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nereidprinc3ss · 26 days

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hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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wintrwinchestr · 5 months

Text

an overture of indulgence (joel miller x f!reader oneshot) 18+

summary: it's been a long time since you've seen joel, and some things have changed, but a lot has stayed the same. namely, how quickly he can still get you on his knees for him, ready to show him exactly just how much you like what has changed about him.

warnings: 18+, smut, post-outbreak, jackson joel, d/s relationship dynamics, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, sweet girl, etc), body worship, belly kink, talk of weight gain, belly riding, m/f masturbation, lil bit of humiliation kink, lil bit of edging, reader is an adult but age otherwise unspecified, reader is shorter than joel and has hair long enough to grab, let me know if i missed anything :)

word count: 4.3k

a/n: just fuckin outing myself left and right these days huh. idk what came over me with this one. started this late last night and here it is now. belly enjoyers rise!!!!!!! nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed <3 you can't kink shame me bc i like getting bullied so now what. also i avoided daddy kink for once in my life please clap. i know i’m spoiling y’all this weekend don’t get used to it.

divider by @saradika

“...Joel?!” you shout, your leisurely walking pace quickly turning into a hurried jog as you leave Tommy behind, making a beeline toward the man you would swear on your life is Joel Miller. A small handful of years ago now, he was kind of your boyfriend, kind of not, kind of something else more complicated and unlabeled, because who can afford to put a label on anything in times like these?

Joel’s head turns in your direction at the sound of his name, and as soon as you spot that crooked scar across the bridge of his nose, you’re certain it’s him.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe it,” you half-cry, throwing your weight into him as you wrap him in a tight embrace. He’s much taller than you, but you still managed to knock him off his balance a little. He envelops your whole body in one of his signature, all-encompassing hugs, and it’s like no time has passed at all.

The two of you had ended whatever it was you had on good terms, no hard feelings or animosity shared between you. It was just hard to maintain any kind of relationship in a world like this, and trying to nurture romance in the Boston QZ was much like trying to grow a rose garden in toxic, radioactive soil. You can put as much care and effort and something like love into it as you have in you, but the circumstances will just never allow it to reach its full potential. The end of your “relationship” was mutual, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Especially when he had disappeared one day without so much as saying goodbye.

When you had stumbled upon Tommy and a group of patrollers in the snowy forest outside Jackson just earlier today, you were alone, tired, and losing hope that this rumored safe haven even existed at all. You had heard crackles through the radio in the QZ about the community, and even though it sounded too good to be true, what else did you have to lose anymore? After months of travel and survival and pain and hunger, you’d never been so happy to meet a bunch of strangers in the woods in your whole life. You didn’t hesitate to get on the back of Tommy’s horse, and let him lead you to the sanctuary they spoke of.

As he was giving you a tour, proudly showing off their electricity, running water, fresh food, and clean houses, you had started to look forward to what the future may bring, for the first time in a long time. You could never have imagined you’d ever run into Joel again, that this is where he had ended up, of all places. And now here the both of you are, bodies pressed as tightly together as possible, breathing in each other’s familiar scents and never wanting to let go again.

Joel is the first to break the embrace, grasping your head in his large hands and frantically searching your face for any sign that he could be dreaming, that fate hasn’t really brought you back together again after all.

“Jesus Christ, it’s really you,” he breathes, and you swear his voice breaks just a little bit as he presses his lips to your forehead, closing his eyes as he does.

When he blinks them open again, he meets Tommy’s gaze, who’s standing quietly a few yards back from where you’re having your sentimental reunion. Tommy gives an understanding nod, and gestures that he’ll be waiting inside the community’s dining hall, gathering that whatever this is happening between his brother and some girl he only just met, he shouldn’t interrupt. Joel is grateful for many things today, one of them being the rekindled bond he has with Tommy, the other being how you somehow miraculously found your way back to him.

Small groups of other Jackson residents follow Tommy into the dining hall shortly afterward, and as the sun begins to set behind the mountains, Joel realizes it must be about time for dinner to be served.

He detaches his lips from your forehead, brushing some of your hair away from your face as he takes you in again. “You poor thing, must be starvin’ I bet,” he wonders aloud, giving you a sympathetic look.

“Kinda always am, just as a rule, but yeah,” you reply, trying to make light of your situation. Though, Joel doesn’t seem to find the humor in it the way you do.

“Long as you stay here, ain’t ever gotta worry about that again, that’s for damn sure.” He runs his tongue across his lips as he finishes his sentence, already knowing that whatever meal they’re serving tonight, it’ll be some of the most delicious food he’s had in a long time. He suspects you’ll feel much the same. “C’mon, let’s get you inside. Get you warm and fed for once in your life.”

–

Your heart, your stomach, your soul, all feel full as you relax into the comfortable couch in the living room of Joel’s cozy home. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of you staying in an empty house all by yourself tonight, insisting that if you’d like some company while you settle in, you were more than welcome to his. He had let you spend as long as you wanted to in his shower, and he didn’t mind if there was hardly any warm water left by the time you were done. He sure as hell wasn’t paying the bill, and you deserved to feel truly clean. He can remember clear as day how he felt after his first Jackson shower, like he had stripped off a layer of grime he hadn’t been able to scrub all the way clean in twenty years. He had gone to Maria to get you some clothes and underwear while you were bathing, and set them silently on the sink counter for you to put on whenever you were done.

And now here you sit, feeling full and clean and satisfied and comfortable and safe, watching Joel stoke the logs in his fireplace as it casts the whole room in a honey orange glow. You take a moment to admire him while he isn’t looking, and even in the dim and flickering lighting, you can see he’s just as handsome as he was the last time you saw him. He looks older, with more gray in his longer hair and meat on his bones, the latter trait likely due to years worth of the hearty cooking you both indulged in tonight. He looks… good like this.

“It really is nice to see you again, you know. You look…” you start, not being able to help the way your eyes wander to his soft lower belly, the way it pushes taut against his tucked-in flannel shirt and just barely spills over the edge of his jeans.

He turns his head away from the fire to face you. You’re not very subtle in your staring, and he knows what you’re referring to right away. He huffs a light chuckle, trying to brush off the way he thinks you’re poking fun at him.

“I know, I know,” he acknowledges, placing a hand on his stomach. “Been tryin’ to get Maria to give me some more patrol shifts, see if I can get some of the weight off. But hey, you try havin’ three square meals a day for the first time in twenty some odd years, see what it does to you, huh?” He pivots his attention back to the fireplace, and he seems to turn his body further away from you on purpose, so that you can’t see the round profile of his tummy as much.

“No! No, it, um… It suits you. I was gonna say you look good, actually.” You’re quick in your reply, trying to make it clear that you didn’t mean to offend him, without letting too much on.

He scoffs. “C’mon, you don’t gotta flatter me, sweetheart. I know I don’t exactly look the way you remember–”

“Joel, will you stop?” you interrupt, your voice laced with exasperation. “I’m being serious. Do I look like I’m making fun of you?”

He cranes his neck to look back at where you’re perched on the couch, and gives you a once over. “Guess not… Look a lil’ like somethin’ else, though, if I'm bein’ honest,” he says with a teasing smirk. And there he is again, the same quick-witted Joel you remember from back in the QZ.

You choose to engage in his banter, just to see where he’s going with it. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

He shrugs, beginning to mindlessly poke at the firewood again. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like you might like it.”

He’s just kidding around with you, trying to rile you up, you’re sure. But when he gets silence in return instead of the sound of you jumping to defend yourself with another playful jab, he turns to face you once more, and is met with your stunned expression.

“Oh…” Joel looks down at himself, then back to you again, just in time to catch your eyes flitting from his middle back up to his face. “What, you like ‘em big, sweetheart? ‘S that it?”

The truth is, you do, you always have. It was never a requirement, of course, as the guys you’d been with before Joel all had varying body types. But you’d be lying to yourself if you said that your eyes didn’t linger just a bit longer on guys with a little more to them, with wider arms and thicker legs and a softer middle. You’ve never admitted your preference to anyone before, and Joel calling you out on it now has your face running hot, skin feeling prickly as he sees through you like you’re made of glass.

“I-I don’t– I mean, I do, kinda, but not like that… Well, it is like that, I just mean–” You stumble over yourself, fearing you’ve revealed too much, wishing you could rewind the conversation and just tell him it was nice to see him again, plain and simple.

