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imaginedisish · 4 months ago

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Everlong (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This was not a request, just a thought I had and had to get out. "Everlong" by Foo Fighters just scratches my brain in a way very few songs can, and it fits perfectly for this fic. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: Logan offers you his bed as a friend, knowing how hard it is for you to fall asleep alone. But after months of sleeping next to him platonically, things finally take a turn...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Thigh riding, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, non-sexual intimacy to sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, man-handling, rough sex, afab!reader/f!reader, feelings, fluff, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,619 jeeeeeeezzzzz this is DEPRAVED

Sleep was hard—that is, until you started sleeping in Logan’s bed.

It had all started out so innocent. You were sitting on a couch in the study, flicking through the pages of your favorite book. You had just finished your fourth lap around the grounds of the mansion, and you decided you needed a break. The clock on the wall read 2:22 AM, mocking you, reminding you that of all the gifts you have, sleeping would never be one of them.

“What’re you doing awake?” You jumped at the voice breaking up the silence, but quickly recognized its bassy, deep tone. You turned to face Logan in the doorway.

“Just can’t sleep,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. He wore a beater and gray sweatpants, and you struggled against the urge to trail your eyes up and down his body. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him—you’ve wanted him for months.

Logan crossed his arms against his chest and smiled softly. “Can’t sleep either,” he said, taking a step closer. “You can come up to my room, if you want” he offered. “Next time you can’t sleep, or you have a nightmare, or you just can’t think of anything to do, come find me.”

You smiled at his words, at his kindness, at his willingness to help you. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered.

“No problem, princess.” And then he turned to leave, walking back through the hallway and up the stairs to his room.

You’re still not sure what came over you in those following moments—still don’t understand where your confidence came from—but you forced yourself up from the couch and down the hall, following Logan’s path to his room.

He was already inside, already had the door closed, so you knocked. And the door immediately swung open. You swallowed, parting your lips nervously. “Lo, do you think I could take you up—”

But he didn’t even let you finish. He grabbed your arm and tugged you into the darkness of his room, navigating you carefully to his bed. He laid you down and walked to the other side, climbing in next to you. He brought the covers over your bodies, shuffling under the sheets, settling in, and then everything was silent.

You tried to get comfortable. You rolled onto your stomach and waited, eyes shut tight, hoping that sleep would take you under its current. But it didn’t. You rolled back onto your side, away from Logan, opening and closing your eyes frustratedly.

“You okay?” He asked. You could hear Logan inching towards you, his front suddenly pressing against your back.

You hummed in affirmation, leaning your back into him. He reached a tentative arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. “Is this okay?” He husked, his lips at the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you panted into the darkness of his room, taking shallow breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could smell him everywhere—on the sheets, the pillowcase, in the air of the room. It was all leather and musk and pine and denim. And there he was, holding you, his thumb drawing soft circles into your slightly exposed midriff. Something about it was overwhelming, but also comforting, as though all your senses were being cradled by him.

He could hear your heart beating, could hear your breath catching in your throat. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you focused on Logan’s breathing. It was constant, stable, steadfast. He was so warm, so solid. And soon enough, you found yourself giving in to sleep.

You woke up a few hours later, the pale light of the moon still pushing through the curtains. Logan’s legs were tangled with yours, your face pressed into the center of his chest, his arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. You tried to lift your head to read the clock behind you on the nightstand.

But Logan pulled you back down. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against the crown of your head. “Too early.”

That’s how most nights have been since then—climbing into his bed, completely innocently, just to be able to sleep. He holds you all night, keeping you close. And when the sun finally rises, you both get up and head down to the kitchen, watching as Logan brews you a pot of coffee.

It’s shockingly domestic and incredibly intimate. And yet, the two of you have never talked about it. It’s a silent agreement, one based on pattern, convention, and repetition. These very events have played out more times than you can count—for months now. It has become so normalized that you don’t question it, don’t even think about it when you crawl into his bed, and he pulls you into his chest.

So, tonight starts out like any other. Your feet pad along the dark, mahogany wood floors, down the dim, quiet hallway, towards Logan’s room. You’re only wearing a pair of panties and one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the hem falling to the middle of your thighs.

You stand in front of his door and knock. You aren’t nervous anymore—aren’t anxious as he opens the door. He’s already shirtless, wearing just his boxers—which, however, is something you will never get used to. He smiles, his eyes trailing up and down your body as he steps to the side, inviting you in.

You know the drill by now—you walk to your side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up to your chin. Logan follows suit. You move in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s a silence shared by two people who don’t have to say a word, don’t have to communicate to feel connection. His arms wrap around your body, and he tugs you into his chest.

“Didn’t see you today,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Wish I could’ve.” His fingertips graze up and down your back, your t-shirt hitching up as you get comfortable, revealing your bare legs.

“I’m here now,” you whisper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, smelling him, letting him overtake your senses. He tangles your legs with his.

“Is this my shirt, by the way?” he asks, his hands sliding down to the hem, which is now bunched up above the waistband of your panties.

You smile into his neck. “Maybe,” you answer, giggling softly.

His fingertips slip just under the t-shirt, tentative and hesitant, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him no. But you don’t. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he husks, his thigh settling between your legs so that you’re straddling it.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, trying to ignore the way he bumps against your core, the way his words make your heart race. You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around his center, letting him engulf you in his warmth. You swallow your feelings down and close your eyes. “Night, Lo,” you mutter.

“Night, princess,” he says, his lips against the crown of your head.

You listen carefully to his breathing, like you always do, and after a few moments, you find yourself falling asleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, your back is against Logan’s front. His arm keeps you pressed tightly to his chest, his nose nudging against the crook of your neck—you can feel his breath, warm on your skin. Your legs are intertwined, his knee just inches away from your core.

Logan moves in his sleep, his knee bumping against your core now, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just under your ear. You take a deep breath, pleasure pulsing between your thighs as Logan moves again, his thigh dragging against you. You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

He moves again, and that’s when you feel it—his erection stiff against the curve of your ass. Heat spreads across your chest, up to your neck, your stomach somersaulting as his hips press harder into your ass.

“L-Lo,” you stutter into the darkness of his room. But he doesn’t answer. His thigh slides against your core again. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your panties. “Logan,” you choke, moaning louder this time.

He hums in response, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin—the ghost of a kiss. It’s too much—you want to grind down on his thigh, want to feel his cock pressing against your ass, want to feel his hips rutting against yours. You thought maybe this would happen, hoped that one night would lead to something like this, but you never dreamed it would actually come to pass.

Logan’s thigh rubs against your heat again, and you mumble his name, your breathing quickening. “Fuck,” you groan, involuntarily bucking your hips against Logan’s. His erection drags along your ass.

You force yourself to be still as Logan grunts into your neck. “You awake, pretty girl?” He whispers against your ear.

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to play half-asleep. You don’t want to let on that you can feel him hard against you, and you pray you aren’t soaking through your panties and onto his thigh.

You swear you can hear him mumble a soft fuck under his breath. Your thoughts race around your head. Maybe he was awake the whole time. Maybe he felt your hips roll against him. Maybe he can smell the arousal growing between your thighs. You know he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But his arm tightens its grip around your waist, and he pulls you closer, holding you down against his thigh. “What were you doing, sweetheart?” He rasps, pressing a true, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You gasp, a shiver running down your spine.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter, stumbling around your words as he kisses your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ear.

He moves his knee, pressing harder into your core, dragging his thigh against your aching heat. You stifle a moan as he repeats the motion. “Felt you riding me, pretty girl,” he huffs, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips along his thigh. “Smelt you, too,” he whispers, his lips still at your neck. “Can feel that pretty, wet pussy dripping on me, darlin’.”

“Logan,” you whine, letting him move your hips back and forth. The pressure feels so good. You need more. “Please…” You trail off, grinding down onto him.

“Making a fucking mess of me, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingers gripping your hips like iron, so tight he might bruise. “Love watching you get off on me.” His voice is dark and honeyed, smooth like expensive liquor. Your walls clench around nothing as your clit drags along Logan’s thigh and you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, letting him pull you back and forth. You’ll take anything you can get—anything he’s willing to give to you. “D-don’t stop,” you beg.

“Fuck,” Logan grunts. “Need me that bad, huh?”

“Y-you have no idea,” you stammer. He bites your pulse point as one of his hands wraps around your front, slipping inside your panties and finding your clit. “Oh fuck, Lo,” you whine, the pads of his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud.

“That feels good, pretty girl?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s getting off on it. You can feel his erection hard against your ass every time his hips buck into yours. “Bet it does, the way you’re soaking my thigh.”

“So fucking good,” you whimper. But you know you need more. You need him. “Logan, please…” You trail off, the words escaping you as pleasure pulses through your body.

“Please what, darlin’?” He teases, his fingers pulling out of your panties, his hands gripping your hips again, rolling you against his thigh. It’s not enough, and you groan at the loss of contact. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“N-need more,” you croak, dragging yourself along him.

“More what, beautiful?” But you know he knows. You know he wants to hear you beg for it, wants to hear you beg for him.

“More of you,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” He chides, slowing the roll of your hips with his iron grip. “More of me how?” He’s so goddamn cocky, so unfair.

“I-I…” your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly, teasingly drags you up his thigh, pulling you against his erection and holding you there. “However you want me,” you whisper, pushing against his cock. “Just want you.”

He suddenly pulls away, his grip on your hips forcing you into the mattress as he rolls on top of you, caging you in, his hands on either side of your head.

Logan’s lips crash down onto yours, swallowing you hungrily, his teeth grazing your lower lip and licking away the pain. You part your lips, inviting him inside, tasting his tongue against yours. He slides a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your shirt and yanking it up. He breaks the kiss to slip the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees, his eyes trailing your body, settling on your bare breasts.

“So fucking beautiful,” Logan praises, lowering down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand glides up your side and to your breasts. He palms your flesh, rolling his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pinching lightly. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He traces across the valley of your breasts, his hand massaging the other side.

He grinds his hips into yours, his erection nudging against your core. “Wanted you so bad, pretty girl,” he pants, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingertips drag down your body, gripping your hip tightly again. “Dreamed of fucking you, of tasting you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he pushes you into the mattress, biting down on your pulse point. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

You moan as he sucks at your sensitive skin. “Want you, Lo. Need you,” you whine, your arms wrapping around his back, nails digging into his skin. “Always wanted you.”

He kisses a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. He slides down your body, peppering light kisses across your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, his face illuminated by the pale, blue moonlight. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the need. He licks his lips—a man starved—as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

He tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor, and settles between your thighs. His face is just inches from your aching heat. Your chest heaves as he brings himself closer, his breath fanning across your cunt. You look down at him and find him staring up at you, watching your every move.

“Wanna know what you taste like, darlin’,” he huffs, his palms splaying on your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him. “Want me to make you feel good?” His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs possessively.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, already arching your back off the mattress. “Please, Logan.”

He smiles, his eyes still trained on yours as his tongue swipes through your folds, long and slow, all the way up to your clit. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your core, flicking your clit, lapping at it twice before starting all over again. He licks another teasing stripe through your folds, landing on your clit and taking the bud between his lips this time. He sucks roughly, releasing your clit and swirling soothing circles around it. “You taste so perfect. Better than I ever imagined.”

He laves at you, devouring you, his head buried against your cunt. His right hand climbs up your inner thigh, nearing your folds as his teeth graze your clit. Your hips jolt back at the sudden feeling, and Logan is quick to slide his left hand under your thigh. He grips tightly, yanking you back to him, and pressing his face deeper into your cunt. “Don’t even think about it, pretty girl. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.”

You moan at his words, his right hand finally working its way up to your folds. His fingertips find your entrance, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, prodding your slit. “Want my fingers, darlin’?”

“Yes, Lo, please. Want all of—” He thrusts two long, thick fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out as he pulls out and slams back in.

His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud every time he takes it between his lips to suck. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, the way he laps at you, drinking you in, consuming you. If he could find a way to keep your taste on his tongue all day, he would. If he could slip under your skin to be one with you, to feel your warmth, he would. You know this isn’t want. This isn’t lust. This isn’t some one-off thing. This is need. This is longing.

Your eyes roll back into your head as he breathes you in, his tongue working at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out, dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Logan praises, and you clench down around him at the words. He smiles against your cunt. “You like that, don’t you? Like when I tell you just how good of a girl you are.”

Your walls flutter around him again. “I-I do,” you admit, your voice shaky as he fucks into you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his fingers.

Logan chuckles darkly, the reverberation pulsing against your clit. “That’s my good girl, giving me what I’ve been waiting for,” he huffs, lapping at you, sucking on your clit like it’s candy. “Would’ve waited forever for you.”

Your muscles contract and release at his words, at the intimate confession. “Would’ve waited forever for y-you too,” you whimper, his fingers still working you open. You’re so close. Fire burns at the base of your spine, your walls clenching around Logan’s fingers again as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles into your bud.

“No more waiting, beautiful,” Logan grunts, and you know what he means—he knows you’re close. “Wanna feel you come around my fingers, wanna taste it.” It isn’t a request; it’s a command. His fingers plunge deeper, his tongue laving at your clit roughly between sentences. “Know you’re ready to let go, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Come for me.”

You’re crashing down, falling, but not into nothingness—into Logan, into his warmth, into his touch. Your chest heaves and the room spins. Heat pours from deep at the bottom of your belly, fire spreading up your spine. Nothing has ever felt like this. His name is the only thing you can think, the only thing you can say: Logan Logan Logan Logan.

His pumps slow down, his fingers dragging gently along your inner walls until he stills inside you and carefully pulls out. His tongue is still lapping at you, still working your overstimulated clit.

“Logan,” you whine, your hands finding his head, digging your nails into his scalp. “Want you.”

He smirks against you, knowing full well what he’s doing. “You have me, darlin’.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in pleasure—the tension building back up between your thighs with every flit of Logan’s tongue. “Please,” you beg, tugging on Logan’s hair. He grunts at the feeling, smiling against your cunt again. “I want you, Logan.”

“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl,” he huffs, his face finally separating from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, his lower lip. He brings his fingers to his mouth as he waits, wrapping his lips around his fingers and sucking, savoring the taste of you.

“Want you inside me…” You trail off, watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth, his tongue darting out along his lower lip, rationing every drop of you he can find. “Want your cock,” you finally choke out.

The corner of Logan’s mouth turns up, his fingers hooking into his boxers and tugging them down. “Wanna fuck you so bad, beautiful,” he grunts, his cock springing free, bouncing against his stomach. He’s so much bigger than you had anticipated. You swallow nervously as he lowers himself down over you, resting on his forearm. “Thought about this for so long.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your folds. He swipes through you, spreading your slick, notching against your clit. You moan at the contact, your chest coming flush with Logan’s as your back arches off the mattress. “Logan, please,” you beg. “Just want you. Only ever gonna—”

He plunges deep inside you, down to the hilt with one thrust. You’ve never felt so full—his cock thick and long, splitting you open. His presses a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans as his tongue darts out, tangling with yours. He’s still inside you, stretching you out, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asks as his lips part from yours.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your arms wrapping around his back. “Feels good. So big.”

Logan pulls out and thrusts back in, splitting you open again. “Fuck,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours. “So fucking perfect. So tight, so warm. Made for me, darlin’.” Your eyes flutter open and closed as his free hand slips between your bodies, quickly finding your clit.

“Lo,” you whine as his fingers draw tight, rapid circles into the bud. He sets his pace, pumping in and out of your cunt with reckless abandon. His hips rock against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along the walls of the room.

“Knew you’d feel like this,” Logan soothes, flicking your clit as he fucks into you. “Knew you’d feel this good. Wanna be inside you forever, princess.”

His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging on your lower lip and then sucking the pain away. It’s rushed and frantic, like he’s dying for more, searching for a way to reach deeper inside you, to feel all of you at once.

He ruts into you, his hips snapping, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. He pinches your clit roughly, and your back arches off the mattress, your chest pressing against his.

“No idea how much I wanted you…” You trail off as his cock pounds into you. He’s still stretching you out, still working you open.

Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing at your words. “Wanted to fuck you that first night you came in here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. “Wanted you before that too. Knew I needed you the second I saw you.”

The confession rocks through you. You think of all those nights spent next to Logan, all those stolen moments. He wanted you—needed you the whole time.

“Lo,” you hiccup, his fingertips swirling your clit, his hips rocking against yours. He sinks deep inside, again and again, pumping in and out. Your walls flutter around his cock, dragging him in deeper.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he groans, sliding out and plunging back in. “Squeezing me so good, taking me so well.”

Tears brim in the corners of your eyes at the pure pleasure drumming through your bones. You know you’re close, know you’re almost unraveling underneath him. Logan flicks your clit, drawing hard, rough strokes around the bud. You’re on fire, and you’re burning for him.

“Logan I-I…” You stumble around your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pounds into you. Your walls flutter around him again, and his cock twitches inside you at the feeling.

He groans, your name on his tongue like a prayer. “I know you’re close, pretty girl.” He throbs inside you, and you know he’s almost there too. “Wanna make you come again,” he grunts, pulling out and pumping back in. “Know you have another one in you, sweetheart.”

He’s right. You can’t hold on much longer, but you want this moment to last. You want to feel his cock dragging along your walls, filling you up, splitting you open. You want his chest flush against yours. You want to feel the way he bites your lip and sucks away the sting he leaves behind. You want it all—all of him—and you don’t just want it right now. You don’t want this to be a fleeting moment. You want it to be forever.

“Come on, beautiful,” Logan pants, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He twitches inside you again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He strokes your clit, drawing those quick circles into the bud. “Let go for me. Know you want to,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words overwhelm you, and you let go. It’s all more forceful this time, more powerful, your body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as wave after wave of pleasure tears through your body. It feels like blinding, searing heat, spreading like a forest fire.

Logan is right behind you, moaning your name, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he husks, his chest heaving. You whisper a soft, pleading yes. “Fuck, gonna make you mine,” he moans. His cock throbs again, and then he’s spilling inside you, filling you with his release.

His fingers rub gentle strokes into your clit, his cock slowly pumping in and out before stilling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his hand traveling up your body, and rolling you over so that you’re side by side, facing each other. He pulls you into his chest, his cock still deep inside you.

Logan’s arms wrap around your back, caressing your bare skin, tracing patterns and shapes with his fingertips. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest.

“Wanna stay inside you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Wanna keep you close.”

“You can,” you whisper, your heart hammering. “Wanna stay close, too.”

He presses another kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” Logan soothes, his fingers running up and down your spine. “Gonna want you forever.”

You lift your head to look up at him, his eyes immediately meeting yours. “Forever?” You ask, but you know it’s a dumb question. You know he’s telling the truth.

He smiles and nods. “Would’ve waited for you forever,” he says, pausing, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Never felt this way before, pretty girl. Never felt this real, this perfect. Don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper into the darkness of his room. “Please.”

“I won’t,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I won’t.”

His breathing steadies, and you listen to him like you do every night. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift off to sleep with Logan’s cock deep inside you.

Forever. You think as your mind goes quiet and sleep drags you under. Forever.

Everlong.

tags: @ricefordays-blog1 @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @starrdustss @wittyjasontodd @pedrohoe04 @fanfic-writing-barbie @evasmlp @derbygracie @cosmiccandydreamer @honeyfewr @movhoney @manipulatour @rammakela *I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

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the-whispers-of-death · 4 months ago

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Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who stares longingly when you're not looking. He looks at you like you hung his moon and stars, like you're his entire universe. And to him, you are his entire universe.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who memorizes your drink order whether you're in a café or a bar. He has you find a table for the two of you and comes back with the exact drink you've been having the entire he has known you. His eyes sparkle when you tell him that he puts more effort in remembering your order than any of your exes.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who takes you out to a shooting range so you can work out all of the rage you have when a now-ex of yours cheats on you. If you don't know how to shoot a gun, he stands behind you and helps you, making his heart race at how close you two are. He grumpily mutters something about how you deserve better than the people you've been dating.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who nods so easily when you rant and rave about how you two should just stay away from relationships after you both break up with someone. He listens to you say how the only love worth having is platonic and familial love and while his heart breaks a little bit, he's just happy to have you loving him platonically.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who offers to kiss you when the clock strikes 12 on New Years because you've been jokingly complaining about having no one to kiss when the ball drops. He's so pleased with himself when you agree to his offer and he doesn't hesitate to make good on the offer when the ball drops. He cradles you in his arms and kisses you like it's his last night on Earth.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who doesn't forget about the kiss after you've probably have and he starts doing subtle romantic things with you to show you that he's serious about you. He's determined to make you know that he'll be better than everyone else.

Friend-to-Lover!Ghost who relishes when you finally admit your feelings for him and ask him out on a date. He takes you out to a fancy restraint and treats you like the royalty you are. And when he drops you back home and walks you to the door, he promises that he'll always treat you the way you deserve to and that you'll never have to wonder if he's loyal to you. He kisses you before you go inside.

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lokissweater · 5 months ago

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“i love you and i love you.” ᡣ𐭩

{yuta okkotsu x f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been hopelessly in love with you since he was fifteen. you, his muse and his reason to live as you took care of him growing up more than anyone else in his life. in fear of breaking your best friend pact and losing you entirely, yuta swallows his feelings for the sake of keeping you in his life, but he can only take so much.

warnings: college au, friends to best friends to lovers trope, lowkey ooc yuta oops, mentions of underage drinking, hopelessly devoted and lovesick yuta for reader, cursing!!! both reader and yuta cuss lol, lots and lots of fluff, ANGST, afab!reader, use of y/n, pet names, no smut in this one! slight sexual themes, reader is older than yuta by two years.

word count: 8.7k

authors note: YAAALLL i actually poured my heart and soul out into this one so i really hope it reaches your heart and soul as well! it is so so cute and i had so much fun writing it. this is definitely not the end of this au! i plan to write more short stories that take place after this one :) mwah.

