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boldlyvoid · 3 years

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Of Quartz I Will

Amethyst You So Much✨ Part 2: Of Quartz I Will

Summary: after 2 years of dating, Spencer decides it's finally time to get Y/N something to match her Amethyst bracelet.

Warnings: fluff, gun violence, shooting tw, Reid's season 5 knee injury, hurt/comfort, emotional smut, body massage, hand jobs, riding, penetrative sex.

word count: 6K

Spencer notices her as she walks in, through the briefing room window, she’s wearing his purple shirt. He wanted to wear that for work today but couldn’t find it anywhere, now he knows why.

“Excuse me,” he says to his group of teammates as they contribute reading case files.

“Hey,” Spencer grabs her attention from the railing beside the briefing room. “I’ve been looking for that shirt everywhere.”

“It’s mine now,” she smiles, setting her things down at her desk for the night. “I’ll buy you a new purple dress shirt.”

“Buy yourself one, I like that one,” he whines.

“Finders keepers, doctor Reid. Either stop leaving your shit on my bedroom floor or move in already.”

Everyone hears it. All eyes are on them as they bicker in the middle of the bullpen, including the team of profilers just beyond the window.

“Okay,” he agrees. “We’ll talk about this later.”

She climbs the stairs quickly, giving him a good morning hug even though it was 9pm. “I love you, that’s why I’m wearing your shirt.”

He smiles against her shoulder as he holds her, “I love you, more so in my shirt.”

When he sits back down at his chair at the round table, everyone is waiting with a raised brow. They want details, they want his opinion, they want to hear him stutter and see him blush like he used to. But he doesn’t.

“Yes, I will be moving in with her. We have people to save,” Spencer reminded them. Avoiding eye contact and flipping through the files.

Derek tugs on his amethyst bracelet, he hasn’t taken it off since he got it, almost 2 years ago. “Are you ever going to get her any other jewellery?”

“When she goes home I’ll show you,” he whispers, still avoiding eye contact as they all gasp. “Keep it cool or I will kill you.”

He keeps an eye on her at her desk, smiling when she looks up to see him. She blows him a kiss and waves softly a few times, but other than that, they don’t talk for the rest of the day.

—

The next time She sees him, he’s in her bed sound asleep as she’s coming home from work. She sits on the edge of the bed and brushes his hair away from his face to wake him up gently, he blinks into the morning sunlight to see her.

“Good morning,” he smiles.

She’s in his pink shirt today. She liked to keep something of his close on bad cases that take him out of town. In this case, out of the country. He was in Canada for a few days, the case was horrific and she had to deal with all the office work in Penelope’s absence.

“Amethyst,” she whispers, it was part of their secret code.

Spencer, being a cunning linguist, he loved anagrams.

They had Amethyst for I miss you, Quartz for of course, and Olive for I love you. It was easier to keep the PDA to a minimum at work, not wanting to sit in a seminar like Derek and Penny about sexual misconduct and hostile work environments.

“Olive,” Spencer replies, pulling her down into the bed so she can cuddle in.

“We can’t stay, there’s another case. JJ told me to bring you in on my way home,” she explains softly. “They need you to go to ER Doctor Barton’s house, in McLean, he got a note saying someone was going to kill his son. So far they’ve also connected him to a few surrogate kills of Hispanic men, they need the speed reader to go through all his recent surgeries.”

He sighs, holding her tightly and snuggling in against her back, “no.”

She laughs, “Spencer, you can read really fast and the faster you read the faster you can come home to me.”

“Fine,” she has perfect logic, he always tells her that. “Are you driving me to the guy's house?”

“Yep, so we can stop for coffee and talk in the car, I really did miss you a lot,” she struggles out of his grasp to turn and face him, opting to hold his face in her hands as she looks at him. He’s exhausted, just like her.

“I missed you too, I’m sorry I was gone so long,” his voice is barely a whisper, “We should take a day off together soon.”

“Yeah,” she smiles wider, completely in love with him. “I’d really like that, maybe we can look at apartments?”

“Apartments?” He repeats the word with a grin, raising his eyebrow softly. “I thought you liked it here?”

“It’s too small, I want to get a cat, if you’re bringing your closet here we’re going to need a bigger one,” she ranted. “And actually, I was thinking if you’re on the same page as me and this is a long-term thing for you too, what if we just got a bigger place and got a mortgage and start a little life outside the FBI, together?”

He’s so in love with her, “get my bag?” Is all he can say.

“What?” She’s so confused, shaking her head softly as she comprehends it.

“On the floor there, grab my bag, please there’s something for you in there,” he points behind her, trapped under her and the blanker so it’s not like he could get it himself.

She gets up, placing the bag on the bed for him as she watches him dig through it for a little box. “Arminius helped me pick this out.”

He had become best friends with the owner of the rock shop, she wasn’t surprised to hear that he had gotten something else from there for him. It made her giggle with excitement, bouncing softly as Spencer sat up and moved his bag out of the way.

But then he got out of bed, he’s in a pair of purple boxers and his hair is a mess and he’s so nervous and she has no idea why until he gets down on one knee.

“I was waiting to do this.”

“Holy shit.”

He nods with a shaky laugh, “yeah, I’m in it long term if you are?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to drive you to work now?” She laughs, unable to stop smiling as the two of them stare hopelessly at each other. She hasn’t even looked at the ring yet, too occupied with the wonderfully happy look on his face.

“Quartz,” is all she can say, flabbergasted as she keeps laughing with a shocked smile.

He takes it from the box and she watches as he slides the most beautiful purple Amethyst ring over her ring finger and then her hands are back on his cheeks. Pulling him into a kiss, she can’t seem to hold him close enough as she breathes in. Holding her breath as she keeps him there.

He pulls away with a laugh, “when are we supposed to be there?”

“Now.”

“Damn,” they’re all giggles.

And it doesn’t stop, she takes off Spencer’s shirt and he puts it on instead, matching it with a vest and a tie while she makes him a coffee and can’t stop smiling as she glances at the ring.

It really only made sense for their engagement to happen in the same place she fell in love with him.

Sure, she liked him a lot when he was getting her rocks and she really wanted to get to know him more after his last note, but it was the bracelet that made her fall in love. He went out of his way to make her smile on what felt like the worst day of her life, and she knew she wanted forever with him from then on out. Now she was going to get it, she was going to be Agent Y/N Reid, and her ring was absolutely perfect.

He catches her taking photos of it in the sunshine when he comes out of the bedroom. She still can’t stop smiling, it’s just so perfect and she’s just so in love with him.

They get muffins from the bakery under her apartment before getting in her car, “where is it?” Spencer asks, playing the role of GPS whenever they drove together.

“120 Kensington Road, McLean Virginia,” she members it clearly.

“Take a right,” Spencer smiles, and she’s off.

She drives with one hand, looking at her ring almost more than the road as Spencer held her other one. She pulled up to the Doctor’s house and he didn’t want to leave. Sighing, he looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

“I will see you when you get home, I’m going to call out after this case is done and you get mandatory 24 hours off for back-to-back cases,” she said, knowing protocol almost better than him. “Go to work.”

“Fine,” he frowns again, getting out of the car and walking around to her door. She rolls the window down and tilts her chin up, leaning out for the kiss he’s waiting to give her.

“Let me know when you’re done, I can come and pick you back up,” she whispers against his lips between kisses.

One last smooch and he pulls away, backing up so he isn’t tempted to stay any longer, “olive.”

“Olive,” she replies with a smile, waving slightly before he disappears behind the door.

She releases a long sigh, melting into the chair as she lets the butterflies swarm around a bit in her stomach, it felt wonderful.

She went home, napped from 10 till 2 and then sat in bed to stare at her beautiful ring for a little while. She couldn’t believe he proposed just like that. All she asked was if he wanted to get a mortgage on a house and she guesses he heard "spend the rest of your life with me."

Sometimes, when Spencer was on a case in Virginia and too busy to keep her updated, she would turn on the police radio and listen to what was going on around in the area. It was good to keep her mind preoccupied and to remind herself that he was safe.

At least that’s what it used to do.

“Shots fired at 120 Kensington Road, McLean Virginia, 10-999, 11-41, all units in the area are requested.”

“10-999, officer down, 11-41, send ambulances,” she whispers to herself, remembering all the dispatch lingo from the office.

She doesn’t have time to panic, she unlocks her safe and grabs her gun, loading it and then she’s out the door, in her car and pulling up behind the sheriff's car as she’s running out.

She tosses her badge up to show the cops as she tries to run onto the scene, “I’m an FBI agent on his team, let me through!”

She slides her knees along the grass, surely ruining her jeans as she dives for him. She places a hand on his bloody knee and looks everywhere else, “are you okay? Are you good? Holy shit, Spence?”

Her breathing is so heavy, she clutches her chest with her left hand and tries to calm down as he looks up at her and they breathe in and out a few times without breaking eye contact. He’s completely fine, there’s just a bullet in his knee, he assures her.

“I’m fine,” he laughs lightly, wincing at the pain as he leans forward to kiss her gently.

She’s there only 2 minutes before Derek, JJ and Rossi are pulling up on the scene. Everyone huddled around them on the grass as the EMTs bandaged his knee up before taking him to the ambulance.

“You need to call Emily,” Spencer speaks over everyone, “something happened to Hotch, I’m fine here with Y/N, just go see him.”

He was always going to be fine with her, that was for sure. She never left his side, except when they took him in for surgery and forced her back into the waiting room. But as soon as he was okay again, his hand was in hers.

—

He was given a month off after his knee surgery, but he still ended up in the office most nights. Becoming more of a night owl than usual as he accompanied his fiancé to her desk and sat beside her as she did her work. It was really nice to spend time with her and not have to do anything.

Of course, he filled his time by going over other case files, things they weren’t able to get to as a team and things that didn’t fit the criteria of the BAU. He made phone calls and sent emails, helping small-town cops make simple connections and doing more good that way.

He sat at her desk, his leg resting over her lap as she made a few phone calls. Handing the background of the cases, filing off invoices and approvals. Dispatching units and requesting files and overrides from other departments. She was amazing.

She hangs up the phone, finally, after 45 minutes of rolling her eyes and sighing as she was transferred from office to office all around America. She places her hand on his leg and absentmindedly runs her hand along his shin, staring off at the desk, silently.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, “do you think you’re healed enough to start looking at places?”

He nods back, “actually, I already found one. Hold on,” he slides his leg off her lap and stands with his crutches, hobbling over to his desk where he looks through his files for a new folder.

When he comes back to her, he places the folder in her hands, “forever homes,” is listed on the tag and he sees her heart melt in her eyes. She opens the folder as he sits down, there are about 15 pages of house and apartment listings printed off.

“When did you do all this?” She whispered, shocked and not wanting to cry at work.

“Before I got shot, I was on the phone with Penelope and I asked her to help me find some, she printed off like 50 and I selected the good ones, but there’s more if you don’t like an-“

“Babe,” she cut the rant short, “I’m sure I’ll love any of them, as long as they come with you.”

He pulls a specific sheet from the pile, “this one is my favourite.”

She can see why, it’s a large, green exterior, Victorian home. There’s a turret and a porch, large windows with a bench seat in the kitchen. A garage, 4 bedrooms, a finished basement, a study and a pretty nice backyard.

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but Derek said he’s willing to help teach me how to fix some stuff,” Spencer pressed his lips together awkwardly. He really wanted this on.

“Let’s get a Realtor and set up a walk-through,” she agreed, “and we should bring Derek because he’ll know more than most inspectors anyway. I don’t want to get a place with a cracked foundation or a faulty water heater.”

He smiled again, “remember last week when I had that extra appointment?”

She tilted her head, “no, there is no way you’ve already been there to check it out without me.”

“And I put an offer in, but I was waiting for your approval,” he adds, nervous for her to hate it.

“With what money? I thought we were doing this together?” He’s not sure why she’s upset, normally she loves his surprises.

“When I sold my moms house, I invested the money and it’s been gaining interest for years now,” his voice is soft, “I got through college with scholarships and if I was ever down on money I just had to go to one casino and I always leave with two grand, minimum, I promise, I’m really in this for the long run. I know what I'm doing.”

She smiles, picking up the listing and calling the agency. “Hi this is Y/N Y/L/N calling, my fiancé, Doctor Spencer Reid, recently put an offer in on the listing for 247 Chestnut Drive, I’d love to come and see it soon and take some measurements and things. If you could call me back…”

Spencer is so in love with her it hurts. He wants to scream right then and there, like a kettle on a hot stove for too long, he’s bursting at the seams. She hangs up the phone with the best smile he’s ever seen, “I’m going home early, cause I’m sick, care to join me?”

She stands then, putting her hand out for him so he could stand with her help. “Quartz,” he replies, taking her hand and stands, she gathers their things and she clocks out. No one really cared about all her sick days, she did her job well and they wanted the good doctor to be taken care of.

When he finally gets to show her the inside of the house, she is so in love with it. The hardwood is all original, same with the railings, shelves, banisters and countertops. They're all rustic and beautiful, she can’t help but run her finger over everything as she looks around with an open mouth. X

The kitchen cabinets are green, there is a beautiful colourful wallpaper as a backsplash… and it’s completely empty. It was a remodel, some house flippers did it up and didn’t want to stay. It was made more modern, updated appliances and every safety protocol met. It was perfect.

She turned to him with a smile after only 5 minutes of looking, “this is it.”

“Good,” the women showing them around said, “because your offer was approved, with your say so I can get everything started with escrow.”

“Holy shit!” Y/N cheered, jumping a bit and showing off while Spencer just leaned on his crutch. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his cheek a few times.

“You can start that paperwork,” Spencer smiled, holding her back with his face in the crook of her neck.

—

The hardest part of moving is transporting all of Spencer’s books from one home to another. It's at least 30 boxes of books and Derek will be faxing his chiropractor bill to Spencer within the week.

His office here was huge, floor-to-ceiling oak shelves and green walls, full of all his books and belongings now. It was his own space in the house he shared with his future wife.

It felt crazy to him.

She used to just be the cute girl in the office, he can remember the exact moment he laid eyes on her. She was walking around aimlessly with some files in her hands when he turned around at his desk. She looked lost, overwhelmed and like she was about to have a breakdown.

She looked at him with the same fear he felt on his first day, he took the file from her and knew exactly where it was meant to go. She followed behind him, quiet as a mouse as he placed it in a folder by the wall under a sign that said "Anderson."

He turned with a press-lipped smile and a nod and then they went their separate ways. Silent conversations became their thing, the only time he really heard her voice was when she called him in in the middle of the night or when he heard her on the phone.

Other than that; she smiled when they passed each other, she’d tap her watch when he needed to be doing something Hotch asked for and was preoccupied with something else, she even knew exactly what he was looking for by just observing his chaos. Always able to pull a sheet of paper from the bottom of the stack with ease, and always silently, until that one day she said sorry to him after slamming the phone.

Now he knows that she talks in her sleep, she likes to go over her plans out loud in the shower every morning, and she sings all day long. Be it little tunes, hums, random tongue clicks or whistling, she’s always making noise. His favourite, however, was when sometimes she’d remember something she was trying to remember during a conversation they had, 4 days prior, and she’d scream it out like he knows what she’s thinking every second of every day.

He was in love with her voice, he never wanted to stop hearing it.

He was in love with her face, he never wanted to stop seeing it.

He was in love with her body, he never wanted to stop touching it.

He was in love with her mind, he never wanted to stop exploring it.

All those thoughts rushing to his brain and rushing a new form of butterflies for him. Like anxiety, but happier. Like he couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with her. It was anticipation rather than fear.

She really was it for him, and as he unboxed his life into the house they were about to share for the upcoming future, it all became very real. This was how the rest of his forever was going to look with her. All their memories from here on out were going to take place in this house, in these rooms.

When he picked this house, it was just a fun idea, and now he looks at the hardwood floors and thinks about how wet baby feet are going to sound during bath time. He wonders how many times the creaky steps are going to let him know she’s coming up to bed, he wonders what screaming matches and fights and love-making will happen beyond the bedroom door across from his study.

He wonders if she’s going to love him as long as he wants to love her.

He opens his study door then, “Hey, babe?”

“Yeah?” She calls up from the bottom of the stairs.

“Can you come up here?”

She marches up the stairs, still not used to the creaky staircase or the length of stairs she had to climb, soon enough, she’s on the second floor and walking into his study, “what’s up?”

He doesn’t know how to ask, he doesn’t even really know what he wants actually. He just missed her, and she was only just downstairs.

“Can I have a hug?”

It comes out more pathetic than he predicted, cringing at the embarrassment as he shrunk into the couch.

“Quartz,” her voice is soft as she approaches him.

Sitting on the brown leather couch that was once in his apartment, she wraps her arms around him and he holds her back softly.

Resting his head on her shoulder, he just wants to hold her for a while. Eventually, they end up laying down with her on his chest, still holding each other as silent as they were in the beginning.

“I love you,” Spencer whispers against her hair.

She snuggles in more, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder softly, “I love you, too, are you okay?”

He nods softly, “I was just thinking about everything and I wanted to hold you.”

She swoons, “do you remember the first night we cuddled like this?”

He nods again, brushing his chin against her head each time, “it all feels like history repeating like it’s supposed to be this way for us.”

“I like to think so,” she agreed. “I actually think you’re my twin flame.”

He hums, thinking about it, “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

“So soulmates are kind of like mirror souls, they are exactly everything that the other needs and they fill the missing parts for each other." She explains softly and he can already tell where her rant is going.

"I don’t think that’s us because we are too similar; sometimes we butt heads and don’t see eye-to-eye, and you drive me crazy a lot of the time because we have the same anxiety and daddy issues, but it’s also because you do things I think about doing and then I can’t do them because they're done already and they’re my calm down things so then I have nothing to calm down with, like yesterday-“

“Babe,” he whispers, “I know, we finish each other’s sandwiches, that’s what your niece said when she saw us together.”

It makes her smile and he can feel her cheekbone against his chest, “twin flames are what happens when one soul is ripped in half and sent to two bodies. They’re capable of surviving separately, as long as they have the right kindling, but they burn brighter together.”

“People sometimes think fire is living because it consumes and uses energy, requires oxygen, and moves through the environment,” Spencer says softly, “have you ever seen something catch fire on both ends?”

“Yeah, a few times, why?”

“It’s never about burning the item entirely, both fires are only concerned with connecting to each other for mass destruction. They always burn in the strangest patterns, but they always connect first before devouring the victim.”

She sits up to look at him, “are you saying I devoured you?”

“That would be de-flowered,” he teases, “but no, I’m saying it makes sense. We really have been burning through everything to find each other.”

“I cannot believe you just said I de-flowered you before the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said,” she laughs, “and it was a mutual de-flowering, might I remind you.”

“I will never forget,” he coos, leaning forward and pressing his lips against hers.

She pushes him back against the couch, it’s been forever since they’ve really done anything. With moving, Spencer’s recovery, her working nights and sleeping all day. It hasn’t been rewarding in a long time, it’s just been enjoyable.

“No,” he whispers as she starts to trail kisses down his neck. “I’m not having sex on the couch the first time we do it in the house.”

She laughs against his neck, pushing herself off the couch and extending a hand to him, “did the doctor even say you can yet?”

“I can’t do all the work, but I can give a second opinion?” He couldn’t stop the grin on his face as she hauled him to his feet.

“Let me heal you,” she whispers, and he knows exactly what she means.

She lays him down on their bed, on top of the covers with no clothes on as she gathers her things. She closes the blinds, turns on her amber lamp, and lights her candles. But his favourite thing that she adds is the sound therapy… helping the water in his body vibrate at the right frequency to calm him completely. She’s going all out for this one.

Much like the first time.

She’s naked too, both of them completely unfazed by each other’s naked form by now. She sits between his legs with all her chakra stones in her hands and she sets them down on his stomach before arranging them in order where they’re supposed to help on his body.

The Amethyst is just above his head for his crown chakra, touching his scalp gently. He closes his eyes as she places a Lapis Lazuli on his third eye, in the centre of his forehead. An Aquamarine on his throat. Rose Quartz on his heart, Tiger’s Eye on his solar plexus, Pyrite on his belly button and finally, Fire Agate at his core.

He always felt so totally relaxed like this, even the first time she ever laid him down like this. He was so calm, he knew he was in good hands and seeing her bless the room made him feel even better.

“Only good may enter here,” the words she repeats every full moon when she opens the windows and blessed the whole house. Keeping them safe, happy, healthy and loved.

She kissed the scar on his knee, causing him to open his one eye to see her. She was laying between his legs now, head resting on his hip as she lightly ran her fingers over his knee, ticking the skin where he finally had feeling again. It took forever for the numbness to go away, even longer for the pain. But she was so patient with him the whole time, taking the best care of him.

She doesn’t mind that he’s hard, she’s very close to his dick as it rests on his stomach beside the crystal.

She kisses his hip, inching each kiss over until she’s pressing one right to the shaft of his dick and he takes a deep breath. Knowing she’ll stop if he forgets how to do the breathing exercises she showed him. He wasn’t allowed to tense his body, this was about pleasure and there was no rush.

For either of them.

He’s done this for her a few times over the years too, just as slow and sensual as she was being. It was calming, rewarding, they bonded with each other and really felt like one being this way.

He heard a cap open, but he was so used to it by now that it filled him with contentment rather than excitement. He remembers the first time she said she wanted to do this, getting some skin-safe, homemade, vegan massage lube and almost turning inside out with how awkward she was asking to do this for their first time.

She sat on her knees between his legs with a small bounce as she got excited about her favourite part. She sat with the bottle resting between her thighs, warming up while she ran some of it over her hands. She massaged his thighs first, getting all the knots and making sure there was no “Charlie's on any horses”, the first time she said that he almost cried laughing and ruined the mood for a little.

She took the rocks off him then, sitting more on his hips as she drizzled the warm oil on his chest. He let his hands rest on her knees, wanting to feel her skin while she felt his. Her hands felt like magic, running over his chest, arms and shoulders like this was her job. She knew every crook, every cranny, every pressure point and soft tissue on him. His body was just as much her’s now.

It's when she presses her body flat against his that he knows the mood is changing. Her breasts are flat against his chest, her hands are behind his head as she looks down at him, her groin pressed right against him as he aches for contact, grinding up into her slowly as she stares into his eyes.

“Better?” She whispered with a small smile, already feeling how much calmer he was, she just wanted confirmation.

“Much,” he’s just as quiet in his reply. “If I don’t bend that knee, it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t mind doing all the work, baby,” she kisses him quickly, “I know you like it more like this anyway.”

She slithers down his body then, his body slick with oil as she easily glides down and creating the most wonderful amount of friction with him. He groans, tossing his head back against the Amethyst on his scalp.

She sits on his good thigh, avoiding pressure with his bad knee like he was an old man now. She makes contact with the only part she didn’t message, adding more of the massage lube to her hand before lazily jerking him off. He keeps a hand on her thigh, groping and managing her right back as she kept a perfect rhythm.

She occasionally grinds against his thigh, mostly when he moans and groans. Extremely turned on by him having a good time, proud of herself for relaxing him, always complaining that he was too tense, she really knew how to release the pressure.

Just as she gets into it, the calming sounds of rain and high-pitched frequencies come to an end… Rhiannon starts playing and he literally watches her come alive; changing her rhythm to match the beat as she starts to grind against him more, she only added his song to the queue, somehow an hour had passed and her music was resuming.

And when Spencer said she was eclectic, he meant she could go from listening to a rare Canadian band called the Tragically Hip, to Kanye West, Taylor Swift, Evanescence and back to Fleetwood Mac. He had no idea where the mood was about to go.

He moved his hand up her thigh as he tried to power through the pleasure, her hand was so amazing he was bubbling away under his skin. He manages to get his middle finger between his leg and her, massaging her clit as she bucked her hips down on him.

Mutual pleasure in any sense was enough for them, seeing the other being perfectly content after everything they went through; it was euphoric. She leans up then and kisses him desperately, unable to stop stroking him as she sucked his tongue into her mouth.

She smiles against his mouth as the song changes again, it’s the song from the ending of Dirty Dancing, he knows how much she loves that movie. Her kisses get softer, she’s so gentle as she strokes him just a few more times before throwing a leg over his hips and lowering herself onto him in one go. Bottoming out faster than before, both of them making the same moan as they curled forward for each other, mouths clashing as they held onto each other.

Grinding together, Spencer kept a hand on her to help her ride as she was preoccupied with her hands in his hair and kissing his neck as they moved in tandem. It was so good, he was incredibly close but he wanted to hold off as long as possible to feel her finish first.

His ultimate pleasure was knowing she was pleasured, he massaged her clit once more between their bodies and she shuttered, “right there,” her words are small as she kisses under his ear, tugging his hair softly as he moans so she can lick at his neck as she moves her hips up and down, gloriously.

He can’t keep his eyes open, everything is too much and he’s so relaxed; it’s like his body is floating on a cloud as she rides him like they’re actually in heaven. He was really having the time of his life and it made him smile at the end of the whimper he released as she tightened around him suddenly and on purpose.

She moves faster, and so does his wrist as he helps her over the edge first. She’s panting in his ear as she rides him with purpose. She cums with a gasp and then he’s gone, her whole body stuttering as she let out the most relaxed and uncontrollable moan he’s ever heard from her.

His grip on her ass tightens as he holds her hips down, he cums with a gasp and it’s so powerful he passes out.

—

He’s so cute when he sleeps.

She’s got him all cleaned up, everything put away and where it’s supposed to be in their new room. She just lays beside him as she watches him nap, blissed out and relaxed, she doesn’t even care that it’s such a typical guy thing to fall asleep right after.

That was kind of her mission.

He’s been so stressed, he wasn’t going to tell her because he didn’t want his stress to become her stress like it so often did. Feeding off each other like a fire, he really knew how to give a phrase to a feeling. But he was stressed because he was in pain from his knee and no matter how much he lied and said he was fine, she knew he wanted to relieve the pain but he was afraid of even taking a Tylenol.

This is the most relaxed he’s been in months.

She ordered a pizza while he was asleep, it arrived before he woke up too. She sets the pizza box, 2 bottles of pop and a roll of napkins at the end of the bed, gently, before getting back into her spot.

She brushed his hair from his face and kissed the tip of his nose gently, seeing him scrunch his face and swallow before blinking awake. She smiled at him, “Hi, sleepyhead.”

“Hello, beautiful.”

“I ordered pizza,” she whispers.

“Olive,” he replies.

“Well yeah,” it makes her giggle but she has to say it, “I got our regular green olives, mushrooms and extra cheese.”

He laughs too, extra happy after both the sex and his nap. “I love you,” he says the full thing this time.

She presses another kiss to his lips before hauling him into a sitting position, “I love you, too.”

It’s the best night of her life so far.

the house

Taglist: @dreatine for inspiring a part 2 <3

@shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine

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halaboyz · 3 years

Text

–– PHOTOGRAPH // CHANHEE.

pairing: photographer! chanhee x fem! reader genre: fluff, bffs to lovers word count: 2k warnings // notes: profanities, cliche, cheesy things and shitty effort of making lines ;; happiest birthday to our choi chanhee!! may he be blessed for his heart full of love <3

"You're coming to my exhibit, right?" He said as he hands you one of the tickets, and you chuckling because of the name of his exhibit.

"What kind of name is this?" You stifled a laugh, "My Art Speaks Words I Want to Deliver to You,"

Chanhee watches you hold on to dear life as you burst out laughing, wiping the tears that have escaped your eyes.

"Well, if only the linguistic major here helped me pick out some words I don't even know exists," He glares at you, "Then maybe we could've picked a better name, am I right?" He rolls his eyes as you calmed down, finally taking a seat beside him on the couch.

“Okay, okay Mr. grumpy, I’m sorry,” You said between laughter. Looking at the time and date, you nod, your smile slowly fading to a frown.

“What’s wrong? You can’t come again?” He frowns with you, a pout coming out of his lips. Your heart broke by the sight, knowing that even if he had hundreds of exhibits already, you haven’t come to one because of work.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to miss this one too,” You tackled him into a hug. “I have a very important meeting set by last minute,” You mumbled against the crook of his neck, causing him to whine.

“I was so sure you’d go to this one though..” You hear him mumble, as a sigh came out.

