#When they shared that long torturous moment

[lymtw]

Toji can't ignore the sounds of your moans and whimpers through the wall. He's sitting on the couch, in the living room, unable to do anything about it, because you're still mad at him, and he's frustrated as hell, because he's so painfully hard, that he can see the his dick twitching against the front of his sweats. He refuses to take care of it himself when he knows you're only a room away. To his convenience, you're already in the mood—clearly—but to his inconvenience, you're punishing him. You're scattering his name into your moans to throw salt in the wound, to really make it unbearable, and truthfully, it's getting to him.

Toji reached his limit when he heard you let out a sharp gasp, followed by the sound of those cries you let out when you cum hard. He strides over to your shared bedroom, opening the door to reveal your naked lower body, and your tank top scrunched up over your chest. His breath hitches, the throbbing in his pants intensifying as he rakes his eyes over your frame and absorbs the entire sight of you.

"You're really gonna get yourself off to the thought of me, when i'm right outside?" His incredulous tone doesn't do a good job of hiding the desperation that led him to barge into the room where you're splayed out so indecently.

"Mhm..." you hum, blissfully. You release a heavy, satisfied sigh. "That's exactly what I just did, 'cause you're on a time out," you say, tugging your shirt back down and pulling up your underwear, before sitting up to search for your shorts. "Don't worry. I finished. I'm done torturing you."

He can't let it be over. This normally wouldn't be enough to satisfy you. From what he heard, it seems like you only came once.

"Baby, no," he almost whines. He's outwardly desperate for you, having gone way too long without being allowed to touch you, intimately. "Let me. Please," he says, climbing onto the bed. His hands make contact with the skin of your bare legs and glide over the length of your shins, continuing their way up to part your thighs to make room for him to wedge himself between them.

"I did what you asked of me. Said I was sorry and repeated after you to call myself dumb." It was such a silly moment that made the storm in your mind subside for a minute or two.

Toji resists the urge to smile when he sees you suppressing the curl of your own lips. His hands go to your waist, not stopping there. The warmth of his palms travels up your edges, meeting the sides of your breasts and briefly palming the tops of them, in order to get to your shoulders. He grips your shoulders, using them as leverage to guide you back down to the bed. Focus is embedded into his features as he takes the thin material of your shirt between his rough fingertips and peels it off your skin until he reveals the gorgeous view of one of his favorite parts of your body.

Like a domestic cat, he lays his body on you, and plants his face between your breasts. It doesn't take long for him to begin appreciating your chest, pressing multiple slow kisses to your skin. He's basking in the softness you withheld from him.

"What else do you want from me, doll?"

You let out a small, quiet sigh, through your nose. You feel a little irritated with yourself for not even putting up a fight against his affection. You always say you're not going to let him touch you for a certain amount of time, as punishment for the dumb things he does, and yet somehow it always ends up this way—him nuzzling into your chest.

"I want you to stop being a jealous maniac," you say, the words coming out softer than you intended them to, as you welcome defeat and run your fingers through his soft, dark locks.

"Mm-mm, anything but that," he responds, muffled by your warm skin. His hands caress your body, rubbing your waist and massaging your hips in a manner that would induce relaxation under different circumstances. You can't let yourself fall into that comfort until you've talked things out.

"Toji, you flashed your gun at someone who mistook me for somebody else." You attempt to keep yourself composed in order to communicate the issue efficiently. There's no need to raise your voice when you have him right there, lying comfortably on your chest.

"Mhm, I did that," Toji confirms, before planting a soft kiss on the inner side of your right breast. "The dickwad must have been real blind if he had to get so close." He feels your chest rise with a deep inhale, then hears you let out the breath. With that, he knows you're still upset and he has to further elaborate on his actions. "He had his filthy paws on you and everything. I did what I thought was best to get him to fuck off."

You hum in mere acknowledgment. "Uh-huh, that's definitely the way to go about it. God forbid you verbalize your discomfort before threatening to use a bullet."

You feel a warm puff of air on your chest, similar to the sigh you let out, but less audible, and then a kiss directly between your breasts.

"I was right next to you, ma. He was looking at you in a way that he shouldn't have been. He looked at you the same way that I look at you. You don't need that from anyone else. And that stupid ass thing he said about supposedly feeling like he's seen you somewhere? He clearly said it to get a good look at you from up close."

"You really are insane, aren't you?" You ask, rhetorically, stilling the hand that's on the back of his head.

"Doll, I hate the idea of pulling the gun out in front of you. I don't ever wanna have to use it and scare you in the process, but he was actively trying to steal you from me. If he were just ogling you from afar, I might've acted differently, but he touched you. He fucking touched you. Who does shit like that?"

Toji can feel his blood boiling again, so he refocuses on your chest. He doesn't want to think about what happened anymore, when he's in his happy place, where he knows he belongs.

"Alright, Toji. Take a deep breath." You softened your voice to simmer down his emotions. You resumed the movement of your fingers carding through his hair, aiding him in calming down more.

He does as you say and releases a heavy breath. It's riddled with his discontented feelings. "You're supposed to be mine," he mumbles, before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

Toji needs reassurance, too. Him being an attractive, enormous, hulking man, has nothing to do with how secure he feels around you, his lover. It's easy to think that because he manages to turn heads wherever he goes, that he'll be fine when you get those same reactions, but the way you have him now, is proof that insecurity can reach even him. He needs to know that he's not going to lose you so easily, especially to someone as ridiculous as the man who managed to unsettle him.

You look down at him as he takes all the comfort he needs from your chest. "I'm all yours, Toji. You're the only one who will ever get a pass for that kind of psychotic behavior."

He hums, releasing your breast, before resting the side of his face down on your chest. "You make it sound like i'm toxic towards you."

Your chest jumps as you laugh, a gesture that makes Toji lift his gaze to look at you. Your expression managed to make him lighten up a little more.

"You're crazy, but I love you, regardless."

He groans, the sound cushioned by your soft skin. You're the one thing that holds up his sanity, yet somehow you're also the one who tests it by saying things like that to him.

"Let me have you," he says, his kisses beginning to trail up, towards your neck. "Please, let me have you, mama."

"Are you gonna keep threatening people when you get jealous?" You ask, your lips curling as be continues to kiss your delicate skin.

"Mhm," he confirms. "Like I said and you said," he speaks, into your neck, "you're mine. If people don't know it, i'll make sure they get it on the first go. There's no need to make mistakes."

You laugh. "Your possessiveness is intense."

"You're not a joke, to me," he says, looking at you. His expression is as serious as what he just said.

You grab the rolled up fabric of your shirt, with the intention of covering yourself. The ambience has gone more serious and it feels wrong to be so exposed in the moment.

"Don't cover yourself, yet. I want you, baby. Please." His knuckles graze your cheek, affectionately. Despite your chest being out on full display, his attention is centered on your face. He's reading your expression. You were laughing a few seconds ago and now you're as still as him.

"Be nice to me. I don't want you to be rough, this time." It's back to back gentleness with the way your voice reaches him and your smile manages to soothe the remaining sting he's feeling. It's like you're showing him the way you want him to handle you. "I'm yours, Toji. No amount of speed or aggression from your body against mine, will have an impact on the fact. Okay?"

He keeps his eyes on you for a couple more seconds, like he's letting your words sink in and fully envelop him. He repositions his hand, so that he's cupping your cheek, and a couple slow strokes of his thumb against your skin gave him the courage to lean down and kiss you. The second his lips meet yours, he wants more. Infinitely more. He's chasing kiss after kiss from you, utterly drunk on the feeling of your hands pulling him closer by his shirt. He'll consume you, at this point.

"Hm?" You hum, still awaiting his response.

"Got it, baby," he says, before connecting his lips to yours once more. He peppers the rest of your face with kisses, luring giggles from you at the barrage of affection.

This isn't the first time Toji has been revoked of his 'you privileges', and gotten them back, instantly. This has occurred many times in the years that you've been together. Going into a relationship with him, you never thought he'd be the jealous type, much less the type who would threaten someone's life over getting overly cozy with you. The first time he pulled something similar to this, it was a little frightening. You knew he kept a gun on him sometimes, but you figured it was strictly for life or death situations.

You were wrong.

Some weirdo was getting too comfortable with you, hand wrapped around your wrist and all. You clearly remember Toji being visibly bothered, because someone thought they could just swoop in and steal your focus from him. He watched for a minute or two as the man took in your beauty and complimented you on every aspect of your appearance. He really did his best to get you to follow him to his table, and though Toji thought the whole thing was a pathetic attempt, he couldn't help the feelings that began to bubble up as the man squeezed your arm. Toji did a dog whistle to grab the man's attention, and when he looked, he lifted his shirt, just enough to show the grip of his gun. Your stomach twisted and you felt like your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The stranger just stood there for a second, looking at Toji, condescendingly, as if to insinuate that he knew he was bluffing, and when Toji reached for and grabbed ahold of the gun's handle, that same cocky man paled. He didn't even have to pull out the whole gun—the man had walked away by the time he had the grip in his hand— but you remained worried that he would notify someone about what happened, so you and Toji left.

To this day, Toji still scares people that way when he notices them invading your space in a manner that doesn't sit right with him. You're not scared anymore, when he does it, but the frustration of having to ditch wherever you are, in fear of being ratted out by whoever Toji threatened? It's still there, and you feel it every time. You know he does it out of love for you, but sometimes you wish he would take a second to talk to you, before he even thinks of hurting someone.

Toji has kissed your entire torso, by now. Your chest wasn't exempt from his attention, despite the amount of time he already spent on it. If anything, he refined the love he gave it with purposeful movement and significance towards every spot his lips brushed.

He nears your lower abdomen, wet kisses placed beneath your navel, going lower and lower until you can feel his breath being filtered through the front of your underwear. His hands go beneath the elastic band, cupping your hips without restriction as he kisses your clothed pelvis.

Your breathing picks up the slightest bit when his lips meet your slit through the thin layer. His tongue comes out and he does an experimental swipe of it against the fabric. You feel the space immediately heat up, from your arousal and from the warm wetness of his tongue, itself.

"Stay still for me, mama," he murmurs, kissing your inner thighs after spotting the quiver in them. "You nervous?" He asks, with a small curl of his lips.

"Of course, I am." You look into his eyes as you confirm it. You love him so dearly, that even after the years you've spent together, you still feel lightning coursing through you when he has you this way. This electric feeling doesn't prevent you from letting yourself enjoy what he gives you, nor does it hinder you from touching him and making him feel good. You don't become more hesitant towards him, because by now, you're well aware that your love for him coexists with butterflies. They reside in you, and are able to be lured out by him at any instant, despite your knowledge of the fact that he would gladly be someone's cause of death if they don't keep themselves in check around you.

"Love you," he says, kneading your hips as he leans in to press a few more warm kisses to your thinly veiled cunt. His eyes dart up to your face when you don't respond—he's a little lost on why you didn't say it back— until he sees how despite the way you just admitted to your nerves, he has you entirely at ease. You have a hand flat on the sheets, occasionally moving against the material beneath it, while your other hand rests on your stomach. Your chest is steady and your attention is on the ceiling, your expression serene—ethereally so.

His hands run down your hips, warm palms squeeze and feel up your thighs, gaining your eyes on him again. "You're not gonna say it back?" He asks, his voice deep enough to make the ache between your legs just that much more intense.

"You already know I do," you say, contrasting his demeanor with a giggle. He looks like a needy puppy with that glint that presents itself in his eyes.

"Mhm, doesn't mean I don't wanna hear it, again, or do you not love me, right now?"

You're caught by surprise with that one, a small, almost inaudible gasp, leaving you at the words. "I love you all the time, Toji. I love you now and I loved you earlier when I was pissed. It's not going away."

He's a little more impatient for you, now. His movement doesn't speed up, but his heartbeat is in his ears, and there's a tremble in his hands as he reaches for the elastic of your underwear. He pulls the garment down, wanting to smell and taste you more clearly. His cock jumps at the sight revealed. You're still so wet. He lets out a shuddered breath, now that your lower half is completely bared for him. His mouth comes closer and closer and his tongue comes out, making contact with your throbbing cunt for the first time.

"Toji." The sound is soft—unexaggerated—as his tongue laps at your warmth, tasting the sweet wetness that coats it. He could stay like this for hours, worshipping your entire body, while you touch him and gift him the prettiest sounds ever. He can't get enough of you, which is why when it looks like you're going to close your legs, he pins them down, entirely. His hands splay over your thighs and he keeps them there, because he isn't going to fight to give you the pleasure you deserve. He'll love on you until your body is begging him to stop, because he knows that your mouth can be misleading, at times.

He's taking it slow, just like you wanted him to. The most stimulation comes from him lightly sucking on your clit for brief moments at a time, just to hear your moans get the slightest bit louder. Every time he releases your sensitive pearl, he goes back to running his tongue through your drooling slit, the tip of the muscle nudging your clit, causing it to throb with need. Each graze of the wet warmth, makes you wonder if you should ask him to go faster, though you were the one who asked for this gentleness. You don't want to seem indecisive or come off as doubtful that he can make you cum this way. You know he can, but god, you want so much more. You feel like you're the one who's going insane with every flick of his tongue.

"That good, mama? Or do you want it slower?" He gives you a teasing smirk. Toji knows how you are. You say you want him to be soft and gentle with you, but when the time comes, you want more than what's given to you. You delve into greediness as seconds turn to minutes. You both have nowhere to be. Time is yours, and Toji intends to take advantage of that. He's going to fulfill your needs the way you want him to, but that doesn't mean he loses awareness of your little ticks. He feels the small twitches of your legs beneath his hands every time you feel his nose bump into your clit just before it gets hit by his tongue. He sees the way your hips sink into the mattress and your body quivers when they rise, again.

"G-Good. Don't go any slower," you respond, holding your voice as steady as possible.

"Mm... Faster?" He asks, his tone so calm yet sultry, that you can't tell if he's patronizing you. He doesn't miss the way light flashes, briefly, through your features. In an instant, you regain your composure. A simple hum is offered in response—a wordless brush off of his suggestion. The sound makes Toji smirk. How stubborn of you.

"I won't hold it against you," he says, pressing a kiss to the crease that joins your pelvis and your thigh, leaving an echoing feeling of need in your core. "Just say the word, ma." He presses more kisses to your skin, as if he's trying to persuade you to let him devour you.

"Mm-mm, this is good."

It's not what he's trying to get out of you, but he can keep going until you're hanging on by a measly thread.

He continues on with that same pace—licking, suckling, prodding—so gently, luring the cutest little mewls from you. It took a little longer, but eventually, your body started trembling with impending release.

"I'm gonna- Toji," you cry, tightening your fists around the sheets as he slowly circles his tongue over your clit, focusing on it entirely. Your moans grow needier and needier as you near the edge through such delicateness. The anticipation is killing him. He wants you to be louder. You wouldn't hate him for bringing you more pleasure, would you? It's a risk he's willing to take.

Without another doubt, he's messily making out with your cunt, causing more of your sweet nectar to drool out at a more rapid pace. Your breath hitches, a sharper rendition of his name cried out. Your hand reaches downward and grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging on it as he continues to ravage you. Your moans sound absolutely filthy. He doesn't detach his mouth from you for a single second. His hands finally release their pin on your thighs, allowing you to fully suffocate him when they shut around his head. His arms hook around your thighs, a harsh grip on them to keep you from scooting away from his relentless mouth when you cum. It's another strong, orgasm, that has you arching your back off the mattress and squirming as he continues devouring you through the intense sensation. Your hips roll in an attempt to get more of his mouth on you. Only when you start whimpering and attempting to twist out of his hold, does he ease up. He goes back to the original pace, soft kitten licks through your slit to lap up every drop of your sweetness, earning small twitches from your body, due to the sensitivity you feel.

You release the hold you have on his hair and relax your legs, unbending them and letting them fall comfortably on the bed. He finishes you off with a few kisses, thin strings of his saliva and your cum sticking to his lips, before snapping every time he loses contact with your cunt. His warm palms caress your thighs—a comforting gesture, as your sounds come to a halt and all that is heard is your breathing.

"You're so impatient," you playfully chide, a breathy laugh following.

"You wanted more," he responds, one more kiss placed on you before he licks his lips clean. "I'm really good at reading you."

"Yeah? You think so?" You ask, a teasing grin on your face.

"I know so," he responds. "Wouldn't it just be the worst if we've been together this long, and I didn't know almost everything about you, by now?" He repositions himself, now sitting on his knees to start ridding himself of his own clothes.

You manage a hum and a nod as you watch Toji pull off his shirt.

"Good thing that's not the case, and I do know basically everything about you. Down to the way your body reacts to me— the signals you create that let me know you're gonna cum all over my tongue, when your pretty mouth can't form words."

"So vulgar," you say, through flustered giggles.

"You can take it, mama," he teases, a smirk growing on his lips as you watch him pull off his sweats. His eyes stay on yours, as he kicks them off, letting them slide off the bed and onto the floor, before crawling back between your legs. You can feel his clothed hard-on pressing against your core as he takes your lips in his again. He's addicted to the feeling of your warm body against his.

His hands come down to cup your waist, his fingers molding into the soft flesh with every squeeze they offer. He pauses the make out, small breaths leaving him.

"Baby," he says, his voice almost a whisper, his lustfully darkened eyes narrowed on your starry ones. "I'm gonna kill the next person who hits on you in front of me." He goes back in for a few more quick kisses. "I'm not joking. I can't keep sparing them."

"Shh... All yours, Toji," you murmur, softly, pulling him back in to continue the flow of kisses. Your hand goes to the nape of his neck, the other settles on his shoulder. You hear him groaning quietly into the kisses as he continues grinding his hips into yours.

"Fuck, doll," he groans, pausing his lips on yours once again. "I need you."

You laugh, a warm sound that just adds on to his desire to have you. "So, take me, baby. I'm ready for you."

He gives you one more peck, the slyest smirk playing on his lips as he watches you lean forward for another one, only to be met with nothing.

"Ass," you grumble, playfully shoving his chest.

He chuckles, a deep rumble of a sound as he sits back to remove his boxers. He's not even ashamed of the mess of precum that accumulated in them. If anything, he's surprised he was able to hold in his load this entire time. Pleasantly surprised, because every drop will go to you, as always.

One minute you're sitting up to fully remove your shirt, pulling it up over your head, the next, in what seems like a flash, you're pushed back onto the bed, hands pinned above your head.

You giggle, looking up at him with a lingering smile. "Gentle."

"Mhm," he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck. "So gentle." Two misleading words that don't prepare you for the sensation of his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck.

Your bubbly laughter homes into his ears when his tongue runs over the indentations, luring a huff of a laugh from him.

You feel his cock run through your slick folds, his hips moving back and forth, slowly. Quiet breaths fill the silence that takes over the intimate moment. Toji runs his length through your slit one more time, before finally pushing his tip in. You gasp, feeling his cock begin to drive into you.

"F-Fuck, baby, let me touch you."

"In a minute." He sounds so calm and collected, but you can feel the grip he has on your wrists tighten and the bluntness of his nails pressing into your skin.

"No. Please."

"In a minute," he repeats.

"Pretty please?"

"You're so conflicting, mama. Love that you're begging, but at the same time, you're not listening." His hips draw back and thrust right back into you, his cock filling you up entirely, again.