Joel lays the fire poker down on the granite ledge of the fireplace, approaching where you’re sitting and cupping the side of your face with his calloused hand.

“Sh, sh, stop, baby. ‘S alright if you do, nothin’ to be ashamed of,” he comforts, and it takes all the willpower you have left not to let your eyes drift down to his stomach, so close you could kiss it, if he’d let you.

“It’s just… I missed you. I thought about you all the time, wondered what ever happened to you after you left. Didn’t even know if you were alive until today. I’m just happy to see you… doing so well. To see that you’re healthy, and everything.” You swallow hard, hoping you sound convincing enough that he’ll let this go, forget all about your little admission just now. But of course, Joel is as stubborn as he’s ever been, and he doesn’t plan on releasing you from his trap now that you’re ensnared in it.

“That’s sweet, baby, ‘s real sweet,” Joel says, softly, stroking his thumb across your cheekbone as he speaks. “Thought about you too, all this time. Practically every day…” He rakes his eyes over you, noticing the way his touch has you starting to melt already, how you’re looking up at him with your wide, needy eyes. “Why don’t you show me just how much you missed me, hm? How much you love seein’ me healthy, as you put it.”

You’re stunned into silence once again, jaw slack and pupils wide as you search his gaze for proof that he’s just messing with you, making fun of you just to watch you squirm. But you don’t find any.

“O-okay,” you agree in a half-whisper.

Joel smiles down at you, satisfied. “All these years later, still just the sweetest thing, ain’t you? You still just as obedient, too?”

You nod without even thinking, words catching up with your instinctual response a second later. “Mhm, yeah, I am…” You had forgotten how easy it is to submit to him, how good it feels to let the hypnotizing tone of his voice carry you somewhere far away from yourself, when you need it the most. Whether it was after a shitty day of working for shittier rations in the QZ, or after a harsh trek in harsher weather to a forested oasis, Joel always knows how to make you feel like submission is your most natural state.

“Good… Kneel for me please, sweetheart,” he commands, and you obey immediately, his hand slipping from your face as you slide from the couch onto the woven carpet beneath you. Like second nature, your hands automatically fold themselves on your lap, remembering how you were never to touch Joel until he permitted you to. He takes note of this, and praises you accordingly. “Look at that, didn’t even have to ask. Such a good girl.”

He’s so enamored with you, he almost forgets where he was going with this until he watches your eyes flash to the growing bulge in his jeans, then back up to him. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ you could put that pretty mouth to use on somethin’ different this time, hm?”

You knit your brows together, not sure what he means, but he doesn’t let you wonder for long. Slowly, he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. He tosses it onto the ground, then pulls his undershirt off over his head, adding it to the other discarded clothing. Without the confines of his slightly-too-tight button-up, you can see how much he really has filled out. Everything about his upper body is just a little more plush, with petal pink stretch marks adorning the soft skin in various places. You want to make it your personal mission to kiss each and every one of them, commit their exact coordinates on his body to memory.

There's a deep scar, you notice, to the left of his belly button, that has almost successfully disguised itself as one of those pretty marks. It’s definitely new since you saw him last, and it looks like it hurt, especially with the evidence of how crudely it had been stitched back together.

“What happened?” you wonder aloud, worried eyes glued to the healed injury.

He has to peer over the curve of his belly to see what you’re looking at. “Long story. Happened on my way out here, after I left Boston. Nothin’ for you to worry about, sweet girl, hardly even hurt. Forget it’s even there, most of the time,” he answers, still with a dominant edge to his voice that does a mostly good job of convincing you it’s the truth.

“Can… Can I?” you ask, waiting to receive his permission before you move your hands from your lap.

“Yeah, baby, go ahead,” Joel allows.

You reach out a small hand to gently trace over the raised scar, then press your lips to it with your hands splayed out on either side of your head, just barely pressing into his belly. He releases a soft groan, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands, applying the lightest amount of pressure to let you know this is where he wants to keep you.

“Why don’t you keep goin’, sweetheart? Gimme some more lovin’ like that, know you wanna,” he encourages, and you think you get the idea now, what it is he wanted to put your pretty mouth to use for.

With his explicit permission to continue, you don’t need telling twice. You move your face to hover just in front of his belly button, admiring the dense salt and pepper happy trail that sprouts from where his jeans push into his soft skin. You drag your tongue along the hair, nipping at the soft curve of where it disappears into the divot in his stomach. He makes a noise in response, half pained and half pleasured, but he doesn’t stop you. Just for good measure, you place a kiss to the little blushing mark where your teeth had scraped him.

Almost of their own volition, it seems, your hands begin to knead at his stomach as you make good on your promise to yourself to kiss every single one of his stretch marks. You allow your tongue to dart from your mouth on the last one, and Joel sucks in a breath.

“Oh, fuck. Forgot how good that wet lil’ mouth feels on me, sweetheart. Keep goin’,” he says, voice coming out strained. His fingers curl tightly into your hair, and he begins to maneuver your face around his belly. You lave your tongue over his skin as he does, slicking him with wet, sloppy kisses. “Yeah, baby, you fuckin’ worship it, show me how much you like me like this.”

It’s a little humiliating, but just enough that you like the feeling. You’re breathing hard and fast, letting out little whimpers as your fluttering cunt begins to soak your underwear. He brings your face to a stop at the most tantalizing part of him, the part that truly evidences how much more he’s allowed himself to indulge since settling in Jackson. The ample curve of flesh that just barely conceals the waistband of his jeans, the part you’ve wanted to get your mouth on since you first saw how it strained the lower buttons of his shirt. You latch onto it, massaging the skin around it as you use your teeth and tongue to suck a mark into him.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and he curses under his breath. “Like it that much, huh? Fuck, naughty thing, look at you.”

You’re so fucking turned on, you’re shivering, rocking where you kneel and squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to get some kind of relief. You let one of your hands drift to the hard shape in Joel’s jeans, and it seems he’s enjoying this as much as you are. He spots your pathetic little squirms as you rut against nothing, and then he’s using his grip on your hair to pull you up from the floor.

“Got an idea. Up,” he commands roughly, and you detach your lips from his belly to obey his order. “Get these off, there we go.” He pulls down your sweatpants and underwear, helping you step out of them. “Christ, you’re soaked,” Joel teases, eyeing the sizable wet spot in your panties as he tosses them aside to join the other forgotten clothing. He reaches a hand toward the apex of your thighs, teasing your wet pussy and gathering some of your slick on two of his fingers. You let out a tiny yelp, but let him play with you, and then he’s bringing his fingers in front of his face and examining the sticky strings of your arousal when he spreads them apart. “All this just from lettin’ you worship all this, huh?” he taunts, patting his stomach once for emphasis. “Who’d’ve thought? Not that I’m complainin’...”

He quickly rids himself of his jeans and briefs, then reclines onto the couch with a quiet groan, stretching out his body along the length of it. Your mouth waters at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking as it bobs against his belly, his precum adding to the dampness still there from your tongue. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Joel says, softly, motioning with both of his hands for you to come closer.

You grip a hand onto the backrest of the couch to balance yourself while you move to straddle him, prepared to sink down onto his length for the first time in way too fucking long. “Uh uh, not there, baby,” he instructs, smirking when he sees how you hesitate in confusion. “Take a seat right here for me.” Again, he pats that most tempting area of his lower belly, and you just about fall apart at the sight of how his flesh ripples in the wake of it.

“Yeah, there you go, good girl,” he praises, both hands gripping your waist as he helps you settle your weight onto his soft abdomen.

“I dunno, don’t wanna hurt you–” you start, but he cuts you off swiftly.

“You won’t, baby. I’m a big man, ain’t I?” he teases, flashing you a devilish and knowing smile. “Go on, sweetheart, ride it.”

You inhale a shuddering breath, then place both of your hands on his shoulders to hold yourself up. You start an experimental buck into his belly, and that trail of dark hair tickles your clit so perfectly. It takes a few tries for you to get the positioning and pressure just right, and then you’re truly riding him, using his full stomach to get yourself off while he watches.

“God, that’s good. Use it, baby. You love me bigger, love that I’ve been eatin’ so good, prove it to me, c’mon,” Joel goads, and it spurs you on to grind against him harder, faster, as incoherent mumbles and curses tumble from your lips.