“How are you so sure?” You raised your eyebrows at him, sitting up.

“I checked your schedule!” He exclaimed, getting the ticket from you. “I can’t help it. You always have work when I handle an exhibit and wow, are you still my best friend?” He dramatically stands up, making his way to the other couch in front of you.

“Aw,” You whined, tailing him and throwing yourself at him again making him groan. “Give me that,” You reach for the ticket, only to be pulled by Chanhee again.

“Can’t you just cancel it?” He pouts, looking desperate.

“Look, I’m not the client. I can’t just cancel whenever,” You pressed his cheeks together, wiggling his face. “But give me the ticket. If they can set meetings last minute, they might cancel things last minute too. We’ll never know,” You reached higher, grabbing the ticket.

Chanhee huffed, making you lose your footing and it all happened so fast, you instinctively put out your elbow to support your fall– well, on the floor. You didn’t know Chanhee had that goddamn fast reflexes as he pulls you close to him, making you elbow his.. danger zone.

You shrieked as chanhee silently suffers, his face saying it all.

“Oh my fucking god..” You muttered, pressing your lips to a thin line to stop yourself from bursting in laughter.

Chanhee lets out a small groan as you slowly remove your elbows, your face mirroring Chanhee’s pained face.

“I’m so sorry,” You mumble, letting out a small laugh.

“I’d kill you if you laugh right in front of me,” He sighs out, crouching and wriggled his body all over the couch.

You were red. Oh, no. Not because of what just happened, but because you were stopping yourself from laughing. You knew Chanhee meant every word he said.

“You should fucking go at my exhibit after busting my balls,” He mumbled against the throw pillow.

“Hey! Not my fault you pulled me!”

You were redder. Oh, no. Not because you were now suppressing your laughter, but how you remembered how close Chanhee was to you just minutes ago if it weren’t for his unfortunate luck.

He suddenly stands up, wincing.

“Are you kidding me?! If it weren’t for me, you’re injured and crying and we’re probably on the way to the hospital right now!” He sighs out, the pain finally fading second by second.

You fanned yourself, trying to focus on what your friend was saying.

“Anyways,” You shake your head. “I’ll do my best.” You smile at him apologetically before sticking out your tongue, and ending the night while getting tackled by Chanhee– as if he was possessed by Changmin.

You bounced your feet continuously, waiting for your client. You just prayed for it to be really, really short to get to Chanhee’s exhibition.

You knew how important this was to him, and it broke your heart that as his best friend, you can’t even go to one.

Or was it because you’re starting to see Chanhee in a whole, different light?

There are a few times that your heart thumped abnormally at the sight of Chanhee frowning, and you can’t put your finger on which emotion was it. Did it hurt you because you were his best friend and you can’t go, or did it hurt because you were still a best friend? Either way, if it were the latter, if you were his girlfriend– no, you didn’t deserve him.

You can’t even make time for him as a best friend, how’d you do if you were his?

Starting to overthink, you were thankful by the sound of your phone rang for a second, signaling a message.

chanhee: go or this friendship is over. grr sent 3:35pm

You knew he was joking. Partly, you guess. Or maybe not. You suddenly became nervous, your feet bouncing doubled. You sip on the drink, you had twenty-five minutes left to run over his exhibit, but the client–

You jump as your phone suddenly rang, making you tremble. Your client was finally calling, after being late for fifteen minutes already.

And oh my god, your heart could have burst from the news. You hailed a taxi as fast as you can, and the smile on your face can’t stop rising.

Finally. You were finally getting to see his exhibit.

You smile more at the thought, more to expect of Chanhee’s reaction. You felt nervous, excited, and giddy. It wasn’t the first time seeing Chanhee’s works, as he’d been part of the photography club since college, but it still made you excited and proud of what he’s become.

You sighed in relief as you look outside, the big name– My Art Speaks Words I Want to Deliver to You welcoming you.

3:50.

Ten minutes. You just need to run, no biggie.

“Hi, I’m uh.. Chanhee’s friend.” You smile at the guard, handing him your ticket while still trying to catch your breath.

“Oh! You’re! You’re! You’re the friend!” He exclaimed, excitedly opening the door for you. “You’re just in time! Well, technically, you’re.. running a bit late but! Doesn’t matter. You’re finally here!” You just look at him confusingly, nodding your head as you roam your eyes on the big place.

Your heartbeat is twice as fast more than running.

You felt combusting quite literally. Your eyes wandered to each picture, letting it sink in that those in the pictures..

Were you.

It was all you.

There were only a few people left, smiling as they take in every photograph that wasn’t even them.

“These are so sweet. The name of the exhibit literally says it all,” A woman in her middle 30s, you guess, said as she clung to her probably husband’s arm.

“It does. The photographer’s indeed talented. Even makes me giddy,” You chuckle as you eavesdropped, reverting your attention back to the pictures.

All was black and white.

But it didn’t matter.

What colored his world was you– it has always been you.

A black and white picture doesn’t do justice to how much light you bring to his dull world, it was just you that he needed in order to make a simple black and white picture to be beautiful.

Your smile. It was one of the things he loved seeing, he loved taking a picture of. It made everyone around you smile too, and it made him upset that it wasn’t just him making you smile.

Your hair, how every single hairstyle suits you, how it flows across your face, and how you always brush it back when it frustratingly gets in your face. One of his favorites and loved taking a picture of it along with the pout on your face.

Your eyes, which spoke a thousand words and held millions of stars and also one of the millions of things he loved about you, and seeing it on a picture didn’t make sense as you needed to see it in person to make you feel butterflies on your stomach.

Every move you did was captured on his camera, and you didn’t even realize the tears have already gone out of your eyes.

He made you beautiful.

He made you feel beautiful,

Because you always were.

You didn’t need to be pretty in everybody’s eyes, you just needed him.

You were already in the last picture, and oh were you certain chanhee wasn’t the one who took this. You felt thankful enough Changmin, your other friend, had quite the skills in taking pictures too because this.. was just perfect.

You didn’t need to be pretty in everybody’s eyes, you just needed him. Because he is what completed you.

It was a picture taken afar of you sleeping in the library on one of your college days, and Chanhee was supporting his head with his palm, looking– just looking at you with heart eyes.

“Oh my fucking god,” You sighed out, crouching as you messily wiped your tears away, though it still kept on spilling.

“You’re finally here.” That sweet, familiar voice that enchanted you sighed out, from the corner of the four-walled place. He was leaning on the wall, looking as if he had finally had the burden out of his chest. “So, what do you think?”

Just like the pictures, you didn’t need words. You just throw yourself at him, nuzzling against his neck as you cried like a baby.

He sighs out again, relieved, as he buried himself more to you and engulfing each other’s warmth. His hands continued to calm you down by caressing your back, and you tried your best to stop crying.

Chanhee pulls back, taking your face to his hands and wiping your tears away.

“Hey, look at me,” He leans closer to you, lifting your face up softly. “If you didn’t get the whole point of this exhibition then.. I might just smack you in the face.”

You let out a small defeated laugh, wiping the tears yourself.

“I love you too if that was what it meant.” You look at him straight in the eyes, slouching your shoulders. You took his face into your hands too, pressing your lips softly in his.

He smiled in the kiss, his hands making their way to your neck as he kisses you back.

More than perfect.

The moment you were both out of breath, you break the kiss but let your foreheads linger with each other, smiles on your faces.

“Just.. how many times have you tried doing this?” You whisper, taking ahold of his hand and intertwining your fingers.

You pull him in front of the last picture you’ve seen, now clear as ever without your tears on the way.

“Oh, I think out of my hundred and fifty exhibits you missed,” You roll your eyes, the sarcasm his voice spilling. “It's my 98th try. That’s why I really needed you to come.” He looks at you, thinking it was much better seeing you in person rather than just a photograph– as if it's like the first time seeing you all over again.

“And if I didn’t come? Would you really have the guts to break this friendship?” You face him back, taking his other hand.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant I’d take it in my own hands and just.. straight up confess.” He craned his head sideward, challenging you.

“I’d been feeling very weird these days too, I just realized how much I am so in love with you if it weren’t for your art speaks words I want to deliver to me,” You chuckle, making him throw his head back.

Perfect.

Chanhee loved everything about photography, and he loved photography because it’s able to take what’s beautiful and he can cherish it forever. He loved it because not only it can take pictures of his friends, or nature, or what he found beautiful and calming, but it has the power to turn everything into a memory he can keep. He loved photography, he loved taking a picture of you, he loved you.

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five-rivers · 3 years

Note

Prompt idea: Tucker and Dr. Jackson having a discussion and/or argument about ancient Egypt.

Mayyyyy be a little OOC for Dr. Jackson. For some reason I was able to find Hammond's voice but not his? Even though he was one of my favorite Stargate Characters? Incredible.

"Dr. Jackson."

Daniel started, almost knocking his (empty) coffee cup off the table, and scattering several pieces of paper and books. He pulled a sticky note off his face before turning his full attention to General Hammond.

"What?"

"Another late night, I see."

Daniel waved vaguely at the books. "The ghoa'uld problem isn't going to solve itself." Although, if he were being honest, his main concern was Sha're in particular. Right now, he was going over legends from planets the ghoa'uld had more or less abandoned, comparing them to the mythology of ancient Egypt, cross-referencing carvings and inscriptions on extraterrestrial ruins with terrestrial ones with glimpses of active ghoa'uld sites.

Anything that might provide insight into how the ghoa'uld thought, into their history, into how they acted, into what moves they might make.

He had to squeeze time for this in between missions, because, of course, even he, bookworm that he was, knew that primary sources, accounts of living people, were so much more valuable--

But General Hammond was talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Daniel.

General Hammond sighed. "I've gotten you an assistant."

"A what?"

"An assistant. We're also considering him for the linguist position with either SG-9 or SG-11, contingent on your recommendation."

"That, uh-" Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose. "That sounds more like you want me to train him, than that he's going to be my assistant."

"I just want to know whether or not he's up for it. He comes very highly recommended as a linguist and Egyptologist, and he has combat experience. It's a combination you don't see all too often, but going off-world isn't for everyone. If you happen to get him up to speed on off-world languages at the same time..." Hammond shrugged.

Daniel rubbed his face. "When do I meet him?"

"Now." Hammond took a step back and opened the door. "Mr. Foley, you can come in now."

Daniel felt his face twist into an expression of disgust and horror even as the other man lit up like a lightbulb.

"You!" said Daniel.

"You!" said Tucker Foley, gleefully.

"How did you know I worked here?"

"I had no idea! This is great! It's been years. Heard you were dead, didn't believe it. How's life? Looks like you found your aliens, huh?"

Daniel turned to Hammond. "You can't hire him," he said. "He's insane. He used to claim he was the reincarnation of Pharaoh Duulaman."

"Oh, come on, man, that was ages ago. And your theories were considered pretty fringe, too."

"I'd always get shoved next to him at talks and conferences, and he somehow made me look even more like a crackpot by association. And my theories were right."

"I know," said Foley, looking hurt. "I knew, then, too. That's why I tried to back you up."

"You were the exact opposite of backup," hissed Daniel.

"I... take it you two know each other," said Hammond. "Any other surprises I should know about?"

"My friend Danny Fenton works here. I don't know what he does, though."

"Danny F- Siler's civilian assistant? Wait, wait, wait, he's not your ghost hunting friend, is he? We do not have someone who believes in ghosts working on the Stargate."

"You believe in aliens," said Foley, now somewhat testy.

"I have seen aliens, with my own two eyes!"

"Well, I could say that about a lot of things!"

This would not help him find Sha're. In fact, it might even drive him to an early grave. He looked at Hammond imploringly.

Hammond raised his hands. "The two of you are both experts in your fields. I'm sure you can work things out." And then he left.

Traitor.

"So," drawled Foley, picking up one of Daniel's notebooks. "Tell me about your aliens. Do they really still speak Egyptian? Something that's recognizably Egyptian? That's some remarkable linguistic stability there."

Daniel snatched his notebook back. "Some of them do. The ghoa'uld are incredibly-" cruel, his mind supplied. He swallowed. "Long lived. The stability isn't as impressive as it seems."

"If you say so," said Foley. "I mean, I know my vocabulary changes from month to month, so..." He trailed off. "What about the rest of them?"

"What?"

"Some of them speak Egyptian, or one of the forms of Egyptian, we've got to go over that, I'm sure, what about the rest?"

Daniel waved a hand. "All sorts of different dialects. It does seem mostly to derive from Egyptian, with some other ancient languages thrown in... PIE roots."

"So their main point of contact with Earth was Egypt, but they interacted with other cultures?"

"Seems that way," said Daniel, grudgingly, collapsing back into his seat.

"You'd think they'd have more Chinese, just from numbers alone... Or maybe the reason certain cultures flourished while other failed is because of their influence?"

Daniel shrugged.

"If they had spaceships, why the reliance on the Stargate?"

"Ra wanted Earth for himself and hid it from the other system lords," said Daniel. "So when the gate was buried, there were no records."

"Makes some sense. Why didn't he ever come back?"

"The rebellion?"

"Sure, but he could have done, uh, what was the term? Orbital bombardment. Rebellions of people armed with spears aren't going to last long against something like that. Unless Ra died in the rebellion?"

"No, he only died a few years ago."

"Fair, fair, but that means something's missing. I mean, if I were him, you know, a dictator with spaceships, and there's a whole planet I've been getting resources from like that, I'm not going to take getting kicked out well."

"Maybe," said Daniel. "We'll probably never know for sure. It was thousands of years ago."

"Mhm," said Foley, contemplatively, his eyes slightly unfocused, as if he was staring off into the distance. He blinked. "Well," he said. "You're probably right."

"What, you're not going to make comments about how your past life would know?"

"Why would I? It isn't like you'd believe me, so it's beside the point. When was the last time you slept, anyway? Usually you aren't this curmudgeonly."

"I was sleeping, before you interrupted."

"You have a cot in here?"

"Yeah," said Daniel, not mentioning that he hadn't actually seen the cot in a while.

"Where? Actually, no, Danny does this all the time. You've got to sleep in a real bed."

"Give me that book," said Daniel, ignoring Foley. "If I've got to start teaching you ghoa'uld, I want to make it fast."

"That's cold."

#stargate #dp/sg1 crossover #ask #answer #prompt #prompt fill #danny phantom

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thelittlebirdthattoldyou · 4 years

Text

how iwaoi refer to each other

my brain is dead and if i try to write fic rn i just know it won’t be coherent so have these dumb headcanons instead.

what iwaizumi calls oikawa

oikawa

when they're in front of other people, he just calls oiks by his last name

iwa isn't huge on pda (though he puts up with it from oikawa because he's sOFT for him) so he doesn't feel the need to stake a claim on oikawa in public with cutesy nicknames or whatever

he's not gonna admit it but he already knows oikawa belongs to him & vice versa so,, what's the point?

also he doesn't need to be mocked by hanamaki or matsukawa for being a sap, thanks.

shittykawa/trashykawa/crappykawa/loserkawa/assikawa/dumbass...yeah

ok i feel like iwaizumi doesn't use these insults super often, especially when they get older and more settled in their relationship

it mostly happens when he gets mad that oiks is being negative or self-deprecating or overworking himself again

sometimes he uses them teasingly when oikawa's being a brat on purpose, but he always sounds so affectionate that oikawa can't even bring himself to be offended

doesn't really use them in front of other people just because he'll fight anyone who dares to laugh when he says them. he's the only one who can insult oiks and get away with it!!

tooru

saved for intimate domestic moments, when it's just the two of them

oikawa LOVES it when they're staying home and cooking breakfast or something and iwaizumi calls him tooru without thinking twice about it (”tooru, can you pass me the salt?” or “hey, tooru, wanna go see that new movie that’s in theaters today?”)

he just says it so casually but it feels so right and oikawa melts every time

iwa loves saying it because it sounds so sweet and full on his tongue, and he thinks it suits oikawa so well

((iwaizumi loves oikawa, but he has to share him with the rest of the world. he loves that he gets tooru all to himself.))

babe/baby

similar deal. i like to think that iwa alternates between this & tooru.

happens more often when iwa isn’t fully awake

iwa likes to wrap his arms around oikawa and bury his face into his neck and mumble “g’morning, baby” with his voice still hoarse from sleep

oikawa literally can’t handle it. he combusts. it’s his favorite part of the day even though he refuses to admit it

once it slipped out in the middle of practice (iwa may have been distracted by oikawa’s smile after landing a perfect jump-serve, shut up) and matsuhana would not let it go for DAYS.

every time they saw oikawa they would be like “hey captain - oh wait, i mean babe” until iwa threatened to hurt them if they didn’t stop

pretty boy

shhhhhh let me have this

the first time it happened was on accident because iwa was just trying to make fun of oikawa

he wasn’t expecting oiks to go bright red and speechless when he said it, but it was SO funny

now he says it to tease oikawa whenever he needs to be taken down a peg. he’ll never get tired of seeing his usually polished, in-control boyfriend become a flushed, stuttering mess

oiks has no idea why it has such a big effect on him?? he knows he’s attractive & he hears it all the time from his admirers, but it’s so different to hear iwa-chan, of all people, calling him pretty.

what oikawa calls iwaizumi

iwa-chan

i couldn’t think of as many things for oiks to call iwa because iwa-chan basically covers it all??

no one else is allowed to call iwaizumi “iwa-chan,” just like no one else is allowed to call oikawa “shittykawa.”

tbh iwaizumi isn’t even sure oikawa remembers what his actual last name is at this point

whenever he hears it, iwaizumi is reminded of humid august nights catching fireflies & failed volleyball tosses in the park & sharing futons until they grew too big to fit.

it makes him think of their childhood, of growing up together, of each being the other’s first love, first everything.

they learned to love together & oikawa has changed so much, but at the same time he hasn’t, and when iwaizumi lets himself think about it he gets emotional

so he usually doesn’t think about it and just lobs a ball at oikawa’s head and tells him to shut up LMAO

hajime

oikawa probably uses iwa’s first name less often than iwa uses his

not because he doesn’t want to or because he’s uncomfortable with it, he just thinks it’s special (iwa-chan never let me call him by his first name when we were kids!) and he wants to make it special whenever he says it

iwa makes fun of him for being sentimental, but he adores the thought oiks puts into it, and he falls HARD whenever oikawa does say it.

again, it usually happens in private

oikawa will whisper it into the space between their bodies when they’re curled up together, ready for bed

he’ll say it like a prayer, hushed and reverential, because he can’t believe iwaizumi has stayed by his side, has chosen him and chosen him over and over again, all this time.

and then iwa kisses him, as if to say of course, you idiot, i’ll always choose you, and oikawa murmurs hajime, hajime, hajime into the kiss.

oh also he knows how much iwa likes when he says it & he’ll definitely use that to his advantage when he wants attention

manga spoilers under the cut!

mi cariño/mi corazón/mi amor/etc.

listen, oikawa speaking spanish to iwaizumi makes me hyperventilate

as soon as this boy knew he was moving to argentina, he went and looked up all the spanish pet names he could because he wanted to fluster iwa as much as iwa flustered him

for a solid month he was walking around san juan not knowing how to ask for directions when he got lost, but at least he knew how to say “you’re the light of my life and i love you.”

he’s also 10000000x flirtier in spanish than he is in japanese which was a surprise to everyone, including iwa, because no one really thought he could get any worse.

iwa has no idea what oiks is saying half the time, but he likes the way he says it

oiks, on the other hand, is glad iwa can’t understand him because it gives him an excuse to say as much sappy shit as he wants

picture him,, like,, kissing iwa's hand and putting it over his heart and calling him mi corazón

some linguistic liberties taken <//3 i don't speak japanese

k i'm gonna go cry over them for the next hour or two so that's all for now ♡♡

#iwaoi #iwaizumi hajime x oikawa tooru #iwaoi headcanon #haikyuu!!#oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x oikawa #haikyuu headcanons #iwaoi fluff #hq headcanons #haikyuu character x character #haikyuu ships

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anthrat · 3 years

Text

Frayed Stitches

Kakuzu/Reader

The tears just wouldn’t stop. No matter how hard you tried, how much you forced yourself to push those feelings of anger, sadness and hatred down they wouldn’t leave. They kept rising up, they were a constant threat to your image. You couldn’t let Kakuzu see you like this. You already knew what he’d say.

2243 words

A/N: I actually wrote this instead of writing my linguistics essay so here's to hoping it's actually good hehe :)

A little over a year had passed since you’d joined the Akatsuki, you could scarcely remember what your life had been like before. You’d never achieved much. Running from village to village as a paid assassin, willing to do anyone’s dirty work for as long as they had the money. You had no loyalties, no friends, no comrades, nothing. Your situation wasn’t an especially uncommon one either. On your travels, you’d met hundreds like yourself. Internal strife meant there was always work for people like you, people who thrived off discontent.

Your admission into the Akatsuki had been a reluctant one. Pain himself had scouted you out, requesting you join. You’d initially declined, however, Pain had insisted, coercing you to bet your freedom on a fight. Win and remain free, lose and become tied to an organisation you didn’t care about. Needless to say, you lost the fight. Even now you still didn’t care about the goal of the organisation, heck, you barely knew what it was. You simply did what was asked of you, not wanting to make a fuss. Running away was futile, so you just had to make do with the circumstances.

On your arrival, you’d been introduced to the other members in what you could only describe as the most uncomfortable situation you’d ever been in. Nobody seemed especially enthusiastic to be there, and nobody seemed to care about you joining. The only person who had even attempted to make you feel welcome had been Kisame, he’d given you a toothy grin as he introduced himself, remarking that he looked forward to working alongside you. It was here you were given an insight into the aims of the Akatsuki, at least you think you had been. You’d struggled to focus on what Pain was saying, distracted by the eyes of each member boring into your skull. This was also the moment you were partnered with Kakuzu, or in other words, the moment you were forced into Hell. You’d remembered how the older man had barely batted an eyelid when you were told you’d be partnered together, the way he’d muttered something about how he would be better by himself, his cold eyes piercing your body as he’d threatened to kill you if you got in his way. You had initially dismissed your partner's morbid comment, assuming it was simply a tough-guy act to make himself appear strong in front of the other members. However, before leaving to embark on your first official mission one of the other members had gently placed his hand on your shoulder, giving you a toothy grin before whispering something you’d never forget into your ear.

“You're the fifth to be partnered with Kakuzu. Don’t die.”

Your partnership with Kakuzu had been one which could be easily described in one word. Hell. From not caring whatsoever if you were caught in his crossfire, to forcing you to walk for days on end with absolutely no breaks the man was a tyrant, a monster. You found yourself unable to ever completely relax, your body was in a constant state of emergency knowing full well if you let your guard down for even a second that would give Kakuzu the opportunity to strike. Thinking back on those Hellish times you wondered what had kept you going. Death would have been the easy way out, yet you’d persevered and for what? You’d found yourself growing attached to the grumpy old fuck, you hated to admit it but it was true. Recently you’d found your mind drifting when you were around Kakuzu, you no longer felt like he was an immediate threat. You’d been able to learn his attack patterns and formulate battle strategies which benefited you both. You’d been talking with each other more too, although Kakuzu’s answers were always abrupt and uninviting he was at least finally responding. On the rare occasion, Kakuzu himself had even tried to spark a conversation, although it usually revolved around money. Not long ago you’d even cooked together, well… Maybe it was a stretch to call it cooking. It was more like you’d forced him to cut the mushrooms you’d gathered for lunch after he’d spent roughly ten minutes complaining that you were doing it wrong. Watching his skill with the knife had made you wonder why he always refused to cook meals, he was clearly much better than you were. Given his age and experience you always felt like he’d probably find your cooking skills lacklustre, yet he never once complained about your sub-par skills. This had led you to believe the stoic and grumpy ninja had a slight soft side, or maybe he just really didn’t care.

You raked your hands through your hair, trying to steady your own breathing. Why were you thinking about Kakuzu at a time like this? The man who had brought you so much pain and suffering, and yet was the only person you could trust. He was the only person who hadn’t abandoned you. Placing your hands over your mouth you tried to stifle your cries as you doubled over, cowering into your knees. Your whole body convulsed from the pressure of the wrangled sobs which were trying desperately to escape from your body. You wanted nothing more than to just scream, to let your tears flow freely, to remove the constraints you’d placed on your emotions. Yet you couldn’t. Not here, not now. Kakuzu would hear you, he’d see you. You already knew what he’d say. You’d spent so long carefully constructing an image of yourself, an image which portrayed only strength and aggression. One of independence. One which implied you were able to find joy in your solitude, that you were proud of the person you’d become. Yet here you were, crying on the floor of your rented room like a little bitch. If Kakuzu saw you now he’d know it was all a lie, he’d see you for what you really were. A terrified young shinobi who was in way over their head. An incompetent fool who’d been forced to abandon everything. An idiot who couldn’t even take their fate into their own hands. You tried yet again to steady your breathing, squeezing your eyes shut as you scrunched up your face, balling your hands into tight fists and pushing them roughly against your eyes.

“Breathe normally you pathetic fucking bitch” you muttered to yourself, forcing your legs to move out from beneath you. Forcing yourself to stand. You were going to go and have a shower and clean yourself up. After that you’d forget about this tiny little slip-up, you’d completely wipe it from your memory dismissing it as nothing but a silly dream.

“What are you doing?”

You froze. Shit. How had you not heard him return? This is why you couldn’t let your guard down, you’d let yourself grow comfortable and for what? For Kakuzu to stumble upon you at your absolute worst. Maybe you could salvage the situation, he could only see your back after all. Straightening your back, you let out a long fake yawn, stretching your hands up to the ceiling, then dropping them to your sides as you began taking slow steps in the opposite direction to where Kakuzu was stood, your eyes desperate scanning the bare walls for something, anything, you could use as an excuse to not turn around and face him.

“I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.” You winced, even to you your voice sounded impossibly thick. Unless Kakuzu was actually brain-dead you didn’t have the slightest chance of escaping him unscathed. Spotting your bag in the corner of the room you marched towards it and squatted in front of it, opening it up slowly you rummaged around mindlessly. Acting had never been your strong suit but you hoped this was at least mildly convincing. The silence between the two of you was almost deafening, had you not been able to feel his steel-like gaze piercing through you you may have assumed he’d already left. You breathed a sigh of relief as you heard Kakuzu’s feet move, although that relief was quickly displaced with immediate dread as you realised he was walking towards you. Ducking your head you tried to make your bag rummaging more convincing, although at this point you knew it was pointless.

“What are you looking for?” You felt a shiver run down your spine as the older Shinobi spoke, his deep gravelly voice always put you on edge, no matter what he was saying. You hummed loudly “Nothing in particular. Do you want something?” you inwardly cringed as your voice cracked, you could already feel the pressure building up in your throat. Your body wanted nothing more than to completely break down but that wasn’t an option right now. You tried to control your breathing, praying that he would leave.

“We have a mission. We’re leaving early tomorrow morning”

“Right. Is that all?” you snapped, instantly regretting your tone as you felt a strong hand grip your shoulder.

“Look at me when you speak to me” Kakuzu growled. You felt tears prick your eyes. God not now, please not now. Forcing a laugh you tried to swat his hand away which only caused him to tighten his grip. “Pathetic really, I come all this way to tell you we have a mission and this is the thanks I get. I could have easily just left you here all by yourself-” You’d had enough, gripping his hand with your own you tore it from your shoulder. Turning to face the surprised Shinobi with tears streaming down your face. “Just shut up! Shut up! Leave me the fuck alone!” you screamed as your arms flailed wildly in a series of punches and slaps, each one directed at Kakuzu’s chest. You felt his skin harden beneath your fists, you didn’t care if you weren’t hurting him. You just wanted him gone. Your breath rasped as you repeatedly flung yourself at him. He just stood there, completely still, his face unreadable beneath his mask. Yelling in frustration you turned away from him, picking up your bag and tossing it across the room. “Just fuck off!”

