter down, inherently keeping his eyes on hers. “No. I already told you my name is James.” 

Daisy reeled back a little, shocked that her usual tactics of spinning boys’ into her web was going down the drain. “Anyway,” clearing her throat, she recovered quickly. “I see you bought a ticket. So I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that any of our cheerleaders in the lineup are available for a kiss.” She flicked her hair over her shoulders and added, “Me included.” 

You ducked your head, trying to force down the sick feeling rising up your throat. Bucky choosing Daisy would break your heart. You already knew you had become quite besotted over him, but with the new tortuous idea of them in your head that could soon become reality, your heart felt like it was ripping out of your chest. 

Unable to see his expression, you missed how his  eyes flicked to you, a handsome smile he only reserved for you on his face. “Easy.” He licked his lips. “I pick my Bunny.” 

“What?” Both Daisy and you looked at him in shock; you instantly snapped your gaze up to him with wide eyes while she scowled in frustration. 

Bucky kept his eyes on you with his next words. “How about it, pretty girl? Wanna kiss me?” 

Your mouth dropped open, jaw unhinged. No words were able to formulate together to answer him quick enough before you were interrupted once again. 

“Unfortunately,” Daisy snapped. “You can’t kiss her, you can only choose from the line up.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky begrudgingly looked back at her. “Says who?” 

“Me,” she retorted smugly as she crossed her arms. 

He scoffed. “No one—least of all you—is gonna tell me who I can kiss.” 

You gulped, head still swimming with the fact Bucky was putting up a fight to kiss you. 

“It’s the rules!” Daisy shouted, garnering the attention of more people. 

Exasperated, Bucky sighed. “Listen, Dorothy—“

“It’s Daisy.” 

“—If I were interested in you,” he spoke over her. “I would have asked for you. That is the whole concept behind this kissing booth, right? You know the idea you didn’t come up with.” 

Daisy’s cheeks turned bright red while the people who listened in from the queue snickered at her expense. 

Bucky glanced back at you, his lips curling up while he still directed his words to her. “I should be grateful, though. You just made my job of making sure no one else got to Bunny before me so much easier. Thanks Denise, you can go now.” 

The hushed laughter of the students was agonizing, even for you. Therefore there was only so much painful embarrassment the ice queen herself could take. Defeated, Daisy spun around with a huff and stormed off. 

You followed her retreating back, half panicked about the fallout it could cause in the future. But you were brought back to the present as Bucky held his hand palm up between you. “What do you say, then? Wanna get outta here, Bunny?”

Looking up at him, his eyes gleamed with mischief and satisfaction. A small bout of confidence gave you the courage to stand up, take his hand and be led into what was bound to be danger. “Yes please.” 

His hand engulfed yours while he trailed you away from the swarm of people on campus, whoops and hollers fading into the distance, and to a secluded alleyway. Gently, Bucky backed you up against the wall and stood in front of you, leaving hardly any room between you. The light breeze along with the cold bricks chilled your bare arms from your cheer outfit as goosebumps cascaded over your skin. 

“You cold, angel?” Bucky asked, a tenderness to his voice. 

“N-No, not r-really.” You tried to lie, not wanting to be a pain. But the stutter to your response as you shivered didn’t help your case.

He smiled while he shook his head. “Stubborn girl.” Pulling his arms out of the sleeves, Bucky shucked off his hoodie and wrapped it over your shoulders. “Perfect.”

His intoxicating scent hit you all at once — it was an effort to not bury your head into the material and deeply inhale. 

Instead, you shyly gazed into his eyes. “I actually wanted to thank you for the other day. With—with Tony,” you clarified. “I didn’t get to say it before.” 

Bucky drew closer to you. “That was nothing, pretty girl.”

The thick tension in the air and the proximity between you, so similar to the events in the storage closet, caused you to overshare. “You’re not actually so scary Bucky—like everyone says you are. You’re actually kind of like a big teddy—“ You cut yourself off, too embarrassed to continue what you were saying. 

He lifted your chin with his finger to look at him. “Ah ah, don’t stop there, Bunny.” His nickname for you sent tingles shooting up your thighs. “Carry on.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I was going to say you remind me of a teddy bear, because you’re soft on the inside even if you do look a little scary on the outside.” Biting your bottom lip, you slowly opened your eyes. 