“Love it, Joel, you look so good, fuck. So fucking–mmh–so big, makes me so… so–”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. Makes you fuckin’ soaked is what it does, god damn. You gonna get my belly all messy, hm? Gonna rub your lil’ cunt all over it, get me all fuckin’ wet?”

“Uh huh, yeah, gonna… I’m gonna–” you whine, eyes shutting tight as your hips pick up their pace. You move your hands from his shoulders to place them on his stomach instead, grabbing at handfuls of his tummy in an effort to create something more solid to rub yourself against.

You’re already embarrassingly close, the humiliating edge to your earlier worship having gotten you most of the way there on its own. So swollen and sensitive it almost hurts, you won’t need much more to reach your high.

“Not without me, you ain’t. Gonna be right there with ya. You remember how we used to do it?” Joel asks, as if you could ever forget. He’s referring to your many late nights, early mornings, in his bed or in a back alley or wherever in the QZ, where he liked to make sure you both finished at the same time. You’d always be the first one to reach the edge, because he’d focus all his attention on getting you there before him, just to make you wait. It was never something punishing, just something he liked to do as an extra bit of control and dominance, and he knew it always made your orgasms that much more powerful and satisfying when he would finally permit you to let go.

With your eyes closed, so focused on your own pleasure, you hadn’t noticed that he had reached behind you to start fisting his cock some time ago. But you can hear it now, the wet schlick of his hand moving up and down his shaft as he works himself. “Hold it for me, sweetheart, I know you can. Keep rubbin’ your pretty pussy against me, jus’ like that, almost there…”

You mewl, screwing your face up as you force yourself to slow down your thrusts, muscles tense as you try to keep your orgasm at bay for as long as you can.

Thankfully, he must be worked up enough from seeing you fall apart for him so easily for the first time in so long, that his permission comes just a few minutes later.

“Come for me, babygirl, soak my fuckin’ belly, c’mon,” Joel growls, and you fall forward immediately, twitching and spasming and crying out into the soft muscle of his shoulder as you ride out the shuddering shocks of your orgasm. He groans next to your ear as he comes, and you can feel the warm ropes of his own release as some of them land on your lower back. You’re both wet, heaving messes, as you embrace each other for the second time today and work on catching your breath.

So exhausted from the day you had, you must’ve fallen asleep against his chest as you laid there, because then you’re being woken up by the dull scratch of his fingertips against your scalp and his familiar voice working its way through the thick fog that clouds your tired brain.

“You alright, baby?” he asks, and you can hear that he’s smiling, amused at this sleepy little thing he’s got clinging to him.

“Mhm, jus’ tired,” you answer, a barely-there mumble of a sentence.

“I’ll bet… You wanna get cleaned up? Get all tucked into bed?”

You shake your head against his neck, and he chuckles.

“No? Whatcha wanna do then, hm?”

“Jus’ lay here. Missed you. Don’t wanna let… go…”

Your sentence drifts off into silence before the temptation of sleep allows you to finish it, but Joel gets the idea. He smiles to himself, kissing the top of your head, and hugs you closer. Both of you are still sticky and damp, but satisfied. And together again. And that’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

So he agrees, and you stay like that for the rest of the night. Joel doesn’t worry about whether or not he remembered to set his alarm clock for his extra patrol shift the next morning, or if he’ll even hear it all the way from his bedroom upstairs, because it doesn’t matter anyway. He has you, and you made it very clear tonight just how much you like him exactly the way he is.

Maybe, your rose garden can finally begin to bloom, now that the pair of you have somewhere safe and comfortable and healthy to try your hand at nurturing it again.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

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matsunoluvr · 2 months

Text

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how clingy sylus copes with your absence

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking

characters: sylus

link to master list here!!!

authors notes: so basically we all love clingy!sylus and i don’t think people talk about it enough, so i here i try to do him some justice </3

i tried not to mischaracterise him, but i find it difficult to imagine how he’d react. he’s a full fledged adult - 27/28 years old - so i can see him trying to be mature about it. but after a while, it gets hard to wait any longer no?

more below the cut!! :3

first few days of your absence sylus is fine, i mean it’s one day - people get busy, people get tired. sylus understands better than most that life gets tough.

he checks his messages maybe two or three times to see if you’ve responded, but nothing. that’s okay, he’ll wait for you.

after five-ish days he’s a little irritated, how could you forget about him for that long?

yeah you could be busy, but seriously?

he gives you a call but it sends straight to voicemail, to which he refuses to leave one.

i bet he secretly feels a little embarrassed at how much your absence is bothering him, and out of spite he refuses to check his phone during the day.

“Tsk, ignoring me?”

luke and kieran definitely notice his small shift in attitude - his nonchalant facade isn’t perfect after all.

they are also secretly cursing you for disappearing, i mean come on! how could you leave them with an angry boss!!

another few days pass, how long has it been since he last saw you? a week?

gets fidgety and cracks, calling you again - no reply.

when he gets sent to voicemail he speaks in his typical, slow tone.

“Why aren’t you picking up my calls, kitten? Get back to me when you listen to this.”

despite his seemingly calm voice, he’s starting to really lose his cool. your absence was unsettling, and yeah he’s disappeared before for a few days on business, he at least picks up calls.

he never leaves you clueless for even a few days, let alone a whole week.

mephisto is sent out for surveillance of the n109 zone, and sylus keeps his phone close. always in his vision, hearing range, whatever.

every notification catches his attention, eyes snapping to the illuminated screen only to slowly drag away when he sees it isn’t you.

from the first to second week of your absence, his irritability shoots up. sylus is getting agitated, brushing it off as annoyance.

after all, what the fuck did he do for you to ignore him for this long?

he texts you almost every day now, the texts getting increasingly shorter, decreasingly floral and more concerned.

“Kitten, why aren’t you picking up my calls?”

“[YN], are you really ignoring me?”

“Hello? Are you okay?”

“Call me.”

he’s calling you every other day now, his sleeping schedule is deteriorating and his mind isn’t focused.

sylus is getting angry at himself, why is he so messed up about this? so what if you haven’t spoken to him in 13 days, isn’t it pathetic to be so affected by your absence?

he lived 27+ years without you, he can live another hundred without.

yet he still finds himself rearranging the plushies you two caught together, checking for your messages, scrolling through your posts.

almost a month has passed since your disappearance, and sylus isn’t getting any better.

why did you go? are you okay? did you get hurt?

god forbid something happened to you.

he’s hired some people to search for you, fuck waiting he’s worried.

finds himself drinking more alcohol with his meals than usual, to the point where even he - a heavy weight - feels his head becoming a little dizzy, his hands twitching for his phone.

one night, after downing a bottle of wine himself, he calls you at least five times, before leaving a voicemail.

his voice lacks its usual slow, bored tone. instead his words are a little slurred, his voice seems a little higher pitched - not too much but it is noticeable - and he’s speaking a little faster too.

“[YN]? Where are you, are you okay? Please pick up, it’s been a month. Do you really- have I deterred you? I know you dislike me, have you ran away? If you have, then at least tell me you’re alive. I mi-”

he catches himself before he says it, because he’s just realised something, something that was so blatantly obvious he feels shocked that he hadn’t noticed it

he misses you, he isn’t angry. he isn’t annoyed that you disappeared, he’s upset.

the fact that it took so long for him to realise is stupid, and all he can do it sit and chuckle drunkenly to himself.

“I miss you, [YN]. Please call me back.”

when you finally call him - exactly 43 days since you left - he almost scrambles to his phone

sylus picks up immediately, yet miraculously finds himself at a loss for words. what does someone say after over a month of waiting?

kind of just stands there, frozen - if you wait before speaking you can hear his almost shaky breaths

“Hey Sylus, you miss me? You left over 13 voicemails and 65 texts, I’m touched.”

gods your voice smoothed over his tense muscles like honey

he sits down, heart beating faster than usual. it’s stupid how much hearing your voice affected him, but he couldn’t help the way his body relaxed at the sound.

if he was a dog his tail would be wagging so fucking hard

“Come here, now.”

when you do arrive, you seriously expect to get killed or something. his tone sounded seriously pissed - i mean like the most pissed you’ve ever heard it

but when you open the door you just get swallowed into a chest and a pair of arms

if you try to move away or struggle, they just hold you tighter and restrict your actions and- oh, sylus is hugging you.

his face is angled down into your head, and you can’t see his expression - only the beating of his heart against you, and it was fast.