"Oh fuck. Okay. Please, Toji," you whine.

Toji hums dismissively and picks up a rhythm that manages to get you to stop thinking about your pinned wrists. He lures soft, little moans out of you, listening closely as he plants warm, wet kisses on the side of your face, from your temple to your jaw.

"Just let me be good to you, baby. Alright?"

You hum, nodding your head.

"Yes?"

"Please, yes."

His thrusts become even more precise as he focuses on bringing pleasure to both of you, deep groans and grunts blending together with your higher pitched moans. A few minutes pass and you feel the pressure on your arms ease up, your hands free to roam without restriction. The first thing you do is cup his jaw and bring him in for breathy kisses. You keep your hands on his face and he lets you turn his head in every which way to cover him with kisses. Your affection is intoxicating, and he can't get enough of it. He lets out a breathy laugh when you practically have a make out session with the scar on his lips, your melodic sounds of pleasure released against the strike as he continues to fuck into you. The last kiss you leave on the cicatrix is a big one. One that makes the obnoxious kissy sound and everything. He swipes his tongue over his scar, as if he's trying to catch remnants of the sugar you coated it with.

"Love you," you say, eyes darting over his handsome features and the lovestruck expression they create. You feel the way his hips stutter against you, his abs tensing with restraint before he recomposes himself. You glide your hands up and down his arms and repeat yourself for him. "Love you so much, Toji. I'm yours."

"Fuck— I fucking love you. You're all mine. My baby." He mutters more inaudible curses under his breath, his grip on your waist getting harsher and his thrusts growing quicker, with every sweet confirmation you offer.nYou whimper, nails digging into his biceps as you withstand the feeling of his cock relentlessly brushing that spot within you that makes you melt beneath him.

"Oh fuck, i'm close." He groans, feeling the way your walls spasm around him at the words. "Yeahhh, you want it, huh, baby? Want my cum?"

A shaky breath leaves you, your face observed up close and personal by Toji, through lust-brimmed, enamored, obsessed eyes. You squirm under all of him— his zoned in attention on you, his touch, his hot, tacky skin, his cock buried inside you—dragging in and out of your soft walls, in a manner that has your toes curling to the brink of actual pain. His fingers find your clit and rub it in rapid circular motions, causing your body to jolt at the sudden intensity of the enhanced pleasure.

You look up at him with your sparkling eyes. "Please... P-Please, Toji? I want it. Want you," you utter, as he brings you closer to your own orgasm.

"Fuck, okay. Okay, baby, gonna give it all to you." His hips pick up their pace a little more and he buries his face into your neck. You can hear the string of grunts and shuddered breaths that pair with his unraveling, right beneath your ear. Deep moans and pants flow past his lips, and his nails begin to leave crescent shapes on your sides. You feel his hot breath on your neck, the open mouthed puffs of air accompanied by the lewd sounds of him filling you with his warm, creamy cum. As he continues rutting into you, riding out every second of his orgasm and then some to get every last drop of his cum into you, he bites your delicate skin, the placement only a few centimeters above where he bit you the first time. He stays there for a few seconds, breathing heavily through his mouth and nose, before he loosens his bite, the gesture transitioning to sloppy kisses over the wet, saliva-coated indentations.

"Cum, doll," Toji mutters, feeling the way your cunt flutters around him when his fingers relocate your throbbing bundle of nerves. Your head sinks back into the pillow, allowing him to drag his kisses up the column of your neck, to feel the vibration of your sounds beneath his lips. Your nails go to his shoulders, dragging across the toned area of muscles, surely leaving behind some scratches. You cry out in utter bliss, your force of an orgasm echoing through your entire being. "There you go, mama," Toji purrs, in response to your body releasing the tension that came with the intensity of your pleasure. You tremble, your small, rapid whimpers and breaths evolving into full blown, unholy moans. "So, so pretty," he drawls out, engraving yet another one of your euphoric expressions into his memory. His fingers leave your clit, and his hips slow down to the point of merely grinding into you, to lure those final little whines out, before stilling entirely.

You shut your eyes to focus on calming your heaving chest for a few seconds, and when you open them again, you have the prettiest pair of green eyes staring down at you. You give Toji a lazy smile and a laugh, a sight that makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. His heart races as he absorbs the visuals of your post-orgasm haze. Your luminous eyes devour him, that little satisfied smirk on your face is everything— god, he loves that you laugh even more at the way he can't stop staring at you.

Just like that, Toji is reminded of what got this sight revoked from him in the first place. He still doesn't feel like he's in the wrong for wanting to murder anyone who has far from just friendly intentions with you, but as you caress his face and hold his gaze with that tender look in your eyes, his desire to kill those who openly lust after you, becomes entirely justified in his mind. He's lost all reason to hold back. There's no longer any part of him that would feel remorse or guilt, even if you can't look him in the eyes for days after the matter. He'll grovel as much as he has to, to get you to give him your eyes, again. You'll just have to agree to disagree on this, because yes, you come home to him, you sleep in the same bed as him, you kiss and hold him, the body concealed by your clothes is a secret between you and him, you get tangled up in sheets with him and the lot of it— but he can't risk losing you to someone who's possibly better than him and searching for all the exact things you have to offer. You're for him, as he is for you.

Toji doesn't care how clingy he appears when you finish getting cleaned up and ready for bed. You carelessly toss yourself onto the mattress and pull the blanket over your body while you wait for Toji, who took the steps and walked around the bed to make it to his side. He finds your body beneath the covers and immediately rolls on top of you, adhering himself to you, again. His head rests on your chest, his arms wrapped tight around your body.

You're already prepared to give him the intimate aftercare that comes with days like this. You don't mind that he's heavy and that he's crushing you or that he's taking up all your space, again, after having been so close to you a little while ago. You'll do this is many times as you need to for him to understand that he's wanted and loved by you.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, and murmur a quiet 'love you'. Your fingers run through his damp hair, your nails gently scratching the back of his head, while your other hand rubs his back. You feel the extra warm skin of his shoulders, where you paid no mind to the pressure your nails applied on it, earlier.

"Does that hurt?" You ask, lightly tracing a couple of the mildly inflamed lines. He hums in denial, but you let up, anyway, and continue to just rub his back.

He groans quietly at your soothing touch, nuzzling further into you. "I'm yours, too, ma. All yours," he mumbles. "I don't want anyone else and I don't wanna see you with anyone else."

You smile softly at his admission. "You're more than enough for me, Toji. There's no one I want more than you— no, there's no one I want other than you," you correct. "You know how much I love you?"

"Mm... How much?" He asks, waiting for you to give him a number or even just an elongated 'so much', but instead, you surprise him with:

"I wouldn't be able to tell you."

He chuckles. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. If you want something accurate, I'll never shut up."

"Good thing I like when you talk my ear off. You wanna give me an inaccurate idea of how much?"

You hum like you're in thought, a giggle following when he pinches your waist, encouraging you to tell him. "I love you a lot, Toji. So much more than I will ever be able to say or show. We would have to conjoin our minds for you to understand exactly how much I love you, but even then, once our minds separate, your estimate will be entirely off again."

He lifts his head off your chest, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. The moonlight seeping through the spaces between the curtains is the only source of light that allows him to get a mediocre view of you. "That's inaccurate?" He asks, looking at you with clear disbelief when his eyes finally adjust. You nod, smiling through the warmth that spread on your cheeks. "Now, I wanna know how much you love me, with complete accuracy. I have all the time in the world to listen to you, baby. Just keep talking to me." He presses a kiss to your cheek before lying back down on your chest and wrapping his arms around you, again.

You hugged him as tight as you could for a few seconds. The sound of you straining yourself made him laugh, because not only did he not let out a single groan, but you tired yourself out even more. You rested your arms on his back and just shut your eyes. It was the warmth and weight of his body on you, the feeling of his arms keeping you firmly against him, the security, that managed to lull you to sleep. Toji dozing off was simpler than that, because all he needs to be able to sleep soundly, is for you to be around.

[allllium]

Could I request a one shot with Simon Riley, where he is in a secret relationship. And one night when he was on a mission, at their shared home, one of their enemies (that they are hunting down in that mission) comes and kidnaps them. When they find the base where the enemy was, Riley went in to see his girlfriend being tortured? She gets rescued by him and seeks medical attention, as she passes out? But when she wakes up in the hospital it turns into a really fluffy moment? Maybe he gets on one knee?????

Not so Secret

~ I really hope I did your idea justice 🤞 I'm the best at writing for Simon yet or angsty hurty stuff so hopefully you enjoy this sweet little moment

~ Fluff, Torture (Mentioned), WC: 1,559

~ Simon can't live without you

Simon can feel his heart beating out of his chest. You're gonna be fine, he keeps reminding himself. No one on the team has anything in the last couple hours. Good thing. Simon might lose his mind if they try to make small talk in this situation. You're gonna be fine, he reminds himself again, leaning his head against the wall.

You were taken by the enemy team on what was supposed to be a perfectly safe mission. Get the information and get out. Simple. It only took an hour before they found you but in that time you were badly injured. You're alive he mutters under his breath. He can feel Price's eyes burning a hole into him but he still doesn't say anything.

Simon practically jumps out of his chair when the doctor comes through the door. Ignoring every word that comes out the doctors mouth, he pushes his way past and into your room. Price can deal with all the details, right now Simon just needs to see you. Just confirm that you're alive.

You're sleeping when he walks in. More like knocked out with drugs but either way you look peaceful. As peaceful as you can with bruises covering your face. He carefully takes a seat next to the bed. He lets out a deep breath as he sits there watching you. Thinking over everything that happened that day and everything he could have done to stop it, which was nothing.

He sits there long enough to doze off, something he rarely ever does when not in the comfort of his own home. You're presence just has the ability to make him feel comfortable anywhere.

"You're lucky it hurts to move or I'd have drawn a mustache on your face." You voice draws him awake.

"No one would see it through the mask." He responds, keeping his eyes closed. It's a weird feeling, having someone you love in the hospital. He doesn't want to open his eyes, he doesn't want to believe you got hurt.

"I'd know it's there and that's enough for me. Look at me Simon." You demand. He listens, opening his eyes to the brightness of the hospital room. The white walls, white lights, and white ceiling don't strike him as the best thing for healing patients.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, looking into your eyes.

"I'm alright, and you?" You sit up in the uncomfortable bed as an attempt to get more comfortable.

"I'm not the one in a hospital bed." He whispers. Eyes darting all over the room.

"True. It's not the funnest." You crack a small smile. You know exactly how he thinks, how much he blames himself. You know it's a result of trauma and you want nothing more than to be able to reassure him in times like this Unfortunately, words aren't enough to undo this way of thinking. "Join me?" You pat the empty space on the bed.

"No." He replies instantly, immediately worried about injuring you further.

"Okay I might have phrased that like a question but it wasn't. Get on this bed and sit with me so I can feel better."

He stays silent. Debating the options he has. Or more so the options he doesn't have.

"You have two seconds or I'm coming to you."

That gets him moving. At this point he knows better than to dismiss your threats. Before moving however, he takes a moment to take off his mask, something he never wears when it's just the two of you.

"Fine, you know you're not supposed to leave that bed yet." He tries to keep a demanding tone but to you it's just laced with concern. You have a wide grin on your face as he scooches in the bed with you. You end half way on top of him with how small the bed is.

"So what happened while I was sleeping?" You ask, absentmindedly tracing the tattoo on his arm.

"I have no idea. I've been here." He keeps his sentences short and simply. A habit he's picked up over the years.

"The whole time? Aw you big softy." Your heart flutters at his confession.

"M' not."

"Mhm. Whatever you say." You chuckle softly.

"Do you need anything? Water? Food? Drugs?" He kisses your forehead.

"I'm alright. Now stop it."

"Stop what? I'm trying to be helpful."

"No you're blaming yourself. I know you." You lean up in order to look into his eyes. He may be secretive but his eyes aren't.

"I'm not. I'm just thinking of all the ways I can protect you in the future."

"Okay let's say that I believe you. How would you stop this from happening again? You weren't even there." At this point you're sitting up as much as you can, putting an arm on Simon's chest to keep you upright.

"Well right now I'm thinking of locking you in my house so you can never leave and therefore never be hurt." He tells you, being completely serious.

"I'm gonna ignore that because you would like a stalker." You laugh. "Where's the rest of the guys?"

"Outside. I locked the door when I came in."

"Simon! Go unlock the door." You want to say you're surprised but not even a little bit of it is out of the ordinary for Simon.

"No. I'm comfortable here. And I don't wanna go back to acting all professional."

"Simon, you've been in here for what I'm guessing is hours considering it's now nighttime with the door locked. I don't think our secret is much of a secret."

"Maybe not. But I want you all to myself." The look on his face reminds you of a sad puppy. Which is a face he makes very often.

"And you say you're not a softy." You scoff.

"I'm not!" He exclaims, trying hard to protect his reputation that you don't believe for a second.

"Whatever you say, sweetie." You smirk as his face lights up a shade of red. Here we have a massive, cold, military man, blushing at one simply pet name, it's enough to give anyone a huge ego.

After you're little period of talking, you fall into a comfortable silence. With you laying back down onto his chest.

"How are you feeling?" He asks after just a few minutes.

"I'm okay." You quickly reaffirm him. "How about you."

"I'm fine."

"Nope tell me the truth. You've asked me that many times now."

"Just checking."

"Simon."

"I love you." He says out of nowhere.

"I love you too."

"Can we get married."

"What?!" You shoot up, wincing in the process.

"I wanna get married."

"Now??" You practically yell. Of course you wanna marry him but you're really confused.

"No I mean later. I just wanna know that we will."

"You mean be engaged?" You can't stop the strange expression that your face makes as you try and decifer what he means.

"Is that not what you want?" He asks, the fear evident in his voice.

"That's not what I said. But we've never talked about marriage I mean not as deep as we should have. I don't want you to want to marry me just because I got hurt." You start to ramble, talking so fastcyou don't even know if he can understand you. He can. He's gotten used to your nervous rambles.

He smiles bigger than you think you've ever seen him. "I've wanted to marry you since the moment we first met."

"Okay you sound more and more like a stalker the more you talk."

"Is that a no?"

"No, it's a we can be engaged as long as you're being serious. And we'll stay engaged for a while because we're not ready to be married anytime soon."

"So next months not gonna work for you?" He laughs, genuinely laughs.

"No I think I'm busy then." You retort. You want to marry him, you know that for sure, but not until you're healed, and not until you both get better at being together.

"I can wait."

"Can you go let the guys in? Cuz the way you're staring at me is making me nervous."

"I love you."

"Door, Simon."

You try to surpress the wild grin on your face as he gets up to open the door for the others. They all walk in with matching suspicious smirks.

"What have I said about eavesdropping?" You immediately question, looking right at Soap.

"Not to do it." He looks down at his feet like a child being scolded.

"That's right, yet here you are."

"It's not my fault!" He immediately defends himself and points to Price. "He's the one that walked by the door and talk me you were talking about marriage."

You turn your sharp gaze over to Price, "and here I thought you were the responsible one." You shake your head in disappointment. You can hear Simon and Gaz laughing behind them. Being more than amused at the scolding you give you captain.

"You're right. I will reflect on my actions and do better in the future." He jokes.

Also shaking his head, Simon makes his way back to your bedside. Sitting beside you and putting an arm around your waist. You have a feeling now that your secrets out he won't keep his hands off you. But you're okay with that.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XI)

Chapter 11: ‘Lived to see you throwing me aside.’

Hi! Here is another chapter! On the menu today: a dinner with Sam and Frank… I’ll let you guess how well this will go… (I hope my choice for Andrew's pic for this chapter gives you a clue...)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2933

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Hesitate to call

Lived to see you throwing Me aside. That fought Like nettled fish inside me. Saw you throbbing In my syrups. Saw you sleep. And lived to see That all that all flushed down The refuse. Done? It lives in me. You live in me. Malignant. Love, you ever want me, don’t.

Louise Glück, The First Five Books of Poems

Andrew checked his appearance in the mirror for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

He was nervous beyond reason, after all he was heading to a restaurant to see Sam. And after a long-term relationship, he shouldn’t have felt so troubled by it. But things were different now, things were… complicated, to say the least.

Still, he heaved a sigh, checked his appearance once more. He had let his hair loose, had put on contacts, was wearing a black shirt and some dark jeans. He looked tired, exhausted even. Work was a lot at the moment, he had a thousand things to do. He still struggled to sleep, was still tortured with thoughts and dreams of Sam, of her leaving, of her loving someone else.

November was ending, and with it, the remnants of Andrew’s and Sam’s plans. Plans…

A weekend in Kerry in September. Saimhan with friends. Now, Andrew should be packing. He should be choosing clothes, not for an evening in a restaurant, but for a weekend in Glasgow. A flight late at night leaving from Dublin, another one during the night between Sunday and Monday. And in between, a couple of days just for them, spent eating, visiting museums, seeing the sights, walking around the town. A night in a hotel, one she had chosen, spent on filling their hearts with love and their bodies with lust and desire.

He looked at his reflection again, stared right into his own hazel eyes. They were greener than usual, probably because wearing contacts made his eyes water. He would have been more comfortable with glasses, more relaxed as well, more himself, in a way.

He blinked tears away as a thought crossed his mind, a painful one he wished he could have kept at bay, but he didn’t have the strength for that. Beating himself up was a habit, since childhood. There were thoughts sometimes that formed in his mind that brought him pain, but he listened anyway. Sometimes they were quiet, sometimes they were deafening. These days they were loud and clear.

He went to get his coat, grab his car keys, get ready to leave. He petted Elwood, told him to be a good boy, that he would soon be home. The thought followed him outside his home.

Being himself was never enough for Sam to love him.

Christ, Sam was so beautiful…

It was breaking his heart that they weren’t on a date. As he entered the restaurant, saw her sitting at a table waiting for him, Andrew was reminded of hundreds of evenings spent like this, going on a date in a restaurant, at the cinema, it didn’t even matter where. At the end, they didn’t go out much anymore. Sam always seemed to be too busy for that. At the time, Andrew thought it was only because of her job. Now, he wondered if maybe she had not already started to give up on them.

But he hadn’t. To this day, he hadn’t given up on them…

He kept on admiring her for a few more seconds, until the rest of the table was revealed to him, and the illusion waned. You were there too, facing Frank. The restaurant was posh, he felt a little uneasy in this atmosphere. He wouldn’t have chosen such a place for a date, but he had no doubt that Sam liked it.

He forced a smile as he approached, was greeted warmly by Frank, the first one who spotted him as he approached. You turned on your chair to greet him with a relieved smile, and his heart made a happy jump at the sight of you. He had an ally tonight, he wasn’t on his own…

“You’re late.”

He turned to Sam, his heart dropping again. Her tone was flat, emotionless, and he knew her enough to be aware that it was worse than annoyance. She was angry. He struggled to swallow.

“Yeah, sorry… Had some stuff to take care of before coming.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing it was a lie. Or well, it wasn’t a lie, but the real reason was simply that Andrew was always late. To everything. He couldn’t do much about it; if left unattended, he simply lost track of time. The alarms he had set up had done little to help him tonight. He didn’t add anything, merely took a seat.

“Ha, no worries!” Frank reassured him, and Andrew could tell that he was nervous and willing to make Andrew feel welcome. As a result, Andrew was highly uncomfortable.