Bucky smirked. “Yeah? You scared a’me, sweetheart?” 

“Nu-uh,” you whispered as you shook your head with hooded eyes, placing your hands over his chest. “I really like how you look.” 

Bucky grinned even wider. His large hands firmly gripped your face, eyes boring into yours. “I like how you look too, baby.” He pressed you further against the wall, licking his lips with animalistic hunger. His thumb smoothed over the pulse in your neck, watching with rapt attention as he felt the steady pump of blood.

Bucky was intense, full on and the epitome of your parent’s worst nightmare. But you just couldn’t find it in you to care. Sharon’s warnings, the common sense in your head — they were fighting a losing battle. You were doomed from the moment you met him. 

“Y’know what else I like, Angel?” Bucky closed the distance between you, the weight of his body delicious while he skimmed his lips over the sensitive skin of your neck. “I like that a sweet innocent little thing like you can’t stay away from me either.” 

“You don’t make it very easy,” you gasped as his tongue swept over the skin behind your ear. 

He chuckled breathily. “Does your friend know you’re with me?”

You timidly shook your head. “N-No. She's with her b-boyfriend.”

“Oh.” The sensation of his teeth scraping the lobe of your ear forced a whine out of you. “So my Bunny’s bein’ a bad girl, right now?”

Your fingers tangled in the material of his shirt, pulling him closer. “Mhm.” 

“Good,” he growled. “You’re not escapin’ me this time. No running away from Bear. I paid for my kiss after all.” 

With a crazed look in his eyes, he ripped himself out of your neck and tightened his fingers into your hair, pulling you into him to crush his lips against yours. 

“Mmph!” There was no time to process what was happening. Bucky’s fervid desire was blazing, like he couldn’t possibly stand the thought of not touching you for another second. 

His tongue snaked into your mouth and you moaned at the delectable feel of his piercing flicking against your own tongue. The wet slaps of your lips while you made out echoed down the dingy alleyway; it was far from a comfy bed, but the rough brick scraping against your back strangely heightened your excitement. 

Bucky suddenly grabbed your leg and hiked it over his hips. Saliva strung from his lips as he quickly pulled away to breathe into your open mouth. “Holy shit.” His chest rose and fell erratically, but a salacious grin decorated his face as though the struggle to catch his breath was exhilarating to him. “You’re sexy as fuck, Bunny.”

Your head spun from desire, a burning fever coursing through your veins like never before. “I’m so dizzy,” you slurred, completely relying on Bucky for balance.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he cooed before grinding his hips against your heat. “You haven’t seen nothin’ yet.” 

The material of his denim jeans rubbed tantalisingly over your thin underwear — you felt the full force of his bulge against your covered cunt as your tiny skirt raised up. 

You clawed desperately at his neck while your eyes rolled back. “Bear—please—”

“That’s right. Sing for me, baby,” he murmured, eyeing your neck with want. Your cries bounced off the brick walls when he began sucking your skin, just above your collarbone. 

“Never—oh god—I've never done anything like this before,” you panted.

Bucky pulled away with a wet pop. You watched as his eyes dilated at the sight of a dark hickey staining your neck. “Don’t you fuckin’ worry about that. I’ll take care of you.” 

Sharon’s warning still danced around in your head, a small voice clinging on to your last shred of restraint. “But—”

“Shh, Bunny baby.” He looked at you then, with his bright blue eyes and swollen lips. You hung onto his every word, even when the tips of his fingers teased the inside of your thigh. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re with me now.” 

And just as Bucky pulled the soaked gusset of your panties to the side, you knew you were a devout sinner, ready to let him take over the entirety of your mind when he said, “Daddy’s never gonna let his Angel go.” 

The pads of his two fingers slowly slid through the middle of your folds, the substantial amount of slick making the glide easy for him. “Oh fuck me,” he gasped. “Baby, you’re fuckin’ drippin’.” 

Words were lost on you. Your nails dug deeply into his arms while you struggled to stand on one leg without shaking. “I—oh my god—I can’t.” 

You missed the awestruck expression on Bucky’s face as he watched his own fingers move over your sex, the glisten of his rings coated with your arousal. With a sudden growl, he slapped your pussy, splatters of your wetness flicking over his forearm while you yelped in surprise. “Mm—that’s the good shit right there.” 