“Where the fuck were you? I missed you.”

explain whatever the hell you want to sylus, he’s already decided that you’re not going out without him knowing ever again

probably tries to download some sort of GPS tracker on your hunter’s watch to make sure he knows where you are

TLDR; sylus doesn’t realise how much he really cares for you until you go MIA for over a month in which he starts to genuinely tweak out! :3

AN; guys i actually spat this out in like an hour i think i might have clingy!sylus brain rot because oh my god anyways this isn’t proof read i just needed to express my love for clingy!sylus that gets worried because he isn’t just a dominant badass gang leader he’s also human and he also gets sad and upset and feels emotions argahdbansn he just sucks at recognising his own desires (get it because his evol eye can see other people’s desires but he can’t see his own :3)

#✧⁺ writing #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #lnd #lnds #lads #sylus x you #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus qin #sylus #lads sylus #sylusposting #sylus imagine #lnd imagine #lnd sylus

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lelengerine · 3 days

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pairing. nct dream (ot7) x reader

synopsis. waking up with the dreamies!

genre. established relationship, just a lot of cutesy fluff, mentions of food in jaemin’s, lmk if there's anything i missed <3

wc. around 150-200 words per member

notes. this is my first time writing these shorter drabbles so i hope you like them hehe i’d love to know if you guys wanna see more of this >< likes and feedback are highly appreciated!

m.list

→ mark

mark stirs awake, the morning light creeping through the curtains, casting soft shadows across your sleeping form. he feels a tug on the blanket and realizes you’ve taken most of it, leaving him with just a sliver of the warm fabric. a quiet laugh escapes him, though he quickly stifles it. the room feels too still, too peaceful to disrupt. his fingers move gently, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. you grumble a little, but don’t wake. “always stealing the blanket,” he whispers, voice amused. you murmur something incoherent, your sleepiness tugging a smile from him. he pulls the blanket back, careful not to disturb you, before pressing his forehead to yours. “i’ll let you get away with it this time,” he softly tuts, a quiet promise in his words. you nuzzle closer in contentment, eyes still closed, and whisper back, “just stay like this.” and so he does, letting the silence fill the space between you, content to lose himself in the warmth of your closeness.

→ renjun

the morning is still, the kind of quiet that feels sacred. renjun opens his eyes, immediately finding you beside him, your breath steady and soft. he’s always admired the way you look when you sleep. there’s a serenity in it, as if the whole world has quieted just for you. without thinking, he reaches for his sketchbook, sitting on the edge of the bed, pencil poised—a habit of his that developed ever since the two of you moved in together. each line he draws is delicate, a reflection of how he sees you: peaceful, beautiful, ethereal. you stir slightly, eyes fluttering open, catching him in the act. “drawing me again?” you ask, voice thick with sleep, a gentle tease in your tone. he flushes after being caught, the pencil in his hand freezing mid-stroke. “i couldn’t help it,” he admits quietly. you smile, shifting closer, peeking over his shoulder. “let me see.” he turns the sketch toward you hesitantly, and when you look up at him, there’s nothing but warmth in your eyes. “i love it.”

→ jeno

the first thing jeno feels is the weight of you against him, your head nestled into his chest, breath steady and slow. he smiles, still half-asleep, as his fingers begin tracing slow, lazy patterns along your back. he’s not sure if he’s drawing hearts or stars, only that he wants to keep you close. you shift slightly, waking up, and your eyes meet his, still hazy with sleep. “morning,” you mumble, voice soft like it belongs to this quiet hour before the world stirs. “morning,” he greets back, words rumbling from his chest. you smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, the touch light, like a secret shared between you. “you’re always awake before i am,” you note with a playful sigh. he grins, his arms tightening around you. “just can’t help it,” he admits softly. “waking up with you feels too good to miss.”

→ haechan

you’re draped across the bed, limbs everywhere, your hair a wild mess against the pillow. haechan wakes to the sight of you, and a grin immediately spreads across his face. mischief bubbles in his chest, and before you know it, his fingers find your sides, tickling you awake. “why do you always take up the whole bed?” he teases, laughter in his voice. you groan, eyes still closed as you bat at his hands, but a laugh slips out despite it all. “haechan, stop,” you whine, still half-asleep, voice muffled against the pillow. the sound of his laughter follows not long after, pulling you into his arms with ease. “i’m awake now, so you have to be too,” he declares with certainty, wrapping himself around your torso as if daring you to escape. you sigh, melting into him despite the protests leaving your mouth. “you’re impossible,” you mutter, but there’s a smile in your voice, one that he catches immediately. “yeah, but you love it,” he replies smugly, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. and in that moment, wrapped up in the mess of limbs and laughter, you know he’s right.

→ jaemin

the smell of something sweet pulls you from the comfort of your slumber, and you realize the space beside you is empty, but warm. you blink against the soft morning light, listening to the faint clatter of dishes barely seeping past the door. quietly, you slip out of bed, padding towards the kitchen of your apartment. jaemin stands there, humming softly as he flips pancakes with a focus that makes you smile. “you’re cooking?” you ask in the midst of rubbing your eyes awake, still groggy, but unable to suppress the fondness in your voice. he turns at the sound of you, a smile spreading across his face as he sets the pan down. “surprise!” he says, moving toward you, his arms immediately wrapping around your waist. you lean into his embrace, the warmth of him grounding you. “you didn’t have to,” you murmur, though you’re already imagining the taste of the breakfast he’s prepared. he pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes. “i wanted to,” he says softly, his fingers brushing your hair back. “i love mornings like this—with you.”

→ chenle

you wake up earlier than usual, passing the time as you scroll through funny videos on your phone, trying not to wake your boyfriend up, but it’s too late—he’s already blinking awake beside you, squinting through the morning light. “what’s so funny this early?” chenle asks, his voice still thick with sleep, but there’s a curious smile playing on his lips. you turn the phone toward him, showing him the random cat video that has you in stitches. he watches, his sleepy expression giving way to a grin, and soon enough, he’s laughing too. “you really start your day with memes?” he teases, shaking his head in disbelief. you nudge his side playfully. “it’s the best way to wake up!” your defence is only met with a sharp laugh from your boyfriend who pulls you closer, arms wrapping around you as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. “you’re ridiculous,” a murmur comes out of him, his voice soft yet a hint of laughter trails behind. “but if it makes you happy, i guess it’s the best way to wake up for me too.”

→ jisung

you wake to the soft sound of steady breathing, and as your eyes flutter open, you realize jisung is already awake, his gaze fixed on you. his arm is loosely draped over your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt absentmindedly. “morning,” you whisper, still half-asleep, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. jisung’s cheeks flush slightly, a shy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “morning,” he replies, his voice quiet, unsure. you briefly stretch and shift around the pillows and comforters, turning to face him fully, and you notice the way his gaze softens as he looks at you. “you could’ve woken me,” you murmur, your hand coming up to trace the curve of his jaw. jisung shakes his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. “i didn’t want to,” he admits. “you looked too peaceful. i… i like waking up like this.” his voice is barely above a whisper now, as if he’s confessing something he’s only just realized. you smile, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, “i like it too.”