————————————————————————

yuta was thirteen years old when he first saw you.

you were a casual friend of his older brother who had invited his entire group of friends over for a thanksgiving feast reunion amongst yourselves. yuta stayed locked in his room for the most part, from time to time lazily making his way down the halls and through the kitchen where you all sat to get a glass of water for himself, silently savoring at the food on the table.

eventually you had picked up on his lame attempts of coming into the kitchen for random excuses, concluding that he just wanted to gawk at the food and maybe score a bite or two of the pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream, sitting pretty and proud in the middle of the table.

but after various unsuccessful attempts and various defeated stomps down the hall and back to his room after every shoo from his brother, he knew he wasn’t going to get even a lick. at the end of the night when the group settled down and many began to take their leave, yuta made his way back down one more time in search of any lucky scraps left behind.

but what he found instead was you, standing in the kitchen with a white porcelain plate in your hands, a slice of pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream sitting pretty in the middle.

“for you,” you had said calmly, plate outstretched, beckoning him to take it. “i saw you come down a few times looking at it, and i think whoever brought it is taking the rest of it back home, so here.”

yuta had never spoken to a girl before, much less a fifteen year old one with the sweetest smile he had ever seen in his life on her face, but he timidly and awkwardly took the smooth plate from your offering hands, and muttered a squeaky thank you before stumbling down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut.

from then on, yuta looked forward to the next time his brother would have his friends over, nagging at him constantly with questions of when, and even going as far as to straight up planning the hangouts himself (the location of all of them being at their house of course), but his brother would only shove him out of his room and lock the door shut.

luckily for yuta his wish was granted, and his curious eyes saw you around a lot more often than not, and you gradually became a close friend of yuta’s brother instead of just casual one. every time you came over to his house, you always greeted him with the biggest smile on your face before going into his brother’s room with the rest of the group. and over time, your greetings to yuta went from sweet smiles, to pats on the head, to ruffling up his hair occasionally, and to his personal favorite, the side hug.

you always were around in yuta’s growing life and always made sure he had gotten something to eat that day, or if he had a ride to soccer practice, or if his phone had enough battery to last him through his tutoring sessions, or even if he had someone going to watch his soccer games in the mornings (which was never).

yuta was fifteen when he realized he liked you.

“so no one is going?” you asked sharply, “again?”

yuta shrugged. “its at eight o’ clock in the morning. i don’t expect anyone to, not even you-“

“well i’m going,” you said simply, putting the rest of your textbooks away in your locker and slamming it shut. “geez not even your brother goes to your games? i’m gonna yell at him later.”

“it’s fine.” yuta shook his head and gave you a small smile, his insides twisting and contorting with an overwhelming boy crush for you. “a lot of my teammates parents don’t go either, usually only to the first two of the season.”

but not you. you went every single time, even going as far as dragging his brother with you so he could have family there to watch him play. yuta always made sure to turn and raise a hand to you from across the field, waving it side to side before getting back in the game, his heart thumping wildly in his chest with an insane sense of adrenaline to do good on the field and show off— because you were watching.

yuta was still fifteen when he realized you liked his brother.

firstly, he felt utterly stupid for not picking up on it before. yuta was always too busy staring at you and memorizing every inch and detail of your face to realize that you were looking at his brother the same way yuta looked at you. he was too busy running around in soccer fields and eating the ham sandwiches you always made for him after practices to realize how red your face would get when you sat next to his brother during his games, or when you gave him sandwiches. yuta was too busy drooling over you in his mind that sometimes you wouldn’t even notice him waving at you from across the field like he always did, your eyes trained on his brother instead, that sweet smile he was all too familiar with shining for someone else.

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair at all. yuta felt like his brother always got everything and he always ended up with scraps. yuta never got a friend group like his, or a stellar reputation in a sport like he did, or people at his beck and call everywhere he went, or nominations for pointless shit like homecoming king.

but yuta didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. he didn’t want any of that. he wanted you. just you.

but he couldn’t have you.

yuta was sixteen when he realized he was in love with you.

he had been for a while actually, and he knew it, but the thought alone of you liking his stupid brother only fueled the fire of denial to save himself from getting hurt more than he already was.

but it was absolutely pouring rain that day, his tutoring session having been cancelled last minute due to the weather, and because of this he had no ride home and no umbrella to even attempt at walking home, not that he could anyways seeing as it would take him thirty minutes to do so. yuta absolutely could not take that chance. he had his laptop in his backpack with all of his school work, and worst of all, his final project that he had been working on since the beginning of the school year, a precious green portfolio filled with notes worth more than gold to him.

yuta grumbled as he scuffed his feet against the concrete at the front of his school under a rooftop, lips pressed into a thin line in annoyance. his parents were at work, there was no way they could just drop everything and go to him (not that they would anyways), and his brother was too busy hanging out with you doing god knows what at god knows where— so even calling you was out of the picture.

at the mere thought of you hanging out with his brother, he sighed softly, sadly, and slumped down on a blue bench with his cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, eyes trained to the ground.

heavy pit pats of rain smacked against the ground as he sat there in thought, the sounds of cars zooming down the wet streets as the only source of life around besides himself, seeing as it was already late in the day and everybody else had gone home. without him even noticing, the front doors beside him creaked open as he sat there grumbling.

“yuta?”

his head snapped up upon hearing your pretty voice call out to him, his eyes wide as he saw you standing there with an umbrella.

“what are you doing here?” he asked softly, standing up. yuta looked at you then and noticed your eyes were red and tired, and a shock of worry shot up his spine.

“i was-”

“are you okay?” he asked quickly. “your eyes are red.”

“oh really?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your palm, waving him off. “it’s nothing, i didn’t even notice.”

he pursed his lips, concern written all over his face as he took in your defeated expression, but before he could press any further, you spoke again.

“why aren’t you in tutoring?”

“oh they cancelled last minute,” he stuffed his hands further into his jacket and looked to the side. “i don’t have a ride home now because of it, and i can’t even walk home because it’s raining hard as fuck and i have my laptop in my backpack.”

you hummed in understanding, and even though it looked like the worst possible thing ever just happened to you, you gave him that same sweet smile he craved every time he saw you. “let’s walk to your house together. i have an umbrella we can try and fit under.”

he looked at you incredulously. “no no! it’s okay! you live down the street i don’t want to make you walk thirty minutes in the rain with me and thirty back-”

“it’s okay!” you laughed. “i would never leave you here by yourself yu, you know that.”

oh how he loved when you called him that.

his shoulders slowly relaxed, a wobbly cute smile spreading across his face, his cheeks a fuzzy pink. “okay.”

you walked together in a comfortable silence, your little umbrella just barely covering the both of you and yuta’s cheeks were still an intense pinky shade due to the close proximity, his steamy breath basically fanning the side of your ear as he huddled close to you.

after a few minutes spent walking on the sidewalk, yuta spoke up again.

“why are your eyes red?”

you immediately froze, but relaxed quickly.

“just tired s’all,” you responded weakly, but the little wobbling of your bottom lip told him otherwise.

yuta slowly lifted his hand and reached out, placing it softly on top of yours and clenching over the stem of the umbrella. the action caused you both to stop walking, your curious eyes snapping to his.

his palm felt like it was on absolute fire at the feeling of your soft hand under his, yuta’s breath trembling as he breathed out.

he swallowed. “can you please tell me why.”

your eyes flooded with tears then, and you shut them tightly as you dropped your forehead solemnly to rest against his shoulder, your frame shaking with quiet sobs escaping your lips.

yuta’s eyes softened and he quickly took the umbrella from you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug. his heart thumped so hard against his chest that he could hear it ringing through his ears.

he patted the back of your head gently. “what happened? what’s going on?”

you shook your head against his chest.

“y/n..” he sighed worriedly, running a soothing hand over your shaking back now.

“i have a crush on your brother,” you sobbed.

he knew. god he knew. but hearing you say it out loud broke his heart ten times more than it did when he found out on his own.

yuta slightly pulled back, bending his knees a little to look at you at eye level, his hand on your shoulder.

“i know.”

your eyebrows furrowed, more silent tears spilling from your eyes. “you know?”

yuta nodded, smiling sadly at you as he wiped your tears with his thumb, your eyes closing as he did so. “i spend almost every second of my life with you, of course i know. i noticed.”

you sniffed.

“weren’t you just with him now?” he asked.

your eyes shut tightly again, eyebrows contorted in pain as you nodded. “i confessed to him. i wanted to tell him before we graduated next month.”

you lifted your hands and covered your face, sobbing into them. “i’ve loved him since middle school.”

loved?

yuta’s shoulders slumped as he stared straight ahead, feeling like he wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and stay there.

“he-“ you hiccuped. “he rejected me.”

his head snapped down immediately, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of disbelief and anger. “huh? he rejected you?”

you nodded, dropping your hands from your eyes and burying your head in his chest.

“why? what did he say?”

“he said he didn’t feel the same way—” you stopped for a moment to even out your breaths. “and that he was sorry.”

yuta scoffed, shaking his head. “what a big fucking loser.”

you snorted at that, and he looked down at you fondly, relieved you laughed.

“he… he thanked me for everything that i’ve done for your family though, especially you.”

he stayed silent.

“he said he was thankful that i was like another sibling for you, and that i took care of you.”

another sibling?

yuta didn’t say anything, that phrase like a slash through his heart while he still thought about how much of a fucking idiot he was to reject you. you, out of anyone deserved to get everything you wanted. you were selfless, incredibly sweet, the most gorgeous human being to ever walk this earth, and you had done so much for everyone that you neglected your own needs all of the time.

how could he not love you back? how could his brother not see the angel in his life that loved him, that sentiment alone an absolute privilege to have? something he would kill for?

yuta knew he shouldn’t make this about himself. he knew you were absolutely hurting and heartbroken, but he just had to know. it was eating him alive inside and out and over and over again as he kept thinking about it.

“is that how you see me?”

“hu-huh?” you hiccuped, picking your head up from his chest to look at him.

“as another sibling. is that how you see me?”

you blinked up at him, your eyes trailing over his furrowed eyebrows and worried gaze, and you hesitated for a moment, not knowing exactly why.

but you nodded, slowly. “you’re my best friend, yu. you’re not just anyone to me i care a lot about you. more than most people in my life.”

for a moment, yuta looked at you blankly, his mind unable to properly register your words. he didn’t know whether he wanted to cry, call up his brother and yell at him, kiss you, or run away.

a part of him knew that too, that you only saw him as a sibling. but like everything else in his life, he buried it down and chose to pretend like it didn’t exist for the sake of his heart.

but regardless of you not returning his feelings, he would rather be something to you than nothing at all. he would rather make some type of difference in your life and have a special spot, than be an absolute nobody to you.

so he smiled. he smiled with soft sad eyes and nodded, pulling you back in and resting his cheek against the top of your head. “you’re my best friend too.”

yuta didn’t see you around much at his house after that, which he understood.

but you still texted yuta everyday and hung out with him sometimes at school, and you still went to his games and practices and made him ham sandwiches after, and you still gave him that sweet smile he loved so so much.

but he never missed how sad you got around his brother, even at the mere mention of him. he never missed how your eyes stayed glued to the ground or had a far off look to them, your arms wrapped around yourself with a safe distance between you both.

when you graduated high school, yuta was a brat the entire ceremony. he was pissed. so pissed that you were two years older than him and that he wasn’t going to see your pretty self around school anymore, which was pretty much the only reason he tolerated it in the first place.

but when your graduating class threw their caps up into the air and his family went down to congratulate his brother, yuta made a beeline for you instead.

and behind that scowl on his face that he had the entire day, his eyes were glossy.

yuta never cried.

when you noticed, your shoulders instantly dropped and you ran to his open arms, practically throwing yourself on him. “yuuu! don’t cry for me!”

“who said i’m crying?” yuta grumbled into your shoulder.

you pulled back and smiled at him, “i’m gonna miss you the most.”

yuta smiled, but then faltered, and a sliver of fear shot up his spine. was this the last time he was going to see you? was this the start of you both slowly distancing, and then ultimately falling apart? were you still going to call him and text him everyday?

as if you could sense his fear, you quickly shook your head. “you’re literally stuck with me for life. you will never find another best friend to replace me, you got it?”

you waved your little index finger at him sternly, and yuta laughed. “i got it.”

yuta was nineteen when he almost kissed you.

after you graduated high school, luckily you went to a college that was only about a thirty minute drive from his place. you were still in yuta’s life, if not way more than it was before, which he thanked his lucky stars for. you went from being a best friend of his brothers, to being only his best friend, as you and his brother didn’t really talk anymore after high school.

and to that, yuta was happy.

and when he graduated high school, you of course were there, crying and pinching his cheeks and hugging him so tight his back cracked a little bit.

he didn’t go to the same college you did (although he definitely tried but didn’t get in) and went to one that was about forty five minutes away from home, one he commuted to everyday like you did for yours.

you both got so much closer that you obliviously acted like a couple, when you weren’t. yuta would pick you up from class and drive you to lunch, pay for all of your meals and anything you practically wanted despite you fighting him every time on it. he would kiss your forehead and your cheek and throw his arm around your shoulder when you walked, he would call you baby and compliment you every single day, and he would sleep over at your house almost all of the time, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around your torso.

he knew best friends weren’t really supposed to act like this, but did you? you both had grown so accustomed to it that it wasn’t a weird thing for you both, but the constant questions from your mutual friends or even each others parents was a dead giveaway that it in fact, was not how best friends were supposed to act.

but neither of you seemed to care.

“stop moving yu!” you whispered harshly as you applied an aloe vera mud mask to his face. yuta snickered, dodging your fingers every time they came close to applying the mask, with the only reason he was doing it being because it made you laugh.

you were both sat on your fluffy pink rug in the middle of your room in your pajamas, surrounded by all of your skincare essentials and even the fancy products you only pulled out on special occasions. it was one in the morning at this point and you both were still up, trying to keep your laughter to a minimum in attempts at not waking up your parents downstairs.

“baby this stuff smells kind of funky,” he commented as you applied some to his cheek.

“the funkier the better,” you responded, focused. “kind of smells like you.”

he pinched your side and you giggled, flinching away. “i’m kidding! i’m almost done, don’t move.”

yuta listened and stayed still, watching your concentrated pretty face that was practically inches away from his as you applied the mask to the rest of his face, his poor heart almost giving out.

once you were done, you smiled triumphantly and wiped your fingers with a warm damp towel. “all done!”

yuta smiled fondly at you and kissed your cheek. “thanks. is this what you put on every night?”

you shook your head, “not every night, only when i want my skin to look extra good for special occasions.”

“which is..?”

“it’s usually when you invite me over to your family events or when we eat dinner at that one really nice place by your school.”

yuta stopped at that and he felt his heart clench at your words. he didn’t know why and he usually didn’t let it, but his mind was making him believe that maybe…

no.

he relaxed again, humming in acknowledgement. you picked up a circular pink little tub compartment thing and unscrewed the cap, dipping your ring finger in the shimmery product.

“what’s that?” he asked softly, nodding his head to it.

“it’s my lip scrub!” you responded enthusiastically, lifting your ring finger and scooting closer to him. his eyes looked straight at you as you slid your finger over his lips. “it has kind of like a rough texture, it’s supposed to exfoliate your lips and make them really soft.”

his cheeks slowly turned pink, his eyes trailing down to your lips as you sat back, finished.

“here— put some on me now so you can feel what i’m talking about,” you handed him the little tub and he dipped his index finger in, swallowing the lump in his throat.

he timidly lifted his hand and pressed his finger to your waiting perfect lips, softly and gently running the product on your bottom lip before going to the top, his eyes mesmerized and nearly drooling.

yuta was practically tracing you, wanting to burn forever the shape of your mouth into his brain to remember for the rest of his life, wanting nothing more than to press his lips on yours.

but he inhaled sharply and quickly dropped his hand. “i’m finished.”

you pressed your lips together and spread the product around, “did you feel it?”

he shakily nodded, wiping his finger on the warm damp towel before handing it over for you to do the same.

you held up a corner of the towel to his lips and gently wiped the scrub away, “and now they’re soft.”

you passed the towel back over to him, and you sat back, eagerly waiting for him to do the same.

yuta swallowed again and mimicked you, except he was much slower, much more gentle over your plush lips as he subconsciously leaned closer to you that by the time he was done, his nose almost bumped with yours.

with eyes half lidded, he stared at your lips in a daze, licking his bottom lip slightly as you looked at him with wide eyes. he wanted to, so badly, to just grab your face and press your lips together, to pour the love he’s had for you for the past four years out and cherish you with everything that he has.

“yu?” you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath fanning against his lips.

his eyes immediately snapped to yours and he flinched back like a deer in headlights. “so— so when do i take this off?” he pointed to his face. “the mud mask.. when does it come off?”

you looked at him curiously, your eyebrows slightly pinched together as you tried to make sense of what was happening, if anything even really happened.

“almost..” you responded, unfocused. “in about five minutes.”

yuta quickly nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line, his hands clenched so hard into tight fists that his knuckles turned white.

he couldn’t look you in the eye. what the fuck was he doing? he was going to scare you away if he kept doing things like this, if he kept almost slipping up and doing something that could jeopardize your friendship with him.

your trust.

you nudged his shoulder with your finger, and he finally looked at you.

“is the face mask bothering you that much?” you said with a silly smile, and yuta physically deflated, affection pumping through his system.

“no baby,” he shook his head. “i like it! i think i should keep it on for the rest of the night and go to class with it tomorrow morning.”

you snorted and shook your head, “don’t be mean.”

he raised his hands up frantically, “i’m not! you think everybody has the privilege of getting a free facial by their pretty best friend?” he held up his index finger and wiggled it side to side. “i don’t think so.”

you giggled, so much, and grabbed the warm damp towel again, scooting closer to him by your knees. you began wiping away the mask on his face, being careful of not going too rough in fear of accidentally irritating and hurting him. yuta held you by the hips, assisting in keeping your balance and rubbing little circles into your stomach with his thumbs.

your cheeks went a little pink after a bit.

as the rest of the night went on, and when you both finally settled into bed facing each other— his hand on the side of your hip, you softly traced the rather dark bags under his eyes and frowned.

“you need to get more sleep, yu. i think you’ve had these bags since you were fifteen.”

“it’s because i always grind so i can buy you a big white house with a wiener dog and a picket fence.”

you laughed a little too loud and slapped a hand over your mouth, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his as your shoulders shook. when you settled down, you removed your hand and smiled sweetly.

“only if the house comes with you.”

yuta’s breath hitched, and his eyes searched yours desperately, for any indication that maybe, just maybe, you…

no.

“what… you want me as a roommate?”

you playfully rolled your eyes and gently shoved his shoulder.

yuta was twenty years old when he confessed to you.

it was also the first big fight you guys ever had in your entire years of knowing each other.

your relationship stayed the same, two peas in a little pod through college that never seemed to go to one place without the other, so much so that when you did, people would often ask where the other half was. he loved it. he loved you so much, and he found it harder and harder and more heart breaking for him as the years went by watching you not be his in any way shape or form.

every time he visited your campus or went with you to your college parties, he noticed the lurking eyes it seemed like every guy had on you everywhere you went, and it agitated yuta more than anything else. he was still a stubborn brat, and instead of doing something about it and maybe telling you how he feels, he just endures the pain and scowls at their glances, leading you through crowds by the hand or by the small of your back.

he never really indulged in the traditional college experience like you did, and never ever talked to any other girl besides you. he never wanted to or had any interest in doing so, regardless of you returning his feelings or not. you also never really talked to any other guy besides yuta or made any mention of your dating life, people mostly assuming you both were.

yuta weaved through the crowd, trying to spot a place for the both of you to sit while you went to get drinks from the kitchen. upon finally breaking free from the pile of dancing sweaty bodies, he recognized one of your girl friends and a couple of others sitting on a long lounge sofa, her eyes perking up.

“y/n’s boyfriend! you came?”

he stopped a bit, then smiled wide.

“yeah! she’s in the kitchen now by the way, she’ll be over here in a second.”

and when you did come over, already a bit tipsy from the line of shots you got pulled into while getting drinks, you walked over to where yuta sat while greeting your friends, handing him a red solo cup. and instead of sitting in the spot yuta had saved for you right beside him, you settled neatly on his lap.

his eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets as you swung an arm around his shoulders for support and made yourself comfortable. you had never done something like this, and he swallowed the huge lump in his throat as trembling hands settled around your waist and over your lap. his arm tingled with the feeling of your thighs underneath, afraid to put his hands anywhere near them in fear of making you uncomfortable or accidentally grabbing your face and making out with you.

but the chance of that happening wasn’t anywhere near impossible, as he was already tipsy by his drink and his hand was already gently caressing over the skin of your soft plush thighs.

best friends don’t do things like this.

and he did not give a single fuck.

your boobs were practically shoved up in his face, his pinky cheeks absolutely blazing as his eyes darted to every corner of the house and anywhere else that wasn’t your tits, his lips itching to feel, to taste.

the night progressed and the both of you got increasingly more and more drunk, clinging on to each other on the couch or stumbling through the house, laughing when one of you would trip and almost face plant on the hardwood floors, leaning on to each other for support.

“your boyfriend almost knocked over the tub of tropical mix in the kitchen!” your girl friend yelled over the loud booming music, laughing.

yuta expected you to correct her, but you didn’t, and only laughed along with her.

“no it wasn’t him! it was me,” you giggled drunkenly, your arms around his neck as his were tight around your waist, your group standing off to the side of the dance floor. “he had to grab me and pull me from it!”

and that’s how it often was, just you and him. you taking care of him and him taking care of you in every way possible, trying to pay you back for all of the years you spent being there for him when he was younger and way more, simply because he wanted to.

and on a night where yuta was studying for finals in his room, his brother that was visiting from college came in and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“you studying?” he asked.

yuta nodded, not bothering to take his eyes away from his notebook, still scribbling down his notes. he never really had the best relationship with his brother, much less after what had happened with you getting rejected by him.

his brother took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “i um… are you still friends with y/n?”

that caught his attention, and yuta’s eyes lifted from his notes to look at him. “yes? i’m with her like, most of the time. if you haven’t noticed.”