He seemed to be entranced, lost in his own world as you clung to him. “Bear,” you whined needily. “Bear, I need you.” 

But your cries went ignored. At least, only until he slowly sunk two fingers into your tight hole and made you scream out his name. “Bucky!” 

The groan that rumbled through his chest vibrated through your whole body. His free arm slithered around your waist and pulled you into him. Blowing the strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes, he stared you down while he continued to fuck you with his fingers, each time grinding them into you as deep as possible and basking in the fluttering of your eyes. “You fuckin’ love that, don’t you, huh? Love Daddy shoving his fingers so far into your wet cunt?” 

All you could do was nod dumbly, your head heavy and clouded over with lust. 

“Of course you fuckin’ do.” Bucky laughed before suddenly pulling his fingers out of you and leaving you emptier than you felt before him. 

You whined loudly with the sudden loss of fullness and slumped against him. “W-What—what’s goin’—Bucky—”

The sound of slurping beside your ear caused you to lift your heavy head with immense effort to the sight of Bucky sucking each of his fingers that had just been inside of you, like a starved bear. It winded you. He made sure to lick down to the knuckles, not a drop of your essence left untouched, even as he rolled his tongue over his rings. 

You watched, dazed and dizzy until he hummed in satisfaction and finally opened his eyes to look at you. “You taste fuckin’ incredible.” 

The fuzziness of your head switched off the part of your brain that made you tremble in his presence. You were holding on by a thread as you mumbled a “T-Thank you.” 

A couple of seconds passed by with your heaving breaths and an unbearable knot pulsing away in your lower stomach. Though, Bucky soon interrupted the silence. “Wanna come take a look at my car?”

You frowned, an unfulfilled orgasm made you feel delirious. Had you heard him right? He had just stuffed you with his fingers, literally leaving you a disheveled mess on his shoulder and he asked if you wanted to go see his car?

“It’s a Mustang Mach 1. She’s a real beauty.” Bucky offered, as though the model type would sway you to say yes when you knew absolutely nothing about cars. He seemed so casual and so the only way you thought to act was the complete same. 

Nodding your head, you took a deep breath and replied. “S-Sure.” 

Grabbing your hand, he grinned and began walking you to the parking lot of the campus. 

Little did you know, your very own devil was about to drag you into the pits of hell, tarnishing your white wings and making you his queen of the underworld. 

“Oh my god—Bear, please!” 

“Right fuckin’ there baby, ride my fuckin’ dick like the good girl you are.” Bucky’s fingers dug into the skin of your hips while you bounced on his cock, the skirt of your uniform bunched around your waist. “That's it, Bunny. Keep on hoppin’ for daddy, sweet girl.”

When Bucky had asked if you wanted to see his car, you truly thought that was what his intentions were. Even if he had just fucked you with his fingers, your naivety still let you believe he had no ulterior motives. Oh, how wrong you were. 

You followed him blindly when he wanted to show you the interior, thinking nothing of the fact that he made you climb over the console and into the backseat for comfortability. 

But now, as the windows fogged up and your bare tits bounced up and down since Bucky had torn his hoodie and the shirt of your cheer uniform over your shoulders, the only nonsensical thought your mind could supply was how much of a sucker you were for temptation — an innocent lamb ready to sin. 

The meat of your asscheeks clapped against his thick thighs while your hand slammed against the window; the built up perspiration inside the car coming away as your palm slid down with a screech. “So—so big—you’re so big, Bear.” 

Bucky’s sweat-stricken hair stuck to each side of his temple and he grunted deeply while the sound of your slick sloshed over his cock. “God, you’re leakin’ all over my dick.” He looked down and grinned at the sight of him stretching your hole wide open. “So fuckin’ wet for me, bun bun.” 

Your needy whines were music to his ears as you threw your head back. “Mm—can’t help it—you— you do this to m-me.” 

That seemed to please him greatly. “Yeah, Bunny?”

Bucky grabbed you by the chin, the chunky rings on his fingers indenting marks onto your protruding cheeks. “Who’s cock is stuffin’ your cunt full, huh? Who’s fuckin’ makin’ you soaked? Tell me, baby.” 

“Y-You, Bear,” you moaned.