“The food looks… interesting,” you commented, trying to drag the conversation away from Andrew, and he was grateful for it.

“The oysters are particularly good!” Frank recommended.

You said nothing, but Andrew frowned.

You… hadn’t you told him once that you weren’t such a fan of seafood?

Indeed, when you chose what to eat, you didn’t follow Frank’s advice at all.

Conversation drifted towards work, and your respective lives. Catching up or getting to know each other.

And Andrew understood Frank’s appeal tonight, as he watched him lead the conversation. He was louder than Andrew ever was, bright, clearly extraverted, longing for people’s attention. He was funny, charming. And handsome, that too, Andrew couldn’t deny that either. His complete opposite. Average height, muscles that threatened the fabric of his sleeves while he passionately talked about his work and moved his hands around, blond with electric blue eyes.

So… that was what Sam longed for? What had made you fall for him?

Andrew tried not to think this way. There was nothing he could do about his physical appearance, his ridiculous height, his gangly stature… there was no need to torture himself over that. He could show that he took care of Sam though. That he paid attention to her. That he loved her…

Because Frank didn’t seem to care all that much. Andrew saw it as you talked about your work, about how nervous you were as you got ready to give your students their first test of the year. And if Andrew was intently listening, Frank was clearly uninterested. He drew the conversation away from your job as soon as he could, offering encouraging words, and quickly moving on. You smiled, but you weren’t fooled. Andrew saw it in the way your gaze saddened, in the way the excitement that had been glimmering there died out instantly. His heart ached at the sight. And when Frank spoke again, Andrew didn’t care.

“Will you set a limit for the length required for the essay?”

Frank grew quiet, frowned. You turned to Andrew, clearly surprised by his question.

“Erm… I haven’t decided yet. I usually don’t.”

“Once a student gave me a twenty-pages long essay…”

“Twenty pages?!”

“Yeah… she was thorough, for sure.”

“Did you read the whole thing?”

“Of course. And now I set a limited word count.”

You chuckled, nodded.

“Maybe I should do that. What about your class about Yeats? Have you decided on a subject for an essay?”

“I’m still hesitating… I want to prepare one about Yeats’s involvement in the Irish Literary Revival… but I could choose one of his love poems about Maud Gonne too.”

You chuckled.

“Why do I feel like they’ll hear a lot about No Second Troy…”

“I love that poem.”

“Anyone who speaks of literature with you for more than ten minutes knows that,” you teased. “It’s a short poem to study, though.”

“Yeah… but that means they would really have to work on each line, instead of simply skipping whatever element they struggle with.”

“True.”

“I feel like it would be easier for them to work on the more political side of Yeats’s work during exam season. The material is easier, and we’ll go thoroughly through the most important aspects of these texts in class. So… I think I’ll ask them to work on love poems at home.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

You exchanged a smile. When Andrew looked up at Frank and Sam, they had stopped listening and were both eating their meal in silence. Sam was looking at something on her phone, a habit she had developed in the past couple of years.

She hadn’t asked him about his job. She hadn’t asked him if he wrote, how he felt, if he was suffering because of her. Perhaps she didn’t want to hear his answers. Perhaps she didn’t really care. Andrew was starting to have doubts. The more the evening was progressing, the more he realised that she didn’t seem to care. Sam and Andrew had spent years together, but she wasn’t listening as he spoke of his work, of the things he loved most on Earth.

Did she even care at all about him anymore? She used to listen to him talk about music and poetry for hours, back when they were students…

Or did she? She had never liked his own writing, but he thought she listened when he spoke of what he loved, still. She didn’t seem willing to make an effort these days… but then again, they weren’t together anymore. So, why would she?

“I’ve listened to your record, by the way!”

Andrew blinked, looked at you again.

“What?”

“Duke Ellington and John Coltrane. I’ve listened to it.”

He raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Did you? Really?”

You nodded, an excited smile on your lips.

“Of course! I’m going to sound very basic, I think In a Sentimental Mood was my favourite… although I really loved My Little Brown Book too.”

His mouth broke into a bright grin.

“Grand! Like… that’s grand! I’m glad you liked it.”

Frank stared at you for a moment.

“Who are you talking about?” he asked, trying to slither in the conversation.

“Andy recommended me some music! I have a whole list at this point,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow and making him chuckle and blush.

“It’s Jazz,” Andrew explained. “Some of the greatest, honestly.”

Sam heaved a sigh, still focused on her screen.

“Oh… nice,” Frank nodded, although he didn’t sound convincing at all.

“I really liked it a lot,” you went on. “I don’t really have the vocabulary to describe it, like… on a technical point of view, you know? But I liked it. It was very… like… drawing me in, in a way. There was tension, and then once I was trapped in the song, there was so much emotion there… And it’s unusual for me to be so focused when listening to instrumental music. I have a busy brain, I get distracted easily.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a busy brain too… but that’s what Blues and Jazz do to me. They kind of… shush my brain. Make it go quiet.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You like music, then, Andy?”

Andrew looked at Frank again, wanted to correct him and ask to be called Andrew… but he didn’t want to seem rude. He didn’t like it, though, how he used his nickname.

“Yeah, a lot.”

“Andy wanted to be a musician, back in the days,” Sam intervened, putting her phone down again.

“Really? What instrument do you play?”

“I sing, mostly… play guitar too.”

“But you didn’t make a career out of it? Not that it’s surprising, it’s a tough field to work in. Most people can’t make a living out of it. Like… there’s so much competition, so few who actually get to make it. It must be a tough life.”

“A few of his friends made it though, and he had the talent for it,” Sam went on. “But Andy is not one to compromise easily.”

Andrew stared at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean by that?”

She shrugged.

“You could have had a record deal, had you accepted to change a few things about your songs.”

Andrew huffed, he could barely believe his ears…

“There was never an opportunity for me to record my own songs, and you know that. I didn’t want to sing those… attempts at pop hits that felt soulless to me.”

“And you didn’t get a record deal.”

“I didn’t want that kind of deal. I wanted to record the songs I had written.”

She didn’t say a thing, but her thoughts were loud enough for Andrew to guess them.

And then you didn’t record any of those either.

“Why are you saying all that like you’re resenting me?” Andrew asked, and Sam shook her head.

“I don’t resent you, of course! It was your choice.”

“You do sound like it though…”

“I’m just pointing out that you’re not the kind of guy who compromises much.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow and huffed again.

“You’re one to talk…” he mumbled.

Andrew spent his time compromising. Had he not compromised when he wanted to take a job in London and had settled for Dublin instead because she didn’t want to move there? When she refused to move in with him and asked for more time to find herself? When she chose most of their topics of conversations? When he barely talked about his work?

He let out a long exhale, took a bite of the overpriced fish he had ordered. He didn’t even like the food…

Sam spoke again, about some stupid tv reality she had been watching with Frank, and you listened even though you hadn’t seen it. Meanwhile, Andrew wanted to talk about music with you again. He wanted to ask you about Duke Ellington, he wanted to ask you what songs you liked, he wanted to listen to you ramble about how music made you feel. Your thoughts were always interesting, he could have talked with you for hours… and sometimes he did.

But he shook himself. He wanted Sam. He wanted to have Sam back, and nobody was perfect. There were some things in Sam that annoyed him or disappointed him or that he didn’t understand but at the end of the day she was Sam, and that was enough for him.

He was quieter throughout the rest of the evening, trying to do some damage control over the couple of tensed moments that had occurred during the night.

But then the conversation settled on the wedding itself, and things turned ill all over again…

“And we need to settle on a cake too! Christ, everything is complicated when you’re planning a wedding!” Sam laughed, while Andrew was tightly closing his fists under the table, until his nails drew crescent marks into his palms, while you looked away in a hurry.

“You know… I thought we could choose a strawberry cake,” Frank said. “It’s a classic, most people like those…”

“Sam is allergic to strawberries,” Andrew answered without thinking.

An uncomfortable silence settled across the table.

“Oh… you didn’t tell me that, babe,” Frank told Sam, who frowned.

Clearly, she had told him before, but she said nothing.

“Well, we’ll choose something else!” Frank shrugged.

“What about your career, then?” you asked your ex, staring intensely at him.

“My career?”

“You… you used to say that you wanted to wait to get married because you needed to focus on your career.”

Slowly, Frank nodded.

“Yeah… that’s true. I used to want that. But… it’s different with Sam.”

Andrew saw the pain that shot across your features. There was so much anger that ran through his veins then…

“Right,” you nodded.

“Like… my work seemed the most important, but now… not anymore. Or… not in the same way. So, why wait?”

“Why wait, indeed…” you slowly nodded while Frank and Sam exchanged a tender gaze, one that made Andrew nauseous.

He looked down at the piece of cheesecake he had barely touched, decided not to eat it. He couldn’t get anything more down…

The meal ended in a quiet mood, with conversations spent mostly between Sam and Frank, but the couple seemed satisfied with this situation. When they disappeared in a cab together, Andrew felt emptier than ever. A shell without a pulse or any other semblance of life…

“Andy?”

He turned around to look at you standing behind him in the street, right before the restaurant. Your frame was illuminated by both the white light coming from the restaurant’s sign and the orange hues of the streetlights.

He caught himself thinking that you were beautiful, had to push the thought away. But you were. You had dressed up tonight, undoubtedly to impress Frank, just like Andrew had tried to impress Sam with his careful choice of outfit. And Andrew was impressed, at any rate. You were gorgeous…

You offered him a humourless smile.

“Tonight was… a lot, right?”

He nodded, letting out a long exhale through his nose.

“You can say that…”

“I can’t say that it went… incredibly well.”

“No… it was… strange.”

“Let’s put it that way, yeah.”

“I’m not sure it helped us make any progress.”

“I’m not so sure either. On the contrary. But we tried, at least.”

Andrew nodded, looked at you as you heaved a sigh.

“You know what I want right now?”

He shook his head, tilting his head to the side as he waited for you to speak again, his hands now buried in his pockets.

“I really… really… want to get drunk. Like… hammered. Properly destroyed.”

Andrew exploded with laughter.

“You know what… sign me up! Getting very drunk sounds nice!”

“Let’s go to my place. I don’t want to be surrounded by people anymore,” you offered, and Andrew easily accepted.

As he followed you throughout the street, he reckoned that at least one thing in this evening could be pleasant, after all.

[runninriot]

WIP Word Game no. 3

rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

another beloved mutual thought of me yesterday - thank you @stervrucht i really needed that push 🖤

Ster gave me the word SPICE 😏

S

Steve’s thumbs and fingers linger on either side of the clamps, not pinching, not pulling, just resting there as a silent threat Eddie understands wordlessly.

P

Perfect and praiseworthy, Eddie's body responds immediately, hips grinding towards him when Steve pushes the ridged tip inside, not giving him any time to adjust to the feeling of stretching wide around the silicon toy.

I

It’s his second favourite part of the game, to provoke and be mean, to remind Eddie who’s in charge and who isn’t, let the little Devil inside him take the lead.

C

Careful, almost gentle compared to his earlier actions, Steve relieves Eddie from the torment, giving his overstimulated nerves a moment to relax, letting him shiver through the lingering pain just long enough for him to catch his breath- before Steve's mouth continues the teasing torture his hands had started.

E

Eddie is everything he never thought he could have, submissively offering himself to be used in every way he knows they both enjoy when they indulge in this dissolute act of love.

no-pressure-all-love tags for the word HEAT 🖤 @matchingbatbites @dame-zoom-a-lot @pearynice @yesdangerpls @griefabyss69

[phoenixcatch7]

Just got all the memories.... Brb I'm going to curl up and cry now. My girl...........

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Overstimulating König

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dick Riding, Submissive! König, Extremely Overstimulated! König, Top! Reader, Sperm Cramps, Mentions of Pain, Mentions of Fluids, Profanity, Pet Names, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Overstimulating König to the point where his voice is raw and thin from moaning, crying and whimpering (in that order), his body aching as you ride him, tearing orgasm after orgasm from him. His eyes have long since rolled back into his head, back arched and mouth agape in the visage of the many hours that have preceded this one.

His hair sticks to his forehead, body glistening with a thick sheen of sweat. His stomach is soaked in a collation of your shared fluids, strings sticking to the underside of your thighs every time you lift off him, slamming back down a moment later.

Overstimulating König until he literally can’t cum anymore because you’ve milked him completely dry and used him until he’s flaccid, his cock still held inside you by your sheer force of will to torture him (as it would seem). He can only gasp and let out breathy yelps as you use his body to get yourself off, looking down on him, your stare enough to keep him from acting up.

It hurts, is all he can think. All he can feel. He didn’t think sperm cramps were real until now. But the feeling of being so thoroughly used by the one person he loves most is enough to keep him from throwing in the towel, from asking you to detach from him, to spare him.

Your praise doesn’t help his case, either. Especially when you tell him how he’s doing so well, my Big Bear. It’s more than enough for him to endure the spasming pain coursing through his bottom half – if only to see you smiling down at him again, to have you cum on his cock for what could have been the fifth or tenth time that night — he couldn’t keep count anymore.

He’ll repay your favour in kind another night. You just don’t know it yet.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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[jewishrat420]

No one has ever flirted with Steve the way Eddie flirts with Steve.

And it's not like no one flirts with Steve. God, no, it's not like no one flirts with Steve. Steve can't walk into the grocery store without at least three sets of heads turning and focusing all their attention on him.

And he's not even trying to be cocky about it. That's just the reality he was gifted when he came out of his mother's womb looking like the world's freshest Adonis. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they changed the colloquialism to "Steve."

Regardless. For as many people like to flirt with him, make themselves known, filtering in and out of his orbit like willing planets, no one knows quite how to get him going like Eddie. Maybe it's that they're not as confident as he is, maybe they're scared of the rejection Eddie was born facing and will die knowing.

Maybe they're scared of ruining their chances. Maybe Eddie isn't.

For whatever reason, Eddie doesn't seem like he's scared. Even though there was a long time before he knew Steve was bi, was just as into the flirting as Eddie was, even though there was a chance (not like it'd ever happen, but the unknown was there) that Steve could have beaten him up just for calling him "sweetheart," he did it anyway. He got right up into Steve's space, close enough that Steve could get high off the remnants of the joint he'd smoked earlier, and gave him a look that offered everything.

And, God, Steve wanted it. He wanted it all.

And so that began months of what Steve has so aptly referred to as torture. Apt, because he knows what it's like. He has the scars and the fear of ice cream and needles to prove it.

But this... this is a different kind of torture. Mental, emotional, spiritual, whatever you call it-- this is meant to tear him apart from the inside out, meant to make him want to rip his own bones out from his body and offer them to Eddie if it meant the other man making a fucking move.

And Steve would, is the thing. He would absolutely make the first move-- it's what he usually does, anyway, and he's got a pretty damn good success rate for it.

But, for whatever reason, this feels different. This back and forth they have, the constant teasing, the sliding in and out of each other's orbits, unable and unwilling to refute the most fundamental laws of gravity... it's something special, at least to Steve. Something sacred.

Which is why, when Eddie calls Steve "Harrington" for the first time in months, his first response is to pout.

They're about halfway through splitting a joint, the sweet smoke curling around wisps of hair and parted lips and filtering in and out of the holes in their sweaters. The air outside is getting colder, thinner, sharper, as the winter months dreg on. But inside the trailer, it's comfortable and warm. Safe.

Steve's being a bit of a hog, and he's man enough to admit that. But he had a shitty day at work and all he wants is to feel nothing other than the weightless relaxation of a good high buzzing through his bones. Sue him for taking a little more than his fair share of the good stuff, even if it is Eddie's.

"Steve," Eddie whines, reaching his hand out and curling his fingers in request. "Give it over."

"No," Steve responds, just on the edge of whiny. He brings the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow, deep drag, feeling the sweet heat of the smoke burning in his lungs, taking up the space where oxygen should be. He goes a little dizzy with it, feels his eyes lower. "Mine."

Steve can't see it, but he knows Eddie's rolling his eyes. Can sense the shift in the air, can sense every little fucking thing about Eddie at any given moment.

"C'mon, Harrington, you're being a brat."

And, normally, Steve would find another aspect of that sentence to freak out about. Would zero in on the word brat and relish in the flare of heat it sends shooting up his spine like firework sparks. Would squint his eyes at Eddie and tilt his head in the way he knows makes him look good, would give him his cutest little smirk and say, "Who, me?" and would preen in the response it gets.

This time, though, he's much too focused on the other name Eddie used for him. The one he hasn't heard come out of Eddie's mouth since before he realized that Steve was, as he put it, "actually a good dude."

He doesn't realize he's pouting until the sudden silence in the room starts to creep in, make a home in the buzzing in his ears. He didn't realize that he didn't say anything, and neither did Eddie, and now they're sitting in a mess of their own making. Of Eddie's own making, really.

His next words come out without effort, without intent.

"Don't call me that."

He chances a look over at Eddie, at the risk of appearing as vulnerable as he feels, and to his distress, he can't get a read on the man. His dark eyebrows furrow, brown eyes squinting slightly, and his lips part like he wants to speak. He licks them. Steve's eyes follow the motion unintentionally.

"Call you what?" Eddie says on an exhale. "A brat?"

Steve shakes his head. "Harrington. Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie kind of softens, then, and Steve didn't realize he had stiffened until he isn't anymore. He sort of sinks into the couch, spreads his legs imperceptibly wider, and Steve wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the way his left knee brushes against Steve's just barely. Just enough for those heated sparks to send a couple pinpricks across his skin.

"No?" he says, looking over to meet Steve's gaze. His cheeks are flushed, whether from the weed or the heat of the room or the heat between them, and Steve's sure that his look the same. "What do you want me to call you, then?"

Steve's definitely blushing now. He looks away from Eddie, tucks his chin to his chest, lets the joint between his fingers burn away. Eddie takes it from him, gently, and brings it to his lips. Steve hears the paper crackling as he inhales.

His voice is quiet, almost meek, when he speaks. It's completely unlike Steve, completely unlike the persona he used to so proudly take on-- but then again, Eddie is completely unlike anyone that Steve has ever met. He's more real, more human, and in turn, Steve is too.

"...You know."

Eddie makes a little noise, then, something in the back of his throat that was born and died within the very same second it was released. Something soft, almost pained, like his body couldn't help the reaction it had to that sentence.

Steve watches the thin, long line of Eddie's arm reach forward and press the joint into the glass of the ashtray. He follows the motion until Eddie's hand settles into the rips over his knee, fingers intertwining with the thread. His pinkie is dangerously close to Steve's own sweatpant-covered skin, and he feels the contact as if Eddie were touching him.

Eddie's hand twitches like it wants to move, and Steve resists the urge to grab it, hold it within the warmth of his own palms.

"Do I?" Eddie says, his voice quieter than it was a moment ago. That thick silence fills the trailer once more, settling in between the soft buzzing of the lightbulb in the kitchen and the muffled humming of the crickets outside. Steve hears Eddie take a stuttering breath. "Tell me."

Steve sighs, feeling his chest burn as his heartbeat picks up. His throat pounds with the pulsing of it. He places his own hand on his right knee, pinkie finger edging closer and closer to the space where Eddie's meets his. Eddie's hand twitches again.

"Like it when you call me sweet things," he says on an exhale, as though getting it out all in one breath would make it easier. "Like how it makes me feel."