#nct fluff #nct dream fluff #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #mark x reader #renjun x reader #jeno x reader #haechan x reader #jaemin x reader #chenle x reader #jisung x reader

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lesbianrobin · 3 months

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ok so here is my pitch for my dream buddie catalyst:

eddie and maddie are trapped in some sort of likely-fatal time sensitive situation together (drowning related probably because it's Them) (have they overused it yes is it still thematically appropriate YES) where one person could potentially sacrifice themselves for the other to survive. i want eddie and maddie using their combined experience and ingenuity to survive together and discussing who should be prioritized which means they talk about parenthood and how they both feel they've failed their children by "running," how their lives have been so defined by trauma and they don't want to scar their children any further by leaving them again. of course they're doing everything they can to get out together, but as the situation deteriorates throughout the episode(s) (c'mon something like this could be at LEAST a two-parter) they can't help returning periodically to the world's most morbid debate.

i want buck and chim on the outside both going out of their goddamn minds. they know that eddie and maddie are stuck (wherever), know that they're probably alive, but aren't sure in what condition and if they'll stay that way. rescue operations begin as everybody walks on eggshells around buck and tries to comfort chim, who wants absolutely none of it. time is running out.

eddie says that he couldn't possibly let maddie sacrifice herself for him and look buck and chim in the eye afterwards. maddie says that she couldn't do that either. she says that at least jee-yun would still have her father, and eddie says that christopher would still have buck. maddie says that of course none of them would just abandon christopher if something were to happen to him but—

and eddie cuts her off and says it's in my will. if i die, christopher will have buck. buck will have christopher.

they just look at each other for a weighted moment. maddie makes a decision. she says ...i meant it, you know. that i couldn't let you die down here (wherever here is i don't KNOW okay i'm not here to think up convoluted emergencies i'm here for drama) and look my baby brother in the eye knowing that i could have changed it. eddie says i know, okay, but it's different, you're his sister, and maddie says, yeah, but you're his... and she pauses. and eddie says what? best friend? partner? that doesn't—

and maddie says you're his. eddie, you're his.

and eddie... i want to see something slot into place. i want to watch him understand as maddie spills everything she's been suspecting since the day that buck came out to her and maybe since before she and eddie even met. maddie says you know, when i first came to california, you were all he talked about? you're still all he talks about. you and christopher. you're his. i couldn't... eddie, you're out of your mind if you really don't think that losing you would break him just as much as losing me. he would forgive us both, because he's buck, but i couldn't... i'm no saint, eddie, i want to survive. i don't want my daughter to grow up without me. but i can't do that to him. i don't know if he'd survive it. even if he did, the guilt would eat me alive.

meanwhile. buck is barely holding on to his sanity as rescue efforts are underway and time is running out. chimney is keeping it together as best he can but there isn't much that he and buck can do. he can't let himself fall apart because buck is already a stiff breeze away from clawing his own skin off and somebody has to keep their cool. something goes wrong—suddenly, their short amount of time has gotten shorter, and they may only have enough of a window to get one out before it's too late for the other. buck, who has been ranting and arguing and screaming this whole time... is silent. he is silent, and he stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, and we know that no matter which way the scales tip, his soul will be destroyed all the same.

eddie regards maddie for a moment. grief, heartbreak, anger, all flicker over him, but what settles is determination. he says that neither of them are going to leave again. that they'll survive together, or not at all, or leave it to the universe to decide.

of course they make it out. by the skin of their teeth, they make it out, working together, clawing their way back to life and love and possibility. maddie makes it out first, and eddie sees buck as she falls into chim's waiting arms. he watches as buck sees his sister, and reaches out to take her hand with trembling fingers and white knuckles, but there is no relief, no happiness in his red-rimmed eyes. just a deep, unspeakable grief, until his eyes slide past maddie and meet eddie's.

finally: relief. and then he is in buck's arms, a perfect parallel to chim and maddie, and we see eddie's face over buck's shoulder, and we know. he is in love, and buck is in love, and eddie knows, and he sinks into his partner's embrace with joy and acceptance.

after that, who knows? maybe a grand confession. a moment of quiet understanding. a passionate post-rescue kiss. a chaste, tender kiss in some kitchen or other. maybe eddie panics later, or maybe he's found peace for once. maybe buck has realized something and he makes the first move. maybe it happens immediately. maybe it takes a while, takes discussions about how it'll affect work and christopher and whether it's worth risking all that they have for all that they want.

and maybe they'll ask whether it's even a risk at all.

#em talks #911 #buddie #TO BE CLEAR. if this were real it would not be All About Buck like i would want a lot of eddiemaddie recognizing their similarities etc #there would be more going on with chim and the others #but my point here is buddie ok so that is my focus but i think this could serve many characters very well #ALSO. it's not that i think eddie like. doesn't realize how much buck loves him necessarily.#it's the power of maddie saying so plainly and confidently that they are each other's person #it's eddie realizing that he and maddie are thinking about buck and chim in the exact same way #it's all of these things piling up and making it impossible to deny the truth of his and buck's relationship

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —

i'm watching season two of criminal minds and getting very sad and frustrated about how no one is noticing spencer's withdrawals. could you maybe do one where bau!reader notices that he's not okay and confronts him about it? our baby boy deserves all the help he can get at this point 🥲 love you endlessly!

love you!! cw drug use

"What are you doing?" you ask.

Spencer pushes his book toward you wordlessly, an intimidating tome of Russian literature.

"No, like, what are you doing?"

Spencer sits up. His sunken eyes look for your tell, a twitch in your lips like this might be a bluff, but there's no feigned emotion to be found. "I don't know what you're asking me."

"Is it downers?"

A spark of life behind tired eyes, his face contorted by anger, Spencer hisses, "What are you talking about?"

"Oxycontin? Xanax? Half the time you're looking at us like you hate us and the rest of the time you're quiet."

"I don't– you're being ridiculous," Spencer says.

"Your hands are shaking, Spence." You cross your arms over your chest and take a step closer to his desk. While you'd asked him somewhere far from private, driven by a need for truth, you care about him —that's why you're asking. You know you've gone about this all wrong. "You're coming down," you whisper, "and it looks painful."

Spencer just stares at you.

"Why don't we go to the cafeteria? Get something warm to eat?" you suggest. He's lost weight he didn't have to lose lately.

"I'm never hungry," he says.

You take it for a confession, an admittance that he's been doing something he shouldn't be. Withdrawal and drug use alike can cause a lack of appetite. Maybe he's upset you've brought it up, just…

"I can't watch you being not okay anymore," you say.

His surprise is obvious. "I didn't think anybody noticed."

You can't speak for the others or their motivations. All you know is that you care about him too much to pretend it isn't happening. You'd hoped Spencer would tell you about it himself, if he needed help. You hadn't realised that might come off as you not paying attention.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me, I shouldn't have– I'm sorry for being sudden."

"I haven't exactly been approachable," Spencer says bitterly.

"I love you," you say. "Be a dick if you want. But I love you and I want you to eat more than dried fruit, so. Come with me for dinner."

Spencer stands up quietly, no fuss. He pulls his jacket on and unlucky his hair from the collar, expression like a lost puppy looking down at you. You stare at him, his under eyes dark as wine and the slight hollow of his cheeks, the stubble like a shadow on his jaw.

You go up on tiptoes and wrap your arms around him. "I just want to know what's wrong so I can be here for you," you say, crushing his hair to his neck with your cheek. You readjust your hands, trying to convey how you feel, the want to hold him together, put his misaligned pieces back in the right place. "I don't want you to be alone."

Spencer clears his throat, but he hugs you back in his way, making himself smaller and shorter to fit in your embrace.

"It'll be okay. Yeah?" You speak into his hair, a reassurance for him alone.

Spencer just hugs you harder.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #luveline's 40k party

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brailsthesmolgurl · 4 months

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“I feel like I am getting fatter.”

My dear readers, I had decided to include prompts in my works as I thought this might cater to the readers of mine who prefers a shorter read. All of my prompts are my ideas (feel free to drop me any if you do have any in mind) and they will be based on my opinion of the boys :> I apologise if my writing may be offensive to some people but this is my take hence it would be nice if you could be more open-minded :,)

P.S: This fictional write is not meant to be a skinny-shaming/fat-shaming piece because I strongly believe no matter what size you are, you deserve to be loved by all! Personality triumphs over looks afterall!

Preview: An insight into what the boys think when you tell them that you feel like you’re getting plumper.

RAFAYEL

He just stares at you wildly; eyes widened, eyebrows raised to form arches, jaw opened slightly in a state of disbelief at what he had just heard coming out of your mouth. “How could you say such things to yourself?” He palmed his own face, shaking his head in suit. “You coming up to me and putting yourself down just because you think you’re chubby is ridiculous.” When he noticed that you did not say anything to rebut him, he walked closer to you, tilting your chin upwards so you may gaze into his orbs of nebulas. “You are not chubby in my eyes my love.”

“But, I just don’t like the way I look in the mirror Rafayel…” Your confidence had always been in a dip when it comes to your own body image. It especially affected you when recently, news regarding your relationship had taken a turn for criticism towards your body. You wanted to look compatible to your lover and you figured the best you could match him is if you own the body and curves of a runway model. “And, maybe, I just thought I might look better beside you if I am well…skinnier maybe?”