“Me or the bag?” He retorted, Taking a step towards you. You attempted to throw another punch at him, this time however he swiftly caught it. His large hand enveloped your fist as he pushed it harshly down to your side, his eyes meeting your own. There was something different about his gaze, it was still his usual stone-cold glare yet there was something… Almost like guilt? Or maybe it was sadness glimmering within its depths. You tried to disentangle your fists from his grip to no avail. “Kakuzu please, leave me alone” you begged, your voice barely a whisper. He sighed heavily, his feet shifting slightly as he pulled you into a rough and uncomfortable hug. His arms wrapped stiffly around you for a few seconds before he quickly withdrew them and pushed you away. You were in a state of complete shock, your entire body seemed to be malfunctioning. Had you took the time to look up at Kakuzu you might have noticed the delicate shade of pink decorating his face. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you be” He muttered. Before you could even compute what had happened, never mind think of an adequate response he had already left the room. Leaving you completely alone once again.

You shook your head roughly, it must have been a dream, right? Had Kakuzu, the man devoid of any and all emotion, really just given you a hug? You laughed, you couldn’t help yourself. Maybe you’d finally turned insane. The hug had been possibly the absolute worst you’d ever received in your life, yet somehow you felt lighter. His body had been warm. So warm. So muscular. You pinched yourself, what on earth were you thinking? Had several years lacking in human touch really made you this desperate? Smiling to yourself you wandered aimlessly towards your bed, heavily flopping down on it to stare at the ceiling. You lay like that for a good while, your head spinning with thoughts of Kakuzu. You didn’t know what to make of this advancement, had he hugged you out of pity or was it something else? With your thoughts still racing you slowly drifted off into a deep slumber that lasted until dawn. You weren’t awoken by the entrance of a mysterious masked man who gently placed a duvet over your body. You didn’t see the soft smile which adorned his face as he did this, you didn’t notice the extreme care he took in order to not wake you as he tucked you into bed. You didn’t hear him as he gently whispered goodnight before he left. The next morning you’d wake up, completely unaware of just how much Kakuzu cared about you. Unknowing of the suffering you caused him. To openly reveal his admiration for you would be to reopen old wounds. After all, if you ever found out just how much he cared it would ruin the image he’d spent years constructing.

#kakuzu #kakuzu x reader #naruto reader insert #naruto #naruto fanfiction #naruto fic #self insert #reader insert #naruto self insert

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vampiresuns · 3 years

Text

🍋 Private Diversions

1.7k words. That Tamryn and Anatole weren’t attending the Midsummer Masquerade didn’t mean they couldn’t bring it home. Tamryn belongs to @valhallanrose

Written for the @midsummer-masquerade, Day 1, using the prompts ‘Marking’ and ‘Temperature play’. Lemon ahead, Minors DNI.

You can read the rest of ‘City of Delights’, here.

CW: Dom/sub dynamics, anal fingering, penetration.

“I knew you weren’t going but,” Tamryn shook his head, frowning, “I thought you said you’d take this as having a free week, finally.”

Anatole hummed, echoed by the sound of his quill scribbling away. “It is a free week if I don’t have to go to the Palace.”

Anatole put his quill down, resting his hand over Tamryn’s. “It also means I can catch up on the job as I see fit, if I so desire. I do like working with people, but sometimes I do need them all to shut up.”

He moved his hand away to resume his scribbling. Revising documentation was a never-ending task, but it was a worthwhile one when he had to do it for investigative purposes. Linguistics and policy planning remained two of Anatole’s greatest passions.

He didn’t notice Tamryn frowning again, deeper this time, but he could sense it in his voice.

“I’m going to lay on your desk. You can’t work if I’m in the way.”

“Tamryn, this is the bedroom secretaire — if you break it I’ll find another room to sleep in, and that is a threat.”

“You’d do that?”

“You know I wouldn’t, but I am working, Tamryn. Just give me a moment.”

Instead of giving him a moment, Tamryn put his knee on the edge of the desk. “No, not for long you aren’t.”

Anatole stopped scribbling, pausing his timer spell so the bright orange clock stopped turning. When Tamryn met him, he used to make the spells another colour, a softer hue between mauve and champagne that Tamryn couldn’t see, resulting in a number of unintended interruptions from his behalf to Nana’s time blocking methods. However, as soon as he pressed himself to do it, Anatole changed the colour, so it was something Tamryn could see without trouble. He had kissed his jaw and told him it was no problem, as he didn’t want Tamryn to feel guilty about interrupting him.

That way, he had said back then, he could choose what to do better, even if once again he assured him Tamryn was very welcome to draw his attention, and if Anatole couldn’t give him his right then, he’d find the time. He always found the time. He had also said that that way, if Tamryn didn’t see it, they could attribute it to him being a dumbass.

Tamryn’s sole remark had been Anatole liked him that way.

Noticing the cease in the sound of quill on paper, Tam moved his knee away, a triumphant look on his face that grew when Anatole moved away from his desk, and evaporated when he settled somewhere else. The orange clock began ticking again.

“You do realise I can just move my things away, don’t you?”

Tamryn pulled out his tongue at him before he moved closer to Anatole again. “And you do realise I’m obnoxious and I will follow you until you put your work away?”

Anatole turned to him, standing toe to toe with Tamryn, as if they were the same height. They weren’t but that had never stopped him. Besides, both of them knew Anatole’s presence was somehow taller, heels or no heels involved, and Tamryn would be lying if he didn’t admit it sent a shiver over his skin. Anatole just had presence, and the bastard knew how to use it.

“I can always work on top of you.”

Tamryn smirked as he began playing with one of Anatole’s locks. “Kinky, though if you’re going to be on top of me, I rather you were working hard on something else.”

Anatole hummed again, squinting up at Tam. That did sound tempting. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes.

With an incredulous face Anatole found adorable, Tamryn let out a whistling, victorious ‘yes’. Anatole shook his head as he let his boyfriend walk away, towards the bed, as he removed his shirt faster than he could repeat his own name and threw himself on top of it.

“So, what are you waiting for?”

Anatole kicked his shoes off, climbing on the bed. However, he had not let go of his papers and his squill; he was still holding onto them when he climbed over Tamryn, straddling his chest to sit down over his sternum with his full weight.

He turned the page and Tamryn wheezed.

“You did say I should work in something else,” Anatole said absently, in that ennui filled, small-talk tone he used when he wanted to rile Tamryn up, or tease him. “You never said what in.”

“It was implied.”

“Was it? Well, I could shorten my timeblock and finish this tomorrow, but I still want to finish this go, so why don’t you behave for once in your life.”

Tamryn could not resist the challenge. Maybe Anatole wasn’t trying to raise one, maybe he was. Tamryn knew he liked challenges and that he liked to win them, but he also liked to make Tamryn whine and usually got away with it. Perhaps he could do both. Raise a challenge and butter him up with sweet tones.

It didn’t work. Anatole smiled instead, and pressed his quill against Tamryn’s lips. He didn’t look at him, however. “It is very cute when you try to be all sweet, but do be quiet. You can be a good boy for me, can you not? The better behaved you are for me now, the better it’ll be for you in the end.”

Maybe Tamryn had insisted because he knew this would be the outcome. He sounded more eager than he intended when he told Anatole he could be good for him. When Anatole called him his “good boy” he knew he was done for. Just no how much. As Anatole worked, he began idly tracing patterns over Tamryn’s skin with the feather end of his quill. Ticklish as Tam was he tried his best not to squirm but the longer Anatole did it, the harder it was to not move.

He tried his best until the time spell ran out. Anatole sighed, reaching forward to leave his papers and his quill on the night-table. He sat back on top on Tamryn, only a little further down this time. “If it was that tortuous not to move, you should’ve told me.”

Tamryn squirmed a little underneath him, as Anatole began running his fingertips with a feather light touch over his ticklish spots. “I wanted to be good.”

“Oh, you are being very good, Tamryn, my very good boy. I should ease it up a little for you, would you like that?”

“Please.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Anatole did not ease it up. For a moment, Tamryn thought he would. He began running his hands over his torso, his sides, his arms; hands which decreased and increased in temperature, slow and steady. Anatole’s right hand got colder, his left one warmer. They traced patterns on his skin, increasing and decreasing in temperature, until they changed — his left one growing colder, and his right one warmer, as he traced the same places they did before.

Anatole moved a little further back, kneeling between Tamryn’s legs. He pressed a cold hand to his stomach, forbidding him to move unless Anatole told him to. He only told him to move so he could lift his hips as he pulled his pants and underwear down. Anatole leaned forward to press a kiss to his hip bone as he ran his hands over his legs.

With his hands on the crease between his upper thigh and his hips, Anatole told him to wait.

He got up to get various things he planned on using: his dick, a plug for Tamryn, lubricant. He warmed the latter up and scooped some with the fingers of his cool hand. He cooled it after, and scooped some with the fingers of his warm hand.

“Colours, sweetheart, do you have them in mind?”

“Yes.”

“Safeword.”

“Yes, sir.”

Anatole smirked. “Good boy.”

He wrapped his warm hand with cool lube around Tam’s cock, stroking him slowly, pressing his thumb against the slit on his head, toying with his piercing there. He pressed one of his fingers from his cool hand with warm lube against his ass, doing circles until he pushed in.

Tamryn whined. Anatole was unable to resist teasing him as he began moving his hands, coordinating each movement and adding another figner when Tamryn could take it. He built him up, going at it for a little longer than necessary. What could he say? He thought Tamryn looked pretty when he whined and sounded even prettier when he begged.

The idea came to him on a whim: to put his mouth on the soft skin of the inside of his thighs, leaving lovebites on both of them, watching them bloom as he continued to finger Tamryn. He was a begging mess; past the point of caring how he sounded or looked like, he became a malleable matter to anything Anatole wished to do onto him, which is exactly how Anatole liked his men: handsome, hopefully with nice tits, begging for him.

Anatole left lovebites over his hip bones too, fingering Tamryn until he came, his come falling onto his stomach. Though he called him a good boy again, he gave him no time to recover, ordering Tam to turn over.

“On your knees, sweetheart. Lift that ass for me, I don’t want you to get your come on the bed, am I clear? I want you to have it as a reminder of what you’re here for.”

As Tamryn got on his hands and knees, he thought Anatole was going to be the death of him. Anatole didn’t take long getting his dick and his harness, but anticipation made Tamryn hyper-aware of every sound he made.

“You look good like this, sweetheart,” Antole said, positioning himself behind Tam. He felt his clicked cock against him, moaning as Anatole slowly pushed in.

Once it was fully inside, he said: “But you know how you’d look even better?”

Tamryn didn’t get to verbalise a reply before he felt Anatole’s hand on his back, shoving his upper torso into the mattress as he began fucking him. “Like this.”

That they weren’t attending the Masquerade didn’t mean they couldn’t bring it home.

#the arcana lemon #lemon #my writing #tamnana #tamryn #aelius anatole #vesuviaafterdark #city of delights #midsummer masquerade

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lils-writes-stuff · 4 years

Text

Matthews

Spencer Reid x reader

summary: doesn’t ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes.

warning: normal criminal minds things, angst, sadness, gore, fun stuff

A/N: based on season 8 episode 12; uhhh here’s the storm

The sound of Y/N’s phone vibrating under her hand woke her up. She lifted her head off of Amelia’s bed, not bothering to look at the caller I.D. and answered.

“Hello?” Y/N’s voice croaked, still full of sleep.

“Ms. Matthews,” a distorted voice spoke through the phone.

Y/N sat up completely straight in her chair, now high alert.

“Or should I say SSA Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Who is this?” Y/N asked, standing up from the chair and moving outside of the room. She knew exactly who it was but she needed to be sure.

“You know exactly who this is,” the voice responded.

“Landry Stephenson,” Y/N said with a stern tone. “What do you want?”

“Midnight,” Landry replied.

“What about it?”

“That’s what you have till before this beautiful gold ring becomes mine, along with your boyfriend.”

The line went dead after that. A small tear of fear pricked in Y/N’s eyes, the phone not coming off her ear as she stood there in shock for a second. She pulled the phone off her ear after taking her second, calling the only person she could think of.

“I got here as quickly as I could,” Hotch said, rushing up the stairs to his office where Y/N stood.

She couldn’t trust Strauss anymore, she needed to go straight to the people she knew would help.

Her team.

“What’s wrong?” Hotch asked once he came face to face with Y/N.

“I need to tell you where I’ve been,” she said with a shaky voice.

It felt as though she was injured, running off of pure adrenaline. And now it was starting to wear off because her voice began to shake. Hotch closed the door to his office and gestured for her to sit down.

“Strauss sent me undercover at George Town because they’ve been receiving letters about someone in the BAU being stalked. There has also been a recent string of ‘suicides’ that we thought were connected to the case, now I can confirm it is because one of the girls I’ve become close to was a victim last night…”

“Y/N I’m so sorry,” Hotch said sympathetically.

“It’s alright, she’s recovering in the hospital, she made it to my office to get help somehow.”

She took in a shaky breath and looked at the watch on her wrist.

“Okay, I’m going to skip some parts because we need to get the team here as soon as possible. Basically, this girl named Landry Stephenson has been sending letters to us about Spencer and I found out it was her yesterday when I went to Amelia’s dorm to look around and I found hundreds of pictures of Spencer in a small chest. This morning I got a phone call from Landry saying we have until midnight tonight to save Spencer.”

“How do you know it was Landry for sure?”

“Because she addressed me as Ms. Matthews, that was my undercover name.”

Y/N took in a shaky breath and lifted her hand and watched it shake violently. She was starting to have an anxiety attack, she hadn’t had that since the day of the bomb.

“Y/N,” Hotch said, making her tearful eyes look at him. “I need you to breathe okay, breath.”

She took in some deep breaths and let a few tears fall down her face. Her eyes closed and she took a minute to compose herself, letting all her emotions flood out of her so she could focus on saving Spencer.

“Okay, let’s get the team here.”

--------------

“Y/N,” everyone said as they walked into the bullpen, seeing the woman they all missed.

JJ and Penelope ran up and wrapped their arms around her, squeezing her tightly.

“Hey, guys-” she pulled away from the hug and gave others to the rest of the team- “I wish we had time to catch up but we have a problem.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Rossi asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

“Wait, shouldn’t we wait for Reid?” Penelope asked, noticing the Boy Wonder’s absence.

“That’s why we’re here. This morning Y/N received a phone call from Landry Stephenson, the unsub Strauss sent her to find who had been killing students at George Town and stalking a member of the BAU, that member was Reid,” Hotch relayed the information Y/N had told him to the team.

The team had slack jaws at the news.

“So, is he okay? Is he in protective custody?” JJ asked, her words quick and strong.

“When I got the call, Landry told me we had until midnight to find him,” Y/N said, her voice shaking again.

“Oh god…” Penelope muttered, clutching her hand to her chest.

“What other information do you have?” Derek asked assertively.

“Not much,” Y/N let her head drop in shame.

The team stayed quiet for a second, watching as Y/N sniffled as a way to keep in her tears. “I have a wealth of knowledge to be applying to this case right now about behaviors of violent stalkers, tactical recovery strategies-” she choked on a sob at her next words- “victim survival odds, things I know about the unsub. But I can’t keep a straight thought for more than four seconds at a time, so I’m the dumbest person in the room.”

The team watched in sympathy as Y/N cried during her speech. They knew he was the love of her life and she was his. They were Spencer and Y/N. “The greatest love I’d ever seen,” as Rossi put it. So they knew, this was tearing her apart because she was putting all the blame on herself.

“Please-” her voice cracked- “we need to find him.”

“This technically isn’t our case, but Spencer is a part of this team,” Hotch said as everyone stayed quiet. “This is going rogue not only for Y/N but for all of us, we could lose our jobs. Does anybody want to leave?”

No one answered.

“Good, then let’s get started.”

-------------

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while deeply loving someone gives you courage,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as she paced back and forth in Penelope’s office. She kept repeating the phrase under her breath like a mantra. It’s a quote by Luo Tzu that she found during her time away. It’s what kept her going from being away from Spencer and only being able to talk to him every so often.

“Hey,” Derek whispered, walking into the office that was only occupied but Y/N.

Y/N ignored him and kept repeating the quote under her breath.

“Y/N.” Derek stepped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. “We’re going to find him.”

“Yeah,” she nodded and wrangled her hands together. “It’s just this is all my fault. If I had pushed harder, maybe Strauss would have gotten him sooner or even put Landry in custody and then we wouldn’t be here right now and I could be back on the team and everything would be great and be normal. Spencer and I would be together and would be happy and hopefully engaged-”

Y/N’s blubber of ‘what if’s’ was cut off by Derek.

“Hey, hey.” He grabbed her shoulder and gave her a slight shake. “Wonder Woman we are going to find him and stop this.”

She nodded and fell into his chest, just needing a hug now. He wrapped his arms around her shoulder and held her for about a minute.

“Let’s go to the round table room, we got all the letters that were sent from Strauss,” Derek said, beginning to lead her to the door.

“How did she take the fact I didn’t come to her first?” Y/N asked while wiping the last of her tears.

“Not well at first, but I think she understood eventually.”

When they reached the round table room, the team was sitting all around it, copies of the letters that were sent scattered between them.

“This is clearly a classically possessive stalker,” Derek said as he finished one of the letters he was reading.

“Yeah, one who craves validation and recognition,” Blake added.

“Yeah, she’s asking here ‘why won’t you see me?’, ‘do you think you’re better than me?’, within the five letters this comes up again and again,” JJ said as she flipped through her copies of the letters.

“Five?” Y/N asked from her seat across the table.

She had been silent for most of the time in the room. Her knees pulled up to her chest and her forehead resting on top of them.

“Yeah, there’s five,” JJ responded showing Y/N the letters.

“No, no, that can’t be right, when Strauss sent me out there was only four,” Y/N let her feet hit the ground as she reached for her copies of the letters.

Sure enough, another latter had been sent since she was undercover. It came in yesterday.

“This got here yesterday,” Y/N pointed out.

“How do you know?” Rossi asked, flipping to the same letter she had in her hand.

“Because this is talking about the attack on Amelia,” Y/N said as she kept reading the letter swiftly.

“Who’s Amelia?” Blake asked quietly, not wanting to make Y/N jump at anyone in her frantic state.

“She’s a girl I’ve been counseling undercover, we’ve gotten really close, yesterday she was attacked.” Y/N kept reading through the graphic description of the attack, trying to not let it get to her as she looked for ideas where Spencer could be.

“Here, here, she talks about how she did this for him,” Y/N blurted when she finished reading over a line in the letter, pointing to the spot. “She was killing these people so that the team would come and investigate.”

“Well, we have her motive for the killing, also probably for the suicide she’s also talking about,” Blake said as she pointed out another thing in the letter. “Here it says, ‘when I find you I’m going to kill you than myself’.”

“Murder suicides the ultimate ‘I love you’ to these guys,” Rossi remarked.

“Do you know when Landry started targeting Spencer?” Hotch asked, turning to look at Y/N.

“No, no, I just know she was in one of Blake’s linguistics classes, probably saw him guest speak, and…” she trailed off from there, not wanting to say the rest, knowing that the team knew it.

“Oh my god guys, I found Spencer,” Penelope blurted when a ping went off on her computer. “Well, not found, but I have video surveillance of him in Union Station last night, being drugged and carted away by the unsub.”

The team quickly crowded around Penelope’s laptop and watched the video. Y/N stayed rooted to the ground she stood on, not being able to watch the video.

“Alright, Morgan you and JJ go to the station where Reid was taken, see if anything was left as a clue, Blake and Dave, go to Spencer and Y/N’s apartment, see if there’s anything there,” Hotch ordered and the team began to stand up straight and grab their coats.

Hotch then turned to Y/N, still rooted in the ground and not moving. “How clear is your head?”

“Uh, I’m not sure, not really clear,” she stuttered, eyes staring at Spencer’s empty seat at the round table.

“I want to talk to Amelia about Landry but I need you there.”

Y/N nodded her head but didn’t move just yet.

“Y/N,” Penelope said, stopping her as she began to turn.

“He wears the ring you know, never takes it off.”

“I know.”

------------

“Amelia?” Y/N asked softly as she entered the hospital room.

Amelia looked up from the book in her hand to see Y/N approach with Hotch behind her. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Amelia, this is Agent Hotchner, he works with me at the FBI, um he needs to ask you some questions.”

“Hi, Amelia,” Hotch said, walking closer to the side of the bed.

Y/N took a step back to watch.

“Hi,” Amelia responded.

“So Landry Stephenson is your roommate correct?” Hotch asked, starting off his questions.

“Yes.”

“Does she have any place she would go beside your dorm?”

“She talked about her boyfriend’s place a couple of times,” Amelia answered after a pause for her to think.

“What’s his name?”

“Uh, I think she said it was Edmond,” Amelia shrugged. “She rarely talked about him, when she did, it was almost like she was imagining it.”

Y/N then had a flashback to when she walked into her’s and Spencer’s apartment one time. She remembered looking over to see a boy walking into his apartment a little down the hall, Landry by his side.

“Hotch,” Y/N stepped up getting his attention.

He turned his head to look at her.

“I know where the boyfriend lives.”

------------

“This bitch,” Y/N deadpanned as she walked up the stairs to the second floor of the apartment building where her and Spencer’s apartment lived. She walked swiftly up the stairs and down the hallway, bypassing her apartment that Rossi and Blake had just been in.

“Y/N, slow down,” Hotch said, catching up to her.

“She was right down the hallway from us, Hotch, how the hell do you expect me to slow down,” she seethed as they came to the apartment of Edmond Rayes.

“Let us handle it,” Hotch put his hand up, stopping her from knocking on the door.

She nodded, still furious that she was this close to them this whole time.

“Edmond Rayes,” Derek said, pounding on the door. “FBI.”

Rossi pulled his badge out of his pocket and held it to the peephole. A second later, the door opened and revealed Edmond Rayes, with a stitched up forehead.

“FBI?” Edmond asked the common thing most people say when the FBI knocks on their door.

“What happened to your head?” Rossi nodded to the large gash.

“My ex pushed me into a mirror,” he answered, moving his body open to let the four of them in.

“That ex wouldn’t happen to be Landry Stephenson would it?” Y/N asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Edmond asked, clearly not recognizing Y/N’s voice from the few times she talked to him. He turned his head to look at her and then he recognized her, “Oh, hey Y/N.”

“Hi, Edmond.”

“Do you know where Landry Stephenson is?” Rossi asked, getting straight to the point.

“No, should I?”

“Well, that’s what we were hoping,” Rossi shrugged.

“When did you guys break up?” Derek asked the next question.

“Uh, about three weeks ago,” Edmond answered, pausing to think of the exact timeline.

“And when did you get that cut?” Hotch asked.

“Two nights ago, Landry came back ranting about something she left here.”

Y/N began to wander the apartment, looking all around at the different pictures and figurines adorning the shelves. She wasn’t listening to the interview going on anymore, it just became background noise as she looked at the walls.

But then her ears tuned back when she saw an orange envelope slipped between two books. To the untrained eye, no one would have caught it.

“Edmond,” Y/N said, bringing everyone’s attention to her. “What’s this?”

Edmond cocked his head to the side as he looked at the envelope with Y/N. “I’m not sure.”

He pulled the envelope out from between the books and opened it. He pulled out about twenty photos of Spencer and Y/N walking in and out of his apartment. “I think I found what Landry was looking for.”

Y/N took the photos from his hands, flipping through them to see them all. They went back a couple of months.

“Y/N,” Hotch said nodding to the door of the apartment. Rossi took the photos from her hands as she walked past and followed Hotch out of the apartment.

“This means you’re a part of her victimology now, you know,” Hotch said calmly to her.

“Are you pulling me off the case then?”

“No.”

“Then let me go back in there to work,” she said, trying to push past him into the apartment. Hotch stuck his arm out and held her back.

“We will but you need a second,” He told her.

“Hotch, I was practically stalked by Caroline for my whole college life, this isn’t new to me,” she reassured him and walked back into the apartment.

------------

“Okay we know numbers on female stalkers are minimal, only ten percent are female,” JJ said as the team sat around the round table again to regroup. Y/N took a seat on the couch behind the table, feeling like she needed to step back to see everything.

“All right, what tops the list of motivators?” Hotch asked.

“Prior sexual intimacy,” Derek debated.

Y/N barked out a laugh accidentally at the thought. Everyone turned to her with confused glances. “Sorry.”

“Erotomania?” Rossi asked, moving past the moment.

“Maybe,” Derek said. “You slept with me, I’ve built a whole life with us-”

“No,” Y/N butted in.

“Y/N,” JJ whispered.

“JJ I know Spencer, we all do, he would not cheat on me, or-or do anything like that.” They all looked at Y/N sympathetically, knowing she was right but they were just saying all the facts. “What’s-what’s the next one?”

“Celebrity stalking,” JJ answered.

“That one makes more sense,” Y/N said nodding her head.

“How? Spencer’s not famous,” Blake said shaking her head.

“But she was in your class Blake, and when he came to lecture, she became a celebrity to him,” Y/N said.

“That’s a stretch,” Rossi argued. “Celebrity stalkers are usually nonviolent.”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon, Rossi?” Y/N said standing up from her sitting position as she got angrier. “What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him? ‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided.’ Well, Spencer is somebody and-and this bitch is a nobody!”

Her sudden outburst made the room get quiet as she paced back and forth. They waited for a second for her to cool down.

“I’m-I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from,” she apologized as she continued her pacing. “My head’s too clouded, I need to leave, I’m not much help.”

“Y/N, yes, you can be of help,” Derek said, trying to make her calm down. “You have the most communication with the unsub and Spencer.”

“She probably revealed details to you of where she would keep Spencer since she knew who you were,” JJ said in a calming voice.

“I don’t have a memory like Spencer! I can’t remember every damn word she said to me, how-”

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through each moment with you to help you find out,” Hotch cut her off.

Y/N stopped pacing, looking at everyone around the table. Truly, she would pick Penelope but that wasn’t a part of her job so she settled on someone else.

“Hotch, please,” she said quietly.

“Okay, let’s go,” He said standing up and leading her out of the room.

------------

“This is where you want to talk?” Hotch asked as the two reached the park that had many chess boards in it.

“It’s where Spencer and I went on our first date, he tried to teach me chess. I need a spot that reminds me of him,” Y/N said as she took a seat at a table. She really sucked at chess, but she knew how to play because of Spencer, but she never beat him.

“Okay.” Hotch took a seat across from her. He then moved a pawn to begin the game. “Try to focus on the board and not my questions, just say whatever comes to your mind.”

“Okay.” Y/N moved one of her pawns.

“When you first think of Spencer what’s the first thing you think of?”

“Home,” Y/N laughed as she moved her chess piece. “He-he makes me feel like home. Warm, cozy, and safe.”

Hotch stayed quiet as he smiled at Y/N. Of course, he knew about their relationship, the whale team did, but they were very private about it. They stayed professional most of the time and no one would assume they were dating if they saw them on the job. This was the first time he really heard about how she really felt about him.

“So if this is a case of celebrity stalking, why do you think she didn’t go after you to get to Spencer?” Hotch asked as he made his next move.

“I’m not sure, to be honest, I wish she did take me instead of him,” Y/N moved her rook. “Maybe she was devolving and her desire to get to him first was too strong so she just...went for him.”

“Maybe,” Hotch moved his knight. “But why would she choose Spencer, in her mind, they must connect somehow.”

“But how?”

“Maybe Spencer said something in a lecture that had her make a connection?” Hotch moved another pawn.

“Could be…” Y/N moved her other knight.

“When you spoke to Landry, did she mention any of her classes?”

“No, she didn’t really talk much, she would answer yes or no to my questions…”

“Landry, do you have anyone special going on in your life right now?”

“Well, I sent in an article to someone I admire again, and I’m hoping they get back to and like this one more than my last.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N muttered as she remembered the conversation.

“What?” Hotch asked.

“Months ago, Spencer was helping some students with thesis and articles they wanted to be published. He then asked for input on a ‘Journal of Behavioral Psych’ article. This one student sent in a theory that was completely improbable and stupid, but I couldn’t even tell you what it was. But that same student kept sending in more stuff like it, and Spencer kept politely rejecting it,” Y/N rambled.

“It was Landry that sent in those articles,” Hotch realized. “She wants to be accepted by him.”

“She told me once a couple of weeks ago that she sent in another and was hoping it would get accepted,” Y/N looked up at Hotch with teary eyes. “I didn’t make the connection until now.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N, okay, come on let’s get back to the office.”