“no i have,” his brother murmured. “how is she?”

yuta took a second to respond. “she’s good.”

“that’s good that’s good. does she um- does she still have the same number?”

yuta put down his pencil and leaned back against his desk chair. “why?”

“i wanted to just catch up with her is all,” he shrugged. “i saw her when you brought her here for mom’s birthday and i hadn’t seen her since graduation.”

“catch up with her?” yuta mumbled. “since when do you give a shit about y/n?”

his brother scoffed. “i always have, yuta.”

“didn’t seem like it when you rejected her and started dating one of her close friends like the next day.”

his brother didn’t say anything, and yuta rolled his eyes at the lack of response, picking his pencil back up to continue his work.

“i still have her on social media and see what she’s up to… she posts you a lot. are you guys like— a thing?”

yuta bit the inside of his cheek. “no.”

his brother visibly relaxed for whatever reason and nodded. “i just want to talk to her again, is all. maybe buy her dinner—”

yuta pushed his textbook away, dropped his pencil again and spun around, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “fuck no.”

his brother scoffed. “i’m not asking for permission—”

“fuck no.”

“yuta i’m your brother i literally took you to school everyday and took care of you—”

“y/n did that.” yuta cut him off. “y/n gave me rides to school when i didn’t have my license and bought me food when i didn’t have a job. she also came to every single one of my games regardless of the weather and helped me with my homework when i was too stupid to figure it out on my own, everything you should’ve done.”

“that’s not true—”

“yes it is.” yuta crossed his arms in annoyance. “she didn’t have to do any of that. she never had to take care of me the way that she did but she did it anyways. she took on your role because you were too busy being a dingus doing god knows what and she knew that. y/n has done more for me than you’ve ever done in your entire twenty two years of living.”

his brother sat there in silence, yuta’s heavy angry breathing being the only thing heard in the room.

“okay well—” his brother stood from his bed and walked over to the door. “i’m just going to text her—”

“why the fuck are you gonna meddle into her life now? what… are you bored? are you not satisfied with whatever fucking girl you find up there at school?” yuta threw his arms up in irritation, his blood beginning to boil. “you treated her like shit. like absolute dog shit when you ignored her and avoided her for months after she confessed to you. do you understand how disrespectful that is?”

“whatever man it was high school—”

“and what, that gives you a pass to treat her like that? when that happened i was sixteen picking up the pieces you shit all over at your grown age—”

“i’m leaving.”

and with that, his brother walked out and slammed the door shut, and yuta was left absolutely red. red with anger he had never felt before in his life as he grabbed his notebook and chucked it across the room. he hated how casual he spoke of you, like you were just another girl he was going to try and get to know and fuck— to then leave without another word like his brother’s been doing his whole fucking life to girls. but not to you, it couldn’t happen to you.

and it was like yuta was going through the five stages of grief because then he was afraid. what if you let his brother back into your life? what if you fell for him again? you’d done it before the chances were not zero of you doing it again.

yuta didn’t want to lose you. he would rather gauge his eyes out and eat them for breakfast.

with that, yuta stumbled through his room putting on his shoes and snatching his car keys from his night stand, running down the hall and slamming the front door shut before getting in his car.

the drive was only about fifteen minutes to your house, and he felt so bad that it was nearly two in the morning and he was most likely going to wake you up, but he couldn’t stand it. he was going absolutely crazy, everything in him gnawing and eating him alive, his brother having pushed every single button in his body and more.

his tires screeched as he pulled into your driveway, thankful that your parents were away on a getaway trip as he slammed his car door shut and made his way up to your front door. yuta rang your doorbell twice before you finally opened it.

slowly, you peeked your tired eye through the slit, and your body immediately relaxed at the sight of him. “oh my god yuta, you scared the absolute shit out of—”

you stopped, your face falling at his livid expression and the way his chest heaved erratically. “yu? are you okay? what’s going on—”

but yuta only pushed passed you and trudged up your stairs without another word. dumbstruck, you closed your front door with a click and locked it, following him up the stairs and into your room.

“what’s wrong?”

“my brother is visiting from college.” he mumbled, sitting stiff on your desk chair. you moved to stand in front of him.

“…you mentioned that yeah—”

“and he… he told me that he wants to reach out to you.”

your eyebrows furrowed, taken aback. “me? for what?”

“he says he wants to catch up with you, see how you’re doing. be friends again i guess.”

yuta’s eyes remained stuck to the floor like glue, and you remained silent as you processed his words, confused out of your mind.

“i mean… i mean i guess? i guess that’s fine—”

his head snapped up, “that’s fine?”

you shrugged, “yes? i don’t see the big deal i don’t—”

“baby—” he shook his head in disbelief. “he absolutely broke you and treated you like nothing in high school, and you’re fine letting him back into your life? great.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “why are you being like that? he just wants to be friends again and that’s fine with me—”

yuta scoffed. “he doesn’t deserve it! he doesn’t deserve you—”

“yuta, whatever happened between your brother and i was years ago! i’m over it! this isn’t a big fucking deal!”

you hated fighting with him, god how much you hated it, and the way that he looked at you now was making you absolutely sick.

“so you’re just gonna be friends with him again?” he shrugged, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“yeah?”

“you’re fucking stupid,” he spat, getting up from your desk chair and walking over to the door, reaching for your doorknob.

you instantly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face you. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“what’s wrong with me?!” he raised his voice, jabbing a finger to his chest. “what’s wrong with you! do you not remember how bad you got when he did what he did?! do you really think i would stand here okay with you rekindling your little love for my brother?”

you scoffed, “my little love?!”

and before you knew it, angry tears were streaming down your face. you hated the way he was talking to you, and you didn’t know how your argument escalated so quickly and so drastically as you wiped your cheeks furiously.

and at the sight of you crying, yuta faltered slightly, his eyes softening.

“why do you think i still love him? i don’t! i haven’t since he rejected me!—”

“who says you won’t start again?” he spoke lowly, arms crossed over his chest. “my brother never had to lift a fucking finger for you to be head over heels for him. you don’t give a shit about yourself and you’re willing to throw yourself at him again—”

“shut up.” you spat, sobs raking through your body. “the fact that you’re stuffing a bunch of fucking words into my mouth and assuming i’m going to jump into your brothers arms is bullshit.”

“i—”

“is this how low you think of me?”

“no baby i don’t—”

“yes you clearly do because everything that’s come out of your mouth—”

“no! no i’m sorry i don’t—”

“then why—”

yuta shoved his hands into his hair exasperated, “because i love you!”

he let his arms fall limp, his eyes glossy and red with the most gut wrenching look on his face that read pure exhaustion. you had never seen him so torn.

“i love you and i love you and i have since since i was fifteen,” his voice shook with each word, hands trembling at his sides. “more than a best friend, more than anything in this world, and i never saw you like another sibling like you did for me.”

“fi.. fifteen?” you spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear you.

he nodded sadly, silent tears slipping down his cheeks and you automatically reached up, softly wiping them away with your thumbs as he closed his eyes, much like how yuta did when you got your heart broken by his brother on that rainy day.

yuta never cried.

“i swallowed it. you loved my brother and i swallowed it. i didn’t give a shit if you only saw me as a sibling because i would rather make some type of mark in your life and be in it than not have you at all. but i can’t take it anymore.”

he let out a sob, and he instantly shoved his face in the crook of his arm in embarrassment.

“yu…”

“you mean absolutely everything to me baby,” his voice was muffled a bit by his elbow, and after roughly wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater, he dropped his arm to look at you again. “i would do absolutely a-anything for you. you’re precious to me and the prettiest girl i have ever laid my eyes on and will ever lay my eyes on.”

he hiccuped and crossed his arms over his chest, staring up at your ceiling. “but i know you don’t love me like i love you. i’ve known for years and i just can’t bring myself to let you go. it’s so bad that i would rather you break my heart over and over again than let you go for the sake of my wellbeing and watch you walk out of my life—”

“yuta, can you please look at me?”

“i— i can’t,” he shook his head as his voice trembled, tears slipping from the sides of his eyes as he continued to stare at your ceiling. “i can’t do it—”

you slowly reached out and cupped his wet cheeks in the palm of your hands, tilting his face down gently to look at you, your eyes filled with remorse at the defeated look on his face.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly. “why didn’t you tell you were hurting so much?”

he shook his head slowly in your hands. “it’s not fair to you. i didn’t want to put you in a difficult position—”

“what difficult position, yu?” you spoke so gently, so sweetly to him that he almost fell to his knees. “how could you have kept this in for five years? i can’t even imagine—” you hiccuped, “i hate that you were hurting because of me-“

your voice began to contort again into sobs, and he quickly shook his head. “no baby no, it was not because of you, you did nothing wrong. you did the exact opposite.”

you wiped more of his tears with your fingers as he spoke, listening intently.

“no one gave a shit about me the way you did. not even my own parents, and not even my stupid brother that pretended like i practically didn’t exist. you were the only one that was there and you didn’t have to be. you could’ve easily ditched me at any given point and you never did, and i can’t thank you enough for giving me a reason to keep going.”

he wiped his eyes. “and that’s why i fell in love with you so hard because you were so selfless and sweet and i love your smile. i don’t think i could ever make up for everything you’ve done—”

“but you have!—” you interjected, but yuta only shook his head.

“no i haven’t. i’m a stubborn asshole who just said a bunch of shit five minutes ago that i didn’t mean and i only hurt you and i never wanted that—”

“yuta.” you spoke firmly. “you’ve literally done more for me than anyone else in my entire life and i hate that you can’t see that or give yourself credit. you were there for me when i went absolutely insane after your brother rejected me even though you loved me then. you put your own feelings aside to take care of me baby..”

you softly took his hands and led him to sit with you on the bed, wiping his wet cheeks with your sleeve.

“do you not remember when even though you didn’t have a job, any chance you got money you would spend it on me instead of yourself?” you laughed softly. “the minute you got your license you drove me anywhere i wanted… and even to little things like the store because you said you didn’t want me to spend gas money.”

yuta slightly smiled.

“you never ditched me either, when there was every opportunity you could’ve. you always make sure i eat and get enough sleep… and you make me so happy yu, i wish you could see how much i miss you when you’re not around.”

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned in, softly planting a kiss to your cheek. you smiled warmly.

“who told you i didn’t love you back?”

yuta froze. “you did?”

“when?”

“the day my brother rejected you?” he cocked his head to the side. “i had asked you if you saw me as another sibling and you said yes.”

you threw your head back and moaned, “oh my god yu, of course in that moment because i was stupid and into your brother and i had just gotten rejected!”

you deflated and smiled at him warmly then, your eyes shining with emotions he didn’t allow himself to believe were there. for five years, yuta forced himself to believe you could never return his feelings as a form of protection, and now there was a huge wall in his brain that was itching to come down.

you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, your foreheads touching. “ask me again.”

“hm?” he was dazed, wide eyes staring into yours.

“ask me that question again,” you spoke softly. “the one from that day.”

yuta swallowed thickly, his breathing shaky through his nose, reiterating the phrase he played through his head like a broken record since it happened.

“as another sibling…” he murmured. “is that how you see me?”

you shook your head gently against his forehead, “no… to me—” you leaned back slightly and tilted your head to the side. “you look like the man i’ve been in love with for the past three years.”

silence. nothing.

and then, his eyes welled with tears as he tackled you down and just cried. he cried and he cried into your neck and shook like a little leaf, you holding him so unbelievably tight as your bottom lip wobbled. yuta’s arms were snaked around you as he held you with just as much force if not more.

half a decade. half a decade yuta spent hopelessly lovesick for you that your words burned over his entire body like a fever, his mind reeling and hazy. he held on to you so fucking tight and refused to let go of you, in fear that this was all just some horrendous sick dream and he was going to wake up alone in his bed without you.

you placed a hand on the back of his head as you hugged him, “i love you so much yuta that sometimes i feel like im going nuts.” you laughed softly. “it was always you… it’s been you that’s why i said earlier that i didn’t care if your brother wanted to be friends again, because i love you and i don’t give a shit about him and i’m sorry i made you upset—”

“no,” he lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at you, his cheeks flushed with dried up tears and red eyes. “that was just me being an absolute dick and scared of re-living high school all over again. i took that out on you and that wasn’t fair at all, baby. i’m sorry.”

you carded your fingers through his hair. “we both have things to be sorry about, and a lot of years to make up for.”

and finally, yuta grinned so big that his cheeks hurt.

“can i—“ he exhaled shakily. “can i kiss you?”

“please.”

and he smashed his lips against yours, greedily kissing you with so much desperation as he lip locked with you, his hands squeezing and roaming your body. the sound of your lips smacking was loud, and his kisses were so needy and sloppy against your soft plush lips that you squeaked at the intensity. you felt him grin again at your noise and he pulled away from you.

“i’ve wanted this for so long…” he breathed out, his breath fanning against your face as you tried to recover from what was probably the best kiss of your life. you nodded frantically, too dazed and caught up in the thought of his mouth on yours to respond with sentences that made sense.

he chuckled cutely at this, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i love you and i love you.”

and since then, it was like the final wall had finally crumbled down, and yuta began to live like he was supposed to, like he was meant to, with you. his days of yearning and silent torment were over, and most of the time it still felt like a dream whenever he was by your side.

things stayed relatively the same between you two, as you now acknowledge how much of a couple you both actually were acting prior to yuta’s confession. the only major difference now though, was that yuta earned the privilege to call you his and give you sweet kisses as he picked you up from class, or when you make and hand him those ham sandwiches you always do just for him, only this time adorned with a honeyed kiss of your own.

sitting on his living room couch now, your head resting on his lap as a random horror movie played in the background, yuta’s fingers gently brushed over the features of your face as you stared at the tv, his eyes stuck to you like sticky lovesick glue.

you turned your head to look at him after a bit. “why don’t you start playing soccer again?” you hummed. “is there a team at your school?”

yuta nodded, “there is baby.”

“why don’t you try out?” you smiled sweetly at him, and his heart ached. “i always loved watching you play. i miss it.”

“okay,” he tapped your nose. “just for you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “and i’ll start dragging your brother with me again.”

yuta’s eyes flung open as his jaw dropped, and you snorted, giggling uncontrollably as he tickled and pinched at your sides. “i’m just kidding! i’m kidding! i’d rather die.”

he let out a boyish laugh, his eyes sparkling as he looked down at you. “as much as i hate him, i can’t thank him enough for being a stupid dingus.”

you quirked an eyebrow, “thank him? why?”

yuta gently and softly pinched one of your cheeks as he smiled at you, and it was then that you noticed the bags under his eyes were nearly gone. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, moving some of your hair away from your face after he did so.

“because he brought you to me.”

and you smiled, that same radiant sweet smile that made him fall in love with you in the first place, as you reached up and ran a tender finger under where his eye bags once stood, your voice light and airy as you spoke—

“i love you and i love you, yuta.”

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eddiesxangel · 6 months ago

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1-800-HOT-TO-GO | E.M

Anonymous asked: Can i request a fic where either the reader reveals during a pizza and beers hangout she was a phone sex operator for a brief time and everyone is shocked and one of them jokingly asks if she was any good and she whispers something dirty in their ear and it changes their friendship

Cw: fem!reader, allusions to male masturbation, dirty talk 1.7k words

“Come again?”

“I used to work a sex hotline,” you shrug like it was no big deal.

“No way,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

You hear Steve and the others giggle around you, also in disbelief.

“Wanna bet?”

“Try me.” He wants to call your bluff because no way in hell did he not know this about you. You always were reserved when it came to talking about sex; you never had you seemed promiscuous.

You hold up your hand to your ear, pretending it is a phone, and Eddie follows your lead.

“Ring ring,” he giggles.

“Hello.” You changed the pitch of your voice to be more sultry.

“Hi,” he smirks.

“Can I get a name, handsome?”

“ Eddie”

“Mmmm, hi, Eddie. I’m Candy.”

“Candy?”

He breaks character, but you don’t.

“the boys say it’s because I’m so sweet.” You fake giggle.

“This is my first time calling. I’m not sure what to do here.”

“That’s okay, I’ll walk you through it… you want to get comfortable for me?”

Eddie looks around the room at the others, who are trying to stifle their giggles. This night was supposed to be chill, with pizza and beers. He wasn’t really sure how you all ended up here.

“I’m comfortable.” He says without actually moving.”

“I wish I could see; you sound so sexy.” You sigh.

Another giggle leaves Eddie’s lips because who is this person who’s taken over your body?

“Yeah? you wish you could see be, Dollface?” Playing into it more.

You lean in to whisper so only he can hear it this time. “oh yeah, big boy; I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me.” You sit back, take a loose tendril, twirl his hair around your finger, and watch Eddie’s eyes widen at what you just said.

“Oh-okay, that’s enough.” He chuckles, trying not to give away how turned on he just got. “I believe you!”

You sit back with a giggle and grab another slice of pizza like nothing just happened.

Everyone looked at you with shock.

Eddie quickly gets up and excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

“What did you say?!” Robin begs.

You shrug in response like it was another day at work… which it has been.

“Damn, is it hot in here?” Steve pops the collar of his shirt.

“You guys need to loosen up, my god.”

While you were still enjoying your pizza, Eddie was having a crisis. Never had he thought of you in that way until moments ago, listening to those filthy words slip from your lips.

“I bet your cock is already nice and hard for me. Such a good boy, I want you to fill me,” your words replayed in his mind while he tried to fight the blood rushing to his stiffening cock.

He can’t go back out there like this. Eddie splashed cold water on his face to try to snap him out of it, but it didn’t help.

A quick rap on the door startles Eddie out of his inner monologue.

“You okay, big boy? You’ve been in there fifteen minutes.” He hears you laugh from the other side.

Had it really been that long?

Eddie’s issue had not been resolved; in fact, it had worsened as he tried to push down the thought of you naked and spread out for him… talking to him like that.

“Yeah-I-uh- just a minute.” Eddie wanted to pull his hair out at how frustrated you had made him.

You were just pals, bubbies, amigos.

You weren’t attractive… were you?

Eddie never thought to look at you in that way; you’re just a friend, always had been, always will be… unless?

The more Eddie thought about it, the more he realized he did think your hair looked really pretty tonight. The way you always did your makeup really brought out your beautiful features…and when he got a whiff of your delicious perfume when you twirled his hair, he thought his.

“You sure?” You try to jiggle the door handle, but it’s locked.

“Shit,” Eddie curses under with breath.

“Come on, Ed, talk to me, please?”

You hear the lock unlatch and watch the doorknob slowly turn as Eddie pokes his head out.

“Hi,” he’s short and sounds a bit out of breath.

“I hope what I said didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Ed saw the worried look in your eyes.

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but…no.”

“Yes, but no?”

Eddie let out a deep sigh. He didn’t see a way out of this. He stepped aside to let you in and shut the door behind you.

“Eddie?” You look up at him.

“Hm?”

His eyes snap to your concerned face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was a big deal! It did it all the time for work; I just… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. clearly, I overstepped a boundary-“

“You’re not the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

Eddie moves his strategically placed hands to reveal the tent formed in his jeans and watches as your face falls into amused shock.

You cup your mouth to stifle an unexpected giggle.

“That’s not the reaction a guy wants when he shows a girl how turned on he is.”

“I’m sorry, I just!-didn’t think?”

“It’s okay. I’m just trying to get rid of it, but it’s not going away.”

“You mean?”

“I’m waiting it out.”

“Oh, ok.” You nod awkwardly.

An awkward silence washes over the both of you as you try so hard not to stare at his crotch.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for your help if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Ok…”

Another very uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, trying to do everything in your power so as not to look down.

“I um… I guess I’ll just.” You point to the door that he’s blocking.

“Uh. Ok,” he nods and steps to the side.

You close the door behind you but don’t leave. You lean against the door and take a deep breath, trying to make sense of the evening.

Why did the thought of turning Eddie on excite you? He’s a friend. Just a friend. I always had and always will be.

With a deep breath, you go to push yourself up off the door, but before you’re able to, you hear your name being moaned from the other side of the door.

You froze. You knew you should move, but your feet were locked in place. More heavy breaths and the sound of muffled moans seeped from under the door gap, and you pressed your ear to the door.

Eddie was jerking off because of you… and you liked it?

Eddie bit back screaming your name as he finally released himself into the bathroom tissue. Finally, he could return to rejoin everyone without being physically uncomfortable.

He discarded his release, tucked himself back in, washed his hands, and unlocked the door, but he was ambushed when you fell onto him when he went to open the door.

You let out a squeak as you lost your balance, falling into Eddie as the door was opened from under you.

“Woah,” Eddie catches you before you’re able to fall. His rage hands wrap around your biceps, gripping tightly to brace your fall.

“Were you spying on me?”

“Oh god, sorry” you’re so embarrassed. The whole evening has been one shit show. You scramble to find your fitting to create space between you and Eddie.

“You were spying on me!”

“Shhhhh! Keep your voice down.”

“You totally were spying on me!” He accused.

“You’re the one who moaned my name!” You defend.

Eddie’s cheeks reddened.

“You’re the one who said all those… things!” his hands flailed.

“You’re the one who egged it on!”

“So!”

“So?”

“Yeah, so!”

“Woah, guys, what’s going on here?” Steve pops his head around the corner.

“Nothing,” you both glare.

“Ohhhhhkayyyyyyyy,” Steve turns a heel and walks back to the kitchen to grab a drink.

“Eddie,” you sigh, “I don’t want to argue. This is dumb, and we can pretend it never happened.”

“We could, but I gotta know.”

“What’s that?”

“Did you like it?” He took a step closer, filling the gap between you.

“What?” You look up at him.

“I asked if you like listening to me?” he brushed your hair behind your shoulder.

You gulp, not expecting Eddie’s demeanour to switch on a dime.