The man erupted a laughter, a genuine laughter of amusement when you told him that last bit of your concern. Rafayel is never the type to prey on one’s insecurity but when your determination to lose weight is based off of on pleasing his fans, he could not care less. “No my love, you do not have to lose weight just because some simpleton made some comments about your body. Come, let’s have a seat okay?” He tugged onto your wrist gently and then sat the both of you down onto the plush sofa of his. Plopping his head against the headrest, he turned his face to look at you. “Do you know back in the days, artists from ancient times prefer drawing women of flesh rather than bones?”

Seeing you hesitated to answer him, he continued on. “That is because bones equal to famine, flesh equals to well-fed my love. It is a sign of royalty. And you, I see nothing but a woman of royalty even if you do not see it yourself. The world nowadays are falling back on appreciating women with healthy bodies and I will always be here to assure you that in my eyes, you are not chubby. As you are to me, a sign of royalty which dates back to the ancient times and even till this day and age.”

Rafayel has always have a way with his words. That is the reason why you fell for him. At first, you may think satire is a part of his image, but eventually, you realised that this man spits euphemisms, and that his mockery never falls short of facts. He is very knowledgeable of the world and the way things work. “But if you still do want to lose weight, I shall do it with you as much as I hate working out. But no harm in keeping my princess fit as a fiddle if she wishes for me to join.” He blushes, eyes glanced away from yours for a moment when his mind flashed an image of you being all hot and bothered after a workout session.

“Thank you for saying that Rafayel. It really helps in calming down my nerves.” You smiled back at him, leaning your head against his shoulders and he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“By the way, just so you know, I prefer drawing you in this ‘chubby’ state—as you would call it—because I think the curves of your body catches the sunlight beams very well and it makes you look ethereal.” Rafayel grins cheekily, fingers trailed against your jawline gently as he studied your features and allowing his imagination to run wild, already planning on his next piece of artwork featuring you, his one and only muse. This time, he shall also make it his statement piece to the haters that his love for you shall not run amok and perhaps, suggest a change in the world’s definition of beauty with his artwork.

XAVIER

“So, did anyone suggested that to you?” Xavier looked up from his plate, swallowing the piece of meat after he had finished asking his question. He had noticed recently when the both of you were on dates, you had been avoiding snacks and junk foods that you would never have resist before and that was when he decided to butt in to ask if you were on a diet and when you admitted it, the conversation was led up to this point. “Or, was it in your own head?”

“I realised it when we were doing the fitness assessment before the hunter’s task that day.” You explained, the fork pushing the pea on your plate, watching it rolled around in circles. During the assessment, everyone is required to get on the scale for a routine check and update for one’s personal records file. You remembered your confidence had started to plummet bit by bit when you noticed all the female hunters are averagely weighed below normal BMI weight.

Although no one was laughing at you as the scale announced your weight but you could almost taste the hint of embarrassment at the back of your throat as you stared at the numbers shown on the scale. You figured, a good hunter should not be overweight right? Or else how does one, being overweight, excel in physical tasks? Hence, you had decided to be harsh on yourself to lose weight for the sake of excelling in physical tasks and to fit in amongst your peers. “I am one of the few ones that probably exceeded the normal weight requirement for a hunter.”

“But you are still one of the best hunters among our division right?” Xavier was quick to catch up on one of your worries for being too overweight to complete physical tasks. “You should not worry much about your weight if you are actually pulling the weight of being a good hunter. Pun intended.” His pun made you pressed your lips tightly to form a thin line. It was funny but it was said at the wrong time.

“Then do you think I am chubby?” You raised an eyebrow and the blond man in front of you let go of his piece of meat and you watch the slice of meat slipped right into the bowl of spicy soup. This conversation is getting serious now if he is willing to overcook that piece of meat just to engage in this conversation.

“I never thought you were chubby. Other girls are just too skinny to my liking.” He placed his chopsticks aside and stared right at your face, cerulean orbs burning with underlying annoyance because of what you had said about yourself. “And I don’t think your weight affects your hunter skills as they are both separate entities by itself.” Humming to himself, his hand rubbed the base of his chin as he thought of what else to say to boost your confidence. “Speaking of which, skinnier girls do tend to end up meeting their demise faster than girls like your size.”

“What do you mean by that?” You watched as the man picks up the chopsticks and starts digging around the soup base for his missing piece of meat that is probably overcooked to his taste.

He shrugged casually. “They just look all the more fragile to me. Most of the ones that got admitted to the hospitals are the skinny ones that tends to get more broken bones and bruises even from fighting the easiest category of wanderers.” He shoved the meat into his mouth almost animation-like and started chewing. His face flashed a hint of disgust as he struggled to swallow the piece of meat down his throat. “My point is, as long as you are healthy and not easily bruised, nobody is going to care about your weight. But if they ever do, I know you can easily prove them wrong.”

Xavier is more of a motivational speaker type of boyfriend. Not because he does not want to comfort you, but he would much rather remind you of the strengths you already have and that you should not get easily discouraged by such a minute issue. Not to mention, although adorning the face of an angel, this boy here does make some pretty sarcastic remarks here and there. “Here, have some more meat, it might help you to lose weight. But it would also help you to gain more muscle which would be more helpful during combat rather than being a bag of bones.”

ZAYNE

“Just because you are sat down and you realised that you had ‘flaps’ does not make you fat y/n.” Zayne laid the tray beside you, taking a seat next to you in the hospital’s cafeteria. After the routine check-up with Zayne, it usually wraps up with you stepping onto the scale and the numbers on the scale are not showing your average weight anymore. Thus, your frown pointed towards the scale gave Zayne just enough of a hint for him to catch up on what was churning in your head. “Y/n?”

“I’m sorry, it just never came to my mind that I had gotten heavier since my last checkups.” You gnawed onto your bottom lip, fingers prancing along the material of your pants. “It does not help either when my colleagues said that I had gotten a bit bloated lately.” Sighing, you hid your face in your palms. “Not to mention, my boyfriend is a doctor, what an irony for you to date someone who isn’t physically healthy right?”

Zayne placed a box of milk in front of you, the one that you would always go for whenever you stop by his workplace. “Y/n, statistically speaking, your weight data is not considered overweight. Nor would it compromise your health in any manner. If it helps, you do not look fat to me.” The doctor glanced over to you, watching you as you only started reading the labels across the box milk instead of ripping it open to drink it like a maniac you always tend to be. “Are you planning to lose weight then?”

“I guess I am planning to. For the sake of my own health and the image of our relationship.” Zayne frowned slightly at your response but of course, being the husband material he is, he would do anything to make you healthy. Even if that means he does not necessarily agree with your standpoint.

“Wanting to be healthy would be a good start, but losing weight for the sake of our relationship’s image is not a good idea. I am glad to have someone healthy by my side.” His voice was comforting, his tone soothing to your ears. “I have another surgery scheduled in 20 minutes so I have to go now, but do not attempt to lose weight without me being around you. Do you think you can at least do me that favour?” He pushed his chair back and stood up, a hand placed on the top of your head in the form of a head pat. “I do not wish to see you jeopardising your own mental health over your weight.”

The doctor leaned down to kiss your forehead before he took the milk and placed it within your palms. His lips turned upwards into a gentle smile. “I will see you after work later.” And he went off, blending into the crowds in the crowded hallways. But it did not took long before your phone rang, and you received a call from a random number.

“Hi is this Miss y/n?” The feminine voice spoke on the other end. You agreed and introduced yourself, asking her what was the purpose of the call. “Dr.Zayne had asked me to set up an appointment with you for 3pm later so that we can go through your nutritional plan later. He told me that you wanted to lose weight don’t you?” You were nearly speechless when she said that. No wonder Zayne rushed off all of a sudden. He did not have a surgery scheduled, he only wanted to make an appointment with an in-house nutritionist to help you in losing weight. Afterall, he is not against the idea of you losing weight but he would much rather you do it in a healthy manner.

Your heart felt fuzzy when you are constantly reminded of the way Zayne would always takes care of you, even if he does not particularly look like he cares. “Yeah, that’s me. May I know what did Dr.Zayne said to you?”