-------------

“Landry Stephenson, along with being a major in Linguistics at George Town, she was working on getting her psychology degree online,” Penelope said as she pulled up a photo of Landry on the screen.

“Do you have the articles she sent to Spencer?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, and like Y/N said, they’re waka-doodle,” Penelope answered.

“Looks like when Spencer rejected her last article, she dropped out of her online classes,” Rossi said as he looked at the papers Penelope handed them.

“Correct,” Penelope said, taking a seat at the table. “I also found an off campus apartment that looks like she stays at on the weekends.”

“Dave, you, Y/N, and JJ take the apartment. Blake and Morgan, take the campus dorm,” Hotch ordered.

“What was the last article about?” Y/N asked quickly before they could leave.

“It says here, ‘How the behaviors of cells change when suicide is inevitable’,” Derek read from the file.

“There’s her suicidal ideation again,” Blake remarked.

“Except that’s not true, why is she so obsessed with it?” Y/N asked. She now understood why Spencer was rejecting her articles, if they were all like this, they were related to her emotionally.

S.W.A.T. busted through the door of the apartment, breaking it off its hinges. They walked in quickly, making sure all the rooms were clear before they could relax and begin their search.

Y/N, JJ, and Rossi began to look around the apartment. Their eyes landed on a wall covered in family pictures and a newspaper clipping about a double suicide. Of her two parents.

“Is this a shrine to her dead parents?” JJ asked as she looked at the wall.

“Her parents committed suicide,” Y/N muttered and pointed to the clipping. “That wasn’t in her file.”

“Uh, guys,” Rossi called from a back room he wandered to. “You might want to come to look at this.”

JJ and Y/N walked to the room quickly. When they entered Rossi had pulled open a small closet door, revealing a bunch more pictures of Spencer.

“Oh dear god,” Y/N muttered as she looked at all the pictures. If Spencer wasn’t kidnapped by this girl right now, she would probably find this humorous.

“She’s watching us,” Rossi nodded to a camera in the corner of the room.

JJ and Y/N turned to the camera behind them to see a green blinking light flashing. JJ quickly pulled out her phone and called Penelope.

“Garcia,” JJ said when she heard her answer.

“What you got, Mama Grizzly?”

“There’s a webcam in here can you hack the feed?” JJ asked.

“Ohh,” Penelope groaned as she tried to hack the feed. “She’s spoofing the IP address and she’s encrypted the feed.”

Y/N searched around the room, finding a piece of paper and marker. She quickly wrote ‘me for him’ on the page and held it up to the camera.

“What are you doing?” Rossi asked as he watched Y/N write.

“Making a deal,” Y/N responded, finishing the message. The two agents watched as Y/N held the paper up to the camera.

Y/N prayed that this would get her in to find out where Spencer was because they were running out of time now.

After about thirty seconds of Y/N holding up the message, the apartment phone began to ring. Y/N set down the paper and rushed to the phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Spencer’s voice said back through the phone.

Y/N let out a breath of relief that he was still alive. “Spence, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I think so,” Spencer stuttered. “I’ve got a concussion and some bruising, but I’m okay.”

“Can I speak to Landry?”

She heard Spencer take in a sharp breath. “No, she’s listening.”

“Good, I need to meet her, I need to talk to her,” Y/N said, hoping she was playing her cards right now.

“She has a message she wants me to give to you,” Spencer spoke softly, clearly uneasy as his words were slightly slurred.

“What is it, bub,” she hoped using his nickname would give him some strength.

“The message is, she left you a present and if you want to find it, it’s easy as pie,” Spencer’s voice was slurred, almost like he was falling asleep.

“What does that mean? I don’t get that,” Y/N said, rubbing her forehead as she tried to think.

“Neither do I,” Spencer mumbled. “Y/N don’t come, it’s a trap! She’s gonna kill you-”

The line went dead.

Y/N thought for a moment, then she had a thought. “I need a map of D.C.”

------------

When Y/N, Rossi, and JJ arrived back at the BAU, Y/N had plenty of time to think about the riddle and decipher most of it.

A map was set up on a board when they walked in. She quickly picked up a blue marker.

“We don’t have a lot of time so I’m going to make this as quick as possible.” Y/N took the cap off the marker then began marking things. “This is Landry’s off-campus apartment- this is the nearest tower her phone call to me pinged off of, which means this-” she used a compass to draw a circle around the spots- “is the circle that Spencer was telling me about.”

“What circle?” Hotch asked.

“It was a clue in Landry’s message, finding her would be as easy as pie, but she wasn’t talking about the food, she was talking about the number Pi.” Y/N wrote the first three digits on the board.

“Pi,” Penelope said and turned back to her laptop to start some calculations.

“Why would she give you a clue?” Hotch asked.

“Spencer has a doctorate in mathematics, so of course she would use math to lure us in because she wants Spencer to think she’s just as smart as me and him,” Y/N relayed the conclusion she had come up with on the car ride back.

“All right, assuming that Landry has a secondary location, wherein the circle would she hold Reid?” Hotch nodded to the circle she drew on the map.

“She’d need a building that would allow for privacy and control, a closed garage for prisoner transfer…”

“If she’s trying to insert herself into Spencer’s life, maybe she has it close your apartment,” Hotch suggested.

“There’s nothing in Landry’s name,” Penelope said after searching with the suggestion.

“Try Y/N’s or Spencer’s,” Hotch said, turning around to look at Penelope.

“Nope.”

“What about Landry’s parents?” Y/N squatted down next to Penelope as she typed.

“Yes, yes,” Penelope said excitedly as she got a hit. “Landry rented a loft across from your’s and Spencer’s apartment building in her parent’s name.”

“Y/N,” Hotch said, bringing her attention over to him. “I can’t let you be a part of this takedown.”

“We don’t have a choice if I don’t go in there. Spence's dead,” Y/N said, her hands moving aggressively as she spoke.

“And if you do you’re dead,” Hotch told her.

Y/N shook her head. “Hotch, we’ve known from the beginning she’s on a murder-suicide mission, but we didn’t stop to ask why she’s on that mission. We know now, it’s because she wants recognition, the type she believes Spencer can give her and if I go in there I can let her believe she is getting that.”

“How?”

“Because I’m going to break up with Spencer to do so.”

--------------

The team pulled up to the building with the sirens blaring. S.W.A.T. had already arrived at the scene, ready for instruction from the team.

The team each hopped out of there respected vehicles, guns drawn and ready to save Spencer.

“Hang on, I got a box on the steps,” Hotch stopped everyone, carefully approaching the box.

“That’s the gift,” Y/N said, holstering her gun and walking up to the box.

She picked it up, looking at Hotch to be sure it was alright who nodded. She pulled back the blue lid to reveal a small black velvet box. She pulled it out and opened it, seeing a beautiful ring inside of it.

“Is that a ring?” Derek asked as he inspected it from a distance.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Landry’s voice said through an intercom by the door.

Quickly, Y/N began to strip the vest off her torso and handed her gun and the ring to Hotch.

“Now come in Alone.”

“Y/N,” Hotch tested, but Y/N didn’t look back at him.

She opened the door carefully and slowly walked up the small set of stairs to a platform. When she reached the top, Landry rounded the corner and cocked her gun.

She walked over to Y/N slowly and grabbed her shoulder, placing the gun to her side. “Walk.”

Landry pushed her down into a chair roughly. Y/N shifted uncomfortably and took a breath, trying to keep a cool front.

When she looked in front of her, she saw Spencer strapped to a chair. “Hi, Spence.”

“Hi,” he whispered back.

“I was hoping you’d figure out my riddle,” Landry said as she moved behind Spencer, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, I knew you would-” she snaked her hand under his shirt- “The fun was just how fast you did it.”

Y/N watched as Spencer stiffened uncomfortably under her touch.

“It took me a while, if I’m honest, I was kinda distracted by your article you sent in,” Y/N said, hoping she was right about her plan.

Landry pulled her hand off of Spencer and looked at Y/N. “You read my article?”

“I did, the one on the behavior of cells during suicide? I couldn’t agree more,” Y/N lied hoping Spencer, even in his out of mind state, would be able to play along.

“Flattery is not going to get you out of this, because I know what’s waiting for me outside,” Landry said, pointing to the window with her gun.

“I’ve arranged for your freedom,” Y/N bargained, again with a lie.

“The feds don’t make deals with people like me,” Landry stated matter-of-factly.

“Not true, if you have something to help them; Nazi scientists helped with the manhattan project, Mafia bosses are put in witsec, if what you have is valuable enough, they’ll take you,” Y/N corrected her. “That’s why Spencer didn’t want to accept your article because he knew you were right and he was upset he didn’t come up with it first.”

Spencer’s eyes lit in that realization moment that Y/N recognized. He was catching on to the game.

“It’s true after I read it, I was upset I couldn’t figure that out sooner, so I rejected it out of jealousy,” Spencer added, hoping that hearing him say it would allow her to believe it. “And what you have, is valuable.”

“And what do I have?” Landry asked, using her gun to make Spencer’s face look at her.

Please Spence, please say the right thing, Y/N plead internally.

“A brain that doesn’t work with normal societal rules.”

Right on the money, good doctor.

“I’m here because Spencer deserves someone like you, someone with a brain that’s as big and smart as his,” Y/N said, making her move to get Landry to hopefully let her guard down.

When Landry had no response, she spoke again. “Spencer, I’m sorry I don’t love you, I’m breaking up with you.”

Even though it was a lie, it hurt Y/N to say those words. It physically pained her.

“It’s okay, Y/N, I understand, because I chose Landry,” Spencer played into the lie.

Landry whipped her head around to Spencer. “You’re choosing me over her?”

“Yeah,” Spencer whispered.

“I don’t need her anymore,” Landry said, bringing her gun to Y/N’s head.

“Kill her and she won’t have to live with the fact that I chose you over her,” Spencer said, stopping Landry before she could shoot. “Let her live with her irrelevancy.”

“Fine,” Landry said, getting ready to push her out of the chair and out of the room. “But I just want her to see one more thing.”

Landry walked over, undid the zip ties, and connected her lips with Spencer’s. As best as he could he tried to play into it, but it felt too wrong and he barely even moved his lips.

Y/N just hoped Spencer could play it off long enough to where they could get her outside and arrest her.

“Liar,” Landry said, pulling herself away from Spencer. “Liar!” She pointed the gun at Spencer’s chest but quickly Y/N stood up and reached around her to pull the gun up as Landry fired a shot, missing Spencer completely. Y/N had got the gun out of her hand and it was thrown on the ground.

Landry quickly grabbed a knife off of a table next to her and held it to Y/N’s throat as the rest of the team entered when they heard the shot go off.

“Stay back! Stay back!” Spencer yelled as the team entered the room.

Y/N breathed in deeply as Landry held the knife to her throat. “Landry, Landry, remember what I said, I broke up with him, he’s choosing you, it’s going to take a second for him to be completely ready to kiss you or-or be with you.”

“Landry-” Spencer tried to plead.

“You didn’t want me!” Landry screeched, the knife coming off of Y/N’s neck slightly.

“I didn’t,” Spencer told her honestly. “But we can still arrange for your freedom.”��

“No, you love her and I’ll never be her.”

Y/N quickly reached up and wrestled with Landry for the knife. Somewhere along the line, the knife ended up and Y/N’s abdomen.

Y/N sucked in a breath of pain as Landry pulled the knife out.

A shot sounded off from JJ’s gun and hit Landry in the chest as she turned around.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice echoed in the room as he ran up to her body falling on the ground.

“We need a medic!” Hotch’s voice boomed.

He caught her and helped bring her down to the ground, hand pressing on the wound on her stomach.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she whispered, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek.

A tear rolled out of his eye, and that was just the beginning of them.

“Hey, bub, I heard you wore my ring,” she said, trying to bring him away from the fact she was just stabbed.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” he choked. He grabbed the hand that was holding his cheek, kissing the back of it, and showing her the ring still on his finger.

“I-I think you got me a ring too,” she whispered as she remembered the ring Landry left for her at the front door that she gave to Hotch.

“I did,” he whispered back, holding her hand clasped against his face.

She smiled softly, beginning to feel her eyes get heavy.

“Hey, hey, sweets, keep those eyes open, the paramedics are almost here,” Spencer begged as he watched her eyes get heavy. “I love you.”

The paramedics pried Y/N out of Spencer’s arms and brought her onto a board, but Spencer kept trying to grab for her.

His sobs racked his body violently as JJ and Derek held him back from running to her unconscious body. JJ shushed his sobs and cries for Y/N as she was taken out of the room and into the hospital.

-------------

“Spencer,” JJ’s voice echoed in Spencer’s head. “Spence.” She shook his shoulder.

Spencer stayed still, not having moved from his position on the ER bed all night as he stared at the same linoleum tile. Y/N had been in surgery for hours and his physical exam to see his injuries had been long done. He came out with a minor concussion and a few bruises like he thought, but his heart was in need of fixing.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe without knowing if Y/N was okay. If she was alive.

JJ kept saying his name but gave up after her fifth try and had no answer. She settled with placing the ring that Y/N gave to Hotch beside him on the bed.

He glanced down at the ring in its box, then back up at JJ. His eyes watered and then he let the tears fall as he picked up the box.

He needed someone right now to give him a sense of hope, to give him something to hold on to. Because if he didn’t have something, he might lose everything.

“I’m scared,” he admitted to JJ in a whisper.

“Oh, Spence,” she said sadly, wrapping her arms around his shoulder from her standing position. “She’s going to be okay, she’s too strong to die.”

Spencer let out a sob as he hugged JJ back.

In the waiting room, the rest of the team sat anxiously. Derek muttered some prayer to a God he struggled to believe in, in hopes that he might grant some mercy for Y/N.

Rossi prayed to a God he did believe in.

Blake closed her eyes and just hoped.

Penelope sat staring at a random tile on the floor, muttering “She’s gonna be okay” under her breath repeatedly.

Hotch paced back and forth in the room.

Spencer was told by a doctor he was allowed to go to the waiting room with the rest of the team. It wasn’t really a suggestion though, the ER nurse gave JJ a pleading look because they needed the bed for other patients.

“Spence, let’s go see the rest of the team,” JJ cooed, coaxing him up with one arm and leading him to the waiting room.

When they entered the room, each one of them looked up and gave Spencer a sad smile.

Penelope stood up from her chair though, walking over and standing in front of him. She was about to say something, her mouth opening, and closing while she struggled to get the voice out.

But Spencer knew what she meant and just nodded.

Penelope let out a sob and wrapped her arms around Spencer tightly. Her tears were full of fear for Y/N and sorrow for Spencer.

“Family of Y/N Y/L/N?”

Everyone faced the doctor that walked into the room.

“How is she?” Rossi asked, being the only one who could voice the question.

The doctor let out a breath that was anything but reassuring. “She coded, but we were able to bring her back. She’s out of surgery now but we don’t know when she’ll wake up.”

“But she’s okay?” Spencer asked, needing to hear those words so he could breathe again.

“She’s okay.”

Spencer took in a breath, finally feeling like he could breathe again.

“Can we see her?” Penelope asked.

“Yeah, follow me,” The doctor said and began leading the group to the room.

In the bed laid Y/N, connected to many I.V.’s and an oxygen tube up her nose. But she was there. Alive and breathing.

Spencer rushed to her side, grabbing her hand and lacing it with his. Tears of joy escaping his eyes.

---------------

Five days. That’s how long Y/N had been asleep for now. Hotch had given the team time off if needed, seeing as Y/N would need them as soon as she woke up.

Each day, a different member of the team would come in and hang out with Spencer. Who stayed there full time. He may have left once to take a shower and a couple of changes of clothes. Other than that, he hadn’t left Y/N’s side at all.

Penelope had brought many flowers, balloons, and baskets in for Y/N. She brought her favorite muffins for when she woke up, pink roses which were her favorite, and many balloons. So many balloons that when Penelope brought in more one day, he made her take some out so the new ones would have room.

Today was Rossi’s day in the rotation for visitation. He had been there a couple of times before, but only for an hour or two, today was his whole day he got to spend there.

“Hey, Kid,” Rossi greeted, handing him a coffee he brought.

“Hey, thanks,” Spencer said, taking the warm drink from his hand.

“No problem,” Rossi smiled, taking a seat in the chair on the other side of Y/N’s bed. “Has there been any changes?”

“No, doctors still don’t know why she hasn’t woken up,” Spencer sighed after taking a sip of the coffee. He looked up to her peaceful face. “I even called London, her best friend who’s a doctor and one of the best hospitals in the US, and she and her colleagues can’t figure out anything.” He took his hand out of her and brushed a piece of hair that had fallen in her face away.

Rossi smiled at Spencer’s gesture, hoping that she woke up soon so he didn’t have to watch Spencer torment himself anymore with staying there.

“How are you holding up?” Rossi asked, concern for the young man who he hadn’t seen outside this hospital in days.

“Alright, I guess,” Spencer answered truthfully.

When a comfortable silence fell between the two, the sounds of beeping coming from the heart monitor beating like a slow metronome in the back, Spencer began to laugh at a thought he had.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s not funny at all actually,” Spencer admitted and kept chuckling. “It’s just, um, on day three of her coma, I got mad.”

“At what?”

“At Y/N,” Spencer laughed, clearly needing sleep. “I was mad because when she left, she left me a letter and a ring, promising me she would come back safely, and now.”

Spencer's laugh soon faltered into a sob. “And now, she’s like this.”

Rossi looked at him with agony, he had never seen Spencer like this. So broken, so upset, so..unknowing.

“Spencer, I know it’s really hard to think of right now, but you have to push through,” Rossi told him, leaning forward in his seat. “You and I know she’s too competitive to die, she won’t let it beat her. Think of it as a time out in the game, she needs a second to figure out her game plan so she can come back and win.”

Spencer smiled at the analogy, reaching for Y/N’s hand again and squeezing it like he had done many times before. What surprised him this time about this time was, she squeezed back.

Spencer’s head jerked up to her eyes to see if hers were open. And low and behold, there they were, sparkling like they normally do and making his heart melt.

“Y/N…” Spencer whispered, standing up from his chair and sitting on the bed. His left hand reached up to caress her head. “You’re awake.”

“She is,” Rossi said with a bright smile, standing up from his seat. “I’m going to go get the doctor.” He reached his hand over the edge of the bed and squeezed her ankle before leaving.

“Thank you,” Spencer said and turned back to Y/N. He let out tears from his eyes as he looked down at the woman he loved with all his heart.

“Hey, don’t cry,” she soothed, wiping his tears away that fell down his face. “I’m okay, see.”

“I know, I know,” he laughed with tears.

He reached down and let their lips mold together. He poured all the emotion he could into the kiss, letting go of her hand so he could use both hands to hold her face. Her arms reached up to the short distance so her hands could cup his neck. His lips tasted like coffee, but they were a pain killer for anything Y/N was feeling right now.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered, his forehead resting on hers when they parted.

“I love you too,” she mumbled with a smile.

“Marry me,” Spencer blurted, pulling his forehead off of hers.

“What?”

“Marry me.” He dropped to one knee at her bedside, fumbling with the ring in its box as he pulled it out of his pocket. “I know that we have an inconvenient job, and terrible luck-”

“We have the shittiest luck,” Y/N agreed with a laugh.

“We do. But I believe...I believe that with you, I am the luckiest man alive. And there’s no way I could spend my life without you because you are the love of my life Y/N Y/L/N. Every moment I didn’t know you were okay, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I-I just can’t imagine me without you.”

Y/N had tears pouring out of her eyes now, she loved this man with all her heart and soul.

“So, marry me,” Spencer finished, opening the box to reveal the ring Y/N had seen the other night.

“Yeah,” Y/N whispered, nodding her head furiously. “Yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Spencer’s mouth formed a wide smile as he pulled the ring out of the box and placing it on her finger. She reached up, grabbing her face and connected them in a loving kiss full of smiles and tears of joy.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #Criminal Minds #criminal minds meme #criminal minds imagine #criminal mids fic #best years series #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #Penelope Garcia #emily prentiss

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deaddovecoterie · 3 years

Text

butterflies

marinette dupain cheng x adrien agreste || ladybug x chat noir

fandom: miraculous ladybug

rating: T (maybe R to be safe for next chp? ahaha jk jk,,, unless?,,,)

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst. just pure angst. maybe fluff if you squint real hard

warning(s): swearing, vaguely unedited, blood mention

a/n: heyyyy :DD im back on my writing bullshit with my favourite personnnn (guess who) @whoseblogsthis cause me and this talented mf co-wrote this :’) ky i just wanna know what it feels like to carry every ff we write together on your back because of my linguistic incompetence. anyway this is my first mlb fic so i hope yall like it i guess !!

——————————————————————————

“...Bystanders have not been hurt, although Paris’ superheroes have not made an appearance yet…”

There was unrest among the students of Francoise Dupont High School as Adrien listened to his friends talk quietly amongst one another. Thunder rumbled in the distance as heavy, chilling rain poured down from the skies. There was a gloomy eeriness that clung to the air, a quiet that made the high schoolers feel like they were just waiting for something to shatter the silence. Grey clouds were collecting, casting the city in shadow-like darkness.

Another Akuma attack had been reported yet again. The Parisian superheroes were more than glad to help out, but it was obvious they were tiring: their moves became sloppier, their conversations shorter, and their patience thinner.

Adrien listened to the chatter exchanged between Alya and Nino, while Marinette remained quiet. She looked tired, which really wasn’t that uncommon, but her fatigue seemed to spill into all of her activities. She had less “pep in her step,” as Alya had said, and her eyes weren’t nearly as bright as they used to be. Not that he meant to pay attention to such things, of course, but it was hard to not notice. Even Chloe, who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but herself, had laid off on the harassment. Adrien chalked up his attentiveness to Marinette as nothing more than being a good, concerned friend, but as of late that excuse was becoming harder to sell, even to himself.

It started about four months ago when they came back from summer break. Everyone had gone back to school and while Adrien was physically there, he was mentally absent. Kagami had just gone abroad for school again after they’d broken things off. He would have liked to say it was a mutual breakup, but she was the one who brought it up. Kagami was wise beyond her years so when she told him that his heart wasn’t in the relationship, he knew she was right. He expected his first heartbreak to be gut-wrenching, but it wasn’t. He felt sad, sure, but not in the way that leaves you paralyzed in bed for weeks on end. At the time, he wondered why that was, but the answer was obvious: Marinette.

When he got to school, it was almost as if she could see the gloomy cloud over his head. She was there for him when no one else seemed to notice, her stuttering and fumbling hardly present in their conversation. In the beginning, he felt almost guilty for confiding in her. It would’ve been ignorant of him to believe she didn’t have problems of her own (who didn’t?), but it was a fact known by many that Marinette Dupain-Chang was one to do whatever she could to help the people she cared for.

It was then that he noticed it: the butterflies. It was like a tsunami of anxiety, excitement, and shyness all rolled into one whenever she did anything: the way her hair moved in the breeze, her clear laugh that dared him to smile, but most of all, her kindness. Marinette was one of those people that you couldn’t hate. She was that person who helped others even when no one was looking. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help himself when he started falling for her every move.

She didn’t know, probably never would, but she had him whipped.

The blonde was snapped back into reality when his best friend nudged him: “You coming?” Nino’s brow arched in question.

He looked across the street, where his bodyguard was waiting for him, standing by the driver’s side door of the sleek black Audi. Though it’s been the same car since Adrien was like thirteen, it still looked brand new.

“I forgot my homework,” he said to Nino, calling out to his bodyguard to repeat the same thing. With a barely discernible nod of approval from the bodyguard, Adrien turned back toward the school doors.

Adrien grumbled as he jogged away from his friend group: “Well, Nadia, Paris’ superheroes happen to have vaguely normal lives too if you weren’t aware.”

Plagg floated up from Adrien’s pant pocket and did circles around his owner’s head. “You put too much faith in humans, they don’t think about that kinda stuff. To them, you and Ladybug are untouchable.”

“Yeah, well we’re not,” he mumbled frustratedly. He pressed his palms into his eyes tiredly and took a deep breath before dropping his arms back down to his sides.

“Plagg claws out,” he muttered.

Plagg liked to think he knew his miraculous holder quite well. Despite the kwami’s demeanour and seeming distaste toward anything non-cheese related, he did have feelings. Yes, he loved cheese, but he also loved Adrien. He had spent the last two years with Adrien, and he knew something was terribly wrong with his owner.

He’d ask later. The cat-like kwami entered the ring miraculous, and with that, Adrien Agreste was gone, replaced by Chat Noir.

The leather-clad hero headed toward the disaster zone, the rain not doing anything to help his vision. He landed on a rooftop near the Akuma attack and swiftly surveyed the scene. Upon not seeing Ladybug anywhere, Chat Noir sent a quick message to Ladybug, highlighting the damage, before swooping in to hold off the Akuma.

xXx

To put it simply, Marinette was struggling. It had been the fifth Akuma attack that week and after two years of being Ladybug, her excuses were becoming weaker and weaker as time went on. Adrien’s abrupt exit was odd, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she felt the ground shake slightly. It didn’t matter how exhausted she was, she couldn’t put off her duties any longer.

“I uhm, I forgot I had a question for Miss Bustier. I’m going to go see if she’s still around and I’ll uh just stay here until Ladybug and Chat Noir get everything taken care of!” she flashed her friends a thumbs up and with that, she ran back inside the school, toward the locker room. She opened her tiny purse in order for Tikki to emerge. “This is bullshit,” she muttered to herself.

Tikki gasped in shock. “Marinette!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled half-heartedly, “You wouldn’t happen to care if I maybe just happened to not show up and let Chat handle it?”

The glare that the small kwami sent her way told her otherwise. “Something about this one tells me that you’ll need all the help you can get,” she told her owner.

Her stomach twisted with anxiety, both confusion and shock washing over her face. Tikki had never talked about the dangers of an Akuma before, which alarmed Marinette. Shit.

“Tikki, spots on.”

Ladybug swung with all her might as her trusty yoyo grabbed onto buildings and chimneys, the sounds of destruction nearing. A black blur, undoubtedly Chat, streaked the cloudy, grey sky as an akumatized villain screeched out. Her eyes skimmed over the cobblestone streets in front of her, but nothing could prepare her for the screams of terror and bloodied civilians that scattered the scene below.

Her feet had only touched down on the ground for a second when she heard him.

“Nice of you to drop in,” Chat purred, startling her. “You’re late,” he added, his voice icier than expected.

“Cry about it,” Ladybug responded coldly.

“Meowch m’lady,” he said in mock hurt.

“Sorry,” she muttered to her partner as she took him in. His blonde silky hair was plastered to his head from the pouring rain, the droplets permeating the black leather. If the suit wasn’t skin-tight before, it certainly was now. She had to tear her eyes away from the sight of him, her sensibility screaming at her to focus while her eyes wanted nothing more than to drink in every inch of him.

Literally what the fuck, she said to herself. Now was no time to pine for her partner.

The Akuma that stood before her was physically underwhelming in stature, but her clothing made up for it. The girl in front of them held herself at around 5’3 and couldn’t be more than 18, but her wicked smirk sent a chill through her spine. The girl was clad in an array of green from forest, sage, to mossy shades, the dress that adorned her body looking like that straight from greek mythology. It was made up of grand silks, almost entrancing Ladybug and Chat with the way that the fabric moved like rippling water. It was ethereal, really, but the closer she looked at it the deadlier it became.

From around the waist and shoulders, long strips of silk floated behind her like the snakes on the head of Medusa. They almost seemed to bend to her will, the fabric defying gravity. Not only were pieces of the dress floating, but so was her long dark hair. In her hand was a staff made from tree trunk like material. Resting atop her head was an obsidian black crown with spikes the length of Ladybug’s hand.

After looking around at the already distraught state of the street, their evaluation was over: she was not going to be another walk in the park.

“Shit,” Chat breathed out. It was at that moment that the villain opened her mouth to address both the heroes and bystanders.

“Citizens of Paris, I am Gi Mágissa. I am not here to compromise with your heroes. Others in the past have failed to retrieve what Hawk Moth desires, but I will not: today will be the day that you remember as the fall of Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Her voice resonated as if it was echoing off the walls. She shifted her gaze to the left, her eyes locking with the two of them.