Eddie lets out another one of those noises, then, something more like a cut-off groan. His hand curls into the fabric of his jeans for no more than a second before he releases it, and Steve gets to watch as the blood blanches and then returns to his knuckles.

"Sweet things, huh?" he muses, voice only slightly strained. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say Eddie is nervous. "Like... Stevie?"

Steve hums. "Yeah. I like that."

Eddie's pinkie moves closer. Barely. Imperceptibly, if not for the way Steve is tuned into his every movement, like a dog to the sound of their owner's keys.

"Yeah?"

Steve hums again.

"What about... sweetheart?"

Steve closes his eyes. Lets out a shaky breath, inhales a smoother one.

"Yeah."

Steve feels something brush against his pinkie. Something warm.

"Honey?"

Steve nods, biting his lip. "Mhm."

Eddie lets out a quiet little laugh. "Even big boy?"

Steve returns it helplessly, feels the edges of a smile pulling at his lips. The air feels cold on his teeth, as though he's burning up from the inside out and anything outside of his own body is a cooling salve.

"Especially big boy."

Eddie laughs a little louder, and the jostling of his body brings his pinkie even closer to Steve's. Completely pressed against his own, now.

Steve swears he can feel his heartbeat through it. Or maybe it's his own.

"What about..." Eddie takes a breath. "Love?"

Steve's own breath hitches. He opens his eyes, looks at where their skin is touching in more than one place. He feels it, feels every point of contact where the cells that make Eddie are existing with the cells that make Steve. Wonders, maybe, if they stay here long enough, if they'll merge and mold over time. Become one.

"Yeah," Steve breathes. "I like that one a lot."

Eddie hums, and the room falls back into silence for a moment. Steve's skin burns where their fingers are touching. He moves his hand to the right, just barely, just enough to let Eddie know that he feels it. Just enough to ask Eddie if he does, too.

His response is overwhelming.

Eddie moves his hand to the left, solidifies all the points of contact between them, and Steve feels like he's exploding. Feels like a bubbling pit of lava that's set to burst, to overflow, like it can't hold back anymore. Like it's tried for so long that it's hurting, now, pressurized and boiling and hot, way too fucking hot.

And then, Eddie crosses his pinkie over Steve's, and Steve thinks he's dying.

He takes in a sharp breath like it's the last one he'll ever get, and he doesn't even have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He knows Eddie is right there with him, knows he's not the only one feeling this irrefutable pull like gravity between them. Knows, hopes, it's only a matter of time before they collide.

Eddie hums again. He taps his pinkie once over the smallest of Steve's knuckles, almost like he's making a decision. He takes a long, slow breath before he speaks.

"You know which one's my favorite?"

Steve's throat clicks. "Which?"

"Look at me."

Steve turns his head to the right for no more than a second before Eddie's lips are on his.

It's hungry, it's indulgent, it's immediately addictive. It feels like breathing.

Eddie presses his whole body against Steve's, and he can feel the way his tendons flex where his hand is covering the back of Steve's. Where their pinkies meet, their fingers intertwine and cross over one another like the roots of a tree, their bodies the whole mycorrhizal network.

The next word is spoken against Steve's lips, and Steve can feel the way his mouth forms around it. Decides, from this moment on, that he never wants to hear it another way.

"Baby."

Steve's exhale is more of a moan, a dying sound that, like Eddie's before, lived for only a moment in his throat before pushing through the wall of his lips. Eddie takes it, holds it in his own mouth, swallows it down hungrily and slides his tongue against Steve's as though asking for more.

"That's--" Steve pants, getting his hands on Eddie's hips and pulling until he's seated in his lap. "Mine too."

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, his lips still pressed against Steve's. Their words are muffled against each other, but they don't need to hear them to understand. They only need to feel the outline of them, the shape of the consonants and vowels against and around each other's tongues. They only need to press their bodies together and know, intimately, the meaning in each other's hearts.

"Yeah. Want you to call me that forever."

This time, Steve feels Eddie's laughter against his lips. His chest. Feels it bubble up in the space between his ribs, feels it flow into his mouth like a river, swallows it down like the first glass of water after a run. Feels his own creep up behind his teeth in return, gives it back to Eddie like an offering, who takes it greedily. Hungrily. Gratefully.

"Think that can be arranged, baby."

[sh1-n0bu]

hehehehheheheee pretty birb bf

winged bf who pick you up into their arms, gently cradling you as if you were made of glass and the finest jewelry as they tell you to “hang on” before unfurling their wings and taking off into the sky

winged bf who show you the beauty of flying, holding you securely in his arms as you take in the way how the world below you looks so small and beautiful. who only has a gentle smile on their faces as you point out the big apartments and parks where you go to for a picnic date. who only has eyes on you as you admire the twinkling lights of the world under you

winged bf who wrap their wing around you whenever you shiver, even if it was one of those annoying sudden ghost bump things you get out of the blue. he’s still worried, let him worry for you in peace😠

winged bf who plucks a feather out of their wing, gently tucking the soft feather into your hair, or on your jacket — wherever you want. he wants you to carry a piece of him to remind you by even though you regularly steal his clothes

winged bf who allows you to be only person to touch his wings, to care for them, to brush them, to just… well, touch them to your heart’s content really. he doesn’t care if you put the tip of his long feather ends over your lips, mimicking a mustache, he doesn’t care if you want to use it as a blanket, he doesn’t care if you wanna use the ends like a cat toy in front of his face. he’ll indulge in your silly shenanigans

winged bf who sheds at least once a year, filling your shared home with the old feathers. who is either smug about it or is apologetic as he helps you broom the excessive fallen feathers. at this point you could probably make a plushie or some sort of art project from the amount of feathers that he shed. to which he objects, saying these are all old and weakened feathers, offering his wing for you to pluck feathers from if you really wanna make an art project

winged bf who hides the two of you under his wing when cuddling in bed, the added layer of his own extra limb making the scene feel more intimate than it is. as if the entire world is blocked out, just a meager existence passing by as you two enjoy this moment of comfort as his wing becomes a curtain to give you two privacy

winged bf who sometimes gets too sexually frustrated and pent up with your curious hands constantly touching the place where his wing is connected to his back, the skin and muscles there are sensitive, making him jump in his seat whenever you do it to tease him

winged bf who knows that it isn’t your fault. you probably don’t know, you don’t have a wing after all, so you don’t know what it means when someone touches your wing. who only calms your worries with a forehead kiss, usually handling his problems himself

winged bf who lets out a whine into his hand, muffling the embarrassing noise as your hand wraps tighter around his cock. he was way too sensitive than usual and it was all because of your wandering hand on his wings. he probably should have explained it all to you but right now, he found his words escaping him, mind melting into a muddled mess as he finds his hands clawing at your own in desperation

winged bf who mumbles out a weak protest of being “s-sensitive! aaah… f-feels too sen—♡︎ sensitive! y-your haaandd♡︎” as his legs start to shake, staring through teary eyes as you coax out yet another climax out of him. his tip an angry cherry red from the continued torture of your hand, his slit weeping precum over and over again despite having just came, getting hard in your hand embarrassingly fast

winged bf who gets tortured by your loving hands for who knows how many times. his eyes are getting blurry and breathing started to hurt. even more, his dick was stinging, twitching every time your tight fist comes up to the tip, letting go briefly as if to taunt him, touching the dripping slit with the tip of your finger and making him whine loudly before fucking his cock into your hand again and again. this was just pure torture, he wanted to escape and run away but you were whispering such nice words to his ears. calling him your good boy, your angel, how you loved being with your beloved like this… could he really ever refuse you?

winged bf who gets more and more twitchy in your gentle hold as your hand picks up speed, the filthy wet noise of his earlier cum being used as a lube filling the room alongside his loud moans. who begs for you to not to touch his wing as it flutters around, dropping a feather or two onto the floor due to moving around so much. who only lets out a pathetic whimper of a “cuz’ ahh haamgh—! [n-name], please! please don’t—♡︎ d-don’t touch them...? they’re sensitive too aanh haagh mfgh♥︎!!” when you ask him why

winged bf who felt like his skin was on fire. everything felt too much but felt too little at the same time, his cock painfully hard again in your hold the moment you ran the tip of your finger over the bane of it. his muscles were getting tense, a strange sense of feeling coiling around in his stomach as you kiss the place where his wing and back connects, shifting around frantically with a chirp or a preen falling from his swollen lips

winged bf who weakly paws at your hand around his dick, wanting to push it away but chasing right after it with his hips as the strange feeling in his stomach just continues to grow worse. it didn’t felt like his usual orgasm, the way he would just fall apart in your hands. it felt more intense and that scared him. who cries out through loud whines and bitten back sobs that “f-feels weird!! aanhh haah [n-name]—! it mnggh♡︎ feels weird! my c-cock feels unnck haah ahh amhh weird♥︎♥︎!!”

winged bf who throws his head back into your shoulder, hands covering his beet red face as a scream tears through his lips, muscles tightening, body going taut in your arms when you gently bit into the base of his wing, your other hand keeping his wing in place so it wouldn’t flutter and knock you away as he fucking squirts into his stomach, painting his muscles and your hand white. who lets out soft chirps and noises, legs twitching and hands struggle to decide whether to hold onto you or to muffle his embarrassing noises

winged bf who only lets out weak noises and chirps when you try to communicate with him, asking him if he was doing alright and if your angel was with you right now after that overstimulating experience. who immediately hides within his wings the moment a sliver of sobriety hits him, too humiliated to even look you in the face because what was that? and why did he felt… so good?

winged bf who gives you a weak glare that you know isn’t exactly serious, pouting at you and complaining about how you messed up his mind and stuff. who lean into your touch as you push his hair away from him, getting to see the still reddened face and the few tear stains on his cheeks. who grumbles about how you have too much power over him when you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss to his pouting lips. who chase after you with a demand for a proper kiss this time

⇨ sephiroth, genesis, angeal, hawks, xiao, venti, angel devil, vash, knives, sunday, simeon, raphael + anyone you can think of!

[dilvei]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( y! emperor x m! assassin reader )

yandere! emperor x male! assassin reader

warnings:

attempted murder

attempted poisoning

mentions of torture

some dubcon tumble & kissing in the sheets ey

directory: part one, part two [ coming soon ]

this definitely could've gone to a much, much darker route but instead it turned out kind of cute(?). i once had a similar idea to this one but as like a longer fic but i don't have the time for that so eat this instead y'all 🌈🌈

requested by @n4muqr

✾ | much is unknown of the current reigning emperor, dimitri, and what little is known about him is all rather rudimentary, really—merely the common knowledge shared and repeated by most already.

✾ | for instance, it is often said by the masses that dimitri is akin to a sleeping lion. a calm and quiet presence... until a single misstep is made in his presence, prompting his unbridled fury. the emperor does not merely desire perfection, he demands it with an almost relentless, crazed fervor. the emperor will not— cannot simply stand by when something in his vicinity does not reach that impeccable state.

✾ | another topic, oftenly brought up, is his cruelty. the amount of enemies dimitri has amassed on his path to the throne is not few, and those who remain are, well, tortured and tormented inside the cold dungeons for as long as they draw breath.

✾ | but none of those rumors are the ones that pique your interest in the emperor. no. what fascinates you about dimitri is the fact that he has yet to marry, and has remained so for several years of his reign, much to the utter bewilderment of his own people and his own court.

✾ | and the reason for it is so ridiculous that, the first time you heard it, you nearly topple over from laughter. the emperor is unmarried not because he is unattractive or ugly—the opposite really, if the rumors are to be believed—but because he deems that there is no one perfect enough yet to stand by his side. ridiculous, really. but what is an emperor if he is not arrogant?

✾ | still, the fact that there is no direct heir to the throne due to this is utterly hilarious to you. even more comical is the moment when, one day, you are given the task to assassinate said emperor.

✾ | you hold no loyalty for powerful men like dimitri, especially when they are reputed to be arrogant fools. and yet, curiosity stirs within you as to who issued such an order, for you are certain that you are not the only one sent to assassinate dimitri. his little brother perhaps? he is, after all, next in line to the throne.

✾ | a day after you receive the task, you simply... wait, and you remain waiting even as news of failed assassination attempts after another reaches your ears. not one assassin has succeeded, and it baffles you, really; it is either due to the emperor's extreme luck or, perhaps, his perfectionism has extended to other aspects of his life—namely, the protection that surrounds him.

✾ | so, you plan. disguising one's self to infiltrate the palace would take too long, and the likelihood of success is slim, especially given dimitri’s vigilant eye monitoring everyone’s movements. in the end, only one course of action comes to mind.

✾ | in the dead of night, you silently scale the towering walls of the palace—walls too high for most, surely, but easily surmountable for someone like you. with a mask covering the lower half of your face and more daggers than one should be permitted to carry, you ascend with ease.

✾ | landing on the balcony with barely a sound, you smile as you successfully arrive at the chambers of the arrogant emperor dimitri.

✾ | lock picking the door inside is awfully easy, and as you step into the bedroom that is almost suffocating with its golden splendor, you finally see him. you see the emperor.

✾ | dimitri is in bed, unguarded, with eyes closed and lips parted, so breathtaking to behold that, for a moment, you forget you are here to kill him, to murder him.

✾ | as you edge closer to his still body, you observe the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each soft breath. how his golden eyelashes flutter as the cold night air sweeps in from the open balcony window. it seems almost a waste to kill such beauty.

✾ | and just as you brandish your cold dagger to his neck, your other hand ready to silence his dying cries, dimitri's eyes shoot wide open, an icy gaze staring directly into you.

✾ | despite only just waking, the emperor is fast, sharp and alert, and in a blink, dimitri has already swiftly caught both your wrists with his hands in a vice-like grip, rendering you motionless as you both stare into each other’s eyes in tense silence.

"You shouldn’t be up at such an hour, Your Majesty,” you slowly quip with narrowed eyes, breaking the silence between you as you struggle to free your hands from Dimitri’s grip. Your efforts are futile; his hold on you tightens further.

No doubt, that bruises will soon bloom like dark flowers on your skin, assuming, that is, Dimitri ever lets go of his grip.

With an almost empty sharpness in his gaze, Dimitri inches his face closer to yours, his expression thin as he responds, “And you, should not wander as you wish in your emperor’s chambers. Wherever did you learn your manners, stranger?”

"Well, certainly not around here, Your Majesty.” You let out a sharp laugh before kneeing him in the stomach. But, to your surprise, you flinch instead of the emperor. It feels as though... you just kneed a solid rock.

At your failed attempt, Dimitri merely raises a brow and sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “I must admit, this is a first. No assassin thus far has attempted to climb my palace walls only to knee me in the stomach. I must say, you do make a memorable first impression.”

"I'm flattered, Your Majesty," you say with a faux smile as you continue to struggle against his grip. Another sigh escapes the Emperor's lips.

Suddenly, perhaps finally finding himself tired of your antics, Dimitri pulls you towards him with a firm grip, effortlessly throwing you onto his bed, pinning you under him with only a hand as though you weigh nothing.

Well now, this is bad.

Dimitri hovers above you, his warm breath caressing your neck, his gaze piercing you with a cold, steely silence. Then— he rips off your mask, revealing your complete face, twisted with frustration; Dimitri's eyes seem to gleam as he notices it.

"Must you really rip it off?"

"It obscured my view of your face, oh assassin. Your mask was a hindrance to us both," he answers, voice as smooth as velvet. With his free hand, and an empty gaze that all but screams danger, Dimitri’s fingertips softly caress your face before slowly, but surely, descending to your neck. You gulp.

Before he can act in a way you do not desire—specifically, choking you lifeless beneath him—you lean forward, rising to press your lips against his in desperation.

Not for his mercy, no—heavens, no. Your lips are coated in poison, a venom strong enough to probably lull a lion into instant slumber, and soon, will render Dimitri paralyzed as well.

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly—because you’ve seen it, seen the hint of desire brimming inside his eyes, a flicker that escapes the mask the Emperor puts on—Dimitri kisses you back. And if your swift brush of lips could ever be labeled as a kiss, then what Dimitri unleashed upon you could only be deemed a ravage.

He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, savoring and exploring your mouth as one might indulge in a delectable, forbidden fruit. Despite your efforts, you find yourself drawn into his passion, grappling beneath him as he intensifies the kiss with each passing moment, as though melding your bodies together.

There is no room to breathe, and your head reels from the lack of air.

A bruising grip is placed on your waist as Dimitri somehow deepens the kiss further, his tongue exploring every inch of you, and as you attempt to pull away, he presses forward, biting your lip almost as a form of punishment.

A low whine escapes your throat, seemingly satisfying Dimitri as he hums softly into your mouth. Then, finally, ever so finally, he ends the kiss, leaving you gasping for air.

Tears well in your eyes as you gaze up at him, a half-smirk playing on his lips while he hovers above you, still gripping both your wrists firmly in his single hand, still unaffected by the poison after how much time has passed. How... is this be possible? Is Dimitri perhaps immune to such poison?

As realization washes over you, the half-smirk on Dimitri’s face transforms into a full one. "The poison on your lips is sweet, oh assassin," he whispers, "but in my opinion, the kiss is far, far sweeter."

"You...!"

As you prepare to kick the Emperor in his groin out of extreme frustration, he releases his grip on you, rising from the bed before straightening his attire. "You have passed, my assassin. And henceforth, you will serve me, and me alone," he announces, voice ringing clear inside your head.

You blink, letting his words sink in before narrowing your eyes at Dimitri, who is now sitting languidly on one of his many comfortable chairs in the room. “Just what are you talking about?” His words make little sense, and you feel an undying urge to hurl the nearest object right at his face.

"Who do you think orchestrated the countless assassinations on my dear self, oh assassin of mine? I seek only the finest, and while I knew no one could truly ever succeed in killing me, thus far, your attempt has been the closest."

You push yourself off the bed, striding towards him with your fists clenched. "This is all beyond ridiculous. Do you have any idea how many of us were tasked to end your life?"

"I do."

You cross your arms with a sigh. "So, what now? Is my task over?" The room is far too cold now after you have tasted the warmth that is your Emperor, and your job is clearly over, now that you have, somehow, been forcefully given a new one instead.

Dimitri responds, "You are to be my assassin. I will point the way, and you will obediently follow, with no questions asked. To kill whomever I send you to kill, to dispose of their bodies with no witnesses in sight, and to return to me when I have need of you. Is that clear?"

You roll your eyes at his arrogant tone but then nod obligingly upon seeing the slightest hint of anger in his expression. "Yes, yes. Is there anything else you require of me, Your Majesty? If not, I will be taking my leave now."

"Remain still,” he commands, and a distant part of you screams in frustration as your body effortlessly complies. He approaches you slowly, offering a small smile before placing your mask back over your face.

"When we are alone, just the two of us, I expect you to address me by my given name, my assassin.” He pauses then, lifting your chin with a finger. You tense.

"And...?" you ask back, your voice shaky.

The Emperor’s gaze flickers towards your lips, concealed beneath the mask, as he issues his last command. “That last method of yours. I forbid you from employing it on anyone else,” he muses, tightening his grip on your chin, almost painfully so.

“Your lips are reserved solely for mine.”