“I… I don’t know?”

“I think you did, and you’re too scared to admit it.” You can smell him. He is so close to you.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You watch as he leans in closer.

“Just trust me.” His hands find the back of your neck, pulling you close.

“Eddie?”

“Let me try something.”

“Kay,” you whisper.

Eddie’s lips graze yours ever so lightly before he presses them fully.

A million and one thoughts run through your mind as Eddie kisses you.

You blame the cheap beer for letting this happen. You blame the beer for liking it. You blame the beer for kissing him back. You blame the beer for the tongue slip and the beer for how you wanted to moan when he pulled away.

“Woah”

“Yea woah,” you repeated dumbly.

“um… did you like it?”

“Yeah… did you?”

“Yeah.”

“cool… now what?”

“go out with me,” Eddie states confidently.

“Like a date?”

“what else would it be?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know?” You shrug, embarrassed that Eddie is getting you all flustered.

“You’re cute when you don’t know what to say.” He smirks.

“I’m cute?” You never thought hearing Eddie say those words would send butterflies fluttering through your tummy.

Eddie doesn’t answer verbally; he leans in to kiss you again to confirm his statement.

“We should get back to the others.” You sigh as you pull away.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“You didn’t ask me anything.”

“Yes, I did. I asked you out.”

“No, you said go out with me. That’s a statement, not a question.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Yes, you were totally messing with him.

“Will you go out on a date with me?”

“Just say yes! You’ve been gone for half an hour!” You hear Robin yell from the living room.

“Robin!” You hear Steve scold.

“What?”

You can’t help but laugh and can’t believe the next world’s coming out of your mouth.

“Okay, I’ll go out with you, Eddie.”

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson request #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x best friend reader #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson

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majestyeverlasting · 2 months ago

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𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked the muses of times past—and thus!...

PART 1

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms.

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth.

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes.

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought.

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.”

“That’s all you, sweetheart.”

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?”

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone.

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?”

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.”

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering.

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon.

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much.

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come.

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend.

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.”

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.”

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.”

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.”

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance.

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less.

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.

“I give up,” you sigh.

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.”

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper.

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside.

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie.

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was is company.

Eddie has an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction.

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes.

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through a sea of thoughts in search of the right words.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.”

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head.

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin.

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind.

“I’ll pick up,” you promise.

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows.

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume.

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat.

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?”

“No,” you lie.

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck.

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him.

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you.

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot.

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page.

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?”

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become.

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there.

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh.

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles.

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.”

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum.

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality.

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away.

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice.

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck.

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help.

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight.

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself.

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...”

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter he swallows down like a lifeline.

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales.

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him.

“Might be important.” His voice is rough.

“They can leave a message.”

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact.

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do.

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm.

“Eddie, please…”

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger.

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach.

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything.

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling.

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.”

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling.

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside.

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips it open with his teeth.

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm.

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps.

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch.

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him.

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.”

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet.

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way.

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.”

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips.

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to better reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat.

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit.

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft.

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him.

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…”

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips.

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down.

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest.

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.”

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy.

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—”

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands over his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him.

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly.

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...”

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?”

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt.

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips.

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.”

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars.

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

NEXT PART | PART ONE

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things day #stranger things s4 #stranger things s5 #st s4 #st s5 #eddie x reader smut

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celestie0 · 4 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it.

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket.

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.”

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible.

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you.

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks.

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age.

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.”

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him.

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you.

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation.

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time.

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes.

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–”

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–”

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you.

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden.

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut.

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.”

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating.

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw.

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie.

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape.

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you.

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist.

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now.

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives.

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains.

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

[the end]

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

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witchywithwhiskey · 27 days ago

Text

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen.

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit.

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow.

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow.

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening.

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you.

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway.

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat.

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older.

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well.

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck.

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger.

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face.

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks.

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena’s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them.

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown.

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers.

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives.

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything.

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead.

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same.

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.”

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night.

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss.

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done.

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?”

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout.

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed.

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends.

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer.

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market.

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was.

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze.

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it.

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.”

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly.

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared.

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again.

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question.

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found.

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him.

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.”

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear.

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?”

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin.

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him.

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth.

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan.

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips.

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face.

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show.

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter.

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire.

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening.

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile.

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm.

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in.

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve.

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest.

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you.

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him.

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer.

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera.

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.”

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest.

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word.

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans.

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body.

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly.

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater.

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight.

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye.

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure.

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal.

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release.

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release.

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome.

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet.

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep.

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours.

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?”

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock.

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you.

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening.

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand.

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed.

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you.

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist.

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop.

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss.

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something.

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away.

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock.

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body.

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer.

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always.

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question.

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took.

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust.

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away.

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply.

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned.

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt.

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts.

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips.

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing.

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt.

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear.

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else.

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head.

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning.

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.”

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek.

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse.

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked.

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss.

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin.

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday.

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together.

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

december daze challenge masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #navy and roo's sleepover #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers au #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #witchywithwhiskeywork #december daze #friends to lovers

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 5 months ago

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♡ ring pops, chocolates, proposals ! ♡

katsuki loves you throughout the years.

a/n : BOOM !! surprise extra on your foreheads !!! this is basically a lil extra to rpp from katsu n readers pov ! i thought it was cute n i hope yall enjoy it too <33 !! much luv xx

fem reader, slight anime n manga spoilers ! food (candy and chocolate), jealous katsuki, mentions of dicks bc katsuki calls someone one, katsuki n reader are in their 20s, reader loves rain, katsuki does not, proposal, kissinggg, reader likes romance (implied sligthly), katsuki does not (kinda), soft n emotional katsuki bc I LOVE HIM FIGHT MEEE!!! RAAHHH!!!, short n sweet, proposal, lmk if i missed sum else !! <33

"for you."

katsuki, age 6 stands in front of you. no more words are said from him as he looks off to the side, beet red face turned away from you with outstretched hands. and clutched tightly in his hands, a ring pop in your favourite color.

you beam, immediately taking it from him. "thank you, katsu !" you chirp, quickly popping the candy into your mouth. katsuki's shoulders relax when he sees you've taken the offering from him although he doesn't meet your eye fully just yet.

"do you wanna share ?" you ask sweetly, already reaching out your candy towards him seeing that he didn't have one of his one in hand. he furiously shakes his head, pushing your hand back towards you.

"no ! and this one's for you ! i already got one.." he insists, shoveling around in his backpack before the crinkle of a wrapper grabs both of your attention. he pulls out the bag of sweet ring pops and picks out an orange one for himself. showing it to you while his eyes drift away from yours. you smile, seeing that you can both eat candy together now.

"i-it's a ring. so..you're my wife," he states. your big eyes widen at him and his glowing red cheeks. you look back down at the candy you've been eating pressed around your finger. it's bigger than the rings you see on tv.

you like katsuki. he was a little rough sometimes, and he could be a little mean. but he always played with you and shared his coloured pencils. he'd sit in the reading corner with you and hold your hand when you'd go on field trips.

"oh, really ?" your face heats, he nods. "want you to be my wife, cus haruto's always lookin' at you..a-an' you're my friend. not his." he mumbles bitterly. you like haruto, he's nice to you, but not as much as katsuki. katsuki was your best friend.

"does that make you my husband then ?" katsuki gets red to the tips of his ears and his nose is practically pressed into the collar of his shirt but he nods anyways. you beam again, the taste of the flavoured candy still on your lips. " i like that !"

katsuki blinks at you, chubby little cheeks pulling into a smirk and he drops to sit down next to you roughly on the grass. finally popping his own ring in his mouth.

"then you're my wife, yeah ?" you nod and he grins, you hear the candy clack around his mouth. "means you're only ever gonna be with me." and you nod again happily because you like that, you like the thought of only being with katsuki, because he's your best friend ever.

"mhm !"

"..forever." he adds tentatively and when you nod again he snickers to himself.

wait till stupid deku hears about this.

valentine's day was fucking stupid. and white day was even stupider.

besides them being the corniest holidays ever, katsuki finds the whole concept stupid. why do you need an entire day just to grow the balls to tell someone you like them ? and the worst part is that some fuckers have the audacity to try that shit with you.

katsuki remembers when he'd started despising the stupid holidays. it was in his first year of middle school and you opened up your locker to see some chocolates and a hand written note.

it was cheesy. and fucking stupid. but you smiled about it.

you fucking liked it.

the bastard even had the nerve to walk up to you at the end of the day, when you're supposed to go home with katsuki and end up coming over to his house to do your homework together (so he could stare at you) then stay over for dinner and play some video games (so he could touch you, poke your sides to make you trip up and pinch your nose when you end up losing to him) or watch a movie (so he could hear you laugh)

you were supposed to be all his. but instead you reassure him that you'll be back in a second.

and katsuki's antsy and so annoyed his skin prickles, but he swallows it down and drags his feet towards the gates as he waits, like hell he'll leave you alone with some limp dick bastard.

he did feel better when you said you rejected the loser, and he felt much better when you still ended up spending the afternoon with him. but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

valentine's day and such was so fucking stupid in katsuki's eyes. but maybe you liked it ? you never cared much for romance outside of those stupid rom-coms you like, but maybe there was more to it.

katsuki couldn't admit it to himself then, but he hates the holidays because there's a whole day for him to grow some balls and ask you out. and yet he couldn't fucking do it.

until his first year at u.a. and you hand him a box of chocolates.

dark chocolate, you specified. "since i know you don't really like sweets all that much." you said. the slight tremble in your voice made him swallow harshly. it felt different than the chocolates you'd handed out to your classmates earlier (which he was absolutely not jealous about. at all.) and the sheer size of the box compared to the little baggies you'd handed spoke too.

these were different. these were just for him.

his bag feels extra heavy when he walks home that day, and he's never loved chocolate more than the day you'd made some just for him.

"the chocolates weren't bad." was all he'd texted you (he wasn't sure he'd be able to talk to you properly on the phone that day lest you heard the shakiness in his voice.) but he knew what he needed to do.

and a few months later, white day rolls around and katsuki still thinks it sucks. it's a stupid holiday. but he spent the entire day making these stupid holiday chocolates for you. and his ears burn when he tells you that he only made these for you, because you're the only one he cares about enough to make some stupid chocolates for on a holiday he hates.

and you smile, so bright and pretty and so you. and katsuki feels like he's on top of the world when you shyly kiss his cheek, your hand in his grip on your way home.

he guessed he'll have to tell his mom about this..and maybe think about thanking her.

the day katsuki plans to propose to you, it rains.

and not even regular rain, a fucking downpour.

and due to prior experiences and feelings he’s had since childhood, he fucking hates rain.

but you love it. when you were kids you loved jumping in puddles and during morning time, you were drowsier and more prone to falling asleep when it was raining. when you got older, you'd always gasp happily when it started to rain, even though katsuki scoffed every time you did, mean mugging the window. he'd asked you what you liked about rain every year you were together, because it was cold, it made the ground sloshy and slippery and it made his quirk basically obsolete when he was younger and harder to use the older he got. there was absolutely nothing fun about that. and you'd always tell him the same exact thing.

"i like it 'cus i just do." you'd respond simply. he always raised a brow at you, but let it be. he couldn't change your mind about it and that was it.

with his proposal plans down the gutter, you're cuddling bed. you yawn in his arms, the tapping against the window putting you at ease. katsuki can admit it's not ear grating, but he'd much rather it just—not rain at all. and he wishes that so much more now, stupid fucking rain..ruining his fucking plans to fucking marry you..

"why do you like this shit so much ?" he asks you the question he's been asking you for years now as you lay against his warm chest. he doesn't mean to do it, only realising he's been asking you this practically all his life after the fact. and it makes him realise how long you've been together when you calmly respond the way you always have, cheekily smiling up at him.

you stick your tongue out at him "i like it 'cus i just do."

oh. fuck.

katsuki doesn't know exactly why that sets him off. maybe because the fact you've been together for two decades makes him emotional. maybe it's because throughout all these years your answer hasn't changed and you haven't changed and your feelings haven't changed for him. you still smile up at him, you did when you were kids when he'd asked you to be his wife with those cheap ring pops he'd begged his mom to buy. you did in middle school even when he thought you had a crush on izuku for a while and it made him act in such an embarrassing way he doesn't want to remember it, but he does anyway. you smiled up at him when he'd asked you out with the chocolates he'd spend hours working on, making them perfect for you. and when he'd told you to just move in with him because "you're basically here all the time anyway."

you've always been there, and he's always loved you. since the day you'd mesmerised him so much at six years old he had to talk to his mom about you.

katsuki absolutely fucking hates rain, and he doubts that'll change anytime soon, and it ruined his perfect proposal. but he can't hear the rain in his ears anymore when he abruptly flips you onto your back to kiss you. all he hears in the tiny giggles you let out when he smacks three wet kisses onto your lips before diving in for a longer one. i love you, they say. he can only hear your fingers sneaking into his hair and scratching at his scalp and the happy sigh you let out when he runs his tongue across your lips.

"m'breath stinks," you mumble drowsily, katsuki grumbles, pulling away just far enough to tell you "i don't give a fuck." and diving in again. you squeal in surprise. it's all he hears.

"fuckin' love you." he grunts against your lips, you hum, briefly able to pull away to catch your breath to tell him you love him too, and pulling him closer to you, the rustling of your sheets, yours and his, is all he hears.

"yeah ? you love me ?" he whispers, going to nibble at your ear. he's all over you, pressing sloppy kisses along your neck and you giggle, "mhm, love you." you sigh.

"fuck.." he breathes again, bringing his face back up to yours he presses his forehead to yours "fuck—so," he places another kiss to your lips, he gulps "so marry me."

and then you blink at him "what ?" you breathe heavily, softly chuckling. and the rapid beating of his heart is all he hears, but then your eyes go glossy and you whisper, voice broken and wobbly "..what ?"

he huffs to himself, his hands search for yours and intertwine when he finds them. like the day he'd pulled you over to his mom so he could ask her to let you come over to play at his house. like when you'd offered it to him when he took you to prom and you looked more beautiful than he could ever utter. he wonders how you'd look during your wedding. he's thought about it more times than he can count.

he takes a deep breath, not pulling away "i wasn't supposed to tell you like this, fuckin rain.." he scoffs. "but—fuck, i just—you've always been there, always been with me. since i was a snot nosed fuckin' brat and at times were you shoulda left my ass." he's forgotten the shit he wanted to say, simply blurting out what's on his mind. he feels a little bad, because kirishima had helped him with his speech, but his heart beats too hard to care.

"but m'glad you didn't. m'glad you didn't before and i'm glad you haven't now 'cus i love you so fuckin' much." you let out a giggle mixed with a little sob at his constant nervous cursing and it makes him smile lightly too.

"i know there are times where i've been a pretty shit boyfriend but..but i mean it, y'know ?" he sniffs a bit, and you shake your head "you've never been a shit boyfriend, suki. just a bit of a pain in my ass sometimes," you giggle but your eyes are overflowing with tears. he chuckles and fights back tears of his own with a sniffle again.

"yeah, major pain..but even still i—when i told you i wanted you to be my wife back when we were kids, i meant it. an' when that fuckin loser tried to ask you out on valentines day in middle school, i wanted to knock his fuckin' teeth in." he smirks, and you try to hide your laugh with a gasp "wanted to tell him you were mine."

"you're such a baby. i remember how pouty you were about it."

" i wasn't pouty," he rolls his eyes, his smile doesn't disappear. he wipes away a tear about to roll down your cheek before you can get his your shirt sleeve wetter then it already is "you could've just told me back then," you whisper, holding onto the hand on your cheek and pressing a kiss to his palm. katsuki feels his heart swell.

"i should've told you a lot of shit back then," he laments. he remembers when shigaraki put holes in him and the constant flashes of you on his mind. when he woke up in the hospital and you'd been there and he just couldn't tell you those three words. he'd figured that since you were both alive, he could tell you later when shit was less..messy.

except shit kept getting messier, and then when katsuki blew a hole into his heart he'd wished he could've told you how much he loved you.

but then he had gotten another chance, another chance to be with you. to be the best damn boyfriend in the world like he'd promised you he'd be, to make you happy, and he didn't care if shit got even messier, he didn't care to be scared. when he woke up with his mom and dad, a doctor and you. everything else blurred in his mind and despite your runny nose and your mix of how much you'd missed him and how worried you were but also scolding him on how much of a dummy he was, katsuki couldn't help but smile.

his mom still teases him about how the first words that he'd blurted out after waking up from his operation getting chastised by doctors were "fuck, i love you."

"but, i won't regret not telling you shit anymore. i won't wait any longer either," he kicks out of the sheets, reaching for the lowest drawer of his nightstand to pull out a little red box, grabbing you with him and placing you down right in front of him. he kneels down on one knee, like when he used to tie your shoelaces for you because you didn't know how to, and how he does to this day because 'you want to crack your head against the side walk so bad, but i don't wanna see that shit.'

he grabs your hand, and with a wobbly voice asks you "will you marry me ?"

and finally, katsuki stops hearing his own heart beat and hears the gentle tapping of the rain, still pouring, but it puts him slightly at ease when you nod and squeal out a 'yes !'

<33

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 18 days ago

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Come bounce, bunny

Tags: Ino x fem!Reader, smau, (flirty) best friends to lovers, cursing, nsfw, mdni

An: i hope this one wasn’t too wholesome for your guys’ tastes. i don’t get the opportunity to portray ino very much, so this was def out of my comfort zone. i think Suguru’s up next for the best friends to lovers smau series <3 The end!

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four.

Taglist: @vorfreudevortex @wil10wthetree @pandabiene5115 @mcharris747 @damnshorty @k1xn4a @tojisdolli @gigiiiiislife @nnnyxie @dreamingoftomorrow @demiitria @nappynapnaps

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ghostwhippet · 7 days ago

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From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones.

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to.

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour.

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together.

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier.

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours.

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge.

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth.

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once.

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?”

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits.

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?”

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish #slow burn #friends to lovers #060 #meet cute #comfort fic #demisexual #fluff #johnny x reader #cod

1K notes · View notes

imaginedisish · 4 months ago

Text

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself.

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time.

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night.

Or so you thought.

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you.

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?”

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?”

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth.

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.”

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head.

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him.

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game.

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy.

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks.

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest.

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you.

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask.

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer.

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again.

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.”

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop.

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone.

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask.

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?”

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes.

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.”

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people.

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks.

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks.

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly.

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say.

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below.

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts.

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.”

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts.

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties.

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs.

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you.

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips.

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit.

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly.

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing.

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles.

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst.

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming.

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop.

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp.

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release.

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice.

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit.

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist.

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

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marvelwitchergilmore · 4 months ago

Text

Busted

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Rogue has a date, and you and Logan decide to follow. You're just making sure she's safe. But sometimes it's in moments like that, that you find out your 'husband' is the love of your life.

Disclaimer: Mostly chaos, fluffiness, fake dating, mentions of being a soldier, the claws come out briefly, a nosy book club and its members. Some swearing, steam and a little angst. I wrote this over two days so apologies if it becomes spotty. This is a long one. Not Proof Read.

Rogue had a date.

Both yourself, Logan and…practically most of the teachers in the school knew about Rogue having a date.

Yet, despite knowing all of this. And somewhat knowing the guy’s intentions…Logan had decided to follow them.

And you had found yourself tagging along.

“And what did you think you were gonna do when they figured out you were following them?” You asked him. “At least this way it just looks like we decided to pick up dinner in town.”

“At the same restaurant?”

“You ask that as if this wasn’t your idea.”

“Oh please,” Logan practically rolled his eyes at you. “I saw what you were actually looking at early. You were caseing the place.”

“I was looking at their opening times.” You countered, if a little harshly.

“You were casing the joint and you know it. If I wasn’t coming down here, you would have already come.”

You gave a short, heavy sigh. “Fine. I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some kind of set up. I just want her to be safe and have fun.”

“And I want to make sure the guy isn’t a creep.” Logan finalised before opening up the door for you allowing you to step inside.

“Hello, madam! Ah, good sir! Table for two?” The waiter looked at his list.

Logan looked and felt a little out of place. He was hoping you could both enter quietly, not have an announcement made to the entire restaurant.

“Uh, yea. Yes, please.”

The waiter smiled, picking up two menus. “Please, this way.”

“Logan.”

Logan followed your line of sight to see where Rogue and her date were sitting, smiling and laughing with one another as they looked over the menus.

“Uh, actually, bub?”

The waiter turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“If you don’t mind we’d like to sit…” Logan looked around and found an empty table. “There.”

You saw where he pointed and realised why. Too far back into the restaurant, you’d pass right by the happy couple.

Sitting where Logan was currently looking, gave you direct sight of the happy couple and with a chance, more coverage from the rest of the guests.

“There?” The waiter asked, a little offended. “Oh, no, Sir. Please. We have a lovely booth for a couple such as yourself back here. Romantic candle light, a lot more privacy, no?”

You felt yourself blush at what the waiter was trying to subtly say.

And it seemed that Logan caught on, too. And looked at you, unsure of what to do.

You gave a small laugh and moved closer to Logan, “I’m sure, but you see, the thing is, my…”

You hesitated a little on your next words. “Husband.”

Christ, you felt that lie weigh on your chest.

“He was in the army. Not a big fan of not being able to see the door. Just a habit, I suppose.”

The waiter gave a softer smile. “Ah, no worries.”

Swiftly, he began leading you both towards the table Logan had pointed out. “My sister is serving overseas right now. We are all very proud. Thank you for your service, Sir.”

Logan gave an awkward smile and thanked the waiter before you both sat down with your menus.

“I thought we were busted then,” Logan shifted in his seat.