“Give me your miraculous and I may decide to spare you and your city,” she said in a dangerously low voice. Her voice was smooth, yet it cut right through the two partners like a freezing wind in the dead of winter. Under any other circumstances, her words would be humorous, cheesy even, but this was not like anything else they faced.

Chat laughed as his trademarked smirk appeared. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that,” he said in mock thoughtfulness, almost like he was trying to recall a memory.

“Chat,” Ladybug hissed, “I’m starting to get the feeling that you won’t be able to joke your way out of this one,”

“C’mon m’lady, live a little.”

“Yeah, well I might not be alive to do so if you keep being an idiot.” Ladybug could feel the frustration rising in her as Chat continued to appear so casual and relaxed. How could he not sense that this was so much worse than before?

Chat turned to her and she could finally see his eyes. Despite his outward appearance, she saw the nervousness in his gaze. There was almost a buzz in the air, a metallic smell that made them wrinkle their noses: blood, iron maybe.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

#haley writes #fanfiction #mlb #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #adrein agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ladynoir #adrienette #adrien x marinette #ladybug x chat noir #chat noir #cat noir #mlb fanfic #mlb fanfiction #angst #fluff #fanfic #ky tag

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ladynestaarcheron · 3 years

Text

Invisible String - Chapter Two

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @iammissstark @sayosdreams @ncssian @westrangecollectionkoalaposts @queenestarcheron @nessiantrashh)

thank y’all so much for your kind words!! so happy to hear people are enjoying this. here’s chapter two!!

---

Her predicament is not new, but it's still a surprise for Nesta when she realizes if she wants to leave, she can simply go. She defers to no one, and hasn't for a while, but her lack of communication with Elain means something else: no one is going to miss her while she is gone.

She'll have to be quick. Feyre will notice, eventually, but there isn't anything odd about the pair of them not seeing each other for a week or so. And since there isn't anyone randomly, infuriatingly checking up on her anymore...

It stings more than she admits to herself.

But no matter. It's almost all behind her now.

With clothes packed enough for fortnight (she's certain she won't be gone that long, but it never hurts to be prepared), Nesta boards her carriage and waits.

A quiet, busy sort of air about her when she walks the streets of Velaris is enough to ensure no one try and talk to her, but evidently, the same is not promised for carriage rides. She supposes the only task she has to pretend to focus on is reading a book, and that's not enough to deter the passengers from incessant conversation.

"Are you traveling, Lady?" one asks her.

Obviously. "Yes," she answers.

"Will the High Lady be joining you?"

Ah, that didn't take long. She supposes she should be pleased--she can answer honestly, the faeries will all be disappointed and bored, and they'll leave her alone.

Alas.

"So are you in need of an escort, Lady?" a pretty female asks eagerly.

"No," she says, sharply. "Thank you," she adds.

"Are you traveling about the Court, Lady?"

"No," she says, hoping she sounds cryptic enough that they think they are not allowed to question further, "I have business elsewhere."

Delighted looks are exchanged amongst the young faeries, excited to have caught real Night Court fieldwork in the act.

Something moves inside of her, but Nesta's not sure what. She's not jealous, of course. She's never desired a career in politics in her life, she definitely doesn't want to start one now under Rhysand, and she certainly doesn't care enough for the well being of the people of this land to do so.

She's angry, she decides. Angry that these people are so taken with the Inner Circle.

Yes, that must be it.

There are magical checkpoints she passes, once she shows her papers and proves she's allowed to travel through five other Courts to get to Spring--most people on the journey seem to depart into Dawn and Summer, and by the time Nesta reaches the southernmost part of Prythian, she is alone.

"Good afternoon, Lady," the footmale says, bidding her goodbye. He and the carriage are gone before she can answer.

There's no point in dallying any longer, so she sets off on her way.

Spring is not as constructed as Night. There are no roads here--at least, not in this part of the Court--and Nesta can't see any buildings at all. Just a dirt path she walks along, with endless, lush green hills, rolling on either side of it. Thick-stemmed flowers of all kinds dot the grass, with fat bees fluttering from one to the next. Songbirds whistle to each other in the fruit trees. The air is almost dizzyingly sweet.

Nesta likes it, she decides. The quiet, the warmth. But probably not too many libraries.

She's not wearing a watch, but she guesses a half an hour of her walk has passed when the first sight of civilization comes into view. A metal gate in the middle of a dying hedge, encircling a mansion--an estate. White marble, with any number of ornate windows and patios and balconies.

Beautiful, but eerie, for every step she draws closer, the quieter it grows. There's not the barest trace of people inside, and even the birds can't be heard up the steps at the gash-ridden oak door.

She knocks, more out of habit than anything else. Of course, no one opens it, so she pushes it on her own.

Black and white checked flooring spills out to several doors and a vast staircase. Sunlight falls limply onto nothing, for any decor has been shoved away.

A door opens on her right. Nesta turns.

They only stare at each other for a minute, not speaking.

Tamlin looks worse than she remembers. Same golden hair, same gem-green eyes, but...thinner, perhaps, in his cheeks. Paler. Hollow.

Quite the same image she imagines others see when she looks at her, she realizes with a start.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice...devastated? But why?

Oh, she says to herself, the thought hitting her, he thought I was Feyre.

"You owe me a favor," she says.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Because this is your fault," she explains. "My...Hybern. So you owe me."

"Do I?"

She doesn't back down from his stare, only nods once.

"And who else do you blame? Or am I the only one?" His words are careful but she doesn't understand what he wants.

"You're all to blame," she says. "You're all murderers. None of you did a good enough job keeping humans safe. It's not my place to judge which of you is the most monstrous. I'm content to hate all of you quietly."

Tamlin chuckles--low, dark. "Not your place to judge?"

"Do you deny your role in my murder?" she snaps.

The shadow-grin on his face fades. "No," he says.

"Then help me."

His shoulders tense. "What do you want?"

Nesta inhales deeply. "You struck a deal with him...to undo the mating bond. Between my sister and Rhysand."

Tamlin stops breathing.

"I want to know how to do that."

He doesn't answer her. Stays silent for a full minute, before she presses on.

"Tell me how to do that."

"You're trying to--destroy--whose?" He is desperate, searching.

Her jaw clenches tightly. "That doesn't concern you."

"You can't."

"You thought it could be done, obviously. That's why you were willing to give us to Hybern--"

"I didn't--"

"--so just tell me."

He glares at her, and Nesta wonders, briefly, if she should be concerned. But she's too angry to be nervous. Her world has been thrown off its axis too many times now and this is something she knows she can fix. She has to.

"Don't you think," he says, through gritted teeth, "if I knew of any way to undo a mating bond, I would have done it myself?"

Nesta doesn't bother stifling her eye roll. "But how did you think he was going to do it?"

"I don't know." He looks to the side, to the nothing that lays beyond the manor. "I don't know what I thought."

Nesta does not have time for his introspection nor does she care. She puts her hands on her hips. "Well, who can I go to, then?"

Tamlin looks at her, surprised, as if he'd forgotten she's still here. "I suppose...you can catch a Suriel."

A Suriel. Nesta remembers talk of one, during the war. Feyre had gone to find one. But that one is dead now, she knows.

"How do I do that?"

Tamlin loosens a frustrated sigh. "If I catch one for you, are we even? You'll consider our score settled?"

Nesta scoffs. "I will never consider our score settled. But rest assured, if you catch me this Suriel and it tells me how to undo a mating bond, I will never have any reason to come to Spring again."

His head tilts as he considers her words. "Fine," he says, grudgingly. He stalks past her, out the door and down the steps. "Follow me."

She does, off the path and into a deceptively quiet grove that leads into an even more forbidding forest, and she doesn't know for how long--she really should get a watch--until he finally holds out his arm and says, without turning around, "Wait here."

He disappears into a thatch of shrubbery. Again, she wonders if she should be nervous. Tamlin's a High Lord--this land's High Lord. Surely, if she's here with him, nothing will attack her.

And there is also the matter of...herself.

A sharp hiss escapes the spot where Tamlin crossed into, and then he barks out, "Come here!"

Moving a fair bit of bush aside, Nesta steps into a small clearing. There's a quiet stream. Tamlin, beyond it, with his arms wrapped around...a Suriel.

Hunched over, beneath a robe that might have once been very finely embroidered, the creature looks up at her with eyes filled only with whites.

"For this you have caught me, High Lord?" it--he? She?--says, its cold voice making her flinch.

Tamlin rises, letting go of the Suriel. "She has something to ask you," he says flatly.

The Suriel doesn't run once he lets it go--scared of him or her? It only straightens out the collar of its robe with long gray fingers that appear as though they have been broken more than once. "What is it, Eve-daughter?"

It knows she was human. Once, at least.

No matter. That's not what she has come for.

"I want to know how to undo a mating bond," she says, keeping her voice even. "Please," she adds.

The Suriel clicks its tongue. "Most would consider such a bond a dearly loved gift."

Nesta bites her tongue. It won't do her any good to snap at this creature. "Can you tell me?" she asks.

"But you don't like anything gifted from the Cauldron, do you? No...you prefer your gifts stolen..."

Nesta's heart stutters. Tamlin looks on, curious, but she forces herself to keep eye contact with the Suriel. "Will you tell me?" she says, trying again.

Another hiss. "I can't tell you."

"But you know who can?" she presses, guessing at its linguistic trickery.

The Suriel bites its yellowed teeth together twice. "An old friend of yours, I would say."

An old friend...Amren? But Amren is only High Fae now, surely she doesn't have any powers like this anymore...and Amren's not an old friend. Only a former one.

"Call upon the one your sister bargained with," it says.

"Which one?" There are a great many, she suspects. Each deal more foolish than the last, she's certain. If she's come all the way to Spring just for a Suriel to tell her to go ask Rhysand--

"Bryaxis."

Oh.

Well.

"Where is Bryaxis now?" It had not returned to that library after the war.

"It'll come to you," the Suriel replies. "Call upon it."

Call upon...the only thing that Cassian fears.

Fine.

"What's that in your bag, Eve-daughter?"

Nesta looks down. "Clothes."

"Could you spare any?" it asks, clicking its fingers together.

She blinks. But she remembers all too well what it was like to be freezing, and is still at the mercy of stronger Fae, and she meant what she told Tamlin: they are all monsters here and she's not any authority on who amongst them is the worst.

"Sure," she says, and takes out the cloak she had brought. Simple. Charcoal gray, with purple hem so deep it's nearly black. She steels her arms as she extends it, willing herself not to show emotion when her fingers brush its.

The Suriel rises to its full height--taller than Nesta, obviously, but taller even than Tamlin. It slips off the tattered robe and lets it fall at its feet. Nesta's cloak hits its knees.

"Well," she says. "Goodbye, then." She turns on her heel and heads back through the bushes.

This time, Tamlin follows her. "Where are you going?" he asks.

"Back to Night." Where else can she go?

"You missed the last cross-Court carriage of the day. I'm not winnowing you there."

Her steps only falter slightly. "Well. I packed for this. Where's an inn?"

"You can stay at my estate."

This causes Nesta to stop and turn to him. "What do you think this is about?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are not coming with me to see Bryaxis. This is not about my sister."

He flinches. "I know that," he says, voice low, rough. "I...I let her go. Weren't you there?"

When Rhysand died, he means. "I don't care," she says honestly.

"You can stay at my home for tonight," he says again. "See Bryaxis in the morning."

Nesta thinks about it. Is staying in Tamlin's home worse than staying in Rhysand's?

No.

But she still doesn't want to.

"No," she says to him. "I won't come ask you for anything again. You can consider us square, if you like."

So for the second time, she turns and leaves him. This time, he does not follow.

When the sun sets, Nesta stops walking. This was a good idea, she thinks, even as her heart beats in her throat. It's good precisely because of her fear. Her fear of being alone in a strange land, at night, with no sense of direction, and no way to get back until tomorrow.

Because now, what choice does she have but to go to Bryaxis.

Hoping her walk has helped to summon some nerve, Nesta lays her bag down neatly at her feet and smooths her hair. She clears her throat.

"Bryaxis," she says, the stupidity she feels stronger than any scariness, "I call upon you."

She stands there, looking out onto flowing hills and nothing else, feeling foolish, at best.

Perhaps Tamlin had offered her a kindness. A safe place for the night. Then she could have taken a carriage back in the morning and swallowed her pride and asked Amren for help finding Bryaxis.

Her spine straightens suddenly--only then does she hear. Her body recognizes it before her mind.

"Nesta Archeron," it says, from behind her.

She does not turn to look, keeps herself focused on a spot on a distant hill. "Hello," she says.

"You have grown thinner," it notes.

"I can't be sure, but I imagine you look much the same." The words are out before she can stop them.

But--Bryaxis laughs. Dark, shivering, under her bones. But a laugh, all the same.

Not so terrifying, she thinks. Just...stare ahead. Don't turn around. She can do that.

"To what do I owe the pleasure? So far from...your home."

"The Night Court is not my home."

"Oh?" it asks, mildly interested. "So where would it be?"

She hesitates. "I...am from the south of the island."

"Is that your home?"

Nesta exhales slowly. The Suriel had called her Eve-daughter, had it not? Why shouldn't she be allowed to claim human lands as hers?

"But I believe you have a question for me, Nesta Archeron."

"I do." Nesta takes another deep breath. "I want to undo my mating bond."

"That's not a question."

"...can you undo my mating bond?"

"I can."

She almost wishes she could turn around. Almost.

"Will you?" she asks, and pinches her fingers.

"Neither you nor I come from the Night Court," Bryaxis says, "but we have both found ourselves residing there, have we not?"

"I...yes." Small talk with this demon...is that the price to say? To ensure her sister's happiness, get her to speak to her again?

"A special history of bargains in the Night Court. Your sister broke ours, you know."

Nesta stiffens. "You left. How could she fulfill it?"

That laugh again. "Perhaps you can fulfill it for her."

She hesitates, bringing her hand up to touch her hair. "What...would you like me to do?"

"Tell me why you want your bond broken."

Sucking in her bottom lip, Nesta tugs a lock of her hair out of its coronet. "It was only given to me to hurt me. Because my sister cares for him."

"Tell me why, Nesta Archeron."

She closes her eyes. Do it, she commands herself. Just--say it, just this once, and then it'll be over.

Eyes still shut tight, she nods slowly. "The bond...hurts me because it hurts Elain because she cares for Azriel. And it hurts me..." Just say it, you stupid girl. "...because I...care for his brother." Her voice cracks, barely a whisper on the last word.

Her cheeks heat up. There--she's admitted it. She's said it.

Oh, she--she hates this. Hates it so much. She hates him. For everything he's done to her. How he treats her, even though he makes her feel--how he makes her feel! Far too many ways!

Everything about him. His hair and his eyes and his skin and his arms and his stupid smirk and his vile tongue and every single one of his fingertips and his scent and his thighs and his shoulders and--

"There, Nesta Archeron," Bryaxis says softly. "That's it."

Nesta fists her hands together. "Will you just end it now?"

"Certainly," it says. Something cool reaches out and caresses her cheek. "Face me."

The touch is gentle, almost loving. Not scary. Not threatening. So she does.

The gentleness ends there--it all goes dark.

When she opens her eyes, the sun is rising...in the Night Court.

"Good morning, Nesta Archeron," Bryaxis says from behind her.

Nesta pushes up off the ground. She's dressed in one of the night-things she brought in her bag.

"I brought you to this place neither of us call home," it says. "Our bargain is done."

She reaches down to pick a cardigan out of her bag, but her arms are shaking. That same touch from before--gentle, sweet--picks it and helps her put it on.

"Thank you," she says, her voice coming out in a whisper. She tries to swallow, but it burns.

"You should go to the High Lord's house. They're all waiting for you." Bryaxis pushes her a bit forward. Not roughly, just enough to get her legs moving on their own again. "Call upon me again, Nesta Archeron...when you'd like."

Bryaxis' essence disappears. Without looking behind her, she knows it is gone.

Strange looks punctuate her on her walk to Feyre's home. The High Lady's sister, dressed in a nightdress, clutching a travel bag. All she wants to is get back to her apartment and shower off the past day, but if they're all waiting for her...she supposes it can wait.

She wants to see Elain, anyway. Wants to show her...how much she loves her. What she did for her.

Bryaxis had been kind, though. Had hidden most of the pain from her. Only the aftermath remains, like the hollowness she always feels after her cycle, or shaking after being sick.

She stops dead in her tracks and gasps violently. The hollowness...it's not hollowness at all. It's...wholeness. Because she's whole. She's alone.

The mating bond is gone.

A laugh--a real laugh, carefree and joyous--escapes her. For the first time in...she can't remember how long. Every step after is easier, lighter. And she is more eager to take it. Elain awaits. Elain and...

She practically skips up to the riverfront manor, not able to fully suppress the small smile on her face as she throws the door open. She starts to call her sister's name, but the sight in the front room cuts her off.

Elain is there, with Feyre. Elain lies in the latter's lap, shaking slightly. Rhysand sits behind Feyre, on the floor, his hand on her back. Her tear-stained face is still. Azriel sits on a chair, arms propped up on his lap and head buried in his palms. Morrigan sits on a couch by Amren, who stares blankly at the wall.

It is Amren who first looks up and sees her. She inhales sharply, which makes them all, one by one, look to her...and then to what she is staring at. Nesta.

Elain notices last, her face still at Feyre's legs. With their younger sister's soft cry, Elain picks up her head and turns.

She bolts upright. Nesta jerks back for her suddenness. She is wrecked.

"Nesta?" she breathes.

Nesta looks around. "What?" she says, uncomfortable and bewildered.

"You..." Elain reaches out a hand. She stumbles a few feet forward, and touches Nesta's cheek. Clammier than Bryaxis, and not nearly as gentle. "You're alive."

Morrigan rises next. "I'm going to find Cassian," she says, to no one in particular. "Tell him..." She gives Nesta a look of--fright?--and scurries out of the house.

Quite suddenly, Nesta comes back to herself. "What is going on?" she demands.

Elain draws her hands back towards herself, looking at her fingers, as if she thinks they are not real, either.

"Feyre, it's okay," Rhys says to her sister, who has gone very white.

"What is going on?" she says again.

It's Azriel who answers, standing up fast. Far too fast. "You...were...dead."

"I...what?" Nesta asks. "What are you--oh."

The bond...when it had...because she had not told them.

Oh.

Perhaps...this has not been her best thought out plan, she thinks.

"Well," she says. "I'm...I'm not dead." She looks to Azriel. "I...undid the bond."

Every one of them-like they're all puppets on a string controlled by one person-tenses at the same time. In any other situation, it would be funny.

But it's this situation. So all that happens is Elain, bursting into hysterical tears, and running away.

No, Nesta decides. Not her best thought out plan.

#nesta archeron #nessian #azriel #good news for all you bryaxis fans out there! lol #hope bryaxis is okay and we get to see them in acosf actually

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akvtsuki-ari · 4 years

Text

Semantics

Warnings: dom!spencer, sub!reader, choking, throatfucking, dirty talk, fucking through clothes, humiliation/degradation

Length: 5.4k

Authors Note: idk how to explain the plot of this fic all that well but i hope yall like this! by the way, the two positions Spencer puts you in is the prison guard position and the pole positon, in that order i spent some time on it and i hope yall like it lmfaosjdkh

Plot Summary: You and Spencer could date other people but you both knew that it wouldn’t matter in the end.

There are few things to consider as a universal truth but some things just are. An example of that is here ;the only difference between fucking and making love were semantics. Most things in life are - semantics being the study of meaning in linguistics . As far as our universe knows, sex is an act born only out of necessity and frustration. The need to have sex to make life or the need to have sex because your body was responding to its urges and desires, aka frustration

Maybe in a lot of ways, your need to frustrate Spencer was innate to your humanity. An urge that speaks from generations past. It’s hard to say for sure why it’s happened but you both know how - it’s what has both of you in the place you are now.

Several months ago you and Spencer started hooking up. Casual sex and late night conversation at best, before life picked up any remaining free time and the both of you returned to back to reality. It was a stress reliever, a good time with no strings attached and no stakes involved. You wanted it that way and so did he - but shit always changes. Even when things aren’t supposed to be so complicated they are - because it’s almost inevitable that someone is going to catch feelings. Someone is going to feel something out for the other person or hell - someone else and things are just bound to get sticky and tangled. That’s the nature of casual endeavors - they’re designed to be ephemeral so when the date passes it all becomes complicated. Scintilla, a spark that passes through cold air and then disappears. That’s what hook-ups are intended for but you and Spencer just never figured out how to follow the rules. Neither of you were good at that.

It’s unclear who broke them first - whether your feelings of jealousy were the catalyst for what becomes of both of you. Was it Spencer for indulging her? Was it Spencer’s fault for whispering sweet nothings in her neck when he knew when you were watching? Or was it yours for retaliating? Too stubborn in your own regard to let him win. Spencer wasn’t really one for mind games of this kind but he couldn’t control himself it seemed like. It’s hard to say who started it - two parties indulging in lust-driven pettiness.

Her name started with an S, but you always managed to forget it. She was pretty, eyes low and so interested in Spencer. Her hands would wrap around his shoulders, resting her head on them when he was looking away. She’d drape herself over him at any chance and Spencer would whisper sweet-nothings to her. Laugh with her and look to you, eyes not full of challenge but faux neutrality. Spencer’s neck would always crane to look at her with surprise but you knew better.

It bothered you for a while, but who were you to be caught in a love triangle? He’s the one who had to live with it, after all - every time he was in-between your legs, he’d know she was never you. Still - you weren’t one to give up so quickly and Spencer was waiting on it. Check in 3 moves, your turn.

Imitation is the biggest form of flattery so when you walked into the function with a man on your hip - he wasn’t surprised. He watched the man who followed you in, the way his eyes were all over you. The way you sat on his lap, giving him all your time and attention - stroking his ego just because. You’d giggle at the shared promises, the feeling of his hands on your back. He was gentlemanly with you, carefully paying attention to you and no one else. He was handsome enough to get approached but he’d show disinterest before returning to you. He was moth to flame, but who was surprised? A woman as beautiful as you could do less to achieve that and you just happened to be so much more.

Every work function of any scale, your plus ones would follow you in as you and Spencer would speak to each-other in careful language. It was subtlety that was key because the two of you were the only people who knew that this was happening. It was behind the scenes a love story born of shadows, if you could call it that at all.

Penelope’s Christmas party was the beginning of the end, really.

“How’s Tyler?,” Spencer’s voice is minimal. You were impressed that he managed a name. He looks at you as you pour a glass of wine and you look back, flashing him a smile.

”He’s good. In the other room talking to Rossi and Tara about cars, I think,” you explain softly, wistfully. Spencer looks at the way you talk about him and a part of him seethes. Always does.

“How’s Sarah?,” you ask warmly. You bite your tongue as you talk but it’s killing you. He looks at you, brows quirked smiling back.

“She’s good. Her and Penelope are talking about cats,” Spencer laughs warmly. You hate the way he sounds about it. You want nothing more than to argue with him.

Speak of the devil, you figure. Sarah walks towards Spencer, immediately wrapping herself around Spencer’s side. She whispers something in Spencer’s ear and he smiles, whispering something back before looking to you, eyes full of challenge. You don’t say anything, smiling back at him before you sit up on the kitchen counter. Spencer watches as your skirt hiked up - the garter around your thigh making him... distracted. You just look at him for a second, looking into his expression before getting irritated.

Tyler walks in soon after and you give him a small smile. Sarah is quick to say hello to him and he returns it with ease. He’s polite, always is.

“You ready to go Y/N,” He asks kindly. You give him a grin, wrapping arms around his neck and drawing him in, burying your face in his neck before nodding. He laughs for a second and looks at you as you lift yourself up.

“Weirdo,” he jokes. You scrunch your expression up at him before looking at Spencer. His jaw is tight - you win.

“We’re gonna hit the hay, y’all, I’ll see you tomorrow though,” you say back. Spencer just nods, awarding you a tight lipped smile.

“See you,” his voice is a distant sound as you walk with Tyler.

_____

But, hook-ups were ephemeral, predestined to be anything but long-lasting and in order for things not to get sticky it was only a week after that you and Tyler broke things off. Tyler was too kind for you to let things get too messy. So you didn’t, and for you that was the end of road. Spencer was well... Spencer, still.

The game was still on, but you had no moves for now. You figured for now you just go and have fun, see what happened.

That would work better than you wanted. The next function was Tara’s birthday. She was disappointed that you and Tyler had ended things but was happy to hear you two were friends. You wish you could explain everything else to her but you figure that it’s obsolete.

Spencer was there with Sarah, eyeing you as the both of them sat in the corner. He watched you carefully, not frustrated just... interested.

He catches the way you look to the people around you - listening intently. Your eyes would flash with challenge while you and Luke played drinking games, truth or dare. He watched the way you talked to Luke, confident and excited. He watched the way you danced and ignored him, and it was getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

There was something in the universe that said this was it. He wasn’t sure what it was, or how to explain it. He knew the moment Sarah said she needed to go home, the moment he walks into the kitchen and sees you swaying to music while you poured yourself a drink. The way you talked to him - mostly sober but tipsy enough to just speak candidly. Spencer was in for it, that much was so goddamn obvious now.

“Where’s Sarah?,” your voice is curious.

“Went home, she has a long day tomorrow. For work,” he clarified. You hum in response.

“That sucks, you must be bored,” you say honestly. Spencer shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says back. You look at him curiously, eyes reading his expression that seems so far out.

“She’s sweet,” you say earnestly. You stand next to him, sipping your drink as you stare out. Spencer looks over at you and nods.

“You’d know something about that,” his voice is low. You’re a little startled, but you just pick yourself up to walk out of the kitchen.

“Too soon,”

——

Soon the picture was bound to fall together. Sarah and Spencer ended things - on good terms but it didn’t matter. It was just you and Spencer again, stagnant in an impossible place with impossible ends. Months of jealousy and mind games, combined with stubbornness wasn’t going to end in a way that was pretty but maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe that’s what needed to happen.

Spencer broke first. Months of frustration would do that to a man who fucked you like you were the only woman on earth. It was just a text message, it should’ve been just a text message anyways but how could it be? No such thing as simplicity in this universe the two of you shared, one of jealous reminders and sly comments. All that subtext meant that the build up was that much more impactful.

Spencer: How long has it been?

You: Long enough.

You: Checkmate.

Spencer: Good game, Y/N.

It probably wouldn’t make a lick of sense to anyone else but you and Spencer just knew. You knew what it was - an invitation to come over like you’d done so many times before. It was a recognition that the game was over and it was up to you to reap the benefits of your long-term, maddening and frustrating endeavors.

——-

The drive to Spencer’s house was taking more time than it normally did. You knocked at his door and when you opened it, there Spencer was. He was pretty.

“Come in,” Spencer’s voice was low. The whole environment was thick with an immediate feeling of lust - derived of painfully long and drawn out arguing. It was foreplay in its own right, you suppose.

It was instantaneous. Like the second the door shut behind you, Spencer backed you into a wall - shedding your coat while his hands found themselves underneath your blouse. He hikes your leg up to his side as he looks at you, down into your eyes as his lips and breath ghost over yours. Your breathing is so fast you’re afraid you might pass out. You can’t help yourself whimper. Spencer voice borders visceral.

“You’re gonna drive me fucking insane,” Spencer comments. You hold your eye contact.

“I always was,” you challenge Spencer still. You were determined to piss him off as much as humanly possible because you needed him to own you.

Spencer can’t hold out for another second as his lips press against yours. Open mouthed kisses that are carried over and drawn out, as Spencer’s hands grip your thighs - pushing his hips to yours. He’s so eager to touch you - fuck you over and over again until you’re too tired to speak. Spencer was ready to do things to you that he’d never let himself do before. When his teeth tug at you bottom lip, tongue let reckless along your lips as he kisses you deeper - you know he’s been thinking of you. He’s indulging his own selfish desires by kissing you this way and he knows it. You kiss him back with just as much frustration and anger.

It needs to be everything. It needs to fulfill your needs and desires that have been growing for the last few months and you’ll fuck him till sunrise, sit on his face and disrespect him till he gets it. That he’s yours just as much as your his.

You and Spencer kiss like there’s no oxygen left, but you pull back from Spencer to breathe. Your chest rising and falling as Spencer looks at you - really looks at you. His eyes are full of fire.