[dawnwriterimagines]

September Morning

LOGAN HOWLETT X FEM!READER LAURA KINNEY X PLATONIC!READER

Summary: Recalling the last day he'd held you.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

September.

A September morning it had been.

He remembers the sudden change of pace in the mansion, the school year was starting, students would be lining up in the halls for the start of the semester.

You had been so looking forward to returning to teaching, to your students.

Planning and setting up a curriculum, a classroom, that they'd never get to see.

It was a September morning...

Logan had kissed you that morning.

But, not in the way he should've. Not in the way he wished he had.

It was swift, a tight-lipped peck on the forehead per your bitter request. You had to practically beg him to show you a hint of romance these days, he'd been pulling himself away from you at the time. Feigning uninterest in your relationship, in you.

But, it hadn't been true.

His feelings for you could never be explained in words, 'Love' felt too simple, too modest, so he never said it. But, that had been it. He was in love, devastatingly so. Night and Day. Dreams and daydreams. Even his nightmares, spiraling images of mayhem that would silence with your presence. Every thought, every moment, every breath seemed to be dedicated just to you.

And it made the future a terror in his mind.

He's lived decades, over a century, through wars, torture, plagues and lovers. Nothing in his life ever lasted, especially nothing good.

Though this was his longest relationship, and you shared a healing factor that contributed to you living since the 1890s while appearing as a woman in her late 20s. Naturally, he looked forward to many more years with you, decades and decades of breathless love, a hundred lifetimes.

But, Logan was a disease. A plague on anything good that came his way. One day, he'd always come to destroy the beautiful things he loved so much.

And he didn't want that to be you.

So, thinking it was the best thing for you, for the both of them in the long run, he slowly, agonizingly stretched the bonds of your relationship. He stopped kissing you unless you asked, stopped touching you unless you begged, stopped eating with you at breakfast, stopped embracing you, indulging you, loving you in the way you needed. He stopped everything, but slowly, so slowly.

Logan couldn't help himself, he wanted it all to last. But, it couldn't.

When he caught himself slipping, staring at you a little too long, kissing you a bit too fiercely, he'd curse himself. Dig his claws into his skin, piercing the flesh and tearing a scream from his lungs.

It was to protect you.

His feelings couldn't get in the way of you being safe from him. From the bad luck that followed him up from hell, that clung to his form and wrapped around anything to close.

It was a September morning when he was confronted by you.

"Logan," you took his wrist as he tried to part from you. "What's wrong?" you wondered, sadly.

He doesn't turn to face you, keeping his eye on the bedroom door, leaving you, he had to leave. If he stayed any longer... "Don't do this again, nothing's wrong."

"Of course, there is," you pulled at his hand, trying to pull him back. Back to you. "There's been something wrong for a long while, just tell me. Tell me and we can figure it out."

"Tell you what?" Logan coldly glanced back at you. "Haven't I told you enough?"

"You haven't told me anything," you frowned, staring right back. "This, whatever you're doing, isn't saying anything. I don't want you to walk away. I need you to talk to me."

He rips his wrist from your grip, forcefully, turning fully to face you, nostrils flaring but it doesn't faze you. You've handled the wolverine's temper before, hell your relationship used to be malicious before it became romantic. "Then you must be deaf," he says. "I think I've been more than clear. Any person with sense would've gotten it by now. Or maybe you're not as smart as I thought."

"Don't do that," Jaw tensing, your eyes narrow at your lover. "Don't be a child. Just say it. Tell me how you feel instead of pushing me away to make it easier on yourself."

"If you don't know by now," he spoke, he took a breath as he struggled to say much else. "I haven't been showing you clearly."

At that, you quiet a bit. Eyes flickering around his face for the truth, face falling, hurt evident in your expression, his heart hurts at the look, but he masks his agony as best as he knows.

Logan was physically stiffening up, fists clenched up, jaw clicking, he wasn't ready to confront this with you. He never even wanted it to end, he thought it'd be easier. So, he doesn't say anything, fighting with himself, expression twisting with his rampant thoughts.

"Logan," your painful expression nearly breaks him. You open your mouth, but your words come out in a stuttered whisper before falling quiet again. You're lost, confused.

"I don't understand. I...I thought we'd...found each other. Didn't we? Find each other," you murmured. "In all this pain, and grief, I found you, Logan..." the crack in your voice makes him turn away, a grimace along his face, a wince at your words.

Though you hadn't lived as long as him, you'd faced a century of hardship, decades of loneliness, death and vulnerability, you'd known no concept of safety until the X-Men. Until him.

Found through the rubble, you'd pulled each other out of, it was easy to fall in love. Promises of forever and beyond even that. Promises of together through the end of time, through the end of the world. Logan Howlett had confessed his love a thousand times over without saying a word, and you'd believed him like he held every precious ounce of trust in his hands.

You take his hand now, your eyes filling with tears as he stayed silent, your thumb running along his knuckles, he lets you. "Tell me you found me," as you cried, he takes your face in his hands, bridging the gap between you. Your first tear runs down his fingers, he wipes them away. "Tell me you love me..."

Logan Howlett speaks a truth he's regretted throughout his life afterwards, a moment that would plague his dreams for the rest of his life. "Have I ever before?" he wondered simply.

Instantly you're out of his arms, stumbling back away as if he'd burned you. Your eyes are wide, they dart away from him, your shoulders dropping as you come to the terrible conclusion, he was right. Logan had never said he'd loved you.

Logan's eyes burn, his fingers curling in on themselves and his chest hurts too much to take a breath. He wants to take it all back. Beg on his knees for forgiveness. He'd do anything. Jump through fire, fall in a pit of snakes, fight an army, snatch as many souls from hell that he needed to get back into your arms.

But, this was the plan. This was how it had to be.

Every word meant to sting, to burn and brandish you in a way that destroys your love for Logan Howlett.

Pulling himself away from this room before he can face your tears for another moment, he turns the knob to the door, opening and closing it behind him.

Stomping down the hallway, fighting every step as he could smell, hear, practically taste the sobs that tore from your throat as he leaves.

He nearly collapses as he takes the corner, his hand pressing into the side wall to steady himself. His heart in his ears, breathing harshly as his eyes redden and sting with unshed tears.

"Logan?" Scott sounds from behind him, questioning. "Everything alright?"

His rival, his friend, puts his hand on his shoulder, but it's shrugged off immediately. "Fine," Logan says without turning. Continuing down the hallway and away from him.

Scott makes a face, confused, before turning to Jean, who follows him out of their room. She notices Logan turning the next corner down to the stairs, "What's going on?"

"No idea," Scott sighs. "Just Logan being his usual self."

At the sound of a motorcycle driving away from the driveway, he glances out of the side window of the manor, frowning deeply as he watches Logan speed away.

Jean hums, amused. "Surprised?"

"Never," Scott says, before perking up as he hears your crying down the hallway. "Or maybe I am. Is that (y/n)?"

Jean's face falls, she steps out into the hall, walking slowly over to your room. Your crying louder this time, she rushes over to the room. "(Y/n)!" she knocks hurriedly, before bursting inside. Holding you instantly as you collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face, you hiccup, allowing Jean to hold you tight. "Hey, hey, what happened, what's going on?"

Scott comes up to the open doorway, confused, worried. But, he opts for giving the women their privacy, closing the door a crack, before reaching for his phone and texting Logan.

This was unlike Logan. Well, upsetting you was unlike him, not being an asshole, that was completely like him.

But, he knew how much Logan loved you, never saying so much as a tease that would indirectly upset you. Logan was smitten for years, unable to even put his feelings into words without going flustered. Something was wrong.

Angrily typing, Scott sends the text to his teammate, before perking up in surprise as a subtle beep rings out in the hall. He walks around the corner, down the hallway, and notices a phone laying on the edge of the steps, Logan's phone. He frowns. "Shit."

He sighs then, walking back around the hall. Running into Ororo, the weather goddess's brows are furrowed in worry. "What's going on with Logan? He looked upset, what happened?"

"You should see (Y/n)," Scott breathes, disappointed. Ororo's eyes widen at the news. "I've never seen them like this."

"Oh my," she frowns, before a streak of light passes by the window, nearly blinding them both.

"Jeez, what the hell," Scott turns, putting his hand up as the light gets brighter. Is that the afternoon sun?

But, it's not the sun. It's humming...like metal vibrating against the glass.

The light eases and the two mutants stare in horror. A sentinel, giant in size, it's eye peaking into the X-Manor, it's glowing red eye catching sight of the two of them immediately.

"SCOTT!" Jean screams.

He and Ororo spin around as a beam of light tears through the hallway, through the walls, through the glass. Tearing apart the building as a rush of power obliterates everything, a green blast of fiery energy coursing through the bricks.

"JEAN!" Scott bellows. "(Y/N)!"

You, with Jean in tow in your arms, flying through the chaos, dirt and scorching heat searing through your skin, having narrowly avoided the beam. Jean casting a telepathic shield as you both ram through the side wall and away from the sentinel shooting from the northside of the building. "Go, go, go!"

Ororo takes Scott's hand, the two of them lifted by the winds and hurtling out of the window as the radiating beam tears through where they were last standing.

Jean and you following, a sentinel chasing after the two of you, you glance backwards as you force gravity to propel you forwards and towards the tree line. Your swollen eyes widen in horror as the chest of a sentinel pops open, falling down to meet you and Jean. The metal tendrils bursting through and wrapping around your ankle, quickly you let go of a surprised Jean.

She screams as she falls before hurriedly catching herself, as she carefully lands on the grass below, rolling down to safety. A dirty smear of soot along her face, she looks up, watching to her terror as you're swallowed inside of a sentinel, it's tendrils wrapping around your body and pulling you inside of it's trap.

You scream as the doors slam shut, hand extending outwards. Out towards the road, out towards Logan.

Jean's hands immediately rise upwards, desperately, "No, no!" she cries, but then the inside becomes engulfed in flames, you scream in agony in the air as your prison of metal suffocates you in a sudden rush of fire. "NOOO!" Jean screams, the violent light of a burning flame fills her eyes as she sobs out in horror.

The sentinel crashes downwards toward the far tree line with you buried in its casket, Jean's telepathic pull interrupted at the sheer weight of it's fall. She rushes down, running desperately, but the northside sentinel crashes down in front of her, it's beam of light rushing down on her.

Ororo with tears in her angry eyes pulls the winds down and towards Jean, pushing her out of the way of the lethal attack. She then pulls lightning from the sky, storm clouds rolling in, rain falling from them, a sudden strike of electricity collides with the large sentinel. It jerks, it's metal shuddering and loosening, but it then turns to her, it's beam whistling through the air.

She flies up, avoiding it. Then past the sentinel, pulling lightning from the clouds, she desperately strikes at the sentinel balled up by the tree line that burns with fire with you inside. With a cry, she brings it down, splintering its shell. But then, before her eyes, the metal changes in texture, from a dented metal, to a rocky surface of stone.

Fire spills out, and she can hear your weakened vocals crying for help.

Ororo wails like a vengeful spirit, bringing down the wrath of the storm down on the shield of the sentinel. But, without warning, a large hand of a sentinel swings toward her, knocking the weather goddess out of the sky. "Ah!"

Scott rips his glasses off his face, beams of concussive force springing from them and knocking the giant robot back a few feet, it's hand coming up to block the attach. The beam wearing down on it's metal, but it comes closer and closer.

With a rageful cry, his beams become larger, nearly covering the giant being, it stumbles back, the ground rumbling with each forced step back.

Jean lifts herself up, a telepathic push shoving the sentinel over before it can restart its beam to attack Scott. "Rah!" the sentinel lands on its back, nearly blowing them all back with the force of it.

As the sentinel falls, the rest of the X-Men emerge from the manor, Hank and Charles guiding the students out of the building and towards the field, away from the chaos.

Without wasting a second, the X-Men rush down the tree line, to the sentinel that's captured you, no noise escapes the trap. Jean telepathically tears into the metal, the sentinel's regenerative body fighting against her wishes. Forcing the metal to open, a terrible heat pouring out of the cracks, no one can get close enough, your crumbling hand falling out limply.

Jean screams.

Ororo cries. "No!"

Scott curses, hands coming up and over his head, horrified. "Oh God!"

Another streak of light tears through the field, rushing up towards them all this time, a violent beam of energy destroying everything. They turn, but it's too late.

---

Logan turns his glass, watching as the liquid swishes and shifts with every move.

Sitting in a local pub in the city, he sighed heavily to himself. He can't stop thinking of your face, how you looked when he said all those things, when he gave you lives that he'd forced you to believe.

He beats his forehead with his fist, grimacing miserably, as he sat there, taking another swig of his beer. "Fucking idiot," he curses himself.

Why did he have to ruin that? Every good thing. Ruined.

Why did he have to do this to himself?

What kind of joke was his life? This one thing. He couldn't just have this one thing...

No. He remembered. He couldn't.

He took another drink, waiting for the kick. He sighs at the burn in his throat that he waits to numb his thoughts to silence.

Against his better judgement, Logan takes out his wallet, realizing he'd forgotten his phone. He opens it, eyes softening at the picture of you he kept there, pulling it out, it was folded to block him out of the picture.

He held a little smile, letting you pull him to your face so you both were smushed together for a happy little photo. He recalled the day as it being the moment he knew he wanted to spend every waking moment with you, it was also the day he realized his selfish faults for dragging you into the mess of his life. But, dammit he wanted you so bad, he wanted to keep you, to love you as you loved him, eternally.

He couldn't have that.

Logan Howlett was destined never to have that again, he had decided.

But....the thing is he could've. Right?

He thought to himself, you weren't an average woman, you were an X-Man, an immortal so it seemed. You were no normal woman that he'd lose to time or disasters.

He could have you for decades more, a century longer. A millennia if you both were lucky.

Who else could say that? Just you. Just the two of you, really.

And he's been so desperate to ruin that...for fears that may never come true.

Logan thoughtfully puts his glass down, glancing around as he thinks to himself, what an idiot he was.

He bursts from his seat, a newfound purpose in himself, a revelation that he hadn't had before. He could be happy with you, as long as he protected you, as long as he loved you, as long as he left behind that plague that followed him. Leaving it behind in that stool, tearing himself from the darkness that followed him constantly, he thought only of you.

The things he'd make up for. The moments he'd never taken with you. The days he'd cherish with you. The life you could build together.

But, first, he had to apologize. And fuck, did he have a lot to apologize for.

As Logan's leaving the pub, the news turns on, a broadcast that makes him stop at the door.

"Breaking News, Charles Xavier's school for gifted youngsters, a home for wayward mutants in upstate new york, has been attacked as of 6 p.m. tonight, so far there's been 14 casualties and counting..." as the news anchor speaks, all attention going to Logan at the news. His eyes widening at the helicopter view of the manor ripped to shreds, smoke traveling up the ruined building. A sentinel striking down on the land.

"No," he breathes. "No, no!" Logan rushes out of the pub, to his motorcycle, revving the engine and driving off.

---

Arriving at the institute, driving straight into the smoke filled land, strands of flame, burned fields and falling embers from the crumbling manor. Logan looks around, blood running cold as he runs through the field, finding the bodies of his students, bodies broken or just their limbs seared right off from the beams.

He finds Scott, his eyes staring open into the sky, this glasses broken, but his eyes don't light up with red energy as they would've. He's gone.

Then Jean. A few paces away from Scott. Blood in her hair, reaching out for her husband. Gone.

He doesn't find Ororo until he finds Hank. The both of them dead next to one another, he cradles her in his arms, leaning over her.

"(Y/n)," he gasps out, sick to his stomach. He cries out again. "(Y/n)!"

His voice echoes in the silent, crackling field. The sentinels having gone, the carnage remaining.

A creak of metal falling apart makes him turn quickly, rushing to the noise, the smoke is heavy here, embers flying to the sky.

Creaking metal splits, a sentinel he realizes, but it'd been burned through the inside out, charred.

A body falls out of the crack, hitting the grass as it crumbles.

His grief moves him first, rushing over, "Oh my god, oh my god," he repeats to himself as he runs. "(Y/N)!" Logan screams.

Dropping down in front of his lover, your skin cracked and burned to charcoal, hardened to the touch, beneath the skin, he can still see the flames that scorch beneath. And yet your eyes still find him.

He takes you in his arms, feeling as your body begins to crumble away. "No, no, no, what's happening?" he shudders as he realizes you're not healing. "No, why aren't you--why aren't you healing?" he takes your face in his hands, gentler this time than he had this morning, than he had any day. "Why aren't you healing, baby?"

He looks closely, your body's sustained blasts from explosions, beams, you've walked through flames before. What's going on?

Logan shakes his head. "Why--" he doesn't known what to do. "Come on, come on, please. You've gotta heal, darlin'. Come on."

Your heavy-lidded eyes just stare at him, you breathe subtly, hardly a breath at all.

Tears run freely down Logan's face this time. "I lied," he began quickly. "I had found you before I knew I loved you. I found you in my dreams and in my thoughts before I slept, I found you in every moment of every day, (Y/n), please," he admitted to his love. Eyes flickering around to see if her body would finally start regenerating as it always had, but you continued to crumble and crack. "Please. Please, (y/n), please," he sobbed.

A hiss of steam runs off your face, your tears sizzle away on your skin as they leave you. Your eyes closing briefly as Logan puts your forehead to his, "I love you in every moment," he hiccupped. "Of every day, of every hour," he gasps out as he feels your hand dragging up to his wrist. He takes your hand, it's fragile, cracking beneath the weight of his touch and the effort to move.

"I love you..." you speak with your last breath, sparing it for him.

"I love you," he cried, reaching down, kissing your lips.

He feels your hand crumble to dust in his hands, your legs in his lap lose weight as they follow in the same way. As your lips fall apart, he kisses your forehead, unable to open his eyes to watch as you fall away.

Logan breathes in a painful breath, heart breaking as he can't feel you in his arms any long. Squeezing the remains of you in his fists, he inhales deeply, a stutter of an agonizing sound, he cries as he finds the strength to open his eyes.

Nothing left of his lover, nothing left of you, but the embers that flies in the air, the ashes at his feet.

"Oh god," he cried, bringing himself down to the ground, fisting his hands in your ashes. He shakes violently, weeping into your remains, before sitting up and wailing into the air, a scream ripping through his lungs, tearing at his vocals.

The terrible sound could be heard miles away from the destroyed manor.

---

Years later, Logan sits at a pub. Taking another shot of whiskey.

"Another," he requests.

"No more," the bartender says to him, frowning with a look of disgust. "You know you're not welcome here."

Logan glances up, jaw tightening before sighing, fists unclenching. "Just one more and I'm outta here."

Reluctantly the bartender pours him another.

And then suddenly, a red suited merc jumps out of a portal, clumsily flipping off the pool table and spinning over towards the empty stool next to Logan.

Part 2 coming soon.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dreams, A Nightmare and A Kiss

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> After you have a dream about Logan, your brain can't seem to forget it. And neither will Logan.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of torture, crying, a creepy guy. Apart from that, teasing, fluff, a little dash of steam at the end. Not Proof Read

You kept having this recurring dream. Or maybe it was a nightmare. It was hard to tell. What do you call it when, what seems like a dream, turns into a very awkward situation where you don’t know what to do with yourself when you wake up? 

Do you try to forget it ever happened? Do you talk to someone about it? Do you talk to the person about it? Are you meant to talk to the person about it? Or would consulting a psychiatrist be easier, considering the person who you dreamt about…was not someone you would, or even should be dreaming about?