“So did I,” you replied. “So long as they don’t draw any-”

“So, what will it be?”

Both yourself and Logan jumped at the waiter's sudden reappearance. However, he didn’t seem to notice as he began rattling off the specials. And then the wines. And then came the crash.

Everyone’s heads turned inside the restaurant.

Including Rogue’s.

Quickly, you scooted your chair around so the waiter blocked you from view. By the time he turned back around, muttering about incompetencies about the newer staff members, he excused himself and headed in the direction of the crash.

You saw Rogue settle her back to talking with her date and you breathed again, pulling your chair back to its original position.

The waiter returned.

“So, what will you be having?”

This time he blocked your view from Rogue’s table, giving Logan a clearer view of her date. You could see something flare up in Logan.

“Uh, we’re gonna need another minute.” You said hurriedly, willing the waiter to walk away.

And he did.

For a moment.

“Logan.”

He turned back to you. “What?”

“Have you decided yet?” The waiter was back.

Logan took your menu from you and placed it with his before handing it over to the waiter, who seemed shocked for a moment since it took him just as long to realise what Logan was doing.

“Two cheeseburgers, a side of fries and two sodas. Please.”

The waiter seemed to force his smile a little. “Of course, sir. Anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You replied and the waiter bowed his head before walking away.

For a split second as you looked at Logan, you felt a comfort in your gut. And apparently the look was still clear on your face when he looked back at you.

“What?”

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of it. “Nothing, just…well, the last time a guy ordered my food for me he ordered me a salad, with a side of vinegar and sparkling water.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Fuck no.” You answered honestly. You didn’t want it then, and you sure as hell didn’t want it now.

Especially the sparkling water.

Logan looked at you for a moment in a silence you hadn’t known from him before. Then he turned back to watch Rogue’s date.

And there was that look again.

“Logan. You can’t kill him from here.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

You nodded. “I know that. And so does everyone else in this restaurant. At least now I know why Scott doesn’t send you undercover.”

Logan turned back to you.

“You might be the ‘mysterious, silent’ type but if someone took one look at your face, they’d find their answers.”

“Are you saying I’m easy to read?”

Someone came and placed your drinks down on the table. You shrugged.

“To the people who know you, yes.”

“Okay, then. Fine.” Logan turned his full attention onto you. “What am I thinking?”

“That I’m wrong. And that you wished you had the powers of invisibility so you could be closer to the table without being seen and mess with her date whilst he can’t see you.”

Logan remained still for a second before shifting in his seat. “Okay, fine. Maybe I am easy to read.”

You smiled and took a sip of your soda. “See.”

For the next twenty five minutes, things ran smoother than expected. You both enjoyed your meals, yourself and Logan talked a little however spent most of your time watching Rogue and her date enjoy their time.

“What would you do?”

Logan hummed a questioned response.

“If you took someone out on a date? What would you do?”

Logan scrunched up his paper napkin and placed it beside his plate. “Why do you want to know?”

You shrugged, looking away from Rogue’s date. “Curiosity? I’ve had that many crappy dates in my time, maybe you can rescue my last sliver of hope.”

Logan felt a smile on his face for a moment, hearing your plea for hope.

“Oh, come on. They’re talking. If we look at them any longer they might sense someone staring.”

Logan sighed. “Fine.”

“So, what would you do?”

Logan shrugged. “I don’t know. Go for a drink, maybe some food. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve dated.”

“Seriously?”

Logan nodded. “Seriously. What about you?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Well, the last date I went on the guy ordered my food for me.”

“Sparkling water guy?” Logan asked.

You nodded. “One in the same. He spent two hours talking about his businesses, and didn't notice I hadn’t touched my food. Or my drink, for that matter. Then at the end, said that if we ever got married, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than what I was going to make him for his dinner each night.”

“Fucking asshole. Why did you stay?”

You decided to answer honestly. “Didn’t have anything else to do. And my friends had been on my case about my dating life. They were all either married or getting married or starting a family, and when they said they knew this “really great guy, you’ll just adore him” I decided to give it a shot.”

“What did they do when they found out he was an asshole?”

“Couple apologised, others asked me to give him a second chance. They haven’t tried setting me up with anyone since.”

Logan watched you for a moment as you pulled your soda to your lips. He wanted to punch the Sparkling Water Guy. He didn’t realise how lucky he was to be on a date with someone like you. And, in all honesty, he wasn’t too happy with your friends either.

“You deserve better.”

Your eyes widened and for a moment Logan thought he had fucked up, saying that to you out loud.

“Logan. Logan, quick. Shit.”

Then he noticed where you were looking. Rogue was standing up, as was her date.

“Shit.”

You looked around you, trying to find the best place to hide yourself. Only Logan found a solution.

From under the table, he grabbed the bottom of your chair and pulled you closer towards him.

“Just keep looking at me, hopefully we’ll just blur in with the rest of the crowd.”

And you did. You kept your eyes on Logan.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Rogue slipping her coat on with her date’s help, who just so happened to rake his eyes up and down her body from the back whilst she wasn’t looking.

Then he felt your hand on his.

“Logan,” you whispered to him, getting his attention.

With your hand on his, you were covering the tips of his claws that started peeking out from between his knuckles.

“He’s just helping her put her coat on.”

Logan felt the tips of his claws retract, however three small holes were left in the cloth on the table beside his plate.

“Sorry.”

You just smiled. “It’s okay.”

Then the waiter came back. “Ah, so lovely to see a couple so in love.”

You felt your cheeks go red and hid your face against Logan’s shoulder as he curled his arm around your back and smiled at the waiter. “Can we have the check?”

The waiter nodded. “Of course, just one moment.”

Within seconds, the waiter was back just as Rogue and her date walked out of the door.

“Have a lovely evening!” The waiter called out to both of you as Logan took your hand and headed for the door.

Rogue and her date were already half way down the street.

“Where are they going?”

“Maybe he’s walking her to the cab station?” You offered.

Logan, with his eyes still fixed on the dates, nodded his head in the opposite direction. “Taxis’ that way.”

Looking back at you, you both made a simultaneous decision and were back to following them.

“Where the hell could they be going?”

“Maybe they’re just going for a walk. It is still early and they looked like they were having fun. Some couples like to take a walk together after a date.”

“They’re not a couple yet. And this is their first date.”

You caught up beside Logan and pulled him to a slower pace so neither of you looked like frantic maniacs going down Main Street.

“If we get any closer, they’re gonna see us.”

“You’re right.”

Yourself and Logan tailed them down the street and around the park before deciding to head back home. “If they’re coming round on the top of the street, they’re gonna see your car.”

Logan looked around him before taking hold of your hand and nearly pulling your arm out of its socket. “This way.”

“Logan, slow down.” You told him. “We aren’t all ten feet tall.”

Thankfully, he did slow down, however didn’t let go of your hand.

“Do you think we did the right thing? Following them?”

You nodded. “I was questioning it at first but…at least this way we know the guy actually meant what he said when he asked her out. Oh, shit

“What?”

You just managed to push Logan into the doorway of a closed bookstore, pushing his back against the glass.

“What are you doing?”

“Uhhh,” you panicked. “Nothing. Just a…puddle. Big puddle.”

“It hasn’t rained in three days. What are you-”

Logan stopped when he saw what you had seen. Rogue’s date was about to lean in to kiss her.

You pushed him back, trying your best to keep him pinned to the wall. “Okay, I get we tailed them most of the night but we have to give them some privacy.”

“Did he even ask?”

“I don’t know, but just keep your voice down. The car is three spaces away. Hopefully they’ll be distracted long enough to-”

You peered back round the corner. “Oh, thank god.”

“What? What’s going on? Has hell opened up and sucked him in?”

You looked back at Logan, a little less than amused. “They’re going into the ice cream shop. Come on, before they see us.”

However, just as you both stepped out of the doorway, you found your path blocked by an elderly woman and her dog.

She chuckled to herself. “Don’t mind me kids, just taking Frankie on a walk. And don’t worry, honey. I remember when I first met my Harry. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other.”

You let out a nervous laugh as Logan looked like he was about to burst from embarrassment as he ran a hand through his hair, his shirt coming untucked and showing off a small hint of his torso.

Mrs Keller watched where your eyes landed and gave you a knowing albeit loving smirk as she watched you move closer to Logan, tugging his shirt down a little and pressing close into his side.

“We should get going. It was nice seeing you Mrs Keller.”

Mrs Keller waved you both off towards Logan’s car. “I’ll see you for next week's book club?”

You nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Feel free to bring your husband along,” she called back. “It’ll drive Little Miss Prissy up the wall that you’ve been keeping that Handsome Fella a secret.”

You laughed nervously once again, as Logan gave you a slight smirk despite his initial embarrassment at what the old lady thought you were both doing.

“Good night, Mrs Keller.” You called out before Logan repeated it.

She waved you both goodbye before continuing down the street with Frankie walking by her side.

Closing the passenger door, you covered your face with your hands already feeling Logan’s eyes and teasing smile on you.

“She was nice.”

“Shut up and drive.”

Logan chuckled, placing his key into the ignition and pulling out of his spot, his hand behind your headrest as he did so when looking over his shoulder.

Barely five minutes into the drive, Logan started asking you questions.

“You’re a part of a book club?”

“We all meet every fortnight and talk about books.”

“And Mrs Keller…?”

You sighed.

“Is one of the founding members. I met her at the library one day when taking some books back. She was at the desk asking if they had the newest Danielle Steel. They didn’t, but I had seen it in the shop window in a bookstore on the other side of town. We walked together and she invited me to join.”

“How was the book?” Logan asked.

“I cried.” You answered honestly. “First book I actually cried at.”

Logan let out a small laugh and you hit his arm whilst trying to hold in one of your own. “Don’t laugh.”

“I-I’m not laughing. Okay, maybe I am. I mean, it is funny. Is this where you’ve been disappearing every other Saturday?”

You nodded. “Pretty much. They’re a fun group. Well, most of them are.”

“Let me guess?” Logan asked. “Little Miss Prissy?”

You groaned. “She lives two doors down from Eva. Eva can be nice, but Prissy? God, she’s a nightmare. Every time it’s her turn to talk, she somehow manages to turn it back to her and her “ever doting husband” and their “precious baby niece and nephew” and “oh, look at how cute he is with them.” You know, we read American Psycho once. She still managed to turn it back to her husband.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you continued. “If she wanted to know about anyone else’s love life. Like…” you sighed, thinking of an example. “Mrs Keller? Her and Harry have been together since they were seventeen. They met when they were twelve, lived across the street from each other their entire lives. Mrs Keller had been stood up for one of the local dances by Harry’s friend. So, the minute he found out, he ran over to her house, still covered in motor oil and asked her to the dance. Mrs Keller deserves to write her own romance book for everything that her and Harry have done together. But can she get a word in edgewise? Nope.”

“Sounds like a love for the ages.” Logan said with a soft smile on his lips, looking at you before turning his gaze back to the road in front of him. “And by the sounds of it, Mrs Keller is going to give her something else to talk about.”

You covered your face again. “Oh, god.”

“Hey, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“How do I tell Mrs Keller I’m not married? She’s gonna think that I’m-”

“What if you didn’t?”

You turned and looked at Logan. “What?”

“What if you didn’t? Tell them you’re not married? I mean, it’s not like they’re gonna meet me.” Logan explained. “Just…keep up with the lie.”

“And what do I do when they ask me questions?”

Logan shrugged. “Just…bend the truth.”

“Okay,” you sat up in your seat, deciding to test him. “How did we meet?”

“At work. We’re both teachers.”

“When was our first date?”

Logan thought about it. “Six months after we met. We decided to stay up late and ate leftover Chinese food.”

You furrowed your brows. How the hell did he manage to answer these so quickly? Sure, most of it was true. You were both teachers, and the first night you spent alone in the same room together was eating the leftovers in the fridge. Of course, what wasn’t being said was that you both actually met when Logan nearly bulldozed you when he ran into the Professor’s office just after he’d woken up in Jean’s lab. Or how neither of you had properly spoken to one another until that night six months later.

Or how afterwards, it took a long time for you to make a genuine friendship with him that wasn’t just talking about the team or what the students had to learn in that semester.

“And then what?” You asked him. “We kissed and lived happily ever after?”

Logan shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

You groaned again. “I hate lying to Mrs Keller.”

“You just lied to her like ten minutes ago. We both did.”

Eventually, Logan pulled up outside of the school and left the car back where he had found it.

“Like we never left.”

You smiled. “Come on, before she gets back and figures out what we’ve been doing.”

Walking through the school ground and up the front steps, both you and Logan chatted away, laughing a little here and there about anecdotes you were telling him.

Then you were alone in the middle of the empty hallway, cast in darkness and hints of moonlight.

“We should get to bed before they get back.”

“I think I might stay up and wait for her to get back. Make sure he didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have done.”

You stepped a little closer to him. “Be nice, Logan.”

“I’m always nice.”

You just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, fine.” Logan sighed a laugh. “I’ll be nice.”

“Thank you. Tell me how it goes?”

Logan nodded. “Course.”

However, as you both stood together in the hallway, soaking in the vision of the other, you both heard footsteps.

“Shit.”

Logan looked around. “Here.”

Taking your hand, Logan pulled you into the small space besides the bookshelf and the window.

Being pressed between the wall and him, you felt his scent and body heat swirl around you and mix with your own. Your own heartbeat was drumming so loud in your eardrums you could hardly hear what Rogue was saying when she was talking to her date.

From above you, Logan leaned down, his eyes roaming across your face, whilst you found your own gaze doing the same.

Your heartbeat seemed to drum harder and faster against your chest, your lungs trying to find an even pace to breathe at.

But you weren’t the only one struggling with that.

Because Logan’s breathing had become laboured as he looked at you, wanting the space between you both to be further so he could think clearer and not do something you both could regret, but at the same time, for you to be closer to him so he could cross that line.

You swallowed thickly, trying your best to keep your gaze from his lips.

You were failing.

“Logan…”

“Y/n…”

The hand you had pressed against his chest slid up his chest before you took a wad of the loose fabric by his collar in your hands, holding him closer, begging for that line to be crossed. Just as you did so, his own hand pushed the hair from beside your face, his hand gripping onto the space between your neck and your shoulder. Maybe if he forced himself, he wouldn’t move his hand and he wouldn’t cross that line.

“Alright, where are you two?”

You and Logan stilled. “Maybe if we’re quiet…”

Rogue started walking around. “You wouldn’t have gone to bed yet. Where are you? Oh, come on. I saw you both in the restaurant.”

You and Logan sighed and he closed his eyes, leaning a little further into you. You didn’t want him to leave.

“Busted.”

Slowly, you and Logan came out from your hiding spot and Rogue spun around her heels. “There you both are.”

“Look, before you yell, you need to know something.”

Rogue crossed her arms, waiting.

“It was Y/n’s idea.”

“Logan.”

But rather than yell, Rogue laughed a little. “Why does something tell me that’s a lie?”

Logan shrugged. “It might be part of a lie.”

You gave a sigh. He was hopeless.

“We just wanted to make sure you were safe. And, if you want to know, we’ve already learnt our lesson.”

“Really?”

Logan nodded in agreement with you. “Just take our word for it.”

“So, how did your date go?”

Rogue smiled. “If you must know, we’re going out again next Saturday. He’s going to take me to the movies and then we’re gonna go bowling.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It will be,” Rogue said. “So long as you two promise to not follow us this time?”

You crossed a sign over your heart. “I swear.”

Rogue waited for Logan to do the same, and only when you nudged him did he do so. “But I’m dropping you off.”

“Just agree,” you told Rogue. “It’ll be easier on all of us.”

Rogue agreed. “Fine. You can drop me off.”

Not long after that, both yourself and Logan went to bed whilst Rogue walked towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before doing the same.

“Are we being overprotective?”

“She’s just a kid, Y/n. We’re allowed to be.”

Logan walked you to your door, both of you calling goodnight to each other. However, you didn’t fall asleep.

At least for the first couple of hours.

Mrs Keller thought you were married.

Married to the same man you were friends with.

The same friend you had almost kissed.

The same friend who had almost kissed you.

By the time you woke up the next morning, you seemed to be the only one awake. It was no surprise though, considering you were still three hours off the clock having a one at the beginning of it.

“Morning.”

You jumped a little when you heard a voice before you opened your eyes to confirm it was Rogue’s voice who had spoken to you.

“What are you doing up? It’s 7 am. And a Sunday.”

Rogue gave a smile. “Could ask you the same thing.” Rogue told you. “Figured you’d be wrapped in Logan’s arms right now.”

Your back was to her as you opened up one of the doors to the fridge, however became completely still and forgot why you’d opened the damn thing in the first place.

“What?”

Turning around, you saw Rogue and her smirk, sip at her coffee.

“I saw you and Logan last night.”

Beside the bookcase?

“At the restaurant?” Rogue was confused by the more than panicked look on your face. She had said she saw you both, when she got home last night, didn’t she. “You and Logan were sat at the table by the window?”

“Oh…” You felt your heart leave the vice you’d just locked it in. “Oh, yeah.”

Rogue smiled again. “Looked pretty cosy if you ask me.”

“Good job no one’s asking you.”

Milk. That’s why you opened the fridge.

Taking the carton out, you closed it behind you and reached for a bowl and some cereal.

“All snuggled up together, his arm around you. I was pretty sure he would have kissed you if the waiter didn’t interrupt. Though, if he didn’t, maybe you would have done more than kiss at that table.”

“Rogue!”

She laughed. “What? Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Seen the way he looks at you.”

She mumbled that last sentence into her coffee cup leaving you questioned just exactly what she meant by it.

“It’s too early in the morning for this,” you grumbled to yourself, replacing the cereal box in the cabinet.

“You could always go back to bed.” Rogue offered. “Or go and see if Logan wants some company.”

You turned around a slightly shocked, slightly disgusted look on your face. “Oh my god.”

“I’m kidding.” Rogue laughed out. “Kinda.”

“When did you grow up?” You asked out loud, coming to the daily realisation that Rogue wasn’t the little kid you had first met when she arrived at the school but was, in fact, very quickly on her way to becoming a full grown woman. After all, she had started taking on a small time tutoring job and she was still a couple months away from graduation.

The rest of the day went smoothly. Well…as smooth as it could go when you were having a constant internal flashback to the night before. Mrs Keller and what she thought you and Logan were doing, it almost happening beside the bookcase, and then you walked in on him in his bathroom.

He had said it was safe for you to come inside, and you had happened to see him shirtless a couple of times. Though never in sync with a time when at least two people on the planet thought you were married, another one was trying to convince you she saw, at the very least, something similar to what the others had and the two minutes spent beside the bookcase which you had thought about over and over.

“Hank is asking if you want corn or peas.” You told Logan as you walked inside, trying your best not to yell or scream out loud and retreat away.

“Either is fine. You okay?”

You snapped your eyes back to Logan’s face. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Fine. Have you talked to Rogue?”

“Not today,” he replied. “Why? Should I have done?”

You couldn’t help but shudder. “No. That kid is scary.”

You heard Logan laugh as you closed the door a little as you headed back out.

“Hey, wait.”

You opened the door again, holding onto the frame for dear life. “Yeah?”

“About last night…”

“What about last night?” You tried your best to remain as casual as possible, though it didn’t help when you remembered Logan was practically a walking lie detector.

He could hear your heartbeat.

And it was only getting faster.

You told yourself to calm down.

It was only a question.

A big question.

That he hadn’t finished.

Was he going to tell you to forget about it? Was he going to pretend it didn’t happen? Did it happen? Had you made the entire thing up? Was the line that you thought had blurred for a second been completely in bold this entire time and hadn’t shifted?

“Thanks…for coming with me…I know you would have gone anyway. But, I’m glad you didn’t try to stop me.”

You smirked a little. “Logan, you’re made of metal. The only practical way I could have is if I owned an industrial magnet.”

Logan chuckled a little. “Still. I’m glad you came. It’s nice to know the kid’s not alone, you know?”

You nodded. “I know. Anyway, I should probably…”

“Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I’ll meet you down there.”

You nodded, letting your eyes take a mental picture of Logan before you shut the door again and headed downstairs and back into the kitchen.

“He said either.”

Hank nodded and turned back to the stove.

“You were up there for a while,” Rogue appeared by your side. “And you look a little flushed.”

You turned your head to look at her and glared. “I do not.”

“You do look a little red in the cheeks, Y/n.” Hank added from where he was standing, busying himself by the stove.

“Maybe I’m coming down with something.” You pressed your hands to your cheeks to hide them.

Rogue stood in front of you and pressed the back of her hand to your head. “You don’t feel hot, maybe- Oh, hey Logan!”

Rogue broke out into a wide grin.

Logan was a little shocked by Rogue’s enthusiasm. “Hey, kid.”

“Come here, does Y/n feel hot to you? She’s looking a little flushed.”

“Rogue.” You warned under your breath. But she just smiled and pulled Logan over where her hand was replaced by Logan’s.

And there it was again.

That same…difference.

Just like when you stood in front of him when you both got back, before you hid beside the bookcase.

“N-no. She feels…she feels okay.”

Rogue looked back at Hank who was trying his best to hide his smile. “Why, Logan, you’re looking a little flushed yourself.”

Logan quickly stepped back, as did you. Only, you fell into the counter and gripped onto it for dear life.

You looked down at the floor.

“Maybe you’re coming down with something, too. I hope it’s not catching.”

Logan shook his head. “I can’t get sick.”

Hank hummed. “Must be something else then.”

“Must be.” Logan’s voice was quiet as he looked at you and found you looking back.

Though you couldn’t look for too long, feeling your cheeks heat up again.

“I better-”

“Yeah, I’m gonna-”

Both yourself and Logan headed in opposite directions. Yourself out of the kitchen the way you came in, and Logan out through the back door and into the gardens.

Eventually, you made it to your room and locked your door before moving over to the mirror. You did look flushed. Even more so when your brain projected the feeling of Logan’s hands on you from the night before, as well as the look on his face from thirty seconds ago.