“Don’t you wanna talk, Spencer?,” your voice is biting. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“You start,” Spencer comments, picking you up as he buries his face in your neck. You smile for a second as he carries you to his bedroom.

“Was she good?,” it’s your first question of the night, Spencer shrugs as he lays you down. His fingers work to unbutton your blouse, eyes glued to your chest. Lace, it was new but not new enough to be for him. A purposeful move on your part as Spencer’s fingers work their way around your back, unclasping it and letting it fall from your frame. You lift your hands up as Spencer slides it off of you - eyes drinking in the sight of you. He hasn’t seen you on display like this and fuck did he miss it. He doesn’t know where to start so he starts at your neck. Kisses being pressed onto your jaw, you relish the way Spencer’s hands find you. They find themselves at your hips, encouraging them to wrap around his waist which you do without question.

Spencer’s lips are soft, his teeth scrape along patches of skin as you crane your neck up so he can get more room. He draws your skin between his lips, sucking softly before kissing the marks, admiring the broken capillaries underneath your skin for a few seconds before continuing. You almost wanna laugh at how much he adores them and they way they decorate your neck.

“She was good,” Spencer replies to you between actions. You’re a little distracted but you had so much you wanted to know still.

“Better than me?,” your voice is bitter. Spencer laughs, pressing his dick against you, before speaking.

“What if she was?,” Spencer replies back.

“Answer the question,” you demand. Spencer looks up at you as your expression shifts into one much more displaced.

He decided to be honest with you.

“Not better than you,” Spencer responds softly, mouth travel down to your chest. His mouth finds your nipples, his tongue flicking against t back and forth. The wet trail it leaves behind a cold sensation that made you a little dizzy to how easy they came to attention. Spencer’s fingers touch them carefully, brushing against them with rhythm. You moan, shivering at them.

You felt good - but you could feel something missing in the endeavor. Spencer was holding back and you could feel it, slowly reverting back to his old ways by keeping you out of his thoughts and you weren’t going to let that happen again.

“Spencer,” you warn. Spencer’s eyes are glassy, but you sit up to look at Spencer. He sits back on his knees and looks at you as you fix yourself up.

“Don’t do this shit,” you explain carefully. Spencer rubs his face with his hands, not saying anything.

You look at him, your chest bubbling with anger and borderline resentment as he stared at you. His expression is unreadable, as his eyes gaze to your body then flick back up to you.

“For fucksake, Spencer - I’m not doing this. Gimme my shit so I can leave,” you say beyond annoyed. This was one of the problems - that Spencer didn’t have the backbone to just be real with you. Not about how he felt, not about how you made him feel. He always counted on you to force the upper hand but not this time. Semantics required that both of you participate accurately to how you feel and it was always your job. When Spencer sees you move, he holds you back and looks into you. His eyes are dark.

“You’re so fucking aggravating, you know that,” Spencer leans into your neck, his hands on your back as you go to move away from him.

“Clearly not,” you complain. Spencer’s hands come around your neck, both of the around your throat as he forces you to look up at him.

“Color?,”

“Green,”

“You wanna know I’m holding back, Y/N,” he says into your ear. You’re too stubborn to choke out a yes.

“Because you’re such a fucking brat and you haven’t earned it,” He speaks into your ears. You can feel his hands grip tightly around the column of your throat.

“Everytime you open your mouth you manage to piss me off. You think it’s cute to be like that, don’t you? ,” His hands release from your neck as you look at him with suprise, trying to hold back your delight. He unzips his pants and pull his cock out.

”Get on your knees,”

“I don’t want to,” you lied between your teeth. You wanted to suck the soul out of Spencer’s body but you needed him to keep this up.

His hands grip your hair and pull tightly. A gasp escapes your mouth as your eyes flutter up to look at him.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking,” Spencer laughs sarcastically, he leans into your ear “Get on your fucking knees,”

You stand up stubbornly and do as your told, keeping your mouth shut as you watch Spencer stand up over you. He’s intimidating like this, his dick clear over your face. He’s huge, which is good and bad.

“Open,” Spencer asks. Your instinct is to open your mouth and stick your tongue out like Spencer had instructed you to do so many times before but you don’t. You look at him dumbly, watch as he hands cup your jaw, tilting your head to look at him.

“It’s only been a few months and you’ve forgotten where you belong so quickly,” Spencer hums. His hands rests on the side of your face as he looks down at you.

“Tyler wasn’t putting you in your place like you deserve to be, no wonder you’ve acted out so much,” he comments, annoyance clear in his voice.

His thumb presses against your lips, forcing your mouth open. You’re quick to oblige after that, your tongue stuck out as you await Spencer.

“Good girl,” The praise is music to your fucking ears. You knew he didn’t want to say, but he meant it and that’s what mattered. You rub your thighs together, as Spencer hits the tip of his cock against tor tongue.

“Before, I would’ve never done this, but you’ve just somehow managed to upset me so much that the prospect of you interrupting my thoughts is so annoying that I just have to make sure I shut you up,” Spencer explains lengthily.

Spencer eases his way to the back of your throat, his hand on the back of your head as he feels his dick hit the back of your throat. Spencer’s bigger than you remember him being, and the idea that he was going to fuck your throat made you sore, voice already disappearing. You just look up at him, through long lashes and Spencer groans.

“Touch yourself and I won’t fuck you for months,” Spencer warns. You damn yourself for wanting to obey him and doing as he says.

Spencer’s hips pullback before he snaps them back to the back of your throat. You choke on and Spencer relishes in the noise. Tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you managed to look up at him. Mascara runs under your eyes as Spencer falls into rhythm, filling your throat with his length at a constant speed. The sounds of you gagging around it filled the room as Spencer’s voice fell to your ears, spit spilling from the corners of your lips. You move your hands to wipe it away and Spencer’s stops you.

“Leave it, you’re prettier like that,”

Jesus Christ.

“You always manage to make me so angry, and I’m honestly kinda impressed by it,” Spencer says softly, groans mixed with his commentary. You hum for him to continue and the sensation makes his leg twitch.

“You’re just so fucking stubborn. If you would’ve told me you were so jealous, I would’ve ended things immediately,” he admits to you.

“Then Tyler came around and I lost my patience,” he explains, fingers brushing your hair out of your face.

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re mine,” Spencer repeats. You feel your heart melt.

“Seeing you with Tyler was lesson enough, so I’m gonna fuck you until every memory you had with him is shit compared to how I fuck you,”

“Every mark on your body, my dick down your throat - stretching you out when I fuck you. I should’ve know this was what you wanted really,” Spencer quips. You groan around him - absolutely turned on by his possession.

“You’re a slut for me, and me only, right love?,” Spencer asks you, pulling his dick out from the brutal session as you look to him with a bordering disgusting amount of adoration.

“Yes, sir,” your voice is hoarse as you look up at him. His eyes look at you with so much love as he smiles down at you.

“You’re so good for me,” Spencer says softly. He kisses you softly and slow and you could cry from how pliabld you felt.

“Sir, I love you,” your voice was fucked beyond belief. Spencer’s heart melts at the combination of title and sub space. He kisses you softly, petting your hair and wiping your chin of spit.

“I love you too, princess,” He says, making sure that you two talk about it later. “You still want it rough, sweetheart?,” he asks checking up on you. You appreciate the sentiment but you shake your head with vigor.

“If you don’t fuck me like a total brat I’m going to be unbelievably upset,” you say, the sad thought sobering you up immediately. He laughs aloud, kissing you again.

“Okay, what’s your safeword?,” Spencer asks.

“Gren for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop,” you repeat obediently. Spencer smiles.

“Get on the bed for me,” Spencer says softly. You oblige fast, holding your legs in the air as Spencer kneels between your legs. Your legs wrap around his shoulders pulling him closer and he chuckles.

Spencer’s rock hard, thinking about the outfit you chose for him. White cotton panties that left a mess all over your thighs and clit. The stain between your legs makes it hard for Spencer to slow down.

Spencer places a kiss on your clit, swollen and untouched, your cry immediately in his ear, your hands gripping his hair as he places kisses all over your clothed pussy, your skirt pushed over your stomach. His fingers hook into your underwear, sliding them down, and letting you maneuver your legs to slide them off. You go to take the skirt off but Spencer stops you.

“Leave it,” He breathes out. You nod, biting your lip as you feels Spencer lips work around your clit. He doesn’t make you wait long, and you’re not sure whether or not you should be grateful or scared for whats to come.

Spencers mouth is terribly skillfully, his tongue licking a long swipe - collecting arrousal in his mouth before spitting it back onto your clit. You were a goner before this but watching Spencer do something so filthy really pushed you to the edge. You grinded against his mouth but he pushes your hips down. He uses his fingers to spread you, eyeing how wet you are before closing his eyes - tongue placing long flat swipes along it. Your clit pulsates as he buries his face between your legs - tongue placing minmal pressure it as his head bob up and down. Spencer was so good at giving head it was kind of annoying. He’d draw you close to the edge a few times like that, watching as your legs shake before he slows down again -mpaying attention to your thighs and waist everytime he watched you come down from your high.

“Spencer, please let me cum - please,”

“Please what?,”

“Please sir,” your voice escapes you as you hear Spencer chuckles looking at you pathetically. He shakes his head.

“Brats don’t get to cum so soon, you wanna cum - you have to earn it remember?,” Spencer reminds. You whine at the reminder, immediately protesting.

“I did earn it, I did,” your argument is meaningless but you wanted to cum - needed to cum and if he doesn’t give it to you soon you were going to cry.

“Aw, is that so? You behaving while I facefucked you means you earned an orgasm huh? That’s news to me, love,” Spencer says sarcastically. You aren’t sure how you could be more turned on but here you were. Spencer could be so biting when he wanted to be and it drove you up the wall.

“God,” you were infuriatingly turned on. Spencer strips of his shirt and pants, leaving the both of you in similar positions. You lay in wait for further instructions, but catch Spencer admiring you for a second. You hide your face in your hand and Spencer refrains from saying anything. He wants to tell you you’re so cute and that he loves you but he’s still supposed to be being mean to you - so his hands are tied.

“Stand up,” Spencer instructs. You oblige, stretching a bit as you do. Spencer comes behind you, pressing his dick against your backside as his voice is drawn next to your ear.

“You wanna cum don’t you?,” Spencer asks. You nod, chewing the inside of your lip.

“But, I already told you you have to earn didn’t I?,” Spencer repeats, you nod again.

“Use your words,” Spencer orders. Your voice croaks out.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then bend over with your hands behind your back and take it for me, will you?,” Spencer instructs. You do as your told, bending down, placing your hands behind your back. You feel Spencer's hands grip around your wrist - holding you up as he lines himself up at your entrance. It’s a slow, aching burn. Your more wet than you can really fathom being, but Spencer manages to make you feel tight. Every inch of him slowly gnawing you from the inside but it feels so good. It aches so good - you don’t recall the last time you felt this fucking full. Spencer was sunken into you so deeply, it felt like he belonged there. Like every claim about your body is his when he fucks you wasn’t just showy shit-talk but facts, plain and simple. You didn’t really know it could feel that good to get fucked before this and it could’ve been anything that made it so maddening.

Spencer's hips pound you out. You can’t feel everytime he speeds up, slows down, moves up or draws the gesture out. Your body aches, but the position is so goddamn perfect - hitting your g spot, pressing up against it so forcefully - you feel your legs threaten to give out everytime he hits it. It’s fucking ridiculous - fucking ridiculous how good fucking one person could be but Spencer proved himself every damn time.

“Wanna fuck you on the bed, love,” Spencer leans down to whisper. You let Spencer rebalance you as you stand up, and Spencer pulls out. You whimper, missing the feeling of him in you, but you soon feel Spencer's arms around you.

“You’re too pretty to make such filthy noises, my love,” Spencer whispers “But that’s what sluts do, don’t they? Be pretty and filthy all at once,”

You’re really incoherent. You want to say something that makes sense, argue back and fight with him but your desire to cum so hard you black out is much stronger than any urge you may have had to fight. You don’t know how to do anything but whine, so high-pitched and needy you feel like your voice could crack and disappear. Spencer just laughs.

He lays down, and awaits you. You managed to get on the bed, facing away from Spencer as you throw your legs on either side of him. He bends his knee, as you turn to straddle his thigh - pressed against your clit. He clenches the muscle and you feel your legs shake.

“Sir, please tell me I’ve earned it,” are the first words that leave your lips as you begin griding against Spencers thighs, riding his dick to the point your thighs felt like they’d give out at any second. Spencer groans at the feeling of you convulsing, so close to the edge. Spencer just nods.

“You’re such a good girl for me, of course you can cum for me,” Spencer says lovingly, voice missing any trace of disrespectful strict dom Spencer. Replaced with adoring Spencer in an instant.

“Fuck, fuck - Spencer, thank you. Oh my god, thank you,” you hold onto Spencer's legs as your orgasm breaks the tension rope that was holding it back. You’re unknotted, the feeling of pleasure clawing at all the aches that appeared all over your body, your skin burning. Your stomach was full of butterflies, all releasing at the same time as your entire body convulsed around Spencer. It was earth-shattering - your body struggling to keep up as you cum the hardest you have in months. It was so fucking good, the type of orgasm that keeps you awake for days at a time.

You breathe out, steady yourself as you slide off of Spencer and get on all fours infront of him. You take his dick into your mouth, sucking on the tip before taking all of it in your mouth. Spencer groans aloud as he finished into your throat, and you swallow without hesitation. Spencer looks at you so adoringly right after, as you crawl onto his chest and lay on him. He wraps his arms around you and smiles at you so brightly, it could blind you.

“You did so good for me, I’m so proud of you,” Spencer praises. You blush hiding in his chest, looking at him with disgraceful amounts of affection.

“You ready for aftercare?,”

You nod lazily, before Spencer sits up and whisks you away to the shower.

___

You knew that you were in love with Spencer a while ago - but until now you hadn’t realize just how much you missed him. His fingers were massaging shampoo into your hair, the shower lightly pouring on the both of you as you made idle and loving conversation. There was a suprising about of things to catch up on. Spencer kissed your shoulders as he continued on.

“I liked Sarah, you know,” you say softly. Spencer is confused by your sudden statement.

“I really did - but at the time I just figured we were just having sex so it made me jealous when I saw you with her. I didn’t know how to tell you so I just let it be but it was killing me,” you confess honestly, wiping your nose as you sniffled. Spencer wrapped his arms around your back and kissed your neck - softly pressing kisses to all the bruises from the moments before. You leaned into him and sighed and he held you for a long while.

“We were never anything more than casual,” Spencer assures you. You nod, turning around to face him. Your arms envelope Spencer, holding him close to you with your face carefully in the crook of his neck.

“I know, but still, sex is just sex and the rest is semantics isn’t it,”

“Well, yeah. It means something to me when I do this to you. You’re my world, so it means I love you. Maybe it looks the same but it feels so different, it feels right when it’s you,” Spencer says sadly. You look up at him tear eyed and he smiles at you.

“I love you, Spencer,” you say softly. He hugs you and makes you feel so safe. Even after all the words and glances and difficulties Spencer shows you in bed - he gives you twice that in love without question. He makes you feel whole, even when he was the one who unraveled you. He adores you, so clearly and you adore him too.

___

taglist: @cynbx @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt @reid-187 @louistwinslover @nomajdetective

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dom!spencer #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #lmfaooo this was a wild ride to write but hope yall like lmfao

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yelenasdog · 3 years

Text

il un a visage gentil (prof!gwilym lee x prof! gn reader)

genre: fluff

summary: who knew the attractive english lit professor also happened to speak french? not his new coworker, that’s for sure.

words: 1.7k

warnings: reader embarassing herself a lil bit, that’s it :)

a/n: hi!! first of all, no pronouns are used as this is from readers pov, so anyone can read. second of all, so i typically don’t write for gwil, but i had this idea in french the other day when my french teacher (sweet old french man who deserves better LMAODSJO) was going over some assignment that for some reason had il un a visage gentil in it LOLOL. that being said, i obvi don’t speak fluent french and this is all fictional! love u, hope u enjoy!!

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

“Hello everyone, and welcome to your first day. I’m Dr Gwilym Lee, and I am the head of the English Literature Department here at Oxford University. Feel free to call me Gwil, it’s what all my students do.”

I slanted my eyes from my position at the door, gripping the frame just a tad tighter than I had been before hearing his voice. I continued to listen to the doctor talk as I made my way behind the last row of seats in the lecture room, trying not to make any noise. My heels were thankfully mute against the carpet, not drawing any attention towards me, the professor keeping complete focus on his students.

“One of the first things I wanted to kind of, um, touch on, is that I will be quite flexible. I understand that you have lives, as do I. As long as I can see an honest effort being put into my class, I will hold no repercussions for late work or being physically late to class.”

With that, he looked up to where I had just sat down, quirking a brow. The eye contact was momentary, only lasting what seemed to be a second, if that.

I cleared my throat, looking to my feet.

“We at the english department are quite proud of our status, ranking 4th in english programs overall in the UK. Now I won’t continue to bore you with the statistics, but-“

I made a scan of the room, seeing how only 1 or 2 pupils were actually listening, the rest either slumped over looking at their phones, or pretending to take notes on a laptop while really watching netflix. (More than one student was watching gossip girl, oddly enough.)

Considering it was only 5 minutes into the hour long lecture, I was confused, as he was holding my attention, at least, quite well.

After about 30 minutes, I realized that my own “first day lecture” was in 15 minutes, which assured that I most definitely had to leave. I was saddened by this (even though I had only even planned on staying in Gwil’s room for a small while.

I sighed quietly, picking myself up from the surprisingly comfortable seats and making my way towards the door. Just as I was about to go, I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head. I turned, realizing Gwilym to be the perp. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again, quickly walking out and down the hallway to my own room.

I made it in, hurrying down the many stairs, past where a few students were waiting.

“Hi, everyone, I’ll just be a few moments, just waiting for the rest of your new classmates to arrive.”

I smiled briefly, before slamming my office door audibly, chest heaving with my back against the shaded window. I closed my eyes, unaware of why I had been so panicked by the brief interaction, not to mention the butterflies it hatched in my stomach.

After giving myself some time to decompress, I exhaled, smoothing out the skirt of my dress and rotating. I placed a hand on the handle, preparing myself for the fresh faced freshman.

As I opened the door, I heard half a knock, before whoever was behind the door (poor soul) essentially fell on top of me.

Expecting to see a red faced pupil who had just made a very interesting first impression, I looked up, suddenly becoming the one with a warm and itchy wave of embarrassment making its way up my neck.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” He stood up, reaching out a hand. I hesitated before reaching forward and gripping tightly, allowing him to tug me up.

“It’s alright, Gwil, really.”

He opened his mouth (not that I was paying any mind to his lips), presumably to ask my name. Before he got the chance, I beat him to it, blurting out my full title, unfortunately in a quite awkward way.

The students that had gathered had mostly turned their attention elsewhere by now, only a few of them still watching the live disaster that was my interaction with the incredibly attractive man in front of me.

He spoke up as I tried to maneuver my way around him to the podium positioned in the front of the room where my laptop was waiting.

“Well, I had assumed you were a student who was trying to sneak off early, but I stand corrected, then.” He looked around my slowly filling space, a slight amusement hiding in his gaze.

“Yes, sorry, I had caught you at a bad time, I was hoping to introduce myself, you know, trying to make a good impression. Feels like the first day of school all over again.” I laughed, bringing a hand up to brush away a stray strand that had somehow managed to escape my bun.

“It’s alright, don’t stress about it. And trust me, I get it. New jobs are scary.”

I huffed, looking out at the sea of judgmental young people that I now would have to face after that fiasco. Lovely.

“You could say that again.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a short amount of time, the clock striking 2:30 being what woke me from my trance.

“That’s my queue.” I gave a small wave as he walked off, a smile spreading across his face at the motion.

I turned to my teaching assistant, fully believing he was out of earshot.

“Il un a visage gentil, eh?”

She only laughed, nodding her head and plugging in my macbook, allowing the screen to come alive with a flurry of colors in my powerpoint.

“Hi guys! Or should I say bonjour!” I paused, receiving a few chuckles in the crowd.

“I’m sorry for getting us started so late, I had a small mishap. I’m Dr Y/n Y/l/n, and I am your professor this year in the French undergraduate course, where you will have the opportunity to study medieval literature, modern day linguistics, and much more, which I will get into later on.

We here at Oxford have the single largest French department in Britain, which we have come to have extreme pride in. We also have a french cultural center, where you will find a large selection of programmes and literature to choose from. If you haven’t yet checked it out yet,” I briefly looked up, seeing Gwilym still stood at the top of the stairs. He gave me another small smile, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, lost my place. Where was I?”

After class, I walked up to where the tall man had now moved to the side, allowing students to flood right by him.

“Gwil, hi!”

“Hi to yourself.”

I blushed, the feeling of fuzzy-ness once again flooding my entire system at just the brief statement. Odd. Extremely odd.

“That was very nice, I have a feeling this class will be quite popular in the coming years.”

I smiled and nodded my head. “Thank you, I appreciate it, truly. Although, I must say that I can tell everyone is racing to get a spot in Professor Gwilym Lee’s class 100% percent.”

He cocked his head, slimming his eyes.

“Really, you think so?”

We continued to walk down the long hallway, neither of us quite aware of where we happened to be going.

“Oh for sure, I can imagine you’re especially popular with a certain demographic, too.”

His confusion seemed to only grow, stormy blue eyes seemingly lost.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” His voice slightly raised an octave at the end, earning a chuckle from me.

“Look, all I’m saying is that with looks like that, I bet your roster was full in seconds.”

I paused, the flow of conversation stopping as I came to terms with what I had just accidentally said. Out loud. In front of my new coworker, who happens to be incredibly gorgeous. A wonderful first day I’m having.

We resumed walking, a blanket of complete silence falling upon us all the way until we reached the entrance to the facility.

The chilly December air hit my face immediately, as well as droplets of rain that were falling so hard it felt like small bullets were grazing my nose, which I could barely feel after just a few moments outside.

“Here.” Gwil muttered, pulling out a bright red umbrella and using it to shield us both from the angry pellets sent from above.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Then it was quiet again between us both, minus the sounds of chattering students and the rain hitting and then sliding off of our cover, coming in contact with the ground with a final splat.

“You know,” Gwilym began, always the one to break the silence.

I hummed, turning my head in his direction.

“I speak a little bit of French, as well. And I think you also have a nice face.” He nudged my elbow and laughed, while I closed my eyes and sighed, hanging my head.

“So there really isn’t any other way I could possibly embarrass myself right now, is there?”

He only shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, now that I think of it, there might be one more thing I can think of?”

“What would that be?”

“Saying no to a cup of coffee?”

It was like I froze over completely, my mind suddenly growing blank when I needed it mostt.

“With me?” I asked, the question more aimed towards myself, a miniscule act of reassurance and affirmation.

Gwilym smiled brightly as he shook his head, and I swear, I had never seen anything more amazing.

“Yes, Y/n, with you.”

I stuttered, embarrassed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, specifically at my lack of verbal skills.

“Yes, yes of course, that sounds amazing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He offered me an arm which I gladly took, and we started walking to the quaint campus cafe just across the street from our building.

It was the same cafe where (not that we knew it yet) the both of us would make many late night coffee runs together during midterms week, the stressful time growing to become one of our favorites as it was now filled with giggles and caffeine.

Usually it would end up with one of us, that one of us usually being me, leaving a ring of coffee on the other’s ungraded assignments. Or even better, spilling an entire drink on the paper, only a “sorry!” written in Gwil’s rushed handwriting at the top of the curiously scented paper as explanation.

But as I said, we didn’t know that yet.

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

kinda gross but whatevs, like and rb if u did indeed enjoy it. mwah, go eat some protein, take an electronics break and drink some water. love u

xx hj

#prof!gwil #professor!gwilym #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym imagine #gwilym x reader #gwilym!brian #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee x you #gwilym lee x yn #gwilym lee x y/n #gwilym lee x fem reader #gwilym lee x gn reader

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens - “Angel’s Christmas Wish” (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley doesn't know what to get his angel for Christmas. It becomes such an issue, it creates a time-loop, forcing Crowley to re-live the day until he gets it right. (2263 words)

Notes: Written for @theantichristmaszine 2020 :)

Read on AO3.

“Oh, Aziraphale … darling …” A soft pause. A hard swallow. “Look at me, angel … please …”

Aziraphale’s eyelids flutter open - nerves and self-doubt fighting to keep them shut. And they almost win. It’s hard to be seen this way - vulnerable, open, full of this beautiful demon who’s doing his level best to please him, to fulfill his every desire.

And he’s succeeding.

Which is why opening his eyes is so hard.

Opening his eyes would mean letting Crowley see into him, expose the fact that he wants this, everything about it - the sacred connection between hearts and souls.

The carnal connection between skin and skin.

But Crowley’s pleas to him are so sweet, Aziraphale can’t deny him.

He stares up at his demon, eyes glistening with tears.

“There you are,” Crowley whispers. “I thought you might have disappeared on me.”

“Never, my dear. I’m right here. I’m with you. And I always will be.”

Crowley sweeps a thumb underneath Aziraphale’s eye and collects a single tear. He brings it to his lips and kisses it away. Then he leans in and kisses his angel again.

Aziraphale didn’t know he’d started crying but he can’t help himself. It’s not a habit of his. He’s not a ninny. But this moment, this one right here, with Crowley hovering over him, arms wrapped around him, moving with him in a slow rhythm, is the most magical moment of his entire existence.

From where this night began to where it ended up, this is nothing short of a miracle in Aziraphale’s eyes …

***

“Dearest? Why do you look so glum?” Aziraphale asks, handing Crowley a glass of champagne. “It’s Christmas!”

“Of course, it’s Christmas!” Crowley grumps, grabbing the glass from Aziraphale’s hands and knocking the alcohol back in one go. “It’s always Christmas!”

Aziraphale stutters a laugh, staring at Crowley as if his demon has suddenly gone bonkers. “What on earth do you mean it’s always Christmas? It isn’t always Christmas. Christmas only comes around once a year!”

“Not for us, it doesn’t,” Crowley mutters. “For some strange reason, we’ve been through this over a hundred times!”

“We as in the world? Or we as in you and me?”

“The world! And no matter what, I still get it wrong!”

Aziraphale watches Crowley rearrange his legs underneath him on the sofa. He gets up and paces, then sits down again. Aziraphale waits a moment longer before he comes up with a response. It’s not Crowley’s words that give him pause. It’s the tone of his voice, his body language. What he’s saying may sound ridiculous, but from the way he’s behaving - taking an anxious lap around the room with his shoulders tensed and his hands shoved into his pockets, as if waiting for a bomb to drop - Aziraphale can’t do much of anything other than believe him.

“You’re going to have to forgive me but I don’t understand,” he says, fishing for clarity. “This is the first Christmas we’ve spent together. Well, spent together as a couple. There was that one year …”

“No! No, it isn’t!” Crowley interrupts before Aziraphale can derail the conversation. “I don’t know what’s going on, Aziraphale, or how! I honestly don’t! But this is the 132nd Christmas we’ve spent together! We exchange gifts, have dinner, go to bed, wake up, and it’s Christmas all over again! And I can’t figure out why!” Crowley drops onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, topping off his demon’s glass, then taking the seat beside him. “Well, that … that is a puzzler … isn’t it?”

***

“I love you, Aziraphale,” Crowley utters. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I …” He doesn’t necessarily have Aziraphale’s attention, but it’s like the words aren’t for him to hear. Just for Crowley to say. But in the quiet of the room, Aziraphale does hear them.

“You know, my dear,” he says into the crook of Crowley’s neck, “if you had told me a year ago that we would finally get to this point, I would have thought you’d gone mad.”

“I was going mad,” Crowley admits. “Every time I saw you, I dropped hints like they were breadcrumbs and you … well, you never seemed to notice.”

‘Hints?’ Aziraphale’s brow wrinkles, thinking back on their every interaction, every conversation, trying to discern when Crowley had dropped any hints of any kind. Aside from saving those books from that church bombing (which may have made up for any hints Aziraphale missed) he is pressed to remember a single one.