But Bucky wasn’t satisfied. “Say it like you fuckin’ mean it.” 

“You’re keeping me full, baby! Daddy’s making me all wet!”

Bucky groaned with a sinister smile. “That’s more fuckin’ like it.” The thrust of his hips began to piston up into you and his balls slapped against the meat of your ass with the force. “Look at ya—all dumbed out ‘cause Daddy’s so deep in your hole.”  

Drool started to dribble down your chin. The tip of his cock hit the sensitive nerves in your cunt just right and words were the last thing on your mind. “Can’t even think for me, can you, baby?” 

The car bobbed up and down with the fast rhythm between the two of you, the suspension taking most of the beating. If you were of more sane mind, you would have been mortified with the thought of the scene should anyone walk by the parking lot. But as the muscles in your thighs burned from exertion, you couldn’t find it in you to care; not for the life of you would you stop, not when you had never felt such sinful pleasure in all your life. “I'm aching, Bear—please—I need more.” 

Bucky’s eyes rolled back with the sweetest plea he had ever heard. With a growl, he ripped his hands from your waist and spanked your tits before wrapping them both around your neck to bring you nose to nose with him. “Don’t gotta do anything else but this baby, keep makin’ me feel good, yeah? Gonna fuckin’ blow soon.” 

“Oh,” you whimpered. Your clit tingled with the prospect of Bucky cumming inside of your cunt and with a newfound energy, you worked harder to ride his cock. 

Gazing at you with hooded eyes, he chuckled deliriously. “Sound good, bunny? Want me to blow my load inside a’ya?” 

“Yes!” you pleaded, nodding your head desperately. “Want you to cum in my tight pussy, Bear.” 

He laughed hysterically. “Look at how far you’ve come, Angel. Taking what you want like you own it.” 

Your nails dug into the skin of Bucky’s chest. The quick glide of his cock in and out of your cunt was too much for you, so much that your mouth hung open shamelessly.

“Such a good slut for me, bunny—you wanna be my slutty little bunny, huh?” Gripping your throat tightly, he manhandled you away from his forehead to hold you up like a ragdoll. When you didn’t answer he lightly slapped your cheek until your eyes widened and looked at him. “Answer me you fuckin’ slut.” 

“Yes Daddy!” you cried. “Please—I just wanna cum. Let me cum!” 

Bucky bit his bottom lip as he looked down at your pussy sucking him in. “I don’t know, pretty baby. I don’t think you wan’ it bad enough.” 

He was toying with you. You were a wreck in his hold with tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“I do—I do!” you swallowed against the dryness of your mouth as you fought for breath. “Do anything—I’ll do anything for you, Bear. It's too much—please!” 

“You cryin’ for me?” He laughed breathlessly. Sitting up with an excited vigor, Bucky licked the tear tracks on your cheek, still managing to thrust up into you while he whispered into your ear with a moan. “So goddamn beautiful when you cry for me.” 

Running the tip of his finger down your stomach and down to your pussy, he forewent touching your throbbing clit and instead teased it against your already stuffed hole. 

You gasped harshly at the feel of him pushing against your stretched cunt. “B-Bucky! N-No you can’t, you’re already—I’m already so full.” 

But you were hopeless to the devil on your shoulder, the same one who began inching his finger beside his cock and pushing it into you. “Shhh, you can take it, baby. Make Daddy Bear proud.” 

Taking a deep breath, you squeezed your eyes closed tightly as your slick helped to suck in both his cock and his finger. The sensation was unusual, but somehow you wanted more. Your mouth hung open on a silent scream. 

“There’s a good Bunny—knew you could do it, sweetheart.” Bucky rubbed his thumb over the skin of your throat soothingly, giving you a couple of seconds to get used to the new feeling. But as soon as he felt the flutter of your pussy, he grinned wickedly and hooked his finger over the soft spongy spot inside of you. “Now hold on tight while I ruin your cunt.” 

A loud squeak was finally forced out of you once he began fucking back up into you. You thought you felt full before, now you were holding onto the last of your sanity; lost in the pits of a torturous yet addicting feeling.  

“What’s a’matter, hm? Thought you were already too full, baby? But just look at your slutty little pussy taking more.” Bucky hummed with a nefarious gleam in his eye. “Wonder if I could get my full fist in you.” 