By the time dinner rolled around, yourself and Logan tried to keep your distance until you both suddenly found yourself seated beside each other, taking one look at each other and then taking a large gulp of your drink.

Your main suspect for the forced seating arrangement was Rogue. She had been the one to lay out the cards. Three days previous, you were sure you had been sat beside her and Storm.

And when you looked over to her and found her smiling in your direction, you had your confirmed culprit.

For most of the night, you were kept distracted by the stories being told by everyone as you all caught up with one another from the past couple of months or so.

It was a few days until things felt normal between you and Logan. At least to the extent where you didn’t feel yourself visibly flush at the sight of him.

And everything seemed normal.

Until Saturday.

You had already left - Logan being the only one to know where you actually were heading off to.

“Okay, but Logan, you’re not allowed to get out of the car.” Rogue told him. “You’re just dropping me off. And you’re not allowed to come into the movie theatre, either.”

“What if I want to see a movie?”

“Not tonight, you’re not.” Rogue told him. “I like this guy, okay. And I think having The Wolverine sat behind us both isn’t going to make things easier.”

Logan sighed. “Okay, fine. I won’t come into the movie theatre.”

“Promise?”

Logan nodded, and crossed his heart. “Promise.”

“And you can’t send Y/n in, either.”

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. She’s busy.”

“Let me guess, on a date at the movie theatre?”

Logan held back his smirk. “No, smartass. She’s at a book club. But you can’t tell the others. She doesn’t want them to know.”

“Y/n’s part of a book club?”

Logan nodded and stifled a laugh as he flicked on his indicator and turned down a side street. “Yeah, it shocked me too.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be the mysterious husband they’re all talking about?”

As a red light came on, Logan slammed on his breaks a little too hard. “What? How would you know about-”

“Y/n took me to the library. There were a load of women looking at her. She was outside but when I asked her about it she said it was nothing. But I definitely heard them talking about her being married.”

Logan looked back to the road.

“Logan?”

“Yeah.”

“It's green.”

A car behind him honked and Logan quickly got moving, all the while feeling Rogue’s eyes on him.

“Oh, my god.” Rogue smiled and turned back to the road in disbelief.

“What?”

Logan was beginning to feel a little panicked. Though he didn’t quite know why.

“You are him.” Rogue stated. “Oh, my god. Is this what you meant by ‘learning your lesson’? Did something finally happen?”

Logan was confused. “Finally? What do you mean finally?”

“I mean finally.” Rogue repeated. “Jesus, Logan. Have you not seen the way you look at her? How she looks at you?”

“How she looks at me?” Logan questioned.

Since when did driving Rogue to her second date become a time for confessions?

“Hank was right, you both really are as bad as each other.”

Logan had to shake his head. “Wait, Hank? Beast Hank?”

Rogue could help but laugh.

For months Rogue had watched Logan and yourself get close to each other. She had to watch as the looks Logan gave you went from untrusted, to familiar, to friendly to…everything after the fact of trust. Not only could you see it in his eyes that he trusted you, but you could also see what he was too scared to admit to himself.

He was in love with you.

And had been for quite some time.

Of course, Rogue had only noticed this in the last couple of months.

Except, when talking with Hank as he cooked and she mostly watched and snacked on the parts he wasn’t using for the main meals, she realised it had been going on for years.

How you had looked at Logan. Intrigue, civil, uncharted, familiar, friendly, safe and,,,love.

And apparently Hank hadn’t been the only one in agony watching both of you. According to him, so were the rest of the team.

They were all just surprised nothing had actually happened yet.

“W-why are you laughing?” Logan’s gaze kept flicking from the passenger seat beside him to the road ahead until he finally pulled up outside the movie theatre.

“Because you’re both idiots.”

Logan didn’t look entirely amused. “Thanks, kid.”

“Look, I could tell you but…you need to work this one out for yourself. Thanks for dropping me off.”

As Rogue stepped out of the car, she closed the door and walked away. However, a few paces from the car she stopped and turned back around.

“Fuck it, I’m just gonna tell you.”

Leaning back inside the car, Logan looked back at her.

“You love her. And she loves you.” Rogue told him. “You’ve both loved each other for a long time and it’s about time you both do something about it before time passes and you’re both too chicken shit to do something about it. There is a reason everyone already thinks you're a couple, and that’s because when neither of you are thinking, you both act like it anyway. You should really see the way you look at each other, Lo. I hope I can find that some day, too. It’s rare. Don’t let it slip past you. Either of you.”

Rogue watched as Logan soaked in all of her words and then settled back behind the steering wheel.

Reaching into her bag, Rogue pulled out a book. “This was on the counter when I came downstairs.”

Logan took it from her. It was a new book. The new book you would be discussing about. Tonight.

“Figured she might need that. Maybe you can drop it off with her?”

Logan looked at Rogue and gave a smile. “Thanks, kid.”

Rogue shrugged. “Just mention me during your wedding speech.”

Shutting the car door, Rogue watched as Logan pulled out of his parking spot and drove down the street, turning the corner to head towards the address you had given him earlier that week.

“Just in case you or Rogue needs me.” You had told him.

Pulling up outside the house, KELLER written on the mailbox, Logan turned off the engine, took the book from the passenger seat and headed up the porch steps and knocked on the screen door.

From inside he heard laughing before a familiar face opened up the door.

“Oh, my. Logan, isn’t it?”

Logan nodded, trying his best to hide the flush on his cheeks. “Mrs Keller. I’m hoping Y/n is here. She left her book and I thought-”

Mrs Keller gave a wide smile and pushed open the screen door for him to come in. “Of course. The more the merrier. Your wife will be happy to see you, I’m sure. Follow me.”

As he did so, Logan soon found himself entering a second living room where around a dozen people were sitting in somewhat of a circle, either on the sofas or on the floor.

“Look who’s come for a surprise visit!” Mrs Keller announced.

Everyone turned with welcoming smiles and slightly shocked expressions.

“Logan.” You weren’t expecting to see him.

“Hey,” Logan breathed with a smile at seeing you. “Rogue. She picked up your book and I thought you might need it.”

You stood and took it from him softly. “Thanks.”

“Well, honey? Aren’t you going to give him a proper hello?”

Suddenly you and Logan felt a dozen pairs of eyes on you both and with a slight awkwardness, you leant up and kissed his cheek.

“Oh, come on. Girls, I tell you. Last week they were like two teenagers.”

You felt your cheeks go bright red and you hid your face with the cover of your book. The only comfort was Logan’s hand that hadn’t left your hip since you stepped into him to kiss his cheek.

“Oh, Logan, please. Will you stay?”

Logan looked around the room. It was the first time he understood the expression “Feeling like you were going to be eaten alive.”

“No, no. This is…your thing. I don’t want to intrude-”

“Nonsense! Besides, we’ve been dying to know more about our little mystery.” Mrs Keller said with nothing but affection.

“Who knew mystery could have so much romance?”

Logan turned to where the voice came from and by your reaction, he gauged the voice belonged to Prissy. Who’s name he would soon learn was Pricilla.

“I’d love to.” Logan replied, looking back to Mrs Keller.

“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and got comfortable in her chair. “Oh, Darwin, honey, come and sit by me so the lovebirds can sit together.”

The sofa in which Darwin had been sitting was as big as a seat and a half. So, when Logan did finally sit down, you were practically sitting on his lap, the only comfortable position you could find yourself in was tucked in by his side, your legs over his whilst his hand held your knees on his thighs.

Thankfully, your back was supported by the arm of the chair, but either way you felt yourself melt into Logan’s side, his body heat warming you. The fire Mrs Keller had on in the hearth was enough to heat the room but there was just something about Logan’s warmth that made it…different.

“Oh, you two just make the most adorable couple.” Mrs Keller smiled, watching the pair of you, noticing the smiles you gave each other as you both finally got comfortable in being so close to one another. “Like no one else is in the room.”

Logan heard Rogue’s words echo inside of his head.

She was right.

“Oh, you have to tell us how you met? Please.” Daisy asked from the floor beside the coffee table.

Prissy coughed. “Aren’t we more interested in discussing this week’s book?”

A chorus of “No” sounded out.

With a shlump, Prissy sat back with a noise stuck at the back of her throat.

“Oh, tell us how you met!” Darwin called out. “Start at the very beginning.”

“You know it’s gonna be a good story when they look at each other like that.” Daisy added on.

Prissy leaned forward. “You know, if you want a good love story, I can always tell you about how me and my darling husband met.”

Dawin groaned. Loudly. “We already know your story, Pricilla.”

“God knows we’ve heard it enough,” Mrs Keller mumbled.

“We want a new story and we want to hear about Y/n and Logan.”

You looked at Logan and Logan looked back. Something seemed different about him. It was almost like something was gleaming inside of him. You just couldn’t figure out what. Or why.

But you loved seeing a new side of him.

There was just something that made your stomach flip and your heart grow when Logan showed you another side of him. A side he didn’t let people see that often. Sometimes a side he wouldn’t let himself see.

“We met at work.” Logan told them.

“Yeah, he nearly bulldozed me in the Professor’s office.”

“I did not.”

“You did.” You countered. “I almost got a concussion from how hard you opened up that door.”

“You weren’t even near the door.”

“No, because I jumped out of the way when you did.”

Mrs Keller smiled. “Let me guess, you didn’t get off on the right foot?”

You shrugged. “Not particularly.”

“It took time…about six months before we had a real conversation. And even then it took time.”

Mrs Keller smiled with a knowing look. “The best ones always do.”

Over the next two hours, you and Logan were asked question after question. Most of them scolding you for not mentioning or bringing Logan to the book meetings sooner so they could all meet him.

Eventually, you did get onto the book you had all read. Prissy spent most of the time talking about the book and Logan got to witness first how she took the descriptions of a bird and placed the conversation back on her husband and what they had done during the week.

The first time, Logan could see it almost as sweet. After that it just got tedious.

But he couldn’t care. Not when he felt you fall into his side, allowing for his arm to come around your back, his hand fanned out across the exposed skin from your hip where your t-shirt had come untucked from your jeans.

As the fire in the hearth settled into a constant warmth, people started to get more relaxed and cosier, pulling up blankets, putting on Mrs Keller’s complimentary cosy socks.

Apparently she had a pair for everyone.

“Let me go and get some more snacks and then we can talk about chapter fifteen.” Mrs Keller gave a small gasp. “I didn’t see it coming.”

But you shot to your feet. “No, you sit down. Let me.”

“Oh, thank you, dear.”

Sitting back down, Logan stood with you and walked into the kitchen with you.

For a moment, you both talked about the book club and everything that had just happened before a comfortable lul came and you both realised you had to talk about the elephant in the room.

“We need to talk.” Logan told you.

“Do we?”

“Rogue told me something and it’s been on my mind ever since. And I can’t stop thinking how much she might be right.”

You poured some pretzels from the jar into a section of the dish. “Really? It must be bad if you’re agreeing with her.”

“Can you just…look at me for a second?”

You stopped pouring the snacks and looked at Logan, only for him to grab your hands and hold them in his. Running his thumbs over your knuckles, you forced yourself out of your thoughts and back to focusing on the real Logan in front of you.

“I think I’ve known it for a while, I just don’t think I’ve been able to let myself know it because, if I do…look, I’ve lost a lot of people.”

He was scaring you now.

“Logan, what’s going on?”

“I’ve lost a lot of people,” he finally looked you in the eye. “But I’ve come to realise you are not someone I can lose, Y/n. I don’t want to lose you. But if I don’t tell you something now, there might be a day when I could still lose you anyway.”

“Logan, you’re scaring me. Has something happened? What did Rogue say to you? I told you not to talk to her. That kid can be scary.”

Logan chuckled at that. It was true. Especially more recently. Very recently, in fact.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

You felt yourself falter and stiffen at his words.

“You are the person I trust the most in this world, and I don’t say that lightly. I trust you and I love you. But I can’t lose you. So…” Logan took a breath. “Please tell me if I’m going to lose you because of this, because I don’t want to. I don’t want to ever lose you. Especially over something that I’ve done.”

“You…you love me?” You questioned. “Logan…how…when…Logan, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you…you just can’t.”

You were in shock and disbelief. “I’m not someone you fall in love with.”

“Little late for that.”

“I’m being serious.” Pulling your hands from his, you walked away for a second. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You needed…you needed…

“So am I.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “Logan…I…you…we…we don’t…”

“We don’t…what?” Logan asked you.

“We don’t fit, Logan. We…we spent years building…us. Don’t you think that couples tend to know- if not instantly, a little sooner than us?”

“Y/n. I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I love you.”

Logan started walking closer to you, repeating his words with every step.

“Logan, you don’t.”

Taking you by the shoulders, he looked you in the eyes. “Yes, I do. And…I’d wager to say you feel the same, too.”

“Logan…”

“Just listen to me.” Logan begged. “Please.”

And so you did.

“Coming in here to tell you this? I didn’t expect you to tell me the same. I still don’t. I get you’re scared. Hell, I’m terrified. But the only thing that is keeping me from running out of that door is you. I know you, Y/n. And you know me, so when I stand here telling you that I love you, you know I’m not lying. You know that you are the only person I cannot lie to. I respect you too much to do that.”

Logan continued.

“But just now…you said ‘us’. And after what almost happened the other night and what happened in the kitchen with Hank…hell, even back there with the Town Gossip Board…”

Logan studied your face for a moment. You were fighting back tears, white knuckling the countertop beside you both.

“I can’t lose you, Y/n. So, please, tell me now. Just answer me this and if you want me to walk away I will. Do you love me?”

“Logan…”

Logan’s grip on you tightened for a moment as he bit his lip saying your name. He was desperate for an answer, wishing for you to say yes. For you to tell him not to walk away.

He couldn’t lose you…but maybe he already had.

“Please…” His voice broke. “Please.”

And then you broke.

“Of course I love you.”

Pulling him in by his collar, you held your other hand against his face before kissing him. It wasn’t soft or gentle. It was full of desperate and an outburst of emotion that you couldn’t put into words. You could only hope he knew what you meant by your kiss.

Almost instantly you felt his hands come to your waist before he pushed against you, kissing you back, allowing his arms to snake up and around your back, holding you flush against his chest. All the while, his lips caught yours once more after half a breath.

Your tears dried up and your hand fell to Logan’s side as he turned you, your ass bumping against the lower counter in the kitchen. A low groan came from the back of Logan’s throat as your hand dipped under his t-shirt and your fingers raked across his skin and up the side of his torso.

However, just as Logan was about to lift you onto the counter, you both heard a voice call out from the living room.

“Did you manage to find the pretzels? They’re in the cabinet above the stove!”

You and Logan pulled away, breathless. With his hands tangled in your hair and your forehead pressed against his, Logan forced a swallow, his cheeks heating as he smiled, still feeling your hand on his skin.

“Yeah, we’ve got em’!” Logan called out. “We’ll be there in a second.”

You let out a small laugh, as did Logan.

“How long have you got left here?”

You turned your head to look at the rustic clock above the kitchen dresser. “About an hour.”

“Make it 45?”

“50.” You gave it as an offer. “I still want to find out what they thought about Chapter twenty two.”

Almost out of arm's reach, Logan pulled you back. “Hey.”

“What?” You asked, allowing yourself to fall back into him.

Looking at you, Logan smiled before brushing the hair from your face and leaving you with a kiss that left you a little stunned and dizzy in the best way imaginable.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Wait.” Logan said once more, before pulling you back. You laughed a little.

“If we spend any more time in here, Mrs Keller is going to think we’re about to defile her kitchen.”

“We almost did,” Logan smirked watching your face heat before he started fixing your hair and your top.

And you did the same with him.

Finally walking back into the living room with the snacks, you and Logan sat back down together, your legs draped over his lap all the while your fingers subtly played with the ends of his hair, allowing your nails to run up and down the back of his neck every once in a while that had him shifting in his seat.

You were out of there within forty minutes.

But not before Mrs Keller gave Logan his own pair of cosy socks.

“Yellow and blue,” she told him. “For some reason, they speak to me. They’re yours. You’re an honorary member. Feel free to drop in any session. We’d love to hear more about you two.”

Both yourself and Logan smiled before walking back to the car where he opened up the door for you before walking around and getting into the driver's seat.

It took all of a month before everyone found out you and Logan had finally come together. Rogue and Hank seemed the most relieved that something had finally snapped between you two.

You both spent most mornings and nights tangled in each other’s arms, finally free to admit the truth to each other.

You had loved Logan for a long time. And he had loved you just as long.

Neither of you planned on stopping that any time soon.

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alsofoundinpeas · 1 month ago

Text

In the Blink of a Lens

Summary: When Spencer Reid finally succumbs to technology and gets a smartphone, he takes a tentative step into the digital world by sending his best friend (and colleague) Y/N a picture. What starts as an innocent attempt to embrace modern tech leaves Y/N flustered as the seemingly innocent gesture forces her to confront feelings she’s been ignoring for years. Neither of them is prepared for the powerful impact of a single, innocent photo as the lines between friendship and something more start to blur.

(AKA Spencer sends the above selfie and reader gets horny because his hand is quite literally swallowing the phone HAHAHA)

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Hand kink/fixation. Overstimulation. Oral (both m and f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected sex/P in V sex (do as I say not as I do and STAY PROTECTED IRL!!). Dirty talk/praise kink. Softdom!Spencer and bratty!sub!reader. Some religious phrasing (because who are fanfic writers really without it?) Pull-out method used (again, do as I say not as I do!!) Very brief mention of a sex toy (doesn't get used). Fluffy smut. Two idiots in love/best friends to lovers trope. <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This is my humble contribution to the Spencer Reid hand kink supremacy (no but seriously how are his hands THAT attractive??). This is kinda sorta an AU I guess because I wrote this with season four Reid in mind but I'm not sure (and Google will not give me a clear answer) if that type of iPhone was around then so let's just pretend it was for the sake of the fic pls. :') Also the "Sincerely, Spencer Reid" was a direct nod to B99's very own Raymond Holt because I could definitely see him and Spence handling tech the same way LMAO. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)

Am I doing this selfie thing right? Sincerely, Spencer Reid

The screen felt almost blinding in the dim lighting of Y/N's bedroom as she stared slack-jawed at the image open on her phone.

Spencer finally upgraded to a smartphone a week ago after an unfortunate crash to the ground (stupid raised sidewalk) shattered the old flip phone that had long ago earned him the nickname "Grandpa" from his pain-in-the-ass-loving best friend. Y/N had never seen a man so devastated over losing what was essentially a brick that made calls, so to cheer him up, she helped him pick out a new phone and set it up.

She was beginning to regret that decision as she gawked at the selfie Spencer had sent.

It was sweet—an innocent photo of him sitting in his car, just after finishing the paperwork he’d insisted on handling alone, despite her offers to help. He'd banished her to her apartment, as stubborn as ever. The shot was taken in his rearview mirror, a faint grin tugging at his lips, his maple-toned eyes obscured by the phone. There was nothing about the image that should have made her pulse quicken. But when the realization hit her, a rush of warmth flooded her face.

It was his hand.

His hand seemed almost too big for the phone, dwarfing it as he snapped the picture. It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed how large his hands were—everyone did—but she’d never given it much thought. Until now. Watching the way his fingers effortlessly swallowed the device, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. There was something about the sheer size of his hand, the way it seemed to overpower the phone, that made her suddenly hyper-aware of every detail.

His fingers were long, elegant, and well-cared-for; fingers that seemed capable of touching parts of her she'd never been able to reach on her own—

No. No, no, no. There was absolutely no way she was having these thoughts about Spencer Reid. Spencer, her endearingly awkward best friend of four years. Her rock. Her partner in the field. The man she’d always thought of as just that—nothing more. Well...

Y/N did have a crush on him once, in the earliest stages of their friendship. But it was just a small, silly, unreciprocated crush that she locked away in the deepest parts of her subconscious so that she could at least still be his friend. She accepted that it would never happen and moved on. Or she thought she had...

A muffled curse leaves Y/N's lips as she realizes she never responded, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard as she struggles to think of a response. Since when has she ever struggled to talk to Spencer? Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with her tonight? Was she ovulating?

Y/N: Next time, show off those pretty brown eyes of yours and you've got it down pat :)

Okay... That sounded way flirtier than she intended... But that's how they usually joked with each other, right? She was just overthinking everything because she was exhausted from their most recent case. That's it.

Y/N: Also... why have you not put your phone case on yet?? You're practically begging for another sidewalk incident to happen, Grandpa.

That's better. That feels normal.

She sets her phone down on her nightstand, picking up her abandoned book to continue reading. Y/N's heart rate is almost back to normal when her phone's ringtone blaring startles her, the book falling to her lap with a muted thud. An annoyed groan rumbles in her throat as she reaches over to grab the device, internally praying it wasn't Hotch calling with another case. They had JUST gotten back from Ohio not even six hours ago and she just wanted to rest—

To her surprise, it was Spencer calling.

"It's awfully late for you to be calling, Grandpa," Y/N drawled as she answered the call, her lips curling up into a grin as she heard Spencer scoff on the other line. "Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

"I am in bed," Spencer grumbled in response, and she could hear some shuffling as he got comfortable. "And I put the case on right after I sent the selfie, thank you very much. Speaking of, did you know that the origin of selfies was actually believed to be..."

Spencer launched into a thorough explanation of not only the origins of selfies but also a detailed account of why self-portraits came about. Y/N hung onto every word, just as she always did when he spoke. Most people found his rambling to be annoying, but not her. She thought it was fascinating how much information he kept tucked away in that brain of his and was more than willing to listen and ask questions about anything he blurted out.

The conversation stretches on for another hour, neither of them wanting to be the one to end it. It’s not until the fifth yawn escapes Spencer that Y/N finally chuckles into the phone before reluctantly saying goodnight. Spencer’s voice is warm as he wishes her sweet dreams, and the call ends with the soft beep of disconnecting. And, for the first time in a long while, sweet dreams she did have…

"Does that feel good? Hm, pretty girl?" Spencer murmured into her ear as she writhed between his spread legs, her bare back pressed flush to his clothed chest.