“Not much, he only told me that his spouse is unhappy with her healthy body and that she would like to achieve a slimmer figure…” The girl’s voice trailed off a little, seemingly a little hesitant. “But he also told me to set up a 7 day workout plan for you so that you may get too tired of losing weight and you might just give up on it halfway.” OOF. Guess Zayne is totally fine with the way you look.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #xavier love and deepspace #fluffy #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

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arliedraws · 1 month

Note

Ok so we know that Sirius had shorter hair when he was younger and I think you picture his hair perfectly! Just like I imagined it. Buuut I wanted to know how you think about Sirius with long hair in general? If I remember correctly after getting long hair during Azkaban his hair was shorter in OotP again. How short do you think he cut his hair after prison? Because.. I mean I really love Sirius with shorter hair, especially your version, but I also love him having long hair and it would make so much sense, since generally, it is believed that in fairy tales, the longer the beard, the more powerful the person is. Also like in ancient myths from different cultures, long hair is also associated with strength. In some fairy tales, cutting off hair also means losing one's strength. It is believed that hair stores magic and that cutting it is bad because it means losing some of that magic. Therefore, everyone, regardless of gender, has long hair. The longer the hair, the more powerful a witch or wizard is considered.

Bonus: Sirius looks very hot with long hair, when he wears it in a half bun or something.

Okay, this is important to me. Obviously. Canonically, we know that Sirius kept his hair short pre-Azkaban (per Moody in OotP). Now, what we can surmise from this interaction is that Sirius’s hair in OotP MUST be longer than it was pre-Azkaban. Okay. If Moody is going to bother mentioning his hair, there must be a marked difference so we must presume that Sirius probably has longish hair in OotP. In PoA, he has elbow length, ratty ass hair that hasn’t seen a brush in a decade probably. However, during the Floo chat in GoF, we see that Sirius has gained a bit of weight and has had his hair cut. I refer to this as tropical Sirius, the only time Sirius is actually happy in the series. He’s looking after himself physically. However, once we see him back in the UK, he is starving once again and his hair is back to long and matted.

In Order of the Phoenix, I believe the only reason that his hair is clean and maintained but long is that he doesn’t give a fuck what he looks like but he is bathing regularly.

Anyway, here you go. (Side note: if Sirius had lived, he would’ve cut his hair after OotP in HBP.)

Thank you for giving me a reason to talk about Sirius’s hair.

#can we point out that even if i copy/paste I cannot keep a design straight 🙄#consistency is not my thing #pay attention to the hair not the face #sirius black #my art #sirius black character design #that’s just gonna be a new tag

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loveiis · 4 days

Text

chris x black!officer!reader

not proofread !

warnings: p in v, cursing, mention of drugs & alcohol (just one sentence), doggy position, breeding.

chris blasted his favorite song as he sped through the highway, range rovers and old vans becoming small blurs as the heat of the moment distracted him from hearing the blazing sirens of your police car.

you were somewhat new to being on the road, finding people with drugs in their car or under the influence. however, for some reason this was the first time you have ever really stopped someone for speeding. doesn’t happen as much as it used to a couple years back when you were in training.

after you turned on your sirens you turned on your lights as you waited for the man to pull over. “shit..” chris cursed himself under his breath multiple times as he saw your lights. slowing his car, he pulled over to the side.

you pulled over behind him, turning off your sirens as you exited the car. you headed towards the man in the white suv, standing in front of his tinted window, tapping against it to ask him to put it down.

as he rolls his window down, he takes in the sight of you and your tiny uniform making your tits pop out, and god, those fucking shorts; shorter than anything. he wonders if you can even breathe in that thing.

you cross your arms over your chest. “i suppose you know exactly why i pulled you over, correct?” you lean to one side, putting all your weight on one foot. chris is almost at a loss of words as he sees your breasts push together and your hips move, he doesn’t want to think so erratically of you, but that uniform was driving him insane.

“uh- yes, mrs. officer. i was speeding.” he let go of the steering wheel as he spoke, his eyes still roaming your body.

you certainly notice his… curious eyes, but you disregarded it. you were on duty, there’s no time to be giving bedroom eyes to someone in trouble.

“so, you understand that you’ll be given a ticket?” you raise an eyebrow, looking at him more intently, assuming he knows how this goes. he freezes slightly, remembering that when you speed you have to pay a ticket. “fuck, yeah- i do.” he responds, the uncomfortable tone in his voice palpable.

“something wrong, sir?” you ask, pulling out your stack of empty tickets and a pen, to write down the amount he has to pay.

chris runs his hand through his hair nervously before adding, “d’you think i could pay you… in another way?” he looks back at you, with a serious face. you already know what he’s going to ask, but there was no point in him trying. “sir, the payments do not go to me, so there is no point in trying to pay me in… other ways.” you explained.

he sighed, looking around quickly before turning his head back to yours. he glanced at your chest and back up to your eyes. “if i show you how i can repay you… could you let me go?” chris leans against his seat, awaiting your response.

you knew exactly how these stories went. the officers would get caught up with some girl or boy, and end up being terminated from their job. you couldn’t let that happen.

you sigh as you place the stack of tickets and the pen back into your pocket. “sorry, i’m not going to lose my job over something so stupid such as letting you pass because you want to get.. intimate with me.” you place your hands on your hips.

you couldn’t deny it, the man in the car was attractive, but he was also a man of trouble. you can’t let him just go about his day.

“please, ma. i’ll make sure you won’t be fired, i just want to show you that i’m worth letting go.”

and someway, somehow, you found yourself in the backseat of his car, gripping onto the seat as he pounded into you from behind. you knew you would have to hear your bosses mouth telling you that you’re fired, but you were too caught up in the pleasure to even care.

“o-oh f-f-fuck.. s’ fucking good– shit!” you practically screamed when he reached under you to rub tight circles on your clit. “yeah, mrs. officer? you like being fucked like a– mmmfuck- like a whore so much you risked- shiiiiittttt baby- risked your job?”

you couldn’t even respond, the pleasure making your mind blank. “i know you can use your words, baby. tell me you risked your job for me, hm?” he paused his motions on your clit and pushed down on your back, making you arch.

you let out a high pitched moan at the new angle as ge repeatedly hit the right spot. “i- i- fuck… i risked my job for you..” you rested the side of your face on the seat, your mouth opening to moan, but nothing comes out.

“mhm, risked your job for this dick, huh?” he gripped your waist tightly, as he got closer to the edge. “yes— yes! for your dick!” you groaned, your cunt clenching around him as your pleasure built up inside of you.

“jesus- fuckin’— squeezing so tight around me.. come with me, baby.” chris threw his head back at the feeling of you getting closer. his thrusts started to get harder but sloppier as you both chased your own highs.

“im— oh, god.. m’ coming!” your fingers gripped onto the seat harder, trying to stabilize yourself. “me too baby, shit— pussy’s made just for me… gonna fill you up so nicely.” with a few more thrusts, you clenched down on him, releasing all over his cock with a long whimper.

“fuckfuckfuck— so fucking perfect.” he stilled himself inside of you with one last harsh thrust, filling you to the brim. he massaged your ass before giving it a light slap.

“might have to arrest you, mrs. officer.” he chuckled before pulling out of you and flipping you over on your back. chris watches silently in awe at the mess that dripped down between your thighs.

he shakes away his thoughts before grabbing a towel from the pocket behind the front seat and cleaning you with it.

as he finishes cleaning you, you both straighten up, pulling your bottoms back up and pushing your tit that fell out your uniform back in.

he returns to his front seat as you stand outside of his car, his window open as he talks to you.

“you know im going to get fired, right?” you sigh, glancing quickly at the cars passing by before turning back to him.

“no baby, i got you.” chris responds, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a fifty dollar bill. he reaches out to you and sticks it in your bra.

you let out a laugh through your nose. “y’know its only twenty five, right?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“just an extra tip for mrs. officer.” he replies, looking you up and down before smirking and driving away.

wc: 1,171 words 6,240 characters

divider by @/saradika-graphics

hope u guys liked this one :)

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #loveiis #matt sturniolo #reader insert #writing #art #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #smut

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checosbluespring · 8 months

Text

finally → ln4

lando norris x plus size!fem reader

genre: best friends to lovers

cw: 18+ MDNI, smut, p in v, oral (fem receiving), slight angst, slight dom lando, slight dirty talk, pls let me know if I am forgetting anything

word count: 4.9k

sidenote: hi everyone! this is my first fanfic that I have ever written so please excuse if its not the best, I hope to get better with time. I want to take requests so if ya'll have any lmk! this is also not beta read, sorry if there are little mistakes. I also tried to not make the reader self deprecating but insecurities are a thing so it was a bit hard to find a balance.