“Morning.” 

Storm placed down her coffee on the table before pulling out her chair. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“What?”

Storm pointed at you, “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

“Too hard for this early in the morning,” you mumbled. 

“Well, then, talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

“I don’t think even the world's best psychiatrist can help me with this one.”

Storm shrugged. “Maybe you don’t need the world’s best. Come on, try me.”

You took a moment and looked at Storm. Maybe it was worth a go…

“Okay,” you sighed. Storm got comfortable in her seat and leaned forward. Meanwhile, you practically had to pull your legs under the table and untrap your hands from between them. 

“I had a dream.”

“You had a dream?”

You nodded, trying your best to look her in they eyes when you spoke. Was you really going to admit this outloud to someone? 

“I had a…dream.”

It took her a minute. “Oh…oh. Okay, well anyone will tell you that’s normal. Healthy even. You know, sometimes-”

“About Logan.”

Storm faltered and then came to a full stop, her hand still in the air and her jaw slacked. “Logan.”

Storm spoke slowly as she looked at you, trying to gauge if this was some big prank you were playing on her. It wasn’t April. 

“L…ogan?” She asked this time, just to be sure. 

You nodded. 

“Our Logan?”

“Do you know any other Logan’s?”

Storm shook her head and blinked her eyes for one second too long before coming back into movement. “No, I guess not. So…what’s the issue?”

You looked at her like she was both crazy and confusing. “You don’t see the issue?”

Storm shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee. “Not particularly. I mean, it is a little odd considering…well considering you two aren’t the most…harmonious.”

“Understatement.”

And it was. 

Both yourself and Logan, although civil most of the time, weren’t exactly known for being best pals. 

“So what was it about?”

“Ororo!”

She just smiled, “What? I want to know. How was it?”

“I…I can’t answer that.”

“Sure you can! Oh, come on, Y/n. You can’t tell a girl you and Logan shared…something and not tell her about it.”

You sighed, “Yes, I can.”

“Oh my god,” Storm smiled, leaning back in her chair. “You liked it.”

“What?” You could practically feel your face bursting into flames. “N-no. No I didn’t.”

But she just laughed in response. “You sooo totally want it to happen in real life.”

“Want what to happen?” 

You practically squealed with fright as both you and Storm sat straighter in your chairs and turned to see Logan walk through the door and over to the coffee machine. 

“Uhhh, nothing. Nothing at all. How did you sleep?”

From pouring coffee, Logan repeated your question. “How did I sleep?”

You nodded, willing the redness from your face to disappear. The grip you had held on the back of your chair as you twisted your body was growing stronger by the minute. 

“Yeah.”

Logan placed the coffee pot back in its place and looked to Storm. “Is she okay?”

Then you felt yourself go back to normal. “I’m fine, Logan.”

Logan looked back at you. The general look of disgust and disinterest, a little more prominent on your face. 

“I slept fine.” Logan answered. Then his face turned into a grin he was holding back. Well. Trying to hold back. “How did you sleep, Y/n?”

Storm watched your eyes widen for a second and the blush heated your face once more. “Fine.” you were forced out. 

Logan just nodded and sipped his coffee. “And you? Storm?”

“Like a baby.”

Logan nodded and smiled. “Good. Good.”

Then the bell went. “I better get going. I guess I’ll see you later. Or should I say tonight?”

Logan watched as your face twisted from nothing, to confusion, to shock to embarrassment to…turning around and hiding it completely. 

“Have a nice day, ladies.”

Covering your face, you hid it on the table, letting your muffled voice speak out from your arms as Storm placed a hand on your back. “How much do you think he heard?”

“Not much…I think.” Storm looked behind her, a pained look on her face for you. “If he had heard it all, he would have gloated more.”

You gave a whimper in pain and Storm placed her hand on the back of your head. “It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“It’s Logan.”

“Okay, so you’re screwed.”

Thankfully, you had managed to avoid Logan all day. Jean had found you hiding in the teacher’s lounge when you knew Logan was teaching. Even him thinking you were alone in your classroom was hard enough. 

“You don’t have anything that could reverse time? Or make me forget all of today?”

Jean smiled, “No. I don’t think so. But Storm told me what happened.”

“Oh, God.” You groaned, placing down your food by your feet and burying your head by your knees. “How many people know?”

“Just me and Storm,” Jean assured you. “And Logan,” she added. 

You groaned again. 

However, now that everything was finally silent, you took time to breathe. Maybe Logan would finally drop it. 

Not that he had said anything to you apart from that morning. But…it was Logan. When it came to you, he’d never let you live it down. 

Stepping a little higher on your feet, you reached into the back of the cupboard to try and find the last box of tea bags. Why Scott had been assigned to stock away the one thing he didn’t drink was beyond you. He always put it at the very back of everything on the top shelf of the cupboard. 

Not even on the first shelf at the back. 

No, he’d rather have you pull a muscle or get yet another bruise from the knobs on the oven. 

Finally reaching it, you stepped back and closed the cupboard door just as someone shouted your name. 

You let out a little scream that was followed by his laughter. 

“Logan! Jesus Christ.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry. Was just too easy.”

You gave him a glare and bent down to pick up your box of tea bags before walking away to the other side of the kitchen where you had left the kettle by the sink. 

“It’s almost midnight. Don’t just sneak up on a girl like that.”

“Forgive me.” He was still smiling. Even with your back to him, you could tell. “But I figured you’d be busy dreaming about me.”

“Having a nightmare, more like.” 

“Oh, come on. You had a dream about me. Admit it.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes before pushing down the kettle lid and placing it back on its holder before flicking the switch on. 

“Oh, please. You just want to gloat.”

“No, no. Okay, maybe a little.” Logan lowered his hands before using them to lift himself onto the counter where you stood by the island, chopping up some carrots. “What are you? The Easter Bunny?” Logan lifted a piece before putting it back down. 

With the knife still in your hand, you made direct eye contact as you pushed the knife down hard, listening to the snap of the carrot before returning your gaze to it. 

“So…tell me.” Logan began, picking up yet another piece of carrot yet this time eating it. “What was it about?”

“What was what about?”

“Your dream.”

“Logan,” you sighed. 

“What? Oh come on, we both know you dreamt of me. You could at least tell me what it was about considering you didn’t ask for my consent.”

You looked at him for a moment before walking away, towards the kettle that had finished boiling. 

Pouring the hot water into the cups, back on the island, you returned the kettle to its place, allowing the bags to steep in the water for a while. 

“Come on, you know you want to tell me.”

“I don’t want to tell you anything.”

“Did we kiss?” Logan asked, trying to find his answers. “Did we have sex? Sorry, make love. Did we get married? Did we-”

You sighed, placing down the knife. “We did nothing, Logan. I had a dream. You just happened to be there.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

Logan gave a coy look and lent down a little so he was closer to you. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened.” You pressed. “Trust me, if anything you just asked me happened between me and you in any capacity, I’d be calling it a nightmare.”

Logan pouted and held his hand over his heart. “Oh, how you wound me.”

“You’re a grown man, Logan. Deal with it.”

Logan laughed, taking a couple steps back. “Okay, okay. I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.” 

“For now.”

Leaning closer to you and over you, Logan reached for the second cup you hadn’t realised you had made of tea and took a handful of carrots with him. 

You berated yourself for having closed your eyes for a split second, letting his touch warm you. 

Logan was not a man you should or would ever go for. 

But Storm was right. 

You did enjoy it. 

You just never wanted Logan to know that. 

Over the following days, you could feel Logan’s eyes on you wherever you went. From the both of you standing by your classroom doors, watching the kids leave your classroom and making sure the right ones came in. 

Some students recently had a tendency to swap certain classes for others. 

Or like when you were at dinner and sat outside. From the grass below where he was coaching a game of baseball, you caught him looking at you and smiling as he turned away. 

So, when you saw him again in the empty hallway, you pushed him inside the nearest classroom. 

At least, what you thought was the nearest classroom. Turned out to be a storage room for school supplies. 

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing. You know, I think this is against the law, holding someone hostage inside a storage closet.”

“Every day this week, you’ve been staring at me. Why? Do I have something on my face? Or are you trying to see if you’ve suddenly developed telekinetic powers?”

Rather than replying, Logan just looked at you. Was he…studying you?

“You had another dream.”

You reeled back for a moment, trying your best not to squirm under his gaze. “Excuse me?”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. Or maybe it was a smirk. 

“You had another dream.” Logan repeated. “Was it any different, or was this just part two.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Logan shrugged. “It’s not every day you learn that someone is in love with you.”

You practically laughed. “In love? With you? Oh, that’ll be the day.”

Logan practically sang what he said next. “Oh, you are so totally falling in love with me.”

“Like hell.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “She’s already prepared the wedding vows.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you, too, Sweetheart.”

However, before you could reply to Logan’s statement, you both turned and found the door wide open. 

“Rouge,” you almost yelled her name in surprise. 

“Hey. Sorry about…interrupting. I just need some…” She pointed to behind both of you where the stack of boxed pencils were kept. 

Logan reached behind him and handed her a box. “Here you go, kid.”

“Thanks. I guess I’ll just uh…” 

Closing the door on both of you, she walked away, hearing a small thud on the door behind her. 

Little did she know it was your head. 

“Be careful, she might be thinking we’re doing something else in here.”

“I hate you,” you groaned. 

“Love you, too, Sweetheart.” Logan repeated, folding his arms and smiling. 

Turning the door handle, you swung open the door and walked out of it. 

It was halfway through the next day before you saw Logan, and it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought you next saw him. 

The heating on the top floor of the school; the floor which both yourself and Logan, along with a couple of other pupils happened to sleep on, hadn’t been working for a month. 

A trustworthy company couldn’t come out to inspect it for at least that time but now that they are finally here, part of you wished they hadn’t turned up at all. 

Because, for as much as you enjoyed talking to people, one of their tradesmen…you would have happily gone your whole life without ever having spoken to them. 

From the minute he walked in the door, he had been eyeing you up like you were his next meal. He always stood too close for comfort, trying his best to leave his hot breath behind your ear whenever he spoke which only made your skin crawl and when he blatantly started flirting with you…you more than obvious distance and replies of “No,” didn’t seem to do the trick. 

“I’m married.”

“I don’t see your husband anywhere, sweet cheeks. We could always get to know each other a little better, if you catch my drift.”

Then Logan turned down the hall. 

Finally spotting him, you gave a smile of relief. 

“Logan!”

He started walking closer to you. 

“Here he is, my husband,” you took him by the arm, putting him between yourself and one of the tradesmen. “Logan.”

Logan looked at you with a slightly confused look whilst you looked both scared, panicked (for two reasons) and was forcing a smile on your face the whole time. 

Logan took a breath and turned back to the tradesman who had everything, save from the actual word written across his head in bold ink, creepy going for him. 

“Can I help you?”

The guy practically tumbled back. “No, no. Just having a conversation. I guess I’ll get back to work.”

You watched as the guy tripped over his own feet trying to scurry away from yourself and Logan, neither of you missing the way the guy told two other workmates of his that you were, in fact, married. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry I dragged you into that but- Why are you smiling?”

Logan shook his head, standing in front of you, pressing his hands behind his back and bouncing on his feet. “No reason.”

You relaxed your face. “He was being a creep. What would you have had me do?”

“Come and got me.” Logan answered honestly. “But…I was right.”

“Right about what?”

“You had written the vows.”

With your arms crossed, your eyebrows relaxed as you looked at him. “I want a divorce.”

“Ooh, do you not remember, Sweetheart? That night you burned the marriage certificate?”

You started walking away. 

“What was it that you said?”

Logan followed after you. 

“Good luck returning me without the receipt. Now, that is better than Shakespeare, don’t you think?”

“I hate you.”

“See, I don’t think you do. Considering…”

“Considering what?”

“The fact that you keep dreaming about me.”

You sighed. “I already told you, it wasn’t about you. You were just in it.”

“Oh, that’s true love if I ever did see it.”

“Don’t you have a class to teach?” You asked as you turned into the kitchen. 

“I wonder what we did this time? Frolic on the beach? Have to say though, I’m not one to frolic anymore, but I could make an exception-”

You stuffed an apple into his mouth before turning to face him. “Remind me, how does the saying go again? An apple a day keeps your wife from killing you in your sleep?”

Walking away, you headed through the back doors and outside leaving Logan to bite down on his apple, all the while smiling. 

Something that you didn’t think through however, was having to keep the rouse up. And it wasn’t long before everyone knew. At least, all of the team knew. 

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Xavier said as he entered into the living room where you were sitting on one end of the sofa, curled up with a book, whilst Logan sat diagonal to you across the table, spread out, grading papers. 

“I have to say though, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

Logan smiled, “That makes two of us.”

You just glared from over your book before going back to reading. 

“I have to say also, you both make a very cute couple. Of course, I was betting on it taking an extra couple of months.”

“I think Y/n helped to speed things up a little.”

You continued to glare. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“How could you tell?”

Rolling your eyes, you went back to trying to read your book. 

“Well, I suppose I best leave you both alone. What with you two still being in the honeymoon stage and all.”

Charles chuckled to himself as he left the room, not forgetting to shut the door behind him. 

You and Logan remained in silence for a while longer. However, Logan didn’t miss your gaze. Every couple of minutes you would look up and watch him. He could feel your eyes on him, heating his skin from under all his metal. 

“You know, if you didn’t keep staring at me every five minutes, you might have finished your book.”

“What?”

“Ooh, feigning disinterest. How original.”

After a moment, Logan stood and started walking over towards you. “You know, you could just ask.”

“Ask what?”

Logan sat beside you on the sofa, facing you, leaning in a little closer. “If that’s what it would be like?”

“If…what would be like what?”

Logan’s arms fell to either side of you on the sofa, caging you in. “If that’s what it would be like for us to be in the same room as each other without fighting. I’m sure you’ve thought about me once or twice. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Am I really that transparent to you?”

Logan practically smirked as his head tilted a little and he came closer to you. “You forget I can hear your heartbeat, Sweetheart.”

Your lips parted for a moment, feeling your heart rate increase even more. 

“I think you’re forgetting something else, too.”

“What’s that?”

Logan reached for you. Or rather, behind you. 

Pulling the cord, the lamp came on. 

“You hate me.”

That night, you lay awake in bed, wishing and hoping and praying on every goddamn star in the sky that you wouldn’t dream about him again. 

That you wouldn’t dream about the way his touch warmed yours, or how he would kiss you in all the right places, willing his name from your lips. That you wouldn’t dream about his arms wrapping around you or how, in a dark bedroom alone, you would hear the shower turn off only to have him emerge in a billow of steam like some kind of Greek or Roman God, just wrapped in a towel looking at you like…that. 

 That you wouldn’t dream about him in a way that you wouldn’t let yourself acknowledge. That you wouldn’t want to outwardly and knowingly fall in love with him, and have him fall right back. 

But, of course, the wishing and the hoping and the praying didn’t work. 

Because when you next opened your eyes, you were left with the memories of a dream that included not only you teaching – like you did most days of the week – but the classroom emptying to allow both yourself and Logan some privacy where he placed his hand against your stomach and kissed you. “She’s got her daddy’s strength, all right. I feel like I’m being kicked by a horse.”

You woke up with the fading feeling of the gentle yet firm hand Logan had on your stomach, and your heart’s growth fading a little when you realised it was just a dream. 

For the fifth dream in the space of a week, you were beginning to think you were cursed. Or, at the very least, had a problem. 

However, it all changed when you woke up in a sweat. 

Finally, three days had passed and no dreams at all. Nothing to do with Logan. Not even a single thought whilst you were asleep. 

And then things grew dark. 

You had been running. For your life. All around you, stars were falling from the sky, hitting the ground and shaking it from beneath you. Each way you turned kicked dirt into your face, making it harder to breathe. Your lungs felt like they were on fire before you finally reached a set of metal doors. 

Inside, you ran around, dipping in and around different stacked crates, your head whipping around you trying to check all angles. “Where are you?” you kept asking yourself. “Please be here.” 

Then you found him. 

But you heard him first. 

A scream. 

Turning, the room turned with you until you found yourself in some kind of lab. Logan strapped to the table, and just as you stepped forward you found yourself being held back by two soldiers who had to be at least seven feet tall and six feet wide. 

No matter how you moved, you couldn’t. 

They were branding Logan. Burning him with needles and different iron poles and wires. He was screaming in pain, unable to turn his body away from it. 

“Stop! Stop! You’re hurting him! Please! Stop!”

But they couldn’t hear you. No glass was in front of you, but there might as well have been. 

“No! Logan! Please! Stop hurting! Just…Please!”

Logan now turned to look at you. And as he did, your heart broke. He wasn’t walking away from this one. Looking at you, you saw silent tears roll from his eyes and down his cheek. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Logan…” 

Your body was becoming limp in the soldiers arms. 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’m-” With a hot iron rod to his back, he screamed out in pain trying to move away from it. 

You screamed again, willing them to stop hurting him. To hurt you instead. But they wouldn’t. It was killing you. And everyone could see that. Even Logan as he took his last look. 

You called out his name. 

And woke up, calling out his name as you threw yourself to sit up in bed. 

Around you, your entire room was cased in darkness save for the moon-light flooding in. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to make out the outline of your room and the things in it. 

It took you a moment to catch your breath long enough to find a clear head to know your body was moving. 

Pulling the covers from you, you made your way out of your room and down the hall before you found his room. Except, as your hand hovered over the knob, it swung open and you stepped back. Whatever breath you had caught in your room was once again gone. 

Logan stood, his eyes adjusting to the light from the hallway, shirtless. Along with the pyjama bottoms Rouge had given him in a set last Christmas. 

“Y/n…I was just coming to check on you. Are you-” 

Surprising Logan, and perhaps yourself, you hugged him. Tight. “Okay?” Logan finished his question but didn’t expect an answer. 

It took him a moment, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you. Even though he could, he didn’t need to hear your heartbeat to know you were nervous, scared and relieved all at the same time. You were still shaking and you were just starting to catch your breath again. 

“I heard you shout me…are you okay?” Logan asked in a soft voice. 

You just tightened your grip. “I thought….I thought…”

Logan shook his head. Feeling your heart bash against your rib cage and into his was enough to let him know now wasn’t the time. 

“You don’t have to explain right now. Come and lie down.”

And you did. 

Letting go of Logan for a moment, he led you inside, shutting the door behind him and lifting the covers for you to slide inside. 

He lay down next to you and held onto your hand, two fingers holding onto your wrist. 

He had more natural light in his room which allowed him to see you a little clearer in the dark as you lay and faced him. 

He pressed your hand over his heart and he spoke to you softer than he ever had before. 

“Just count my heartbeats.”

And you did. 

Logan began counting yours in his head as he held onto your wrist but soon lost count when your gaze eventually met his. 

Your heart rate eventually also began to slow. Rather than having it thunder against your chest, leaving both you and Logan wondering if some kind of Looney Tunes spell had been cast on the school which would make your heart physically leap out of your chest, it beat like normal. 

He watched as your eyes started to grow heavier before they finally closed and your breathing became even. And only once that happened, did he allow himself to relax. 