The juices from your cunt squelched loudly, dripping down the length of Bucky’s finger and gathering in the palm of his hand. The image of him steadily working you up to take the size of his fist, imagining the wide gape your hole would make as you clenched around his wrist was too much for your already overstimulated self to handle. 

“Wan’ it,” you garbled around the spit in your mouth. You could barely keep your eyes open as you withstood the battering your pussy was so greedily taking. “Wan’ you to fuck me with your whole hand, Bear.” 

Bucky sucked bruises on the skin of your tits as they bounced in his face, the wicked intent smothering his face deepening the more you lost your will to him. “Fuck, angel. You really are perfect.” 

With his free hand, he palmed your ass, forcing you to bounce on him even harder. “We’re gonna have so much fun together, yknow that, baby?” His voice rang like a melody in your head, one you were becoming lost to. “Yeah. Daddy’s gonna teach you all kind of new things, pretty girl.” 

The blossoming ache in your lower stomach magnified into a tight ball of pleasure, your clit painfully throbbing with the need to let go. 

“I can’t—,” you sobbed. “I need to—gotta cum, Bucky—please.”

“Are you askin’ me permission, sweetheart?” 

“Yes!” You cried to the roof of the car. “Please—please Daddy—please let me cum. I can’t hold it any l-longer.” 

“You gonna cream all over Daddy’s hand, baby?” Bcuky’s voice grew hoarser as he pistoned his hips into your waiting cunt, meeting you each time you threw yourself down. “Gonna give me your sweet little cunt juices so I can taste you again?” 

“Ugh!” You whined, high pitched. “Anything you want—anything you want!” 

You were balancing on the fence between heaven and hell; the lines of pain and pleasure blurring so much that you were sure you were going to pass out as your legs shook and your stomach cramped with refrained edging. 

But by some almighty higher force, your prayers were answered when Bucky’s fingers harshly pinched your enlarged clit and twisted, timing his motion perfecting with a scrape of his fingertip against your inner walls. “Make a mess on me then, Bunny.” 

White noise blasted over the deafening screams released from your inner core, the rattle of the bouncing car and Bucky’s deep moans as your pussy clenched unforgivingly around his cock. Your soul seemed to ascend, overtaken by some unnatural force as your limbs seized and became weightless all at once. 

It was like your body wasn’t yours anymore, like you weren’t actually present as your conscience waned in and out. One second you felt the explosive ricochets of electricity dance along your veins, and another you were sure you blacked out. 

Your clouded mind came back into focus as a pair of hands squeezed your hips, your sex clamping down tightly on the length of a cock grinding inside of you. 

“You were so fuckin’ good, Bun.” Bucky’s gruff timber woke you up fully. The sight of him licking your combined juices as he stared heatedly between your legs brought you back to the current. 

Looking down, you blinked several times to find a thick load of milky white cum leaking from your hole. 

“You—,” you swallowed the dryness of your throat as you tried to gather your thoughts. “You c-came in me.” 

Leaning his head back against the seat, Bucky laughed with a fucked out smile. “I absolutely fuckin’ did, Angel.” He thrusted up into you one last time, smirking at the yelp you let out. “And don’t you look a pretty picture.” 

Your bashfulness came back in full force as you buried your neck into Bucky’s chest, slumping onto his body with a whine, his cock still hard in your cunt. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of, baby.” He sighed, satisfied as he grabbed a smoke from his front pocket half way down his thighs. “You did real good for me, sweetheart.” 

You turned your head into his cheek. “I did?” You asked, craving his validation. 

Lighting his joint and taking a hit, Bucky blew out the smoke from his mouth, grabbed your chin and fused his lips to yours once more, taking no preamble or measures before tangling his tongue with yours. 

You whimpered as the taste of weed teased your tastebuds, squirming unashamedly, even when more of Bucky’s load rolled down your legs. 

Regretfully soon, his lips left yours and he gave you one last peck to your forehead before bringing you to rest on his chest again. 

“I’m fuckin’ keepin’ you, bunny baby.” Bucky slapped your ass and you jolted, clenching around him as you whined out loud. His tongue darted out to lick his raw-bitten lips, a hungry smirk on his face while he squeezed the bruised, sore flesh. “All mine.”