“They must have been subtle,” Aziraphale deduces out loud.

“I was trying not to be too forward. Demon, you know.”

“Yes, my dear,” Aziraphale says with a fond sigh for his ridiculous lover.

Crowley chuckles. Then his brow wrinkles as well. “Wait … did you say finally?”

“Yes. I did.”

“But that would mean you thought we would get to this point eventually.”

“You did, too. What with all your hint dropping.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Crowley argues. “I hoped.”

Aziraphale pushes lightly on Crowley’s shoulders, tilting his head to look into his eyes. “I knew,” he says softly. “Deep down inside, I have always known.”

***

“Do you have any leads?” Aziraphale asks, getting caught up in the excitement of this mystery, even as his poor demon wallows in the angst.

“I think …” Crowley begins, tapping his heel on the floor as he thinks “… it’s the present.”

“What about the past? And the future? If we’re repeating time …”

“No no no!” Crowley interrupts. “Not the present present! The present present!”

Aziraphale frowns. “What?”

“Present as in gift. My gift to you.”

“But I love my present!” Aziraphale gushes, putting a hand to his waistcoat pocket and retrieving the gift Crowley gave him. “This is a perfectly beautiful pocket watch! No little screens or beeping buttons. Just a simple, elegant piece of machinery.”

“That’s just it! It is a perfectly beautiful pocket watch! And it’s just the kind of thing you’d appreciate. But it’s obviously not the thing! Not the right thing! Yesterday, I gave you a perfectly beautiful book of poetry …”

“Oh! Who wrote it?” Aziraphale asks, eyes gleaming.

“Wat? Uh … Byron, I think.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale replies, slightly disappointed.

“Wat? Wat’s wrong with Byron?” Crowley asks, curious if this could be the reason why they’re here today. If he can find out what’s wrong with his presents, then he can get Aziraphale the right one and the two of them the Heaven out of this mess!

“Nothing’s wrong with Byron. It’s simply that … well, I like your writing better.”

Crowley scoffs in frustration.

Nope. That didn’t help him at all.

“And the day before that, it was a perfectly beautiful bottle of 1947 Cheval-Blanc. Every gift I’ve given you has been perfectly beautiful in your own words. But it’s not, because I wake up every morning and here we are again, celebrating Christmas! And I want to move on from here, Aziraphale! I want to go forward with you! How do I do that? How do I break the loop?”

***

Crowley’s body is exceptional.

Simply exquisite.

If Azirapahle didn’t know for a fact that Crowley had refined his corporation himself, he would say that Crowley’s body is the Almighty’s best work.

Aziraphale knows things like physical beauty aren’t supposed to be important, but the fact of the matter is Crowley has created a facade that is not only pleasing to the eye, but which fits his personality to a T.

If one wanted an accurate first impression of the demon Crowley, they would not want to look to his true form, but into the eyes and winning smile of this glorious creature.

Unlike Hastur. That rotting, maggot-ridden, gray-skinned ghoul with the soulless black eyes?

That’s who Duke Hastur truly is.

Aziraphale can’t stop looking at his demon’s body.

Not to mention the things he can do with it.

Aziraphale supposes that’s part and parcel with being a demon - knowing how to inspire lust.

But the things Crowley is doing to him, the way he makes him feel …

… Aziraphale, with his vast knowledge of human linguistics, can’t seem to find the words for.

There are no words powerful enough to describe the sensation of Crowley’s lips on his skin, or his hands feeling out erogenous zones Aziraphale never realized existed. These corporations they use to fit in on earth, they are so frail. So delicate from the standpoint of a supernatural entity. When he first got his, he had to take great care always not to harm the thing.

But that became easier the more he grew to love it.

Apparently God made up for the frailty of the human body by giving them this incredible gift of physical intimacy. And for humans especially, an intimacy with no purpose other than for two beings to simply enjoy one another.

And Aziraphale is grateful that he gets this opportunity to sample it.

***

“If you ask me, I would say that we’re stuck in a loop you’ve created, since you’re the only one who seems to know it exists,” Aziraphale says, sounding utterly nonplussed by the whole sticky affair. “Therefore, only you can break it.”

“But how!? What am I missing? What is the right thing? What do I need to give you that I haven’t given you already?”

Aziraphale looks down into his flute of bubbling alcohol and smiles a wistful little smile. “Oh, my dear, that’s just the thing.”

“Wat do you mean?” Crowley asks, poised on the brink of desperation. He may have created this loop, but he very much believes that angel holds the key to shattering it. “Wat’s the thing?”

“You don’t need to give me anything. Nothing you would purchase in a store, at least.”

“Wat … wat else is there?” Crowley asks, perplexed.

Aziraphale turns his body towards him, leans in a hair closer, and looks deep into his eyes. “Think,” he says. “A little harder.”

***

“I’m yours, you know …” Crowley whispers through a veil that sounds like tears..

“What’s that, dear?”

“I’m yours.” He sniffs. “Have been. For as long as we’ve known one another. No …” Crowley wipes his left cheekbone with the back of his hand. “No, since the moment I saw you standing on that blasted wall. It’s the most ludicrous, most inconceivable thing in the world for me to say. There were so many times I thought I was lying to myself. But it’s true. Ever since then, Aziraphale …” Crowley stops, looks at Aziraphale to make sure he hasn’t lost him in his confession.

The smile on his angel’s face tells him that’s not likely.

“I’m yours,” he repeats.

“How come you never told me?”

Crowley shrugs. “Would it have made any difference? You’re an angel. I’m a demon. We aren’t exactly a perfect match.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my love,” Aziraphale says, putting a hand to his demon’s cheek. “We are a perfect match. And I know this because I’ve been yours as well … you foul fiend.”

***

Crowley shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, my dear …” Aziraphale clears his throat but tightens his jaw, what he’s about to say making him a bit uncomfortable “… at the end of any of these loops, have you made love to me?” He clears his throat again, his cheeks warming, glowing pink.

“Oh …” Crowley hadn’t expected that. He sits up, which moves him away from his angel - which wasn’t his intention “… uh … n---no. No, I haven’t.”

“Then you’re right.” Aziraphale dares to shimmy closer with his cheeks burning now. “You haven’t found the thing yet. Because, to be quite honest … that’s what I wanted. Th---that’s what I was hoping for.”

“You want me … to make love to you? For Christmas?”

“O---only if you want to. I would never assume … or imply … which is to say, I wouldn’t want to force you to …”

***

“Oh Gahhh …!”

“Don’t say it!” Aziraphale hushes, giggling. “The consequences of that could be disastrous!”

“I know, I know. It’s just … I think I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Why humans call out her name … during sex, I mean. Making love … it’s kind of like praying, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale swallows hard, fear pooling in his stomach with the thought that now that Crowley has come to that realization, he’ll never want to do this again. “Do you hate it?”

“No. Not at all. Not so long as I’m with you.”

***

Aziraphale doesn’t finish his sentence.

Not because he falters.

But because Crowley’s mouth on his takes his breath away.

“I am … so stupid,” Crowley says against his angel’s lips, unwilling to leave his mouth. “I never realized. I should have told you,” he confesses between kisses - to Aziraphale’s mouth, to his cheeks, to the soft curls surrounding his face, “so many times. I should have told you how I felt. How much I loved you. And I tried. I tried so hard to think of something I could give you that would let you know …”

Aziraphale puts a hand to his demon's cheek, stares into amber eyes he has seen - and admired - hundreds of times. But now, he feels like he’s looking into them for the very first time. “You don’t need to give me anything. All I want for Christmas ... is you.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #Crowley

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

Text

Stay Safe Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Welcome, welcome! I will apologize for word count, but I will never apologize for length...or girth. Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @huliabitch @helplessly-nonstop @toxiicpop @culturalrebel @sinnamon-bunn @literal-fand0m-trash @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3 @thewaythisis @nellyneko @absurdthirst @kylolover96 @crownofmanga @eli-bourne @lackofhonor @talesfromtheguild

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Part Four: Reaching Out

Part Five: Dark Past

Part Six: Go Alone

He was silent for quite a while and you were loathe to break it, sitting on the edge of the co-pilot seat with the harness secured loosely around you. A force of habit, more than anything.

He appeared to be studying the various star charts, flipping back and forth between two particular ones to select the shortest route to the next destination. You were still uncertain as to why he had requested your presence; your navigational skills were bare-bones compared to his, so that couldn't be it.

"You remember what I said about the button on the comlink?" The Mandalorian asked abruptly, making you straighten up. "That it sticks?"

"Yeah, of course. You told me a few times." You responded, your brow furrowed. "Why, did something happen?"

"That night, you…" he paused, clearing his throat. "After you said good night."

Oh no.

"I thought you were in pain."

No no no.

"At least, that's what I thought a-at first." Even through your panic, you picked up on his voice sounding strange again.

"I-I--" You stuttered, your mind spooling back all the incredibly embarrassing, incriminating things you had said. Maker. "Look, I-"

"Do you do that often?" He questioned bluntly. He hadn't turned to look at you and that, of all things, made you angry.

"Listen, I get it, okay? It's gross, someone like me getting off on thinking about someone like you. Miles worse since you had to hear it, I'm sure." You spat, your embarrassment compounding to a scalding fury. "I wish it hadn't happened, but now that I know it did all I can say is forget-"

The sound of his harness buckle hitting the side of his chair interrupted your heated rant and the next thing you knew he was standing over you, leather gloves creaking from the pressure of his fists clenching. You quailed a little, suddenly unsure of yourself. What if he thought you were dirty, disgusting for fantasizing about him? Oh Maker, what if he was angry? What if he forced you to leave? What if-

The Mandalorian jabbed a finger down to undo your own buckle, his grip unforgiving steel when he tugged you up out of your seat. You stared hard at his chest, willing yourself not to cry.

"I couldn't get your sounds out of my head." He rasped finally. "I was up all night. Couldn't sleep." His hand moved up slowly, like he was in a trance, and he ran his thumb over your lower lip. "Th-Thinking about you spread out on the floor, whimpering for me." He muttered, and you started to realize that he was absolutely not angry. This was...something else. "Begging for…sounded like you were right next to me a-and you're this beautiful...fucking, perfect-" He stopped abruptly, his words choking off in his throat.

It was restraint.

Iron restraint was keeping him barely reined-in but he wanted this, the breaths panting out through the modulator a tell-tale sign that he was under duress. He pulled off his right glove and reached out hesitantly, cradling your hand in his bare palm when you didn't move away.

His fingers were so hot. You could feel them trembling and you wondered what thoughts must be running rampant in his head as you folded your other hand over his own, keeping it there. He inhaled raggedly, his helmet listing to the side. "Maker, I've been--I was…"

"What?" You whispered, feeling as though you were trying to approach a wild animal.

He appeared to be having trouble articulating. For all his self-assurance, he had never really displayed any sort of awe-inspiring grasp of linguistics. The tradeoff for a creed of people that so often ended up solitary, you reasoned. In a way, it was endearing.

A soft noise issued from him, almost a groan, almost a sigh, and he lifted his free hand to his chest. His index and middle finger drew a circle and then he rapped his knuckles against the beskar over his heart, steel ringing softly in the silence of the cockpit. "K'oyacyi, stay alive, stay safe." He murmured. "An order, rigid, firm, with heart underneath it."

Oh.

"Do you remember the first time you said that to me?" The Mandalorian pressed on, "You were still scared of me, but you said it anyway. Right before I tangled with Dune. "

You erupted into giggles. "I know, you got covered in needles from those trees."

"Thought I'd never get all of them out of my cape." He was smiling, you could hear it in his voice.

"You sound nice when you smile."

"I...h-how...thank you." He stammered.

He stepped back after a moment, gesturing down at the star charts. Destination: Nevarro. The place you had called home for over a cycle. The place where you had once longed to return. It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had been cowering in the hold, begging to be delivered safely to Nevarro.

"I'm...I'm bringing you back. This is where you wanted to go." He said with difficulty. "Once we arrive, I..." He paused, looking down at you. "I don't know what will happen."

"I'm coming with you." You said quickly.

You felt the difference, the shift in his attitude. One moment he had been warm, the next, an impenetrable wall of beskar slid up between you. "No, you're not."

You wanted to scream at the change, to rail at it until he relented and gave you back that brief taste of what you had been searching for all this time. The man, not the mystery. "How am I supposed to keep you safe if you go places without me?" You reasoned wildly, trying to phrase it like you were joking.

"I don't need you to keep me safe." For all his hatred of droids, he certainly excelled at channeling their impassive demeanor. "I would rather you stayed out of this. It's business between the Guild and myself."

"Then why are Cara and Kuiil here too?" You challenged.

"That's...they're here to…" He shook his head and looked back towards the viewport, obviously frustrated and either unwilling or unable to explain himself.

Your heart sank in grim realization. "You're going to do something."

"I'm always doing someth-"

"You know what I mean!" You interrupted him sharply. "Something that you shouldn't do. I heard the message, most of it anyway."

"It's something that I have to do." He sighed, the sound bone-tired. "Otherwise, they'll just send more hunters after the kid. It's better this way. Better if I go along with the plan."

"B-But-"

He reached for you abruptly, hands gripping your shoulders. "What would you do? Since you've got all the answers?" He growled. "I can't keep running. We've barely made it this far. I won't get steady work without the Guild. If I do this, Karga wipes my record and I can get back to the way things were. The kid shouldn't have to be fucking hunted, running scared all the time!"

You glared up at him, furious because of course there was nothing you could do to change his mind. You didn't have a solution to this problem and he knew it, yet he still wanted to take it out on you! "Don't yell at me, you-!" Angry words seethed in your chest, molten hot like lava. You wanted to rage at him, stars knew you wanted to. But instead, tears welled up in your eyes. "Y-You--!" Maker, why couldn't you just be angry? "You're so stupid!" You sobbed out.

He was silent in the wake of your tumultuous explosion, hesitantly digging his thumbs in to rub comforting circles on your shoulders after several minutes of just standing there like a statue. "I don't know what else to do." He admitted, his voice nothing but a soft whisper. "All I know is what I have to do. You need to understand, the IG and I...I made the choice to hunt the kid first. I turned him in first. I took the payment first."

"You g-gave them the baby?" You snuffled incredulously. "I thought-"

"They offered me an entire camtono of beskar." He replied, his voice dark with shame. Your eyes widened, breath catching in your chest. So much! "Slid me an ingot beforehand to sweeten the pot. It was Purge-smelted, like the one you had. It needed to be brought back to the tribe. Healed. Melted down to sponsor Foundlings." He sounded like he was still trying to convince himself, still trying to justify his actions. "This is the Way."

"Stars." You breathed.

"I handed over the kid, got my beskar, and I...I just...I realized that I had…" He was struggling again, settling for a shrug. "So I went and stole him back and then left." He cocked his head to the side, his tone gone wryly fond. "That's when you showed up."

The individual in gleaming beskar armor gave no sign that they heard you, their rifle barrel trained between your eyes--

Now that you knew what had transpired immediately prior to your arrival, you were even more impressed that he hadn't shot you on sight. "I'm going with you. I don't care." You hiccupped, wiping your eyes.

"That's the problem. I do." His voice pitched lower with sincerity, fingers digging in slightly. "How many damn times have I put you in danger? Between Sorgan, Toro, the stunt with Ranzar's group? This isn't a life you want, stowaway." He was trying to convince you, you realized, possibly himself as well.

"I want a life with you." You whispered, your words naked and honest.

The Mandalorian's voice sounded raw even through the modulator. "No, you don't."

His hands left your shoulders and you almost started crying again, only just managing to fend off the impulse through sheer, indomitable spite. You seized his bare hand before he could move away from you and you raised it to your lips.

"Don't," he breathed, his helmet bowed against his shoulder. "You're making this much more difficult than it needs to be."

"I don't believe you." You knew the words were cruel, but you didn't regret them. You stared defiantly up at the impassive man, then you kissed his knuckles.

And all hell broke loose.

The Mandalorian ripped his hand out of your hold and grabbed a fistful of your tunic, shoving you back against the wall. "You think so?" He seethed through his teeth. "You really--you believe-I--" His body crowded yours, beskar breastplate rising and falling against your chest with every furious breath he took. Your own breathing hitched, legs trembling slightly as you stared him down. "Do you have any idea how hard you're making this for me?!" He finally managed to snarl. Not angry but frustrated, scared.

His pelvis rested against yours, and through his flight suit... "Yeah." You replied, giving him your cheekiest smirk. "Yeah, I'm getting an idea."

"You-" he stopped short, obviously confused before you pointedly rolled your hips. His helm dropped and he sucked in a ragged breath, the hand still fisted in your shirt tugging you hesitantly closer after a moment. "More. Fuck, I just-" His other hand grappled with your belt loops, wrenching your lower half flush to his. "More."

You squirmed in an effort to get comfortable and he snapped his teeth with an audible click!, the noise sending lightning sparks through your body. As he tilted his head back, no doubt in an attempt to regain some composure, the thick column of his throat revealed itself tantalizingly from beneath the layers of beskar and cowling.

"Want to touch you." He said helplessly.

"I'm not going to stop you."

"I know, that's the fucking problem."

"That seems like the exact opposite of a problem to me." You tucked your face against his shoulder, fingers dragging his cowl out of the way, and you felt his whole body tense as you pressed your mouth to the sensitive skin of his throat.

The Mandalorian made a noise that sounded almost pained, his gloved hand shooting up to thread through your hair. "Maker, you...fuck-" His voice cracked when you bit down gently. "Oh, fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want--"

"What do you want?" You asked softly.

"I--" The armored man surged forward to nudge his knee between your legs, spreading them wider. His fingers fought with your placket for a split-second, and then he had it splayed open. "You." He growled, gracelessly shoving his bare hand into your underwear. He stopped dead, clearly startled by how wet you already were. "Oh, you--you-?"

As if he hadn't had you in his helmet the other night begging him to fuck you. You whimpered, licking and nipping at the skin of his neck to try and encourage him to keep moving. "Come on, don't stop-"

His fingers shakily curved to cup your mound, rapid breathing all but deafening through the modulator. "You're so warm." He sounded dazed, his index finger tracing your slit before his knuckles collided with the slick that had pooled in your panties. "Maker, I just-"

His hand slithered free and you whined at the loss, confused when he quickly clapped his other hand over your eyes. There was a soft chuff of air and then you heard the distinct noise of a tongue hard at work. Your thighs clenched instinctively. Gods, was he tasting you? The low, unmodulated groan that followed only intensified your suspicions and arousal in equal measure.

"So hot." His bare fingers delved back into your drenched pussy, smearing your slick liberally around your clit. He hadn't removed the hand from your eyes yet, warm leather kissing your cheekbones. "You're so wet, I--fuck-" Whatever limited articulation he did possess seemed to have been thrown to the wayside, the Mandalorian resorting to a litany of sighed swears that had your body rocking against his hand.

The hand that he kept pulling free. You could hear him shoving his helmet up to taste you every time, licking your arousal off of his fingers like he was starving.

This was all achingly one-sided, despite his original protests. "H-Hey." You said shakily, trying to get his attention, "not that I'm not having legitimately the best time of my life, b-but I'm not doing anything for you-"

"Wrong." He replied breathlessly. "Everything for me."

"I just feel like--I-!" Your voice cracked, then broke embarrassingly high when he hooked his fingers a certain way and ground the heel of his palm up. You grabbed his shoulders, your body caving into his as your legs started to tremble.

"Everything for me." He repeated, feverishly working his thumb in circles around your clit. "Everything, everything-" He nudged your face against his neck, muffling your hungry whimpers and moans with his cowl. "-Perfect-"

Your nails dug into his pauldrons and a satisfied growl rumbled in his chest as you came apart under his touch.

His hand finally left your eyes, but at that point you were having difficulty opening them anyway. You dimly heard him tearing at his zippers, the lower fly of his flight suit apparently giving him some trouble. He snarled and the feral noise ripped down your back like a searing blade, making you quiver against the wall.

His gloved hand cupped the back of your neck, tugging your head down until you lazily blinked open your eyes, somnolent and simply luxuriating in the feeling. "Look." He breathed, seeming almost shy.

Oh. Oh, he was huge.

You were absolutely looking.

He had his cock in hand, the whole surface shining with a mixture of precome and your own arousal. As you watched, the head of it slowly vanished into his fist, and then emerged even slicker than before. "You're such a tease." You whimpered, loving the way his hips jerked at the sound of your voice. "Are you going to put it into me or do I have to beg?"

"You...you want-?" The Mandalorian sounded absolutely shattered.

"Please, please fuck me." You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing kisses to the bare skin you could find. "Please." Granted, you were unsure of your body's capability to take...all of that, but you were absolutely game to try.

"Stars, you're killing me." He grated out, tugging at your pants so you could kick them off. Strong hands gripped the backs of your thighs and he hoisted you up against his body, shoving his liner shirt to the side in the process. His cock ended up trapped between the slick folds of your pussy and his stomach and you loved the helpless noise he made in his throat.

Your back hit the wall a little higher than before and you wrapped your legs around his hips, wriggling into a slightly more comfortable position.

"Tell me to stop." He begged, his cock throbbing against your sensitive clit as he shifted his hips. The motions sent tiny little shudders of delight up and down your spine.

In reply, you rested your forehead on his helmet, staring into the visor. You imagined you caught the faintest glimpse of his eyes, wide and waiting. "You want me to ask nicely?" You crooned, "Please fuck me."

His cock slowly, slowly surged up into you, the blunt press of it robbing you of your breath. The Mandalorian's snarl was music to your ears, "Have t-t--go...slow." And stars he was huge, huge, you were bewildered that you were managing so well on this first push. You thanked the Maker that he had already made you come once, at least he wouldn't have any lubrication issues!

Words appeared to fail him rapidly, the armored man focused solely on burying his cock in you as deeply as he could. You finally felt the fabric of his flight suit against your groin and you growled, your fingers raking hungrily at his back plating. "Fuc-kk--y-you're so big-" You gasped.

His first real thrust ruined you. Your back arched and your mouth fell open of its own accord as the breath left your body, your mind dissolving into static. The Mandalorian pressed his forehead to your own. "S'--okay?" He slurred, clearly concerned but not in the right frame of mind to fully coordinate a sentence.

"Move, oh please, please," You begged, "fuck me open, f-fuck me, fuck me-"

His cock withdrew, and-and--

"M'sorry-" he choked out, cradling the back of your head to keep it from hitting the wall as he mercilessly pounded your cunt. "So--hot, wet, I--"

"Don't stop, please please please-" you sobbed against his neck, your fists clenched into his flight suit. "P-lease, I need it, I need you, gods I need you so much-" The words tumbled from your lips, as brutally honest as you could let yourself be, as he fucked them out of you. "I need you so much, I need you so much--"

I love you so much, I love you so much.

"N-Need…" You felt his body go taut underneath you, the tension making his cock throb at your inner walls. "You--me?"

"Yes." You keened, your second orgasm building to a crest in your belly.

"So good-" Every impressive inch of him plunged into you and then he stopped, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held still for the barest second. "Safe." His helmet tipped back and he groaned, fumbling his free hand down to stroke your clit and fuck you through your orgasm. "I--want you, p-please--all this skin, f-uck, y-yes you feel so--!"

He was grunting, straining, snarling out half-nonsense and then you raised one trembling hand to his chest. Two fingers traced a circle on the center of his beskar plate and as his chin tipped down to watch you, you tapped your knuckles over his heart. "Safe." You whispered.

He came in you with a seething moan, his fingers clawing at your hips while you clung tightly to him.

Heavy breaths rattled his entire body. You weren't much better, your chest heaving against his own. The Mandalorian groaned deep in his throat, dragging at the hem of your tunic. "What's wrong?" You asked breathlessly.

He didn't answer, just continued to haul the tunic up and over your head. He then rutted his hips up, punching a pitiful little whine out of you. How was he still hard?!

"More." He begged.

…

The Mandalorian's head tipped back and he swore, the noise gravelly.

You sprawled comfortably between his legs, naked as the day you were born and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. You had been there for an extended period of time, though you didn't particularly care. The pace you had set was languid, unhurried, and he seemed perfectly happy to just sit in his pilot chair with his cock resting on your tongue.

The urgency that he displayed earlier hadn't faded at all despite that, both of his now-ungloved hands hungrily stroking over your jaw, your shoulders, the back of your neck.

"If I don't--don't-" He gasped out suddenly. "I want you to know, I-"

You pulled off of his cock and he grunted, shuddering. "You can just blow off steam, you know. Not everything has to have an important reason." You informed him, your nails scratching lightly at the flight suit that still covered his thighs. You ducked back down to kiss and lick at his balls, and you heard him choke when your tongue soothed over the sensitive skin.

His abdomen spasmed underneath the thin liner shirt, muscles twitching and jumping the longer you lavished his balls with attention. "W-hy--I don't-I don't--" He stuttered, rushing to wrap his fist around the base of his cock to hold his orgasm back again. This would mark the fourth time since you had settled between his legs, but you were hardly complaining. "Oh, fuck, f--uck-"

"Don't you want to come?" You asked curiously, licking a wet stripe up the side of his cock and fingers.

His helmet slammed back against the headrest hard enough to make you wince. "W-Want--hngh-I don't want this t-to...don't want it to end. Feel so good-!"

His voice broke when you grazed your fingernails softly over his balls. Despite him coming in you earlier, he seemed to have more than enough to spare. You wondered with a lewd thrill just how much he might come if he was toyed with long enough.

"Used t' think about--about this. A-About. You." He confessed guiltily. "Fuck my fist, wishing it was your...c--unt, fuck-"

"Yeah? Did you get off on me?" You asked teasingly. "Did you wish you were fucking me?"

"I d-didn't mean to-" he moaned, the noise almost a whimper. "I just...you were...g-good to me, n' sometimes I would--I would--" He spread his legs a little wider and shoved his liner shirt up, exposing the planes of his abdomen to you in a languid show. He then slid a single finger down the side of his cock, smearing the precome that had seeped forth once you removed your mouth. "Fuck my fist, just--j-just wishing that I could…" He choked off his train of thought when you leaned up and licked at the skin he had revealed. "Oh, oh, fuck-"

"I'll suck you off for as long as you want, and you can fuck me for as long as you want." You breathed.

"N-No, no, have to do something for you t-too." The Mandalorian protested, his hands grasping at your shoulders. "I can't just t-ake-"

"You want to do something for me?"

"Anything. Wh-Whatever you want."

"Kiss me?" You whispered.

His entire body went still. "I…"

"You can cover my eyes, but I promise I won't peek. It doesn't even have to be on the mouth, if you don't want to! I just…" You fidgeted and glanced down, feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden. "I just wanted to know, I-I guess."

"Sit up here." He ordered as he patted his thighs, his voice breathless. "Sit." You obliged, straddling him as best as you could with his legs spread so far apart. You ended up with your mound pressed to his stomach, your pussy grinding against his cock with every shaky breath he took. "I'm going to cover your eyes now." Why was he whispering? He raised his hand, tenderly cupping your cheek before he smoothed it down over your eyes.

"I can't take it off for you, right?" You asked. "That's not allowed?"

He murmured, "has to be me." Blind to everything and anything except the overwhelming presence that was him, you closed your eyes behind his palm and waited patiently.

There was the soft chuff of air that you had heard over and over earlier when he was...enjoying you. Then, the quiet slide of his skin against the inner padding.

"Oh-! Dammit." He swore a split-second before there was a loud clatter on the floor. You burst out laughing. "Rude, stowaway. Shouldn't kick a man when he's down." Even through his protests, you could tell he was smiling. "Lost my grip on it."

You raised your hands, blindly feeling along his arms until you reached his shoulders. He still had his pauldrons on, the beskar smooth under your touch. You walked your fingers up the sides of his neck, surprised when you felt thick hair grazing your knuckles at the nape of his neck. "Okay, so maybe you do have hair." You allowed, lacing your fingers through it and tugging gently.

"Were you still--Maker, you're impossible." He huffed, leaning forward. His stubble brushed your ear and you flinched, squealing a little when he tongued over the ticklish skin. "Got you." He exhaled and suddenly it wasn't ticklish anymore. Straight teeth worried the sensitive shell of your ear and you whimpered, unable to keep from twitching at the feeling. "Mm, what's the matter?" The Mandalorian murmured playfully. "You said I didn't have to kiss you on the mouth."