By the time you woke up, you found your own nose and forehead pressed lightly against Logan’s, your bodies naturally falling closer together as his hand held onto yours whilst his other was pressed under your neck and against your pulse point. 

Then you remembered last night. Your nightmare. Waking up in a sweat. Rushing down the hallway towards his room. Hugging him and never wanting to let go. His own heartbeat against the palm of your hand. His scent enveloping you whilst the heat from his body made you feel safe, warm and relaxed. 

“Hey,”

Softly, you brought your gaze back to Logan’s eyes. You never got to see this side of him. The fresh out of bed – in this case, in – look. 

“Hey.”

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

You swallowed lightly and shook your head. “It was nothing.”

“You had a nightmare.”

You looked away from him for a moment but felt his fingertips press into the back of your neck, begging you to look at him. 

“It wasn’t nothing. Please…talk to me.”

Your gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes, trying to get a read on him. 

He really wanted to know. 

“You died, Logan. At least…I think you did.”

And you went on to explain. About the running, the cave, the metal rods, the screaming, the shouting, the soldiers – all of it. 

Every final detail. 

“All I wanted was to get to you. To make it stop. But I couldn’t. You were screaming in pain and telling me you were going to be okay. I wanted to get you out- I needed to get you out. But every time I tried to move…”

Your voice broke, your eyes filled and Logan felt his own heart break looking at you. How he wished he could erase it. How all he wanted to do in that moment was erase away your pain. 

Logan shushed you a little before pulling his hand from yours that he had continued holding, to allow his arm to go around your back, pulling you flush against him. 

The hand that had been by your neck, pushed to the bottom of your hair line, his fingers tangling with your strands. 

With a pressed kiss to your temple, Logan shook his head. “It was just a nightmare. I’m here. You’re here. We’re both safe. Hey, hey.”

Logan pushed himself back for a moment to be able to look at you. His thumb traced under your eye, brushing the tears away before they could fall down your face. 

“At least this is how I find out, maybe you don’t hate me.”

You laughed a little at that. “You’re a jackass.”

“Maybe,” Logan shrugged. “But you’re in love with me anyway.”

With a scoff and a smile, despite how much you tried not to, you hit Logan in his chest. He chuckled softly for a moment, taking hold of your hand before you could do him any more bodily harm. 

Not that he probably even felt you hit him. He was 90% metal. It probably would bruise you if you actually hit him. 

But when Logan took your hand, things seemed to slow down. 

With his gaze on you, his fingers started tracing your hand. His thumb working its way from your wrist to your palm, all the while his fingers traced up and curled around your own before your hand was flush against his, your fingers only a movement away from falling and intertwining against his. 

And they did. 

Logan took a minute to look at where your hands joined and any control he had over his heartbeat disappeared into an oblivion. 

He looked back at you. 

His fingers locked with yours and you felt your body shift closer towards him. Not fully aware of his own body, Logan had leaned up a little further from his pillow and leaning in closer towards you. 

You were both hesitant, at first. Unsure of what was happening, but fully aware that it was. 

The kiss was soft. Unfamiliar. Neither of you had expected this to happen when you had woken up. In all honesty, neither of you had expected it to ever happen. 

Well, maybe your subconscious. 

But that was a debate for another time. 

However, as it came to an end, reality stuck Logan. He had kissed you. You had come to him because you had a nightmare. You had stayed by his side, in his room, for the rest of the night. And now he had kissed you. 

You were right. 

He was a jackass. 

“I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows. Your own internal monologue was having a whale of a time confusing you. Convincing you that the kiss didn’t happen. Then that was always meant to happen. That maybe…maybe it was always meant to feel like that. Or maybe it was never meant to feel like that. 

“Logan…”

For a brief moment, Logan looked confused. Were you going to yell at him? Curse him? 

No. 

Instead, you untangled your hand from his and Logan felt his heart sink. Then stop. 

That same hand slowly, hesitantly, reached for his cheek and you…

Kissed him. 

Again. 

This time, it was more searching and more familiar. More trusted. 

His hand now free, Logan pressed his hand to your own face, drawing you in closer whilst his arm curved around you and he allowed his hand to slip over your shoulder, down you back, towards your hip and up, inside the back of your t-shirt. 

His touch was warming to you. 

Your own hands traced down the side of his neck and up the side of his arm before meeting at the back, your nails scratching at the base of his hairline and neck. 

Finally having moved you onto your back, Logan leaned over you, his weight shifting onto you a little. 

Bringing his hands down to your hips, Logan lifted you a little further up the bed and you let out a small squeal. 

And he smirked. 

“Jackass.”

“You love it.”

Logan caught your smile against his own and pressed further into you, his legs slowly tangling with yours before he found his place locked between them. 

Pushing the hair from your face with his hand, Logan and yourself continued searching each other. Pressing against the boundaries that had been your last partnership together. 

Maybe it would take a short while to find your footing with each other. And maybe it would take even longer before you finally told Logan the truth about your first dream. 

And maybe, when you finally did, he spent the entire night helping you recreate it. Proving that the reality was better and so much more than your dream. 

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

His Empire of Desire

Pairing || Mob!Bucky x Wife!Reader

Summary || After a gruelling day with maintaining his criminal empire, Bucky returns home to you, seeking comfort and passion in your touch and words.

World Count || 3016

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, mob/mafia business, mention of violence/torture/murder, explicit content/language, pet names, unprotected vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), degradation & praise kink, use of the word whore, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, begging, face/throat fucking, gagging/choking, fingering, spanking, rough fucking, creampie, mention of bodily fluids.

Authors Note || It’s been a whiiiiile… Hopefully I’m back for good now. But anyways, this is a WIP that I started at the beginning of 2023 and I finally finished a few days ago. Enjoy, and I will be back with more fics soon. But I’ll be taking my time and not rushing/stressing myself with it. I want to have fun and write again, but I won’t force it when I don’t have energy so there won’t be weekly fics most likely.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Mob!Bucky Masterlist

I don’t do taglists anymore so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

Once the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting shadows over the city’s towering buildings, Bucky made his way home after another demanding day maintaining his criminal empire. The day, much like the others, had been a grueling mix of meetings, negotiations, and the unsettling business of violence that defined Bucky’s world of organized crime. Accustomed to the daily occurrences of bloodshed, torture, and death, even the strongest individuals, like Bucky, had their moments when frustration and weariness weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. All Bucky craved was solace and comfort in the embrace of his wife’s warmth and love, concluding the night with the pleasure of burying himself deep within her. That singular thought occupied his mind as he sat in the backseat of the Rolls, heading towards the penthouse that overlooked the city—his sanctuary, his kingdom, and you, his Queen.

“Have a good evening, Sir,” Bucky’s chauffeur nodded firmly in the rearview mirror, receiving an equal parting nod as Bucky stepped out of the car.

As Bucky ascended the private elevator, his fingers itched intensely for your presence, yearning to wash away the day’s cruelty with your loving touch and mend his wounds with your caring words. The ascent to his and your floor, typically swift, felt like an eternity. Leaning his forehead against the mirrored elevator walls, hands clenched on each side of his head, he muttered to himself, “Come on, come on. Hurry the fuck up. I fucking need her.”

Finally, on the top floor, the elevator pinged and opened, revealing the vast penthouse. Bucky swiftly departed, entering the one place where he truly felt safe and at home. The familiar scent of your shared home immediately calmed him, normality easing his frustrations. As he entered the spacious living room, soft music filled the space, accompanied by the sound of your bare footsteps drawing closer. It was everything he had longed for after his gruelling day.

The ache he felt for you gradually faded as you approached. Clad in a silk robe, your captivating form moved with confidence, the curves of your body dancing beneath the expensive material. Your face, bare and glowing, reflected the wear and tear of your own long day.

Though Bucky adored when you were all primed and dolled up, there was an ethereal quality about you when stripped down to your natural beauty that captivated him even more.

He released a deep, heavy breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding in, eyes closing briefly in bliss at the anticipation of you finally being beside him.

“Bucky,” you murmured as you stood before him, assessing him with a hint of worry. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the day, his eyes pleading. You understood immediately—he needed you now more than ever. Sensing his need for your presence and words, you prepared to offer the comfort he sought.

“Baby, you look exhausted,” you murmured, pressing yourself against him, cupping the back of his skull with your hands, thumbs softly grazing his earlobes. Your shimmery eyes met his weary gaze.

He groaned quietly as he leaned his forehead against yours. His fingers spread across the silky material on your hips, pulling you closer, needing the reassurance of your body. “Doll, I fucking need you,” he groaned, pushing his fingers harder into your covered flesh. “Now more than ever, baby.” His plea blended fiery lust with loving need.

“Come on,” you mumbled, laying a feather-light kiss on his lips, soft fingers laced with his calloused ones. “I know just what you need,” you purred, promising to provide whatever he needed—whether it be a loving cuddle and kisses or an intense physical connection, to bend you over and fuck your body and mind senseless. You were his.

You guided him through the dark hall to the luxurious en-suite, where the spacious marble shower awaited. Turning on the cascading stream of warm water, you beckoned him to come closer and let you take his stress away.

“Let me take your stress away, baby,” you purred, approaching him once again. Bucky watched your movements intently, the weariness in his eyes transforming into a look of pure lust and the longing for the gentle care only his wife could provide.

With your hands at the lapels of his suit jacket, you pulled it away from his firm body, letting it fall to the floor. Slowly, while never breaking your gaze from his fiery eyes, you unbuttoned each button with precise movements, pushing the fabric of his muscular torso. Your eyes roamed over his chiseled physique as your hands lay flat on his pecs, adorned with specs of hair. Your palms moved down the planes of his firm muscles, making him moan at your gentle touch. Unbuttoning his suit pants, you pulled them down along with his underwear, leaving him standing naked before you.

Unfastening the sash of your silk robe, you let it drop, standing completely naked before him. Taking his hand in yours, you led him into the steaming shower, the warm mist enveloping you both.

Bucky stood under the shower head, letting the water soak him from head to toe, washing away the burdens of the day. You joined him, placing your palms on his chest with a gentle touch as you stood flush against him—your bodies melded together by the water. His hardening cock pressed against your abdomen. He dropped his gaze to your burning eyes that mirrored his own, before trailing them over your naked and wet body, intensifying the heat.

With a groan, he knotted his fingers in your hair, the other wrapping around your waist. Your arms curled underneath his, placing your palms on his muscular back. Your pulse quickened with excitement, knowing where the evening was headed. All that was needed was your encouragement for Bucky to take it in the direction he desired.

“I’m yours, Bucky. Take what you need. Take me. Love me. Use me. Do whatever you need and desire right now. My body and mind are yours.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips with his, claiming and owning your mouth. His sweet and tender kisses quickly escalated into firm and needy ones. The tip of his tongue swept your bottom lip, pleading for your taste. As your tongues met, his fingers tightened in your hair, and his hand slapped the apple of your ass, followed by a firm squeeze. You whined into his mouth, pushing your body into his wet and slippery one, surrendering yourself.

Your hand wrapped around his firm cock in a tight squeeze, jerking his length in deep and slow motions while your tongue continued to dance with his. Bucky pulled away with your bottom lip between his teeth, groaning against your puffy lips as he slowly fucked himself into your grip.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” you purred against his lips, flicking the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip. “I’m all yours.”

“Get on your knees, baby,” he growled. “Suck my cock like the whore I know you are for it.” His hand came up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pussy throb without suffocating you. “I’ll make you cry and choke on it while I fuck your mouth, use that tight throat.” A moan of need escaped at his filthy words. You loved being his adoring wife and his dirty whore. His lips curled in a satisfied smile at the duality you embodied—Whore and Queen.

He let you go, and without hesitation, you pressed sloppy kisses to his chest. Fingers traced the dips and planes of his chiseled physique as you continued kissing and licking down his body—his abs, his defined v-line—until you were lowered on your knees before him, mouth agape as you stared at him through your lashes. The water from the shower head above made his body gleam, intensifying the irresistible appeal of him towering over you. His cock stood fully erect, practically begging for attention, begging to be sucked. A shiver ran through your body, and a whimper escaped your lips as your pussy throbbed, eager for the same treatment your throat would soon receive—getting fucked and bruised.

Aroused with anticipation, your body practically shaking, you grasped him firmly in your hand as your tongue traced the protruding veins along his shaft, licking up to his bulbous head. Kissing and sucking the tip, you moaned at the taste of him. With no patience left, Bucky grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to release him from your mouth. His hot gaze met yours as a stinging yet delicious tug prompted a sharp gasp from your lips as tears welled in your eyes—the first of many for the evening.

“Don’t tease me, doll. I’ve had enough of being undermined today,” he groaned, his voice laced with cruel warning. “Now suck it like the pretty little whore I know you are for it.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be your good little whore.”

Obediently complying, you engulfed his length as Bucky’s guttural groan vibrated off the shower walls. Your choice of words, and taking him all with no hesitation, only fueled his burning desire.

You took him deep, inch by thick inch until all of him nestled in your throat. Tears ran down your already wet cheeks, and the sensation of your lips wrapped around him and your throat suffocating his cock with your choked coughs made Bucky tip his head back in bliss. Moaning thickly, he pushed his hips forward into your compliant mouth.

Withdrawing to catch your breath, a thick string of saliva trailed from your lips to his tip. A testament to your eagerness to please the man above you.

“So gorgeous,” Bucky smirked, looking down at you with tears and saliva running down your chin. “Such an eager whore to please me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across your lips.

With no further hesitations, you wrapped your hand tightly around the base to jerk him off, while your mouth engulfed his swollen and leaking tip. Your hand and mouth worked in perfect sync—jerking him with force and delicious pressure while your head bobbed on his cock, slurping and sucking. Bucky’s hips met your movements, making you choke and gag by his rough thrusts. Your other hand squeezed and kneaded his firm ass cheek, pulling him closer and anchoring yourself to him as you sucked him off.

Bucky’s vocalization became a hot and heavy symphony of moans, groans, and every guttural sound in between—a testament to you working him thoroughly with your hands and mouth.

His hips jerked, his muscles tensing, on the verge of climax, and spilling into your mouth, and you wanted nothing more than a taste of him. But he pulled you off before he could finish down your throat, making you wheeze and chest heave to catch your breath after he released you.

Reading the disappointment on your face, he brushed your tear and water-stained cheeks and swollen lips, a smirk playing on his own. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll come down your throat next time.” His voice was low and sultry, laced with delicious promise. “I need to feel your tight cunt wrapped around me, now.”

Helping you up, he met your lips in a sloppy kiss, slapping your ass with a force that made you gasp before turning you around and directing you to bend over for him on the marble bench.

You bent over, placing your forearms on the cold stone, presenting your ass for him. The view of both your tight holes a tantalizing sight for him.

During the blowjob, your pussy had throbbed with need, eager for the same treatment as your throat, and you had never felt as frustrated as you had now, waiting for his cock. Looking over your shoulder at Bucky, his fist jerking his cock as his hot and burning gaze trailed over your dripping cunt, which he would fill and come deep inside.

“Please, Bucky,” you cried. “I need you cock so bad.” Your voice thick with desperate desire to be fucked and used by him. “Please, please, fuck me. Use me. Use my cunt.” You knew after the day he had that the fuck would be brutal, and you would love nothing more. You loved his gentle and caring nature that he reserved only for you, but you also loved to be used and fucked like a whore by him. The duality of his two sides only makes you love him deeper with each passing day.

He chuckled, relishing the power he held over you, the absolute desperation in your pleading voice and submissive body. “Patience, doll,” he replied with a low growl. “I’ve had a rough day, and I will take my time with you.”

He firmly kneads your ass in his palms, rough hands grabbing and squeezing the flesh before delivering a sharp slap that sends a jolt of pleasurable pain up your spine. Your toes curl, and a whimper escapes your parted lips as the cruel laughter from Bucky fills the space. Despite the sobs and cries during the next two spanks, your pussy grows wetter at his cruelty, soaking your inner thighs.

Bucky curses under his breath, running two fingers through your messy folds, circling your needy clit in teasing strokes. A breath of relief escapes you at finally being stimulated, even though it’s not at the satisfaction you crave. He groans as he pushes two fingers inside your wet cunt, fucking it in slow strokes, making your breath shake at the stretch.

“What made you this wet, doll? Sucking and choking on my cock, or me spanking and bruising your ass?”

“B-both,” you reply with a shaky voice.

“That’s my good whore,” he growls, softly patting your ass where his brutal hands landed.

With the head of his cock, he teases your bundle of nerves, before slowly and oh-so-deliciously pushing his length inside your welcoming cunt. You moan and whine through your swollen and parted lips as he stretches you out to accommodate his size. “Fuck, so tight, baby.”

He forces the rest of his length balls deep, making you gasp, while he moans, at stuffing you completely. “Ah, fuck… so big,” you whine, closing your eyes and fists tightly, adjusting to him.

With a low, throaty chuckle in response to your reaction, Bucky gives you a moment before setting his rhythm, hands firmly gripping your soft hips, fingers digging into your skin.

He holds nothing back as he unleashes himself, intensifying the brutal pace, thrusting deeply into your pussy like his existence depends on it. The tip of his swollen cock repeatedly brushes against your sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your nerves, eliciting soft whimpers from your lips.

“So good for me, doll. Such a tight, pretty pussy,” he grunts, lost in the sensation of your cunt and the pleasure it brings him.

You tilt your head to meet his burning gaze, the fiery passion in his eyes searing your exposed and submitted body before him.

“Fuck, it’s all yours, baby. All of me. Only for you,” you whimper, the soft symphony of your gentle whispers and moans enticing Bucky closer to the edge, fucking you roughly and chasing his high. “Keep using it, baby. Claim me. Take what you want,” you urge, your words a breathless plea for him to keep unleashing his pent-up anger and frustrations on your eager and pleading cunt.

As you ascend to pleasurable heights, your impending orgasm closing in swiftly, the clenching of your walls around his pulsating cock signals his pending release as well. His hand slides around your throat, lifting you upright amidst his primal thrusts.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby? Come on my cock as I fill your greedy cunt?” His gruff voice sends a shiver down your spine.

The searing pleasure, coupled with the firm grip on your throat, leaves you with no choice but to nod, conveying that you are close to an eruption with an earth-shattering explosion.

“Open that pretty mouth for me and use your words, doll.” A sharp slap to your thigh jolts you out of the haze, prompting you to gather yourself and respond to his demand.

“Yes,” you managed to gasp. “I’m gonna come. I need you to come inside me, baby,” you cry, craving his warmth like a good whore.

With those pleading words, Bucky surges over the edge. His grunts and moans resonating against your skin as he fills you up with his cum. The sensation of him pulsing and filling within you and the rhythmic movement of his hips have you tumbling over the edge. Waves of your release ripple through your body, shaking and convulsing, your cries of pleasure echoing off the tiled walls.

“Good girl,” Bucky moaned against your skin. His fingers skillfully play with your engorged clit to heighten the downfall of your orgasm. “You take my cock and cum so well.” He continued to fuck and talk you through it, ensuring that your mind and body were consumed with nothing but pleasure and him.

The shared climax left you both suspended in the aftermath of your intense fucking. The air thick with echoes of your breathless satisfaction.