The night had started with celebratory drinks after finally closing one of their more grueling cases, the team getting some much-needed relaxation and bonding in. Spencer was Y/N's designated driver as per usual since he didn't drink, instead choosing to nurse a soda as he eyed Y/N down from across the booth.

He was directly across from her, snugly between Derek and Hotch. But he wasn't paying attention to them. His eyes had been fixated on her from the moment she'd come back from the bar with Emily and Penelope, tracing the contours of her flushed face as she tipped her head back and took another shot.

Y/N had no intentions of getting completely drunk, instead choosing to remain just tipsy enough to enjoy the warmth that flowed through her body from the alcohol and maintain a steady buzz. That way she could be aware of her surroundings while also enjoying herself and the company of her team.

The bar was dim, the pounding of her heartbeat matching the beat of the music bumping overhead as her gaze fell on Spencer. Her brows furrowed at the unabashedly hungry look in his eyes, her tongue poking out to wet her lips subconsciously. She had to have been hallucinating. There was no way he'd be looking at her like that... right?

But he had been. And that same look is exactly what led them to where they were now, with Spencer propped up against her headboard holding her at his mercy while his fingers pumped tirelessly into her drenched pussy. She was sure the sight of them was downright filthy, an erotic contrast of her completely bare body pressed against his fully clothed one.

Y/N was in shambles, her legs trembling as her nails dug uselessly into his thighs while soft whimpers and moans flowed freely from her kiss-swollen lips. Her mind was reeling, a dizzying mixture of the remaining alcohol in her system, the pleasure coiling tightly in her lower stomach, and the knowledge that it was Spencer causing said pleasure.

She was so, so close... just a few more strokes of his fingers and...

A sharp gasp sounded through the bedroom as Y/N jolted awake, her chest heaving as she shakily sat up to turn off her alarm. She blinked hard, attempting to clear the fog from her vision as she fell back into her pillows. The dull aching between her thighs served as a sore reminder of what she was so close to achieving in her dream...

Her eyes snapped open as the memory of the dream hit her like a tidal wave. Guilt, confusion, and sheer horror crashed over her, and she groaned, her hands dragging down her face in frustrated disbelief. She’d just had a dream—a wet dream—about Spencer Fucking Reid.

What had gotten into her?

Before she could dive too deep into why her crush on Spencer had apparently resurfaced with a vengeance after being dormant for so long, her phone dinged with a message from the genius himself. It felt like the universe was rubbing salt in the wound, taunting her for the forbidden thoughts she couldn’t seem to shake about her best friend.

Spence <3: Are you going to get coffee? Sincerely, Spencer Reid

Y/N snorted out a laugh at how he signed his text, shaking her head as she responded.

Y/N: ... Spence, you don't have to sign your name on each text. I have your number saved. And yes, I am :)

A minute passes before his response comes through.

Spence <3: Oh. Well then, can you also bring me coffee please?

Y/N: Of course I can <3

Her earlier guilt lingers in the pit of her stomach as she sets the phone down, rolling out of bed with a sigh to begin getting ready for work. How was she going to face him after having a dream like that? Maybe it was a fluke; a one-off occurrence manifested from her lack of sexual endeavors so her brain had no choice but to use Spencer as a fill-in for her fantasies.

Opting to pretend it never happened so she could face her best friend later, Y/N finished getting ready and left for the café, determined to get there on time for work.

The elevator dinged as Y/N strolled into the bullpen, her and Spencer's usual orders in hand and a soft smile on her face. Thankfully, today was a paperwork day—a task most of the team dreaded, but one Y/N welcomed. It gave her a chance to recover from the constant motion sickness from the jet and the relentless flirtations of the officers when they worked cases out of state.

"Mm, my very own coffee fairy!" Spencer grinned, setting down the stack of papers he’d been poring over. His eyes sparkled as she made her way across the room, finally meeting his gaze from across the desk as she stopped in front of him. "Have I ever told you you're the best?"

"Yes, you have," Y/N teased with a playful grin, holding out his coffee. "But I don’t mind hearing it more often."

Her dream, it seemed, hadn’t been a fluke, a realization that hits her as Spencer grabs his coffee. Her eyes involuntarily track the way his fingers curl around the Styrofoam cup, and a shiver runs up her spine when they inadvertently brush against hers. Her cheeks flush as she quickly pulls her gaze away, meeting his curious eyes instead.

"You feeling okay, Y/N? You look a little flushed," Spencer murmured, his brow furrowed in concern as he eyed her over the rim of his cup.

Y/N blinked, her heart pounding in her throat as she swallowed and nodded. The sight had sent her mind reeling, the memory of those same fingers buried deep inside of her in her dream the night before surfacing against her will.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine I just-"

Before Y/N could finish stammering out her lame excuse, Morgan sauntered into the bullpen with Garcia, the pair immediately honing in on her and Spencer as they made their way over.

"Oh, c'mon Y/N! Seriously? Pretty boy here gets a coffee but the rest of us don't?" Morgan taunted, chuckling as Y/N reached out to playfully swat at his arm with an eye roll.

"Well obviously! He's her work husband," Penelope chimed in matter-of-factly, giggling as she wiggled her eyebrows. "It would mean a divorce was brewing if she didn't."

The team had started the joke years ago, teasing her and Spencer for being the youngest members and for how quickly they’d clicked. To everyone else, it was obvious their friendship ran deeper than either of the two realized. The problem was that neither one of them could see it. Some profilers they were.

No matter how many times the joke was made, Spencer’s face still turned bright red every single time.

"Har dee har har," Spencer scoffed, his eyes shifting to the cup still gripped in his hand.

The banter was cut short as Hotch stepped out of his office, everyone mumbling their goodbyes and scurrying back to their desks to get their work done. Y/N welcomed the distraction with open arms, diving into her work to try to get her mind off of her conflicted feelings towards her best friend.

All day long, Y/N fought the growing urge to watch Spencer’s hands, but it was impossible to ignore. Her eyes were drawn to the way his fingers traced the edge of a case file as he analyzed it, or how they drummed a steady rhythm on his desk, each tap somehow amplifying the tension she was trying to suppress.

Her breaking point came when the team was wrapping up for the day. Spencer, eager to show off, insisted on demonstrating a new cardistry trick he’d learned. The rest of the team gathered around, and Y/N felt herself drawn in, unable to look away. Her eyes locked on his fingers as he deftly manipulated the cards, the muscles in his hands flexing with each smooth, controlled movement. She barely registered her open mouth or the way her pulse quickened—every part of her attention was on him.

Y/N was jolted back to reality when Emily nudged her, a raised eyebrow full of amusement as the rest of the team cheered and complimented Spencer on his newly acquired skill. Rather than meet Emily’s knowing look, Y/N quickly murmured her praise for Spencer, then hastily made her exit, claiming she needed to hit a store before it closed.

If she thought that day was bad, the next few weeks were hell.

The BAU had two back-to-back cases, leaving them no time to rest as they flew straight from Tennessee to Arizona. The dry heat seemed to make Spencer restless—constantly running his fingers through his hair, fidgeting with his watch, or rolling up his sleeves. Meanwhile, Y/N felt her sanity slipping away, her thoughts unraveling as she stumbled over her words or completely lost track of what she was saying—because she couldn’t stop staring at those goddamned hands.

Spencer wasn’t blind to the shift in her behavior. He’d noticed how she started to occupy herself with something whenever he entered the room, or how she became increasingly uneasy around him—spinning the rings on her fingers, tugging at the necklace he'd given her for her last birthday, or even finding reasons to leave the room entirely the moment he stepped in.

Y/N's usual teasing had begun to feel hollow, and the familiar touches she used to give him—guiding him gently by the hand, rubbing his shoulder when frustration set in, or planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek before leaving—had completely disappeared.

He felt gutted, unable to think of a single reason for Y/N's sudden distance. The uncertainty gnawed at him, twisting his stomach with worry. What if she was tired of him? Or worse… what if she had finally seen through his feelings for her and was repulsed by them?

When the team wrapped up in Arizona and boarded the jet home, Spencer made up his mind.

After Y/N chose to sit next to Emily instead of her usual spot beside him, he couldn’t take it anymore. The not knowing was eating at him, and more than anything… he missed her. She was the one person who saw him for who he truly was, the one who understood him better than he understood himself. The one who brought him solace during the toughest cases and reminded him why he kept going. The thought of losing her was unbearable, and he promised himself he’d do whatever it took to fix whatever had gone wrong.

As soon as the jet touched down in Quantico, Y/N quickly muttered her goodbyes and made a beeline for the parking garage. Finally, she was free. Free to go home, shut herself off, and stop behaving like a complete mess around Spencer. She hated how distant she’d been, but she couldn’t help it. The weight of her obsessive thoughts about him and the feelings she’d tried to bury for so long had completely overridden her rational thoughts, leaving her acting out of control.

Fingers closed around her upper arm just inches from her car, and a sharp yelp escaped her lips. She spun around, startled, to find an equally surprised Spencer standing there. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard him following her.

"Jesus, Grandpa! Make an announcement before you sneak up on people!" Y/N complained loudly, turning away from him to unlock her car and toss her go bag into the backseat.

Spencer couldn't help but feel some relief at the nickname, a surge of hope coursing through him. Grandpa. She hadn't called him that in almost two weeks. He cleared his throat, holding onto his courage as he finally addressed her recent behavior.

"Sorry! Sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure we were okay? I’ve noticed you’ve been acting… not like yourself lately. Not that I’m calling you weird or anything—"

Y/N's heart broke at the nervous rambling spewing from his lips as he stood before her, tucked into himself and fidgeting with his hands as he tried to speak. God, she was such an asshole.

"Spence," Y/N murmured, gently interrupting him before letting out a soft sigh. "I promise, we're fine. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant. It’s just… I’ve been so stressed with the cases, and compartmentalizing has been harder than usual. I guess I didn’t want to drag you into it. I’m really sorry."

It wasn't necessarily a lie. She really had been stressed and struggling with compartmentalizing... just not because of their job.

Spencer’s shoulders relaxed, his tense expression softening into one of understanding. “You know I’m always here for you, right? You don’t have to carry that burden alone. I’d much rather you let me in than struggle with it on your own."

Scratch that. She wasn't just an asshole. She was the biggest asshole in the world for making him feel the way he had.

"I know that. I really do," Y/N murmured, her fingers nervously playing with her lip. "It's just… I get way too independent sometimes." She sighed, then brightened. "How about this? Tomorrow’s our first Saturday off in over a month… Why don’t you come over and we can do a movie marathon? We could use some good 'work spouse' bonding, don’t you think?"

Spencer’s smile stretched across his face, his voice a little more eager than usual and his cheeks flushed. "Yeah, I'd, uh... I'd love that. Let's do it."

Y/N returned his grin, her heart fluttering from how excited he looked. Relief flooded through her veins as he agreed to her plans, not realizing how much she had truly missed him the past few weeks since she'd been so focused on trying not to gawk at him every five minutes.

"Perfect. It’s a date,” Y/N teased, her smile widening. “Now, get in. I’m not letting you take the train back this late."

"What? Isn't this what you wanted, sweetheart?" Spencer crooned into her ear, tightening his hold around her wrists as he kept them pinned above her head.

Another frustrated whine left her lips as she tugged uselessly against his hold, but they both knew she didn't actually want to slip free. One of his hands was wrapped tightly around both of her wrists, his other tracing maddeningly up and down her side.

"Or did you want Officer Davidson's hands on you instead?" His tone was taunting, a hint of jealousy tainting his words as he tightened his grip.

The moment they stepped into their shared hotel room after leaving the precinct, Spencer was all over her. She’d noticed the heated glares he shot her way while she stood across the room, wearing a bored expression as Officer Davidson repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) tried to flirt with her.

They hadn't announced their new relationship status to the team yet per Spencer's insistence, but it was obvious from the intensity in Spencer’s eyes that he wanted to shout it to the world now. The way he glared at Davidson made it clear he was ready to stake his claim, watching the officer eye her like prey.

Now they were here, with Spencer hellbent on making sure she understood that she was his.

Y/N shook her head, looking up at Spencer pleadingly as she tilted her hips up in search of his. "No, never. Only want you, Spence."

A dark chuckle escaped him as he smirked down at her, his hand, which had been trailing along her side, now cupping her chin. His fingers gently squeezed her cheeks, coaxing her lips into a pout.

"Only me? Is that right, sweet girl?" Spencer cooed, loosening his grip to press on her bottom lip with his thumb before sliding the digit into her mouth. "Because it sure looked like you were enjoying his attention."

The flushed head of his cock teased her entrance, pressing between her folds as his hips slowly rocked back and forth, prolonging her teasing instead of giving her what she wanted. She groaned around his thumb, sucking the digit further into her mouth and holding his gaze in an effort to tempt him into finally fucking her instead of just grinding against her.

A soft hiss fell from his lips as his gaze darkened. He shifted his weight above her, keeping her wrists clasped in his hand and shoving them into the mattress as he began to rut against her harder. Her sharp gasp sounded through the air as he angled his hips up, the tip of his cock dipping into her deliciously before he halted his movements, keeping only a few inches inside of her.

Y/N writhed beneath him, whimpering her protests around his thumb as her jaw slackened, muffled pleas spilling from her lips as she began to beg uselessly for him to just fuck her already.

Spencer pressed down on her tongue with his thumb, a grunt escaping him before he yanked his thumb out of her mouth, using the hand to pin her down instead.

"Be still—"

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh light of morning pouring through her curtains, and she let out a disgruntled groan as she blindly searched for her phone on the nightstand. After weeks of peaceful, dreamless sleep, of course she would dream about Spencer the night before their hangout. Wait—

Y/N sat up abruptly, unlocking her phone to check the time, only to notice a message waiting for her on the lock screen.

Spence <3: I’ll be there in an hour with a surprise.

Sent twenty-three minutes ago.

Fuck. She'd completely forgotten to set an alarm to get ready for their movie marathon, despite being the one who had suggested it in the first place. Whatever brain cells that photo had scrambled in her brain needed to get a grip so she could function on a level above Neanderthal.

Y/N: Surprise? You spoil me, old man. I'll see you then :)

Y/N exhaled wearily, rolling out of bed and dragging her feet across the plush carpet. She shuffled over to her dresser, picking out an outfit consisting of black yoga pants and an old band tee before heading to the bathroom for a cold shower. Maybe it would clear her head—or at least get rid of the incessant aching between her thighs. It worked on men, right?

One miserable shower and a change of clothes later, Y/N finally managed to clear some of the fog clouding her mind. She darted around her apartment, tidying up in a flurry before Spencer arrived. Moving between the kitchen and the living room, she gathered everything for their movie marathon: a pile of 90's slasher films spread out on the coffee table, her biggest throw blanket draped across the sectional, and a bag of popcorn popping away in the microwave.

Spencer's signature knock rang through the apartment at the same time the microwave started beeping, signaling that the popcorn was done.

"Coming!" Y/N shouted from the kitchen, opening the microwave door so it wouldn't repeat the shrill noise before making her way to the front door.

She swings it open with an excited grin, her gaze immediately dropping to the bag in Spencer's hand. She beckons for Spencer to come in, trying to sneak a peek at what was in the slightly crinkled paper bag.

"Geez, don't look too excited to see me," Spencer chuckled, following Y/N into her kitchen.

She waved dismissively, laughing softly as she grabbed the bag of popcorn and a bowl to pour it into. Spencer sat the bag on the counter, finally revealing its contents as he pulled out a tub of ice cream and some sour gummy worms.

"A man after my own heart!" Y/N gasped with an exaggerated swoon, cackling as Spencer swatted at her playfully.

"You said you were stressed, and I know you’ve got a sweet tooth just like me, so I figured it’d be perfect for our movie marathon," Spencer said with a shrug, the faintest blush creeping up his neck.

That kind of thoughtful behavior was just another reason her emotions had been in turmoil for the past few weeks. The selfie had opened a door to a spiral of introspection, one that made her revisit every moment they’d shared. She had always known their friendship straddled the line between platonic and something more, but she’d convinced herself it was simply because they were so comfortable with one another. It wasn’t until now that she began to wonder if those boundaries had been blurred intentionally — if, deep down, they both had wanted more all along.

The movie marathon kicked off after a bit of grumbling from Spencer, who finally gave in to watching the cheesy slasher films he’d insisted were beneath him. A few awkward moments of shifting on the couch later, they settled into a comfortable spot—Y/N tucked into his side, both of them with snacks in their laps and the throw blanket wrapped around them, ready to dive into the horror-filled lineup.

As they settled into the movie, Spencer’s gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment too long. He noticed the drip of vanilla ice cream at the corner of her mouth, the sight causing an unwelcome tightness in his pants. Before he could stop himself, he reached over. His thumb gently swiped the sugary trail now pooling along her lower lip, a soft swipe that left his hand lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"Here, you've got a little..."

The words died in his throat as her lips wrapped around his thumb, both of their eyes widening as their gaze met.

In that moment, everything fell into place for Spencer. It wasn’t stress that had been driving her distant behavior—he realized with a sudden jolt—it was something else entirely. The way she'd been pulling away, the tension between them… it wasn’t just exhaustion or anxiety. No, it was something far more complicated. It was desire.

Y/N jerked backward, nearly sending all of their precariously placed snacks to the floor as her face burned with embarrassment. "Oh, my God I- I'm so sorry Spence," she stammered, her words tripping over each other. "I have no idea why I did that-"

"Y/N."

Spencer cut her off with a hushed murmur of her name, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stopped her nervous rambling.

"It's okay. I-I liked it," Spencer reassured her softly.

Y/N stared at him, dumbfounded.

"What?"

"I liked it."

Spencer repeated himself surely, but the tremble in his voice gave away the fact that his brave front was exactly that: a front.

"I—" He hesitated, a heavy sigh escaping him. His hands fumbled with the snacks for a moment, setting them carefully on the coffee table as if buying time. He finally turned to face her fully, the weight of his words settling in. "Y/N… I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. I never said anything because I was scared… scared you wouldn’t feel the same. And after everything these past few weeks, with you pulling away, I thought maybe you’d figured it out and hated me for it. But… maybe I was wrong. Maybe you actually feel the same way I do..."

Y/N’s mouth parted in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Spencer loved her. He always had. And she had spent all this time convincing herself her feelings were one-sided, certain he couldn’t possibly feel the same way.

Spencer's voice wavered as he spoke, his eyes searching hers with a quiet intensity. "Please, tell me I was wrong. Tell me you feel the same." His words hung in the air, and he held his breath, waiting, afraid that his confession might have been the thing to push her away for good.

The raw vulnerability in his voice broke through the fog in her mind, and without thinking, she nodded quickly, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.

"Yes! Yes, Spence, I feel the same way," she breathed, her voice shaky as she looked up at him, eyes wide with a mix of relief and disbelief. "I always have… I just… I convinced myself it was impossible. I never thought you could feel the same."

A soft laugh escaped him, his grin widening as he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "How could I not, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "You’re everything to me. You’re the reason I started believing in soulmates… because I know I’ll never find anyone more perfectly made for me than you. You’re it. Always have been."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, her eyes welling up involuntarily. No one had ever spoken to her with such reverence, and in that moment, she realized she held him in the same regard. But where Spencer's words were so effortlessly beautiful, hers often fell short. So, instead of trying to find the right ones, she chose to show him just how deeply he mattered to her.

Within seconds, her lips were on his, her hands gently cradling his face as she pulled him closer. Spencer surrendered to the kiss, his hands sliding to her waist, mirroring her movements and pulling her in.

It started as a slow, hesitant kiss that rapidly devolved into something more desperate as the weight of years of silent longing melted away between them. What Y/N couldn't articulate into words she poured into touch, threading her trembling fingers into his soft hair and tugging, urging him to hover over her as she laid back against the couch. Her lips moved against his fiercely, trying to convey the silent message that she was just as in love with him as he was with her.

The movie had long since faded into the background, its faint dialogue and sporadic screams now an odd soundtrack blending with the muffled whimpers and soft pants that filled the space between them as their hands began to roam. Spencer's hips were nestled between hers, unmoving and stiff as he tried not to mindlessly hump against her like an animal in heat.

Y/N noticed Spencer's rigidness, breaking the kiss to look up at him with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?" She breathed out, propping up on her elbows and brushing their noses together. "Are we moving too fast? We can stop if you want, I-I'm sorry—"

"No!" Spencer borderline shouted in his haste to ease the insecurity he saw creeping into her eyes, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. "No, no that's not it at all. I just, um... I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how far you wanted this to go."

Y/N’s shoulders relaxed, a small frown giving way to a playful smirk. She idly twisted the loose curls at the nape of his neck between her fingers, her gaze locking with his.

"I want you, Spence. All of you. If that's what you want, too."

Spencer's nod was immediate, his forehead almost knocking into hers, causing her to laugh at his eagerness. "God, yes. I want that, so much. I want you so much."

Y/N grinned as she tilted her head to brush their lips together, landing a chaste kiss on his mouth before she tugged him down, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. "Yeah? You wanna fuck me, Spence?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as his head fell into the crook of her neck. If he were younger, he probably would have just cum in his pants from her words alone. But he was a man now. A barely composed man who was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of her perfume crowding his nose and the most painful erection he's had since puberty straining against his slacks.

"Such a crude mouth you have," Spencer murmured in feigned disappointment, shaking his head before pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck. "Maybe I should fill it up until you learn some manners, hm?"

He traced the fingers of his right hand up her side as he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his left hand pressed into the cushions to keep him from laying all his body weight onto her. He'd caught her lingering glances at his hands throughout the last few weeks. He just hadn't been sure why she'd been staring at them so hard... but now? Now, he knew exactly why she'd been so fixated on them, and he planned to use that to his advantage.