"Yeah, b-but--" You cut yourself off, your fingernails digging into the nape of his neck when he plunged his hot, wet tongue into your ear before mouthing all around the edge. For some reason the sensation had you wound tight, a new wave of slick rising in your core. "Ah-!"

He brought his free hand down to your pussy, carefully spreading your folds with his fingers. "What's the matter?" He crooned in your ear again, tapping his thumb lightly down onto your clit. He then nipped at your earlobe, tongue laving over the skin. "Was there something else you needed? You're dripping the come I pumped into you all over my beskar." He whispered. "Could keep you splayed open like this for hours, just so I could watch your insides twitch and clench down on nothing while you're waiting for more."

"Y-You-" You wished your voice didn't sound so breathy. You couldn't decide which you preferred: his wild stammering when he was out of control, or his unflinchingly honest speech when he could manage himself accordingly. "You're not f-fair--"

"Mm, odds are usually not in my favor." He agreed. He wrapped his soaked fingers around his cock, giving himself a lazy stroke and then rubbing the head against your clit. "You're so fucking...warm," he grunted, his thighs shifting restlessly underneath you. "I want to put my cock back into you. Will you let me fuck you again?" He asked, not giving you enough time to answer before indignantly replying, "What, no? Damn, you drive a hard bargain. What if I offered to...kiss you on the mouth? Would you let me put my cock in you then?"

You found yourself laughing at his teasing, butting your forehead against his own even though his palm was still over your eyes. "You're so dumb." You snickered. "How was I ever scared of you?"

"Because I'm strong and fast." He replied bluntly. "The armor helps."

"Your modesty is your finest quality." You snarked, a soft whimper fighting its way free when he rocked the head of his cock against your entrance again.

"Hmm, I don't remember you begging for my modesty the other night." He taunted you in reply. "If I recall correctly, you got a little...possessive. 'Your Mandalorian', was it?"

You swore under your breath. You got the feeling you would never, ever live that moment of weakness down. But seeing as it had led to this, you could probably endure his lighthearted jabs. "Well, yes. I did say that." You admitted. "Did it make you uncomfortable?"

"Fuck no." His teeth grazed your ear again and you shivered before you could stop yourself. "It was...it was nice to hear you all strung out, fucking yourself to the idea of me." You could feel the curve of his lips, could hear the bastard smiling. "The speaker is right in my ear, so it was like having you next to me." His unmodulated voice was like warm honey, husky, rich and golden. You had never thought that a voice could be so enthralling. "You're moving your hips again, stowaway." His fingers returned to your pussy, spreading you wide once more. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy doing that, if only to make you squirm. "Something you want?"

You reached down and took hold of his cock, smiling at the way his breathing hitched. "This." You splayed a palm on his chest, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat there. "All of this." Your fingers rose from his chest to his mouth, where you brushed your thumb over his lower lip. "And this."

"Yours already. All of it." He sighed, the noise turning into a growl when you angled your hips and eased the head of his cock into your cunt. "All of it. Every inch, every...s-stupid thing out of my mouth, everything."

"I like most of the things that come out of your mouth." You assured him, bracing yourself on his thighs and slowly, slowly lowering your pussy all the way down on his cock. Your pelvis slotted against his with a wet noise and you could feel your arousal trickle out around his cock and down your thighs.

"Hah, you...y-you…" You felt his hand squeeze your face momentarily, and then his mouth collided with your own. You whined and he snarled, that hot tongue seeking your own out after a split-second. He licked into your mouth hungrily like he was starving for a taste of you, only backing off to gasp, "Y-You're so wet-"

You bit down on his lower lip, sucking it into your mouth so you could harass it with your teeth and tongue. The Mandalorian made a strangled noise in his throat as your tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive flesh before you released him again.

"Can't even th-think straight right now." He admitted, sliding his free hand beneath you to support your back. "Maker, between your fucking mouth and your c--cunt, it's a miracle I'm still--" His words jerked to a halt and you heard him swallow audibly. "Oh. Oh." He gritted out.

You rocked your hips back and forth a little faster, knowing that he could handle a rougher pace. He curved inside you deliciously, the length of him only marginally easier to manage with you in control.

"Wait, wait wait, I'm--fuck, wait, I-"

"What's the matter?" You asked breathlessly. "Too much for you?" You felt his hand grapple fiercely at the small of your back, grinding your pussy down onto his cock. He started rambling in Mando'a, the words ragged as you continued your merciless attack without quarter. This was one fight you were determined to not let him win.

"Cyar'ika," he moaned, his mouth finding your own. "I'm-I'm--f-uck, fuck fuck, I'll fucking--I'll f-ucking split y--split this sweet little c-cunt--" His whole body went taut beneath you, ramming his cock up to meet you over and over. "You take me so...s-so fucking good, so good, so good t' me--" The wet sounds, the heat of his body against your own in his frenzied fucking and the way that his voice cracked combined to be the thing that finally tipped the two of over the edge. As you felt him start to let go, you took one of your hands and fisted it in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, directing him to look down at where your bodies joined.

"I want you t-to watch. Without the helmet." You panted, feeling more than hearing his raspy groan in reply. "So you can remember."

"I'm not going to f--orget, fuck, fuck, like I could e-ever for-g-get this--" The words stumbled out of his mouth, tangled in a dazed little knot, "--ever forget you." His body shuddered and he finally ground to a halt, dragging you against his chest and burying his face in your shoulder as he came with a hoarse shout.

You circled your hips on his still-twitching cock, your own orgasm close behind from how hard he had been pounding up into you. His voice sounded destroyed when he cried out, and you couldn't determine whether he was begging for mercy or more. His free hand fumbled between the two of you to tease one of your nipples; you could do nothing to help the pitiful noise you made when he pinched and tugged at the sensitive bud.

"Come for me. C-Come for me. Come for me." Whether a plea or an order, it was unavoidable. You came for him, the intensity making your skin prickle and your eyes open wide behind his hand. "Yes..." He drew the word out alongside your keening moan of completion, long and slow, praising you in that husky, now almost reverent tone.

You collapsed into him and you felt his mouth curve against your neck, stubbled smile teasing the skin while you fought to regain your breath. His arm reached for something on the floor, and you heard the slide of his helmet after a moment. Then, he removed his palm from your eyes.

The Mandalorian grunted softly and there was a delicate crackling noise beside your ear. "Fuck, that's a cramp." He grimaced, making you huff out a laugh. "Ow, ow. My wrist is...not pleased."

"Mm, should have just taken the chance." You mused, your eyes still closed.

"Chancy enough, getting this naked." He flicked over your nipple, chuckling softly when you whined. "Gods, you are perfect." He murmured. "I'll miss this."

His words hit you like a bucket of cold water. You sat up slowly, staring at his visor. "Why? Wh-Where-?"

"I don't know how sideways all of this will go." He replied simply. "I have a gut feeling."

Your hands fisted in his liner shirt. "So don't go, then."

"You know it's not that simple. If I don't, they'll keep hunting the kid."

"We can hide!" You suggested wildly. "Stay in the Outer Rim, hunker down on Dathomir or Felucia-"

"Until what?" His pragmatism cut you to the quick. "Until the Crest falls apart and we end up stranded in some asteroid field?" You fell silent, your fingers kneading at his chest in a silent plea, don't go. "I'm not doing this. I'm not going to drag you along this time. Whether you agree or not, I'm not involving you."

It felt like he had just stolen all the air out of your body, tears welling up in your eyes as those traitorous arms wrapped around you. His palms were large and warm, rubbing firm circles into the abruptly-cold skin of your back. You were suddenly awash with shame, and you pulled away from his comforting embrace. He made a noise, almost a protest, but you shook it off and struggled to stand.

"Easy, hang on to me. You'll fall over." He offered, his hand already out for you to grab. You ignored it in favor of jerking your panties back up your legs, nearly toppling with the effort. "Hey, you-"

"Don't touch me." You breathed, seconds from bursting into tears. "Just...just don't." You felt disgusting, sore, your body aching and tender from the overstimulation it had just received.

A soft, "oh," was all he gave in reply. His voice sounded defeated and more than anything you wanted to fling yourself back at him, to beg forgiveness and also kill him because how could he do this to you? How could he give everything to you and then take it all away in an instant?

You refused to look at him while you continued to dress yourself, certain that your incredibly fragile resolve would give out if you saw him tilting his head or any of the other little things he did that had wormed their way into your heart. But you were also seized with the fierce desire to wound him like he had wounded you.

And so, as you turned to climb down the ladder you tossed out a flippant, haughty, "This is the Way, right?"

You heard him inhale raggedly. "I--wait, please, just-"

You didn't stay to let him finish, continuing down the ladder.

…

This was technically your own fault, you reminded yourself for the hundredth time. Technically. You could have let him leave the cockpit, but no, you had to grab his hand! Really, you had no one to blame but yourself.

That didn't stop you from feeling like a gross, terrible person, of course, but at least you knew why. You felt stupid for thinking that you could convince him of anything other than what he had already decided upon.

Cara seemed to sense that something was wrong the following morning and she went out of her way to goad the Mandalorian into an arm wrestling match once the Crest departed Arvala-7. It was a bit cramped in the hold, what with the blurrgs and all, so you were a spectator whether you wanted to be or not.

The two of them posted up on top of a crate, their elbows firmly planted after they set their wagers. They slapped hands once and the child's ears perked up curiously.

The former trooper and the bounty hunter locked into their holds as you looked on, a bit invested now. Carasynthia somehow managed to keep the armored man at bay, unless the Mandalorian was going easy on her. Of course, she had been a dropper. Lugging pounds and pounds of gear and artillery must have built strong arms.

"I got you, Mando." She grinned.

"Care to double the bet?" The beskar-wearing man shot back, and you hated that you could tell he was smiling.

The baby looked back and forth between the two grunting adults, and their tiny hand reached out towards Cara. "Looks like the kid is calling dibs on the next round." You commented, chuckling a little. But when you looked up, you saw Cara releasing the Mandalorian's hand to frantically claw at her own throat.

The Mandalorian was only still for a split-second before he bolted upright, lunging to haul the child out of their bassinet. "Stop it!" He berated them sharply. "We're friends, we're friends! Cara is my friend!"

"Hey!" You moved to take the child but the Mandalorian quickly shifted, maneuvering himself between the two of you. "What are you doing? Stop yelling at them!" You protested, yanking on his arm.

"How very curious." Kuiil murmured, rising to his feet and moving to examine the child. The kid was just laying there, limp in the Mandalorian's grasp. Like they knew they had done something wrong.

"I mean, that's one word for it." Cara coughed. "What the hell was that?"

"What it is, I'm not certain. But that story you told me of the mudhorn is making a lot more sense." The Ugnaught mused to the Mandalorian.

"Psh, you would need the kid to help you cheat." Dune tried to joke, her voice rasping a little. "You that scared of losing, Mando?"

"What story? What mudhorn? What even just happened?" You demanded.

"The kid did this...thing once before. I can't really explain it." The Mandalorian answered you curtly. "He just moved his hand and a fucking full-grown mudhorn was three feet off the ground."

"...excuse me, what?" You questioned weakly.

"He also went into a coma sleep afterwards, guess he wore himself out." The Mandalorian shrugged, the kid peering over the side of his arm guiltily. "Maybe...maybe he thought Dune was a threat or something. Thought we were fighting for real."

"You little nugget, you really thought I was screwing with your dad?" Cara asked incredulously, reaching out and rubbing over one of the child's ears. "I tangled with your pops once, remember? He almost died."

"Not how I recall it." The Mandalorian growled, his pride clearly pinched. "We were at a stalemate if anything."

The child whimpered, holding their arms out to you. Despite now being privy to the incredibly frightening knowledge that oh, they can move things with their mind, they can choke a full-grown human out, you could still feel yourself softening. The eyes got you every time.

The Mandalorian, who had been watching you warily, muttered, "you don't have to if you don't--"

"Stop." You interrupted him sharply. "They're not a bomb." He fell silent, passing you the kid without further debate. They settled into your arms, staring up at you while you rocked back and forth. You began to hum their lullaby softly, hoping to get them to sleep at some point during this flight.

"I need your help." You glanced up, disappointment searing in your chest when you realized the Mandalorian was addressing Kuiil. You then proceeded to berate yourself for the hope you had in the first place.

He had made his choice and, in doing so, he had made your choice as well. There was nothing you could do to change his mind. Obviously. The best you could do was return to your mundane existence on Nevarro. Maybe once you were there you could hitch a ride on another freighter, leave the whole planet in the dust and get on with your life.

…

You tucked the baby in for what you knew was the last time, stroking your fingers over their little head.

The Razor Crest sat silent amongst the lava rivers, all illumination and non-essential mechanics off so as not to arouse suspicion or garner unwanted attention. To the best of your knowledge, everyone aside from you was already asleep. The blurrgs had been offloaded and secured outside; you could still hear them shuffling about as they chewed their cud.

The Mandalorian's rendezvous with his contact wasn't until tomorrow, but you didn't exactly feel like trying to explain your departure to everyone in the crisp gray light of a Nevarro morning.

It was better this way. It always was.

You picked up the small pack you had stowed in the bunk, as well as your toolbelt. After one final look at the child, you slowly felt your way towards the door. The lights in the hold were disabled, so all you had to navigate by was the faint orange glow from the distant lava.

You froze when you saw him standing next to the loading ramp, his shoulders rigid and arms crossed over his chest. The void of his visor bored into you, and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking.

After a moment of the two of you standing there in silence, he sighed and tapped a few of the keys on his gauntlet. The loading ramp began to slowly open, segmented plates extending with a hiss of hydraulics. You shifted your weight nervously and opened your mouth but he held up a hand, stopping you before you could even start.

He simply gestured at the ramp, all that beskar for once not making a sound.

You crept forward, wary of him for the first time in a long time. Before you managed to get past him though, he tilted his head. Two fingers pressed against his breastplate, drawing a circle. Then, he tapped his knuckles in the center.

Stay safe.

You wanted to scream.

"Yeah." You managed to choke out instead. Your hand moved of its own accord, running down your leg to your boot where you tugged the vibroblade free and held it out. "Won't need this anymore."

That stupid visor felt like it was staring into your soul. He took the knife back after a moment. He was blatantly, obviously careful not to actually touch your skin, using his index and thumb to gingerly pinch down on the handle.

You gave him an awkward nod and continued out onto the ramp, your boots hitting the obsidian ground with a thud.

You didn't turn around, no matter how much you wanted to.

Part Eight

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin imagine #eventual romance #slow burn #oh they fockin #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #please don't hate me #this hurts me a lot

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mintchocohip · 4 years

Note

Hi love, would it be alright if I requested an overstimulation oneshot with Joonie? Thanks a lot

➤ pairing: namjoon x reader | wordcount: 2.5k

➤ kink: light overstimulation, vocal!joonie

➤ notes: is namjoon a sub in this fic? possibly. first-time-together pwp and light fluff!

“Don’t stop,” your gasp hiccups—you can sense that there’s one final pulse filling the hastily rummaged-for condom through Namjoon’s instant, amazed silence—“keep going. Don’t stop.” The man on top of you manages a long, slow, instinctual finishing thrust. “Don’t stop.”

The wait is excruciating.

You slit your eyes open to watch Namjoon’s stupid bliss fade. He’s a silhouette. Night dropped fast. Eyelids shake in the dim light; blue is curving around his face to suggest soft features. His brows lower. Namjoon closes his flushed, parted lips. He’s close enough to pull down into a kiss. You’re too hypnotized by the sparkle on his teeth and the impression that his cheeks must be rosy to try.

Beams of pink and purple sunset colored your neighbor’s apartment doorway a few hard, fast minutes ago. Namjoon realized he was staring at your lips after conversation about his university linguistics courses petered into silence. He snapped his eyes up. You smiled. Namjoon swallowed nervously, but his breath was heavy with intrigue when he started to lean in before quickly glancing up to check your expression. It’s cute that he got so embarrassed when you showed him you want the same thing.

Everything in this bedroom full of succulents and laden bookshelves is glowing with slivers of blue hour that have managed to filter in behind light-blocking curtains. It feels like a dream. You fix a tighter grasp onto the back of Namjoon’s neck and brush some of the damp hair off his slicked forehead.

You aren’t impatient. The hand on the back of his neck is still gripped down firmly. Your legs are wrapped around his hips. You can wait for him to regain his composure.

“Come on, baby,” you try not to exhale it through grit teeth when you wait, and wait, and nothing is happening—“come on. Keep going. Don’t stop. I'm close. Give me more.”

Namjoon’s elbow dropped to the side when he started to gasp. You wanted to savor those beautiful noises. He was so quiet up until that precious moment. Despite your attempts to collect yourself enough to speak and tell him to stay inside convincing yourself that it was better to whisper “come for me, baby. Get loud for me—” was instantaneous as soon as you heard the faintest rasp of a moan.

Luckily, Namjoon isn’t moving. The hand planted on the back of his neck stays firm. Your other hand strokes his temple. You’re curling a devious smile at him and hoping he sees it as his eyes start to open.

“Fuck,” you laugh when an attempt to pet his naked shoulder instantly slicks your hand down onto his bicep, “you sweat a lot.” You pull your knees in to give yourself a cloudy rush of weak-muscled thighs and warmth falling up your body—and to remind Namjoon you’re locked around him.

“Sorry.” Namjoon blinks hard and shakes his head like he just realized where he is. “Yeah. Sorry. If I. Uh. Dripped. On you.” It’s a mild summer night. The A/C in his room is equally tepid.

“I love the sweat. I really love it.”

“Oh.” Namjoon glances down to check out his shimmery chest. “Thanks.” Clarity is spreading over his features. Light shines over his eyes as he searches the darkness.

“Don’t stop. I’m close.”

“Don’t stop?”

“You heard me. I must’ve said it ten times, baby.”

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow down and he swallows hard like he’s trying to understand what you’re saying.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear. Okay. One second. Just need to. Um.”

“Want to stop?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“Does it hurt too much for you? Doing it like this? You can use your fingers instead.”

“Um. One second.”

Pressure shifts. A satisfied gasp drops your head back into the mattress.

“Fuck—” The world was already lifted, but as Namjoon lifts himself up and readjusts his position in an awkward shuffle of limbs it rises higher. “Good, baby. Don’t stop,” you claw the nape of his hair when you feel his—shockingly liquid; shockingly skilled—hips angle until thighs press fresh against your ass. “Don’t stop. When I say don’t stop,” short, ragged fingernails dig into the back of Namjoon’s neck as a tepid movement inside of you shivers down to your curling toes, “I mean don’t stop. You were fucking me hard before you came.” A growl in your voice is the side-effect of pleasure. And expectation. “You can fuck me hard after. Can’t you?”

A puff of air hits your cheek. It tickles. You want to laugh; you swallow down the urge. If Namjoon needed to exhale a sound of self-encouragement he has every right to.

“Okay.” Namjoon nods. “Okay.” Springs creak. Namjoon’s breath is rhythmic again, the way it got right before he came—“Shit.” Skin slaps—you suck in a breath and slide your ankles together.

“Thank you,” your senses are teetering back into the blurs of color you were tasting before Namjoon needed a moment, “good.” The last word is a faint whisper. “Perfect.”

Momentum builds slowly. A faintness in your muscles and a warmth under your skin was almost forgotten; despite the little gasp he just sucked in Namjoon is doing an amazing job of bringing it back for you.

“Just like that. Just like that. Why is it so big,” you’re grateful he looked sweet and hot apologizing needlessly about his inability to remember where he put his condoms that it made you ache harder until he was ready and asking if his somewhat unwieldy length was in too deep, “good…” you talk nonsense until you lose the will to say something that isn’t fuck—“...you’re still hard, aren’t you? But, even if you weren’t... big enough to stay inside...”

Your eyes open. Namjoon's whole body just shook. Hard.

Between your own shudder from your chest down to your cunt and a rush of your throaty moans in your ear that sound like a stranger it’s impossible to notice how hoarse and strained Namjoon’s breathing is. You knew you were close, but it feels like he barely had to try.

“Is that you, or me?” You can’t let yourself question whether or not you just heard Namjoon whimper. Focusing on anything but shutting off your brain isn’t important right now. Still, your mouth gasps out freeforming thoughts before you can shoo them away. “Was that you, baby? A whimper... It sounded so pretty...”

The things you say when you’re about to come are always some stream-of-conscious praise festival. Namjoon must be appreciating it, because he’s finding a new angle and pushing harder.

“You’re really hot,” praise sounds vaguely like a threat now that you’re this close and frustrated by a tantalizing glimpse, “really hot. Fuck. Baby, really... Whenever I saw you. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you looked like naked and tied... up... uh...” you’re glad you just got bowled over by a wave of breathtaking heat. Pleasure tugs your senses out of your body and leaves you with visions of sparks to keep you entertained until you can conceptualize how amazing that just felt.

Starry curtains flutter away slowly. Darkness behind your eyes reveals itself. An aftershock tries to double you over but all it can do while you’re flat on your back is freeze up midway through squeezing Namjoon down onto your body. Fluttering motionless, you hold him, and wait.

“That was...” You realize your cunt is sharing some of your body’s resources again because you’re ungripping a handful of Namjoon’s back willingly. Your arms drop and you slide your legs out onto the cool sheets. “Good, baby.” You smile consciously.

A piece of popcorn at the bottom of the bag just popped. Neon orange, and flaring. That’s what it feels like. Namjoon flies off your body and lands with a dry thwip onto the sheets somewhere to your left.

You listen to your laugh fading into a contented sigh. Muffled heat in your ears is clearing away to reveal layers. Namjoon is sucking in slow breaths. Birds have stopped talking outside. Opening your eyes to a black ceiling slashed with grey is a wave of confusion. The blue hour has faded into pure night. You roll your head and glance at the man on the bed next to you. It gives you a broad view of a bedroom that has abandoned shape and the lines of furniture and electronics into a deeper darkness. The headset Namjoon hung on the back of his chair earlier while rummaging through the desk is staring a pinpoint of green light at you.

A part of the soothing darkness. That’s what you feel like. You were sitting up formless and weightless to crawl over Namjoon and give his shoulder a kiss. The journey pauses. An arm just slid out towards you. Fingertips are pressing against your forearm.

“I’m tired,” Namjoon states.

“Oh. Okay. Not in the mood for cuddles?”

“Cuddles?” Namjoon’s shadowed body turns towards where you’re half-laying, half-sitting on the sheets next to him.

Everything smells like sex. Sex, and linen sheets that’ve been broken in by a few months of hot, sweaty nights.

“Got a problem with that?”

“No. Uh... oh. Sorry. I thought maybe... you wanted to play with my cock or something."

“What,” you groan, “do you think I’m a succubus? We fucked. It was good. I really like you... I’m not going to ask for more than that, baby.” You add an addendum. “Unless you’re a naughty boy. Who needs to get punished.”

“Are... you being serious right now?”

“I...”

You stop.

It’s a bracing moment. You roll what you want to say around in your head. You don’t want Namjoon to get the wrong idea about how you feel.

This man wandered into the apartment complex in the springtime and instantly lit up the dreary hallways with his pretty face. You were intrigued. Giving him pointers about how frequently the landlady pops in unannounced, the old lady on the second floor who’ll bake special brownies for friends who sit with her and talk about vintage cars, and where to find good dry cleaning in the area was all it took for him to cling to you.

Sussing if Namjoon’s kinky is important to you. He gives you vibes, sometimes. Kinky vibes. You’re used to people checking out your thighs. Namjoon looks nervous when he glances at your legs. Not like he’s scared—more like he can’t let himself think too hard about what they could do to him.

“I’m joking.” It’s the best you can manage.

“You said... you like me?”

You blink hard. And, you give Namjoon a sudden, keen smile.

“Oh. I wasn’t joking about that. I like you a lot.”

Excitation begs you to move and keep yourself busy. You sit up and lean over Namjoon’s body to delicately stroke down the ring of the condom. Namjoon gasps as your fingers brush over the swollen tip of his cock on the downwards journey to free him.

“I really like you, too.”

“Now I want to punish you for making my heart flutter. But... damn.” Reflected light shimmers wet as you tie the condom off in the air above your tits. “You come a lot. Wow.” Before it gets tossed it into shadows welling around the bed you take a moment to squish the condom’s loaded tip between your fingers.

Namjoon sighs hard.

“Sorry,” you laugh.

“I might have come twice. It happens sometimes.”

“Impressive.”

“Nah. It’s just natural for me.”

“Do you think the Amazon rainforest isn’t impressive? Or Niagara falls? Those things are natural, but they’re still impressive.”

Sliding your thumb over his hip bone, you gaze at Namjoon’s exhaustion while he pulls a hand up through his hair. Damp from his forehead streaks up the roots and into the mess of wisps.

“It really is just a joke,” you sigh. “The punishment stuff... I kind of wanted to know if you’re into stuff like that, you know. See how you’d respond. Don’t take it seriously. I really do like you.”

“No. It’s fine.” The sweetness in his hushed voice muffles every word. You’ve never heard Namjoon speak this softly. Even if you’re straining to understand him, you aren’t complaining. “If… you’re bored.”

“Bored?”

“You can...”

“Use your words, Namjoon.”

You can’t see it clearly, but you have a feeling Namjoon is shooting a mild glare in your direction.

“What do I want to say,” Namjoon wonders aloud with an exhale of sarcasm. He pets the mattress with his fingertips and rolls his head to the side. Transitioning into sincerity gives his voice a shy twinge. “So. You. Like stuff like that? Making it hurt a little bit?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Oh...” Namjoon swallows hard. Your eyes have adjusted to the light enough to see his dreamy expression break. “No. I forgot.”

“Let’s order takeout.”

“Oh.” Softness in Namjoon’s relaxing shoulders looks a little bit like disappointment. “Sure.”

“We’ll talk about this thing...” You were swimming circles around the urge. Getting sucked into it is a lovely feeling. It’s a weightless movement; he’s warm; not hot, not yet—you slide Namjoon into your hands and give the underhead of his cock a drag with your thumbnail. “...Later.”

The choke is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

Excitement and intrigue surge through your stomach and into your thighs and clear up the air around your head like Namjoon’s tiny, weak hitch of breath was bubbly refreshment. You did hear snippets of something lovely, earlier. Time was a flash. But, not all of your perceptions are fucking with you tonight.

Visions are swirling through your mind. For a moment, curiosities and desires leave you breathless.

You only realize what you’re doing when Namjoon’s whole body pulls in. As he makes the movements of sitting up he laughs nervously and twitches a hand down his flat stomach.

You follow the movement. You stare at where he’s attempting to touch your wrist. At some point, you started stroking Namjoon’s damp slit with your thumb. Out of boredom; out of nature.

“Takeout. Right.” Licking your lips quickly reminds you where you are. Forcibly spreading your fingers out to let go is a monumental effort to not get distracted into spending the whole night discovering what you need to do to pull beautiful moans out of this beautiful man. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Namjoon is talking slightly too loud. He sits up, reaches for a pillow to wrap his elbow around awkwardly, and attempts a casual sigh. “I know how to say that it’s too much. Like, putting my hand down, I guess. I just want you to know that I like it."

“Good,” you whisper fondly. “Good to know.”

Moments shared with Namjoon always pass quickly. Catching up with each other in the apartment lobby between weekend errands is a breeze. Talking about music, the news, the stress of his school life, and your latest kickboxing match while flirting idly when you catch each other in the convenience store during late-night grocery runs is free from any stuffy ideas of obligation to small-talk with a neighbor. It just feels natural, and right. You’ve been wanting more for a while now. Maybe you were so eager to spend time with him a summer sunset passed instantaneously.

“I know a kebab place that’ll blow your mind. Let me order real quick.” You pet Namjoon’s ankle before sitting up to slide off the bed and fish your phone out of the crumpled ball of fabric that once resembled your sweatpants. “Veggies and meat, veggies and meat... Yeah, you seem good at... telling me when. Let’s talk about this more. It’s good to know, baby. Thanks for telling me,” you ramble mindlessly. “Good to know you can take it. So. Yeah. Until you say when... I won’t stop.”

#ask #anonymous #sub!namjoon #domme!reader #namjoon x reader #mch #fic #namjoon solo

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