“Hmm, my good girl,” Bucky muttered, withdrawing from your used cunt and turning you around. The warm water of the shower continued to rain down on you both, washing away the shared evidence of your intense and passionate lovemaking.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, brushing his thumbs across the skin beneath your eyes. His hands, which held your body with force only moments ago, now cradled your face as if you were the most delicate of artworks, which to him, you were more than a masterpiece. He captured your lips, kissing you with a mix of passion and need. Your arms held his waist, bringing his slick body closer to yours.

“Let’s get out and dry off, doll. I need to bury my face in that pretty cunt of yours before I hold you in my arms and express how much you mean to me for the rest of the night.”

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

[hotchner-edu]

Runner's Stamina (drabble) | Aaron Hotchner

Synopsis: You can't help but fawn over your boyfriend, and he happens to overhear a phone call you have with Penelope

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader

Warnings: allusions to smut (no actual smut though), implied age gap, r is down bad (so is aaron), this is just me thirsting over aaron—

You were staring rather intensely at Aaron as he peacefully read beside you. Biting your bottom lip a little, your eyes zone in on his hand as it slowly moves to turn the page, veins popping in the subtlest way with each movement.

"Yes, honey?" He suddenly drawls out, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he keeps his eyes on the text.

Blinking slowly, you pout a bit and shake your head. "Nothing... is the book interesting?"

"It's just as I remembered it to be, started a bit slow, but it's getting interesting now." He answers and finally turns to look at you, eyes gentle.

Aaron gently takes your hand and drops a sweet kiss to your palm, keeping his eyes locked on yours the entire time. Your hand twitches a little as you feel how his hand practically engulfs yours, the warmth of his affection crawling up your arm and blooming across your body.

You nearly short circuit, your face a mask of awe as you stare at your boyfriend in utter adoration. A few moments pass and you immediately jump to escape from his loving torture, butterflies gathering in your chest.

"I'll leave you to it then. I, uh, just remembered that I owe Penelope a phone call." You whisper and bashfully smile.

Before you're able to stand up from the couch, Aaron's warm hand drops down onto your thigh, squeezing it firmly as he hums softly. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll head up in a little bit.”

Growing positively dizzy from the feeling of his rough hand against your skin, you nearly tip over on your feet as you hurry up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. Jack was over at Jessica's house for the weekend, so you weren't able to scurry to him for help in distracting yourself.

You practically leap onto the bed, hurriedly grabbing your phone and immediately finding Penelope's contact.

Laying on your stomach, you don't have to wait long as she picks up on the third ring.

"Hello my beautiful angel, how can I be of service to you today?" Penelope muses out playfully, the giddy lilt of her tone telling you that she was positively beaming on the other side of the call.

"Pen, my love." You sigh dramatically, "Help me."

"Not that I don't love you, honey, but isn't Hotch home today too? I thought you'd be jumping his bones by now." She says with a dulcet tone that feels almost jarring when paired with her teasing remark.

"That's exactly the problem, Pen. It's like he wants me to jump his bones again. I mean, his arms look more perfect than usual and he definitely knows it." You hiss out.

Penelope lets out an amused chuckle. "Careful honey, you're sounding like a cat in heat."

"It's hard not to be when he's my man." You sigh in a love-struck manner, imagining the way his hands felt on your waist, his strong grip massaging you gently as they slip under your shirt.

"Is Jack with Jessica today?" Penelope asks. "If not, I can take him for a few hours while you both spend some quality time together."

You smile widely and shake your head even though she isn't able to see you. "Thank you for the offer, Pen, but he's with Jess for the weekend."

"Then go get your man, girl! You have the entire weekend alone, what's stopping you?" She practically squeals out, speaking as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I know, I know! But I mean... we did it for a few hours this morning already. I worry that I'm going to overwhelm him." You say half-jokingly. While you did occasionally dwell on the fact that he was getting older, you weren't upset or too affected by the prospect of his age affecting his stamina.

"He runs for fun, it'll be fine. Besides, he can still... right?" Penelope trails off, seemingly maintaining a bit of self-restraint since Aaron was still her boss after all.

You blush and squeak out in shock. "Oh my gosh. Yes, he can still get it up, Pen!" Looking over your shoulder, you cringe a bit as you realize the bedroom door was cracked open a bit. Hopefully you weren't being too loud.

"Then I see no problem, honey. What's he up to anyway?" She asks lightly. You hear some shuffling in the background and the sound of porcelain plates being stacked.

"Reading." You say softly, picking at the plush duvet under you. "I'm making him reread Crime and Punishment."

"Honey, go save him." Penelope sighs out, barely able to suppress her giggles.

"From the book?" Your voice is coated in amusement.

"Yes, and possibly dying of boredom! I'll call you later tonight, okay? Oh! The girls also wanted to go shopping sometime next week too!" Penelope says happily, her mischievous tone clearly conveying that she would want an update later.

"Okay, okay, I'll leave you be now. But you three are getting nothing out of me next week." You warn playfully.

"We'll see about that." Penelope giggles and gives you a dramatic kiss through the phone. "Talk soon, honey."

The moment you put down your phone, you hear the bedroom door being pushed open. From the look on Aaron's face, you knew that he had overheard at least some parts of your conversation with Penelope.

"Good talk, sweetheart?" He asks lowly, lips tugged into a small smirk as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"Oh... yeah... done with reading?" You ask and smile a bit shyly, watching as he runs his hand along your leg.

Aaron hums softly and nods, his eyes darkening as he looks at you laying there. "Just remembered that I could be doing something a bit more exciting. Now what was it you were saying about my stamina?" He grins teasingly, his large hand sliding up to squeeze the flesh of your ass.

"You heard that?" You squeak out.

"Oh sweetheart, I heard much more than that." He chuckles deeply and gently flips you onto your back.

He crawls to hover over you, head dipping down to drop heated kisses along your neck and jaw. "Don't hold yourself back on my account, I love taking care of you." He mumbles against your skin, pulling back momentarily to look down at you with eyes full of love.

"It's not fair. You look too good all the time." You whisper almost petulantly, a playful glimmer shining in your eyes.

Aaron leans down to give you a firm kiss as he whispers against your lips. "So beautiful... you don't even know how much I want you all the time. How hard it is for me when I'm away on a case..."

He smirks a bit wider and his hand lifts one of your legs up by the back of your knee. "Now, I hope you don't plan on getting out of this bed until Monday, baby."

[tfrinpin]

Hullo. I am amongst the living.

This little idea kept nagging at me, so here we are: TFP where Op goes ✨FERAL✨

So y’know that whole shtick about “they had a secret relationship all along?” Well this is sort of like that, basically— yes, Megs and Op have had a secret relationship ever since the Orion arc. Megs kept in contact because he missed Optimus SO MUCH. And the war has been going on for so long. Also they can fix Cybertron together. But MOSTLY Megs missed Optimus.

Things go along, now they’re definitely considering peace time and even drafting a treaty to share with their respective factions.

But a little bump in the road comes in the form of someone that Megs DID NOT expect to see— MegaZarak. And instead of Zarak heavily injures Optimus or tortures him, like a previous idea I’ve had before— I’ve thought of something a little more heart wrenching. Shit goes down right when Prime and Megs are about to establish peace: Zarak beats out Megs from the title as leader of the Decepticons. He retreats, and escapes via ground ridge thanks to Optimus and the crew. Knockout, BreakDown, SW, and DreadWing follow after him, ever the loyal soldiers (and they also dont want to deal with Zarak). But Optimus gets nabbed just before he jumps through the ground bridge, and he’s now a prisoner to Zarak. So to fuck with Megs even more, Zarak uses the Botched Synthetic Energon to make Op go FERAL.

Like he’s a literal beast on a leash, fangs and all— and Megs, when staging a rescue operation, is torn because he doesnt want to hurt Op, but he has no choice because OP IS FERAL AND HE WILL LITERALLY GET HIS FACE RIPPED OFF. Optimus’ optics are the striking green just like when Ratchet messed around with it earlier on in the series. (Don’t do drugs kids)

He’s got Optimus pinned and he’s trying disparately to pierce through the feral veil that’s blinding the Prime. And there’s a small, tiny moment where Optimus calms down, and his optics flash blue. He tries to speak but his words are staticky and jumbled. Megs reaches out a soothing hand over Op’s face, but unfortunately the touching moment is short lived when Optimus’ optics flash green again, and he goes back to fighting like a rabid animal.

Megs has no choice to knock Optimus out and take him to the wreckage of the Harbinger where both bots and cons have established a new base since the one is Jasper got blown to bits. So Megs is looking through the cell door of the brig, watching as a feral Op is chained to a wall, snarling, growling, and trying to rid himself of his bindings. Ratchet establishes that it’ll probably take days, maybe WEEKS to flush the botched synthetic energon from Prime’s frame. Megs, ever the stubborn mech, refuses to give up on his Prime— so he sits, and waits, and assists where he can in order to bring his Prime back to himself.

So yeah, an idea where Optimus is pretty much having to be treated like a wild beast the whole time until they can get the botched synth energon out of him.

You’re welcome.

[luveline]

i have a request for bombshell!reader if you're up for it!! <33 maybe somehow the team finding out that they're *actually* together and their reactions to it!! it would be soo funny i think naisnakaka 😭 thank you and i hope you have a good day!!

thank you lovely, you too ♡ fem

Emily isn't expecting it. She's been betting on you both for months, she has money in the pool, but knowing you're together versus really truly seeing you together are surprisingly separate things. 

Spencer has you up against a wall. It's funny but it isn't, how shockingly intimate the moment is, how you're looking at him like he's hung the moon just for you. “It's not a bad thing,” you're saying, a hand pressed softly to his front. 

He's not kissing you or anything salacious, he's not even really shoving you, he's just got his hands on you, one on your shoulder holding you to the wall and the other just under your arm. “I know it's not, don't worry–” 

“I do worry. I don't want you thinking that anything about you is wrong.” 

Emily should walk away. This is clearly private, but she's just never seen you both like this. She had her suspicions, that behind the shy touches (and the more confident ones from you) and secret smiles was a real, intimate relationship, but to see it displayed in front of her has her jaw dropping. 

“I don't think that," he says quietly, ducking his head in a way that forces you to make eye contact. Emily might call it brave, but it would be better labelled as comfortable. Spencer's not shy because he knows he can be vulnerable with you, and he's reassuring you now because you can do the same. “Why would I think that?” He kisses you. 

It's sudden. Emily almost gasps. 

He pulls away, says, “You don't need to think about that kind of stuff, angel, I know who I am,” over your lips, and then he kisses you again. 

“I just love you,” you say, words half lost in the kissing and the quiet. 

Emily shakes herself and backs away, guilt like lead in her fingertips. She should not have watched so long, no matter how curious, but it's not as though you're in a private place, it's a shared conference room—

“What's with the face?” 

Emily waves her hand, as if to say, don't talk, but Morgan's a fiend and JJ not much better, looking over Emily's shoulder eager for the drama. “What, Prentiss?” Morgan asks. 

“Y/N and Spencer,” she whispers, giving in. 

Morgan's face is a picture, and predictable. He shuffles around Emily and JJ follows, her lips parted in surprise. 

Morgan peeks inside, and doubles back, pushing JJ before she can get a look. “Wait!” she insists in a whisper shout. 

“That's not PG viewing.” 

Emily saw it herself, but she still can't believe it. Nor can she believe when you appear from the conference room together unabashed ten minutes later, Spencer's hair in disarray, his cheeks (and his whole face) a rosy pink. You sit at your desk and Spencer touches your shoulder, promising you a cup of coffee. 

You're smiling as you reapply your lipstick. Your teammates look on in poor acts of casualness.

“You guys are perverts,” you murmur, rubbing your lips together to spread the colour evenly. 

“I– we–” Emily sits back in her seat, defeated. “You could've told us.” 

“Should've,” JJ says. 

“Thought you guys already knew.” You put the cap back on your lipstick and beam at them. “I'm not subtle, am I? But don't tease him too much, okay? We wouldn't want to torture him.” 

“Come on,” Morgan laughs. 

Spencer returns with your coffee. He's not subtle, either, come to think of it, putting your coffee mug carefully on your coaster. “That okay?” he asks. 

You don't even try it. “That's perfect, handsome, thank you.” 

He strokes the soft line of your jaw with the back of his finger, a split second touch that practically glances off of you, and heads back to the kitchenette. Morgan gets up, presumably to chase him down for congratulations, while the girls move in. 

“It's actually funny how it happened,” you say immediately. “I kissed him by accident.” 

“How do you kiss someone by accident?” JJ asks. Emily nods furiously in agreement. 

“Surprisingly easily,” you say, looking as pleased as a person can be. “It was a few weeks ago, we were in the police precinct in Jacobsville…”  

[sorcerous-caress]

Early morning cuddling pt.2

[Fluff, wholesome, nb!reader]

[Halsin, Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale]

Part One

Halsin

You'd think that you married a fairytale princess by the amount of small animals you wake up each morning to, cuddling by your side and nuzzling against Halsin's warmth.

Not that he seems to mind. If anything, he seems the happiest sharing his bed with all those willing. His strong arm keeps a hold over you during the night, keeping you close and secure to his chest while he easily falls into a state of meditation. He prefers keeping the window open and listening to the wind outside, swaying of leaves and chipping of bird in the morning.

You did wonder what exactly does he think about during his meditation, and he confessed he replays his favourite memories. Reminding himself of what's worth fighting for in this life.

His palm cupping your face so gently, rough from centuries of tending to plants and magic practice. You can smell the earth embedded in his skin.

Who is worth fighting for.

If you're the type to sleep in during the morning, he happily indulges you as you cuddle closer to him. Resting your head on the rise and fall of his chest.

Letting the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into the land of dreams, just for a short while, maybe five minutes more.

feeling his hand draw circles on your back soothingly. You catch a glimpse of a whispered prayer to the father of nature, Halsin asking him to protect you, keep your soul and heart pure, keep you by his side for as long as this cycle of life allows.

♡

Astarion

You only realise the worth of love after having experienced solitude.

Astarion came to realise how much it meant to have someone just hold you in bed, nothing more, a simple body laying next to him in blissful sleep.

To have someone relish in your company so much, feel safe around him so much that you'd willingly want him to stay by your side while you were the most vulnerable.

It feels strange in his heart, a twing or guilt, even shame.

What did he do to deserve this?

How are you so peaceful next to a vampire? This isn't a camp on some ditch in the backside of Faerun anymore, this is your home that you've willingly and foolishly invited a vampire into.

But maybe he was the biggest fool, for he kept holding you close, fangs tucked away as the smell of blood was the least of his interests at this moment. The living really has a captivating way to steal one's attention.

what dreams do you have?

Each night is like a trance, and before he realises, it ends so suddenly when glowing lines of light just below the thick curtains peak on the floor.

It's morning already, but it felt like a second, he wants to hold you for a lifetime, hug you for a century, kiss you for a decade and whisper your name as if it was his last breath.

He wants so many things, he has so many conflicting emotions. Astarion doesn't want to get attached, you're fleeting, mortal, alive and so loveable.

And he is none of these things, at least not in his views.

But after so much misery, he deserves to steal one good thing from the living, you. It doesn't matter if he has earned it or not, you willingly chose him, loved him.

Embraced him as you woke up, eyes sleepy as nuzzled into him further with no regard to how cold his skin might be in contrast to your warm blanket.

"Darling, you know I'm supposed to be the nocturnal one in this relationship, right? Or did you grow fangs during the night." He voice was laced with an unusual softness, a stranger to his own ears.

You grumbled as he pulled away, chasing after him with adorable slow speed with your hand as you attempted to bring him back.

He's not a sadist.

Okay maybe he is.

But torturing a sleepy you, is becoming one of the highlights of his days. It makes waiting here all night worth it.

♡

Shadowheart

Her eyebrows scrunch into the most adorable glare when she first wakes up. The children of Shar and Selune have never been morning people, present or past.

The tips of her ears slightly twitch as the cold morning reaches her after you manage to steal the blanket in your sleep, wrapping the soft thing around you and leaving her to the mercy of the chilly weather.

Stirred from her sleep, she has a half mind to acknowledge how endearing you look besides her. Peacefully in your slumber and unaware of the crime you've commited, letting your beloved freeze to death in the early morning.

With a sigh, Shadowheart reaches over to untangle tha blanket edge from your iron fist as she squeezes herself inside the makeshift cocoon you've assembled. Instant warmth and comfort greeting her the more she pressed her body onto yours.

Despite how heavenly you feel, sleep has already evaded her grasps. Once she wakes up, she's the type not to fall asleep afterwards. Doesn't help how much of a light sleeper she can be at times.

So she closes her eyes and basks in the moment, fully enjoying the presence. The quietness of the morning where the people haven't woken up yet, the stillness of the air, the slow rhythmic breathing as your chest rises and falls.

She wants to trace your face with her fingers, she wants to admire your eyes, but she doesn't want to wake you up so instead her arms gently hug your body closer to hers.

Safety, comfort and love, things she was taught were a sin to desire, things assumed to make her weaker.

But being weak has never felt so good before, if what she's doing is wrong in the eyes of any god, then she might as well embrace her spot in the hells with your arms as her grave.

♡

Gale

He's changing you slowly, and you're not sure if it's for the better or worse.

What started as you teasing him over his cotton pyjamas with cat paw prints, turned into you wearing a matching one after he bought you one and sweetly coerced you into it.

You look so silly. You can't even deny it as you watch your reflection in the mirror. Watching in real time as your dignity evaporates into thin air while your lover is searching for his reading glasses under the bed by using magic to lift it in the back of the mirror reflection.

Turning around, you feel your lips tugging into a smile as you notice the pair of reading glasses pushed up on his head while Gale is scratching his said head and mumbling about how he just had it close by.

Where could it have possibly went, you wonder.

Calling him over, you watch as he adorable walks over to you with a hopeful look that you've somehow found his glasses like you usually do. As if you were the wizard in this situation who'd make it appear out of thin air rather than the academically acclaimed professor Dekarios in front of you.

Your hand cups his face, and he leans into it without question. Planting a small kiss on his lips, you lower his glasses back onto his face as you pull away. Gale's delighted expression rewards you with a second kiss, calling you his hero.

The two of you fall asleep with a dim light illuminating the room, stray magical star enchantments making the bedroom just bright enough for Gale's midnight reading, or midnight paper grading.

You either learn to tough it out or use that equally silly eyemask that came with your cat pyjamas.

Gale's usually the last one to fall asleep, except on weekends when he's in bed by 9. But since tomorrow, he has to be guiding the future generations of wizards in Faerun, you get his wandering hand playing with your hair or massaging your neck as you drift off to sleep.

By the time morning comes, he's tucked in a blanket by your side. Glasses crooked on his face for he forgot to remove them, again.

Reaching over, you gently take them off of him and set them on the bedside table. Giving his forehead a soft kiss as you check the time and see that you still have a quarter of an hour before he has to get ready to leave for work.

You wrap your arms around him, and he leans into your touch. Even while asleep, his body has complete trust in you, recognising your warmth and letting you cuddle him.

It would've been a very romantic early morning cuddling for the two silly people in embarrassing cat pyjamas, wasn't it for the scratching of paws on the locked door of your bedroom.

The sing-song yelling of Gale's last name following shortly, courtesy to Tara announcing to the whole world how you're a minute late to delivering her morning meal and the carrier pigeons outside are starting to look more and more like grilled chicken wings by the second.