The whimper that slipped from Y/N's lips as Spencer slid two fingers into her gaping mouth confirmed his suspicions, the shit-eating grin on his face growing wide as he pressed the digits down against her tongue. She began to suck at his fingers eagerly, the feeling of her tongue laving over them making his body tremble in anticipation.

His hips began to rock against hers, slowly grinding against her aching core as he pressed kisses up and down the side of her neck. Once he was satisfied with his teasing, he pulled his fingers from her mouth with a slick 'pop', replacing them with his tongue as he kissed her deeply.

Y/N’s mind whirled, both surprised and intrigued by the sudden shift in his demeanor, captivated by how effortlessly he stepped into control. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated at all. She’d seen glimpses of this side of him—brief moments in the field or during interrogations—but never like this. The man before her was assured and confident, a stark contrast to his usual, endearing awkwardness.

Their kiss grew hungry as Spencer continued where they had left off before, his hands sliding under the hem of her shirt and bunching the fabric as they trailed up. He broke the kiss long enough to help her out of the shirt, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the TV before capturing her lips once more. He was a man ravenous, consumed by the sweetness of her lips, and even the seconds it took to remove her t-shirt felt like an unbearable eternity without them.

Her hands were just as busy as his, dragging down his clothed chest before finding the button of his slacks in the cramped space between them. Her fingers fumbled with the button blindly, and her movements faltered when his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip.

"Off," Y/N whined indignantly against his mouth, tugging frustratedly at the button. "Take them off."

Spencer obliged, helpless to her commands as he sat back on his heels, easily undoing the pesky button that was keeping her from what she wanted. She went to sit up to help with his zipper, but in her rush to get his pants off, she didn't realize just how close his knee was to the edge of the cushion.

The motion knocked his knee outwards, a surprised yelp leaving his lips as he instinctively reached out for her to steady himself, but it was too late.

A startled squeal slipped from Y/N as they both tumbled to the floor, landing with a muted thud on the plush carpet. Spencer’s hands shot to her waist, his eyes wide as he glanced up at her, now sprawled on top of him, her laughter filling the air at their unexpected fall. He joined her, chuckling loudly.

They were a perfect chaos—rumpled clothes, kiss-swollen lips, tangled hair, and eyes full of love. But neither of them minded, because they finally had what they’d both been yearning for all this time: each other.

The fall did little to curb their desire for each other. Y/N ducked her head, pressing her lips to Spencer's with renewed vigor as her hands slipped underneath his sweater. She giggled as he squirmed underneath her touch.

"You're such a wiggle worm!" Y/N huffed, pulling back just enough to let the words slip free into the air between them as she lifted the sweater up and over his head.

Spencer scoffed, his own hands slipping beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and shoving them down her legs. "I can't help that your hands feel like ice!"

A quiet hiss left her lips at the feeling of his equally cold hands brushing against the skin of her thighs. She wriggled on top of him, kicking off the remaining fabric that had wrapped around her feet.

"So do yours, but you don't see me acting like a baby about it!"

"Oh, I'll show you a baby—"

Y/N cackled as Spencer rolled them over, hovering above her once more with a cheeky grin and soft chuckles. He bombarded her with kisses all over her face and collarbones, ignoring her hands swatting at him playfully as he continued his attack. Soon his pants joined the growing pile of clothes near the entertainment center, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room as the final scenes of the forgotten movie played out. His hands made swift work of removing her bra, leaving her lying underneath him in only her lacy underwear.

Their laughter died out as they stared into each other's eyes, the weight of what was about to change—what had already changed—settling over them. But fear didn’t touch them. There was no reason for it. This was always meant to be; written in the stars, woven into their destiny long before they existed.

Spencer closed the gap between them, kissing Y/N tenderly as he lowered himself just enough for their bare chests to press together and their hips to align perfectly. A sigh escaped her at the feeling of his hardened cock grinding against her, the thin fabric of his boxers and her soaked panties doing little to conceal what lay beneath.

Neither of them had ever pictured their first time unfolding on the living room floor, but in a way, it made the moment even more unforgettable. It was a testament to how desperately they wanted each other—so much that they’d choose the roughness of the carpet and rug burns over the luxury of her bed to avoid the few minutes apart it would take to get to her room.

"You're sure you want this?"

Spencer broke the kiss, his eyes tracing hers for any trace of hesitation or doubt. Y/N's lips curved into a faint smile as she reached up to caress his face. Her thumb stroked the skin of his cheekbone as she nodded.

"More than anything."

The look in her eyes told him that she was being completely honest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His shaky hands found the edges of the lace adorning her hips, inching his body down as he tugged the soaked-through fabric down her legs.

Y/N's face scrunched in confusion as Spencer moved lower, her brows furrowing as he pressed a kiss to her knee. "What are you-"

Her words cut off with a sharp moan as Spencer latched his mouth to her clit, her head tipping back against the floor as her hands buried themselves into his disheveled strands. Her back arched as her legs spread instinctively, making room for him as he began to devour her. He shifted, grabbing ahold of her thighs and placing them over his shoulders as his tongue alternated between teasing kitten licks and long, drawn-out laps up and down her pussy.

Y/N struggled to open her eyes, peering down at him as pleasure began to flood her veins. The sight of his hands—those beautiful goddamned hands that had inadvertently caused this to happen— gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises had her mouth hanging open, small whimpers and moans flowing freely into the open space.

"You taste exquisite, sweetheart. So, so good," Spencer mumbled against her slick skin before sucking her clit into his mouth gently.

Y/N cried out, writhing underneath him as the pleasure in her lower stomach began to build rapidly. A loud groan wrenched itself from her throat as Spencer grabbed her hips, pinning them to the ground as he continued to ravage her in a way that rendered her useless.

"You can take it, pretty girl," Spencer cooed, placing a kiss on her clit before one of his hands left her hip to trace her folds. "Cum for me so I can fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else again."

Who the fuck taught him how to talk like that?

Y/N couldn’t speak to tell him that she’d never want anyone else anyways; that he was etched into her very soul, and every part of her would forever long for his touch and his touch alone. She cried out as his middle finger prodded at her entrance before slipping inside, her orgasm so close she could almost taste it.

Spencer moaned against her from how little resistance her walls had against the intrusion, immediately adding his ring finger to the mix. He thrusted them into her hard, curling the lithe digits in search of that rough patch of skin that would give him what he wanted. It took all of three strokes before he found it, his mouth forming a smirk as she gripped his hair and yanked, grinding her hips up into his mouth as she thrashed beneath him.

"Spence! Fuck, I-I'm cumming—"

Y/N barely uttered the words before her climax seized her, her toes curling as her vision whitened and the world shattered around her. She could vaguely register Spencer's sweet voice coaxing her through it, his forehead now pressed to hers as his fingers continued to gently thrust into her through the aftershocks. Only when she was trembling and weakly shoving at his wrist did he finally stop his movements, his lips meeting hers in a series of soft kisses as her chest heaved beneath him.

"Yeah?" He murmured with a smug grin, pulling back to smooth her hair away from her damp face with his clean hand as she stared up at him in bewilderment.

Spencer Reid had just caused her to cum harder than she ever had in her life. Spencer—the same Spencer that was too shy to look her in the eyes for a solid month after first meeting her— just made her cum so hard she almost blacked out. She understood why he was a man of magic now... and it had nothing to do with the novelty tricks he was always showing off.

"Yeah," Y/N whispered in response, still reeling from her orgasm.

If that was the type of climax she could reach simply from his tongue and fingers, she was convinced that she'd never actually experienced one with anyone else.

"Do you want to stop there? Or do you want to keep going?"

Spencer's voice was soft as he stared at the gorgeous woman beneath him. He found it ironic that he was already kneeling between her thighs because that had now become his place of worship. His redemption came in the form of her essence, dripping from his fingers as they rested against her hip. He'd never need anything else as long as he had her.

"Keep going. I want to keep going," Y/N pleaded softly, her hands reaching for his boxers. "Just—c'mere. Wanna taste you before you fuck me brainless. Please?"

A pitiful whine left Spencer’s lips as he felt his composure crack slightly. He wasn’t prepared for her to practically beg to suck his cock. He found himself nodding mindlessly, his hands going to help her strip him of his boxers before he remembered the mess still clinging to his fingers.

“Clean these for me first, sweet girl. Then you can.”

Spencer brought his fingers up to her lips, watching in amazement as she obeyed without a fuss. She even went as far as moaning while she licked his fingers clean of her, holding his gaze while she did. Y/N knew what she did to him. She knew he was just as affected by her as she was him. And she reveled in it.

Once he deemed them clean enough, he pulled them from her mouth before ridding himself of the last shred of fabric between them. The second that Spencer was bare before her, she pounced. Her hands pushed at his chest, urging him to lie back as she crawled on top of him.

“You’re so pretty, Spence,” Y/N breathed dazedly, pecking his lips before trailing her kisses down his chest. “God… look at you.”

Spencer flushed bright red while she continued to murmur her praises as she gripped the base of him, his cock twitching in her hand.

He had never been particularly confident—growing up as a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school had stripped him of any sense of self-worth before it had a chance to take root. Unlike Morgan, he didn’t have the muscles or the easy charm with women. He could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand. His dates rarely progressed beyond the first, driven away by his nervous rambling and the unpredictable demands of his job.

The only way Spencer even knew how to make Y/N feel so good was because he had studied every piece of material he could find on the intricacies of female anatomy and sexual pleasure on the off chance one of his dates would blossom into something more than an uncomfortable hook-up and dash situation. It also helped that he’d pined after her since he’d known her, that longing translating into a dire need to make her feel the best she ever had because that’s what she deserved. She deserved to feel pleasure in its purest form, to feel cherished and worshipped because that’s how precious she was to him.

And in this moment, as she gazed at him with the kind of reverence that made it seem as though he was the center of her universe, Spencer believed that maybe, just maybe, he deserved to feel that way too.

His fingers grasped helplessly at the carpet beneath him as her beautiful lips wrapped around the flushed head of his arousal, a muffled curse falling into the air as she swirled her tongue around him. Y/N smirked around her mouthful, her eyes glinting with amusement as she inhaled through her nose and pushed lower, taking him into the back of her throat. The gag that she emitted from the motion had his hips jerking up, a flurry of apologies spewing from his mouth.

Instead of responding verbally, she simply grabbed his hands and guided them to her hair, encouraging him to take hold and move her as he pleased. Once he threaded his hands through her hair, she continued. Her own hands planted firmly on his thighs as she began to bob her head around what she could fit, a soft hum vibrating around his length as her eyes fluttered shut.

Spencer was speechless— absolutely floored as he stared slack-jawed at the woman moaning around his cock like she was the one receiving pleasure from it. He gave an experimental tug of her hair, his head falling back with a thunk as she moaned louder and moved faster. It was as though she were unraveling his very soul with her tongue, hurtling him towards an orgasm he didn’t want to have just yet.

“Y-Y/N wait I— ngh!” Spencer groaned, his grip on her hair tightening unintentionally as he tried to pull her off of him. “I won’t be able to fuck you if you make me cum down your throat, pretty girl. P-please—“

Y/N whined in protest but finally eased herself off of his cock, a trail of spit bridging her lower lip to the head of him as she stared up at him with watery eyes and swollen lips.

Spencer felt delirious as he took in the sight. It was something he’d dreamed about (albeit guiltily) for years, and having the real thing in front of him was infinitely better than anything his subconscious had conjured up during those restless nights. She was a vision; a work of art that deserved to have a museum dedicated to her and her alone.

“Oh, don’t pout. Unless you don’t want to be fucked anymore?” Spencer chuckled breathlessly, arching a brow as she moved to straddle him. His hands found their way to her waist, a shudder running down his spine as she settled over him.

“If you won’t fuck me… I have a pretty nice dildo in my bedside drawer that should do the trick,” Y/N hummed coyly, dragging her heat across the length of him with a soft sigh.

Spencer’s eyes darkened at that, his grip on her hips tightening to put a halt to her subtle movements.

“Yeah? You think it’d make you feel better than I could?”

Y/N swallowed hard, the aching between her legs starting to override her logical thinking. She knew the answer he was looking for; the answer that would give her exactly what she wanted. But she decided to be a smartass instead.

“Maybe,” She answered with a shrug, nibbling at her lower lip as she tried to fight against his hold to get the friction she craved.

“Go get it then.”

Spencer leaned forward, his nose brushing hers as she sat in his lap, a challenge in his gaze. He knew she wouldn’t—she was getting restless, just like him. But if this was the game she wanted to play, he was determined to win.

Panic spread across Y/N’s face at the cold, indifferent look in his eyes. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her frown betraying the sinking realization of the hole she’d dug for herself. They were both ridiculously competitive, so why she’d started this—rather than just admitting how badly she wanted him buried inside her—was beyond her.

“I was kidding,” Y/N huffed, tilting forward in an attempt to capture his lips.

Spencer leaned back, keeping his lips just out of reach. He shook his head, smirking softly. “Nope. Either go get it, or say you’re sorry.”

Y/N hesitated, frowning as she weighed her options. She wanted him so badly it hurt. But pride was a hell of a thing. She knew he wouldn’t back down. Normally, she wouldn’t either. But his cock was pressed so deliciously against her clit that she decided it would be more than worth it to lose just this once.

“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, barely audible.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Spencer’s taunting made her groan in frustration before she sighed and tried again.

“I said I’m sorry—“

He shifted them so that his back was against the couch, her knees on both sides of his hips digging into the carpet hard enough that he was certain it would sting once they started. He’d make sure to take care of her afterward, though. He gazed up at her with adoration, thoroughly enjoying how needy she'd become. Her breath hitched as he adjusted his hips, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.

“One more time, hm?” Spencer coaxed, his hands now rubbing up and down her sides but still holding her tight enough that she couldn't rock against him. If he was honest, his resolve had crumbled as quickly as hers, but he couldn’t help from teasing her for just a little longer.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N cried out, her forehead pressing against his as she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Spencer finally pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back, his lips brushing against hers as he crooned. “Good girl, baby. Thank you.”

Hearing the praise fall so easily from his mouth had Y/N canting her hips down eagerly, willing to do whatever he wanted just so she could hear his sweet words over and over again. Her determination didn’t waver, her hips pushing down insistently. Spencer’s hold on her waist faltered, and for a brief moment, gravity claimed its victory.

A startled gasp slipped from her lips as the tip of his cock pushed into her, followed by a guttural moan that had Spencer's ears ringing as he cursed loudly. She had been so used to his hold that she wasn't prepared to support herself, his hands having barely caught her from dropping completely. He immediately yanked her up, the cool air against his skin a shock after having felt her warmth for the first time.

“God—fuck!" Spencer groaned as his head tipped back against the couch cushions, straining against every instinct begging him to just drive into her and utilizing every muscle in his body to keep her suspended as she wriggled impatiently.

"Baby... how are you— how are you wanting to do this?” Spencer whispered, swallowing before he continued. “I’m pretty sure I have a condom in my wallet, but I… um. I’m clean...”

Their hearts pounded in their chests as his words lingered in the air, the only sounds in the room being the repeated menu options from the forgotten movie and the ragged rhythm of their breaths.

Y/N meweled, reaching down to realign him with her entrance. “I’m clean and on birth control… Can we...? Like this? Please—“

“Yes.”

Y/N chuckled at his blunt response, though she was just as desperate to feel him after having the faintest taste of what he felt inside her. Her lips found his for a chaste kiss before she finally began to lower herself onto his cock, this time without his resistance.

Her laughter died in her throat, morphing into a choked whimper from the stretch of him. Even with how aroused she was, trying to make him fit was a struggle. Spencer was easily the biggest out of anyone she’d ever been with— a feat she hadn't quite realized until she was pausing halfway down his cock with a stuttered moan, slowly circling her hips in an attempt to adjust to the sensation.

Spencer was convinced he'd somehow died and ascended to paradise as he gazed up at the angelic woman hovering above him, enthralled by watching her fight to take the full length of him into her depths. His hands massaged up and down her trembling thighs, hoping to help her relax enough to take the rest of him without it hurting. Hums of encouragement rumbled from his chest as he stared unblinking at her, the warm amber of his eyes almost consumed completely by his blown pupils. His thumb found her clit and rubbed small circles into it as her eyes fluttered closed and she inhaled sharply through her nose.

"That's it, sweet girl," He cooed, continuing his gentle ministrations as she whined from deep in her throat. "Just like that. You're taking me so well. My gorgeous girl."

There was a pleasant burn as Y/N gingerly lifted her hips, leaving only the head of him inside of her. The way her hardened nipples brushed against his bare chest had her shivering lightly, the touch sending small sparks of pleasure jolting through her. Soft whines spilled from her lips as Spencer moved his hands around to grip her ass, gently massaging the flesh as she raised up on her knees.

With a committed roll of her hips and a quiet grunt, Y/N finally took the rest of his length, their bodies now flush together as her head dropped into the crook of his neck. The whorish moan Spencer released into her ear as he bottomed out had her clenching around him, a dire need to cause more of those sinful noises prompting her hips to begin moving. The raw stinging against her knees as she began to ride him in earnest only spurred her on, her nails digging into his shoulders as her head lolled back.

"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, resting her forehead against his as she panted out his name again and again, chanting it as though it were a mantra.

Spencer shushed her, understanding exactly what she couldn't manage to vocalize. He nodded against her as their bodies moved in tandem. "I know, baby. I know. You feel divine. My sweet angel." He continued to murmur out his praises as his head rested back on the edge of the couch cushion, small fingerprint-shaped bruises marking her skin as he clung to her.

Her hips began to falter as exhaustion started to settle into her bones from the vigorous pace she'd set, her second orgasm brewing in the pit of her stomach as though it were a wicked thunderstorm in waiting, ready to roll in and wreak havoc on her entire body at any minute. The slick sounds of their bodies connecting over and over paired with the symphony of heady moans and whimpers spilling between them—it was all driving her closer and closer to ecstasy.

Spencer noticed the fumble in her movements, his brows pinched together as he fought to keep his own climax at bay so he could enjoy the sensation of being wrapped up in her walls for a while longer. But he couldn't let his pretty girl do all of the work, could he? That would be cruel.

He planted his feet into the ground, beginning to pound into her from below. A satisfied smirk adorned his face as Y/N cried out, her head falling into the crook of his neck once more as she began to babble incoherently against his skin. The pace he set was wild and unrestrained, the angle allowing him to drive into her g-spot repeatedly.

"Take it, take it, take it—" Spencer hissed through clenched teeth before he latched his mouth onto her right nipple, sucking at the bud and swirling his tongue around it.

Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, hanging on tightly as Spencer ravaged her. Her mouth hung open as moan after moan wrenched itself from her core and embedded into his damp skin. The pleasure searing through her veins was consuming her, burning her from the inside out. She was so close—

The catalyst for her orgasm came in the form of Spencer's hands slipping down her ass and underneath her thighs so that the tips of his fingers were brushing against where they were connected with each thrust. All it took was that one simple touch for the tension in her body to snap, her teeth digging into his shoulder as she tried to muffle her screams while her walls pulsed around him violently. Her eyes squeezed shut as she wailed his name loudly, not caring if any of her neighbors heard them at this point. She wanted the world to know exactly who was making her feel this good.

Spencer toppled them over onto the ground as she came around him, pinning her to the carpet and rutting into her fervently. Something akin to a sob fell from his lips before he abruptly pulled out, jerking his cock in quick strokes before he was spurting his cum across her stomach and tits with a cry of her name.

He crumpled to the ground beside her, pulling her into his side before he slung an arm over his face. Their chests heaved as they came down from their highs, both of them completely spent after such depraved lovemaking. His free hand stroked up and down her slick skin as she rested her head on his chest, calming the tremors wracking her body as they caught their breath.

Once Spencer regained feeling in his legs, he scooped Y/N from the floor and into his arms, hauling her off toward her bathroom as giggles bubbled from her lips at his surprising show of strength. Y/N watched with pure fondness as he started the shower, her heart swelling as he glanced back at her with a tired grin. When the water was warm enough, he held her hand as he helped her step in, following behind her with a hand wrapped around her waist to hold her steady.

After a shower spent lost in love-struck gazes, soapy caresses, and slow, tender kisses against the tiles, they ended up wrapped in each other's arms in her bed. It was only midday, but it was Saturday—so why not indulge in a nap? They had more than earned it after their (failed) movie marathon.

"Y'know," Y/N started, her voice low as fatigue began to cloud her mind. "You really do have massive hands." She took his hand, which had been resting loosely between them, lifting it to align with hers for comparison. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers, and the sight made her smile with amusement.

Spencer snorted, his nose scrunching as he laughed quietly at her observation.

"Well, yeah... I am 6'1", sweetheart. It would be abnormal if I didn't have massive hands," He stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, you love them. Really love them," He added with a sleepy smirk.

Y/N's face burned as she rolled her eyes, playfully shoving him with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. It isn't my fault you have hands that were crafted by Michelangelo himself," She murmured defensively.

Spencer pulled her closer, brushing a kiss against her forehead, then her nose, her cheeks, and finally, her lips.

"You know I'm just teasing you. Did you know that—"

As Spencer began to prattle on about the variations and degrees of hand kinks and fetishes, Y/N's mind drifted back to the picture that had unknowingly set everything in motion. She couldn’t help but thank that raised crack in the sidewalk for pushing her old-fashioned boyfriend (that still felt so surreal to say) to embrace modern technology—because without it, she might have spent even more time blind to the fact that she was utterly, hopelessly in love with the man lying before her.

And as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, Spencer felt a deep sense of gratitude for finally being able to love the beautiful woman in his arms the way he’d always dreamed of.

Continued A/N's: I felt evil for my first (published) fic being so angsty so I decided to write this as a formal apology LMAO. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. Please tell me what you think and let me know if you'd like to see a sequel for this as well! :) K <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x bau!reader #criminal minds smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #best friends to lovers #two idiots in love

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