♡♡♡♡

You and Lando had been friends for as long as you could remember. It was a crucial part of your weekends growing up hoping in the car with his family and watching his karting tournaments. You knew from a very young age Lando would be one of the greats, he would make it to f1. That always scared you, not because you didn't want him to achieve his dreams but because you were scared of losing him. But throughout your friendship he had stayed loyal to you.

Growing up, it was like Lando was your protector, he still kinda is to be honest. You were a big girl, there was no hiding it. Now that you are older, you’ve began to love and accept your body, but it took a lot of practice. So much so that even Lando has had his fair share of putting his two cents in. He was never embarrassed of you or tried to hide you away, even as he got more popular.

You remember when you were around 15, you were sitting in the stands next to his mom when you overheard some of the other drivers' friends talk about you.

“God how is he not embarrassed to be hanging out with someone who looks like her” and so on. You had felt mortified that day, you went home and cried to your mom. When the next weekend came you made up an excuse why you couldn't go and the same went on for the next couple of weekends until Lando showed up at your doorstep.

“You're ignoring me, and don't say you aren't” said a pouty 15 year old Lando. “I'm not ignoring you, Lando, just maybe it's best if I don't go to all your karting tournaments”. You immediately regret what came out of your mouth because the last thing you ever wanted was to make Lando feel like you have, less than.

“Who are you to decide what's best and what isn't?” you weren't used to this type of Lando, he never got mad at you or raised his voice. Being the emotional teenager you were, tears welled in your eyes and a few strayed away down your cheeks. Suddenly Lando grabbed you and pulled you into a hug. You have always been bigger than him but shorter as well. You felt small in his embrace. Even if in the back of your head you knew that was a lie. “What happened y/n, tell me so I can make this better”

“ I don't want to embarrass you” you said into his chest. “embarrass me how?”.

“I overheard some of the other driver's friends talking about me and my weight, and they are right, I don't want to embarrass you, racing is your life, Lando, I can’t ruin that”.

You felt his chest rise and fall. “Tell me who told you that, now” he said in a cold distant tone, Lando never got angry, except on the track. “No I'm not going to tell you, because I don’t need you getting in trouble”. He looked a bit deflated after you refused to tell him but he continued to talk.

“Y/n listen to me, you are one of the best things to happen to me, your weight has and will not ever matter to me. The fact that you think it would tells me that I haven’t been doing a good enough job at showing you how much you mean to me. Racing these past weekends without you have been hell, i need you, you are my best friend” the friend part rings in your ears. You realize that’s what you’ll only ever be to him - a friend. Even if you desperately wanted more.

Things get a lot better after that. You got to his tournaments loud and proud, and now 9 years later you are still doing the same. The problem is that you are still desperately in love with your best friend. Having to see Lando date girls who looked nothing like you made you feel a pit in your stomach. You knew you never had a chance with him, but it hurt so bad. The kind of hurt that made you want to cry and throw up. You couldn’t lose him though, so you played the role as his bigger best friend, that he just couldn’t shake off.

Lando once called you his good luck charm, saying that race weekends where you weren’t in the grandstands were ten times harder. Once he made it to formula 1 it made it harder to go to all his races, but you tried. Even when Lando would have his girlfriends you were still there, sitting right next to them. If people knew how you felt, they would pity you. That’s why you knew it was time to try and find a boyfriend, you couldn’t pine after Lando for the rest of your life, even if your heart wanted to.

As you’ve gotten older you’ve learned to love and embrace your body. You know you looked good when you put on a dress that showed your thick thighs. Every race weekend you are dressed to the nines, make up, hair, everything done. You do this for yourself but also because you want to look good for Lando even if you tell yourself that’s not the reason.

It wasn’t until this year you finally started taking dating seriously. At Silverstone this year, Lando had given you paddock tickets. You always tried to deny them by saying it was important that his family had paddock tickets but he insisted. This is when you met Mark, one of mclarens engineers. He was sweet, funny enough, tall, cute, everything a girl could want, but he wasn’t Lando. You followed him though on instagram because you told yourself you were not gonna pine over Lando this year, you were gonna find a partner who loved and supported you.

It didn’t take long before Lando had found out that you were following each other. Asking curious questions “hey how do you and mark know each other?” He questioned. “oh we met at silver stone and he asked to follow” in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have told him that because he proceeds to tell you how Mark is a terrible person, boring, mean all of the above. A part of you knew Lando was lying but you wouldn’t jeopardize his career by dating one of his race engineers.

It’s race weekend in Austin and you were able to fly out and watch Lando race. He had an amazing race, to celebrate he wanted to go clubbing which was a rare occasion after his DJing side career. You looked in the mirror before you left your room and you looked so good. Your dress showed off all your features and your makeup looked great. You weren’t the type for one night stands but you were gonna find someone tonight.

After arriving at the club with Lando and his friends you found yourself alone at the bar. Lando was a popular person and you don't need his attention constantly. You took this opportunity to look cute and hopefully approachable. It wasn't long before a guy had offered to buy you a drink, and another one, and another one. After your third vodka cranberry you had started to feel tipsy but you were still fully aware of your surroundings so when the handsome guy in front of you pulled you on the dance floor you obliged.

You felt good and it was rare you ever let yourself go like this. The club started playing Spanish music and you found yourself grinding on this stranger. Your body felt flushed, like you needed to be touched and this random man was doing the trick. His hand gripped tightly on your hips and his head placed between the junction of your neck and shoulder placing hungry kisses. Just as you are about to suggest you guys get out of here, a pair of strong hands pulls you out of the man's grip. “Come on y/n where are leaving, the cars are here” Lando whispered in your ear, you couldn’t quite place his tone.

“It’s okay Lando, you go ahead I’ll meet you guys there” you said hoping he got the hint but of course he didn’t. “No i'm not leaving you alone with this guy, come on let’s go” he said, slightly tugging at you. The random guy, whose name you still don’t know, steps in, “dude she doesn’t want to go, let her stay with me”. You see something shift in Lando, something possessive? “Mate she’s mine so I suggest backing the fuck off”.

That sobered you up real quick. Instead of feeling happy he called you his, you were fueming. He had no right to do that, he wants to cockblock you and for what. At this point you walk past them and head towards the exit, it’s not long before Lando is at your side in the car trying to talk to you. “Y/n I’m sorry, talk to me”, you don’t, you ignore him the entire way back to the hotel. You let tears fall down your face because all you wanted was to have a random hookup, something that you could leave back in the states and forget about, someone that you didn’t have to worry about his opinion on your weight afterwards. But Lando went and did this and you don’t know why.

He followed you to your hotel room and you finally let him have it. “ How dare you do that, you had no right to do that Lando” he opens his mouth to say something but you stop him. “ No, let me talk, I just wanted one night where I could be with a guy carefree and not have to worry about what others thought, Lando I’m a grown adult I don’t need you to save me, you don’t understand what it’s like to be like me. I love you Lando but I can’t keep myself available forever hoping and waiting that you’ll finally love me ". That last part wasn’t meant to come out but you were so mad at him you didn’t care.

You see a shift in his face. “You can’t say I’m yours when I’m not, because I never have been, the girls that are yours don’t look like me Lando. And I’ve accepted that because I love you and will always support you, even if it feels like there is a knife digging in my chest every time I see you with a new girl”. Tears again are welling in your eyes but you are doing your best not to let them fall.

“I love you Lando but I can’t be your friend if you don’t let me go, you can’t keep stringing me along as your best friend who acts like your girlfriend, do you know how pathetic I look next to your past girlfriends, pining after you. I was the one who made sure you were prepared before every race, I was the one who stayed up late picking you up from clubs, I was the one who held your neck up after your first F1 race because it hurt so bad. Not once did I ever ask for something in return because you are my best friend and I love you, but Lando I’m begging you, I can’t be alone forever you need to let me try and be with someone. You mean the world to me Lando and I need you in my life, but I can’t go on like this” he looked stunned. But found the words he wanted to say.

“Can i talk now y/n” he looked angry, you nodded. “Not once have I ever forced you to be there for me, but I know you were there because you cared for me and I care for you too, even though you think I don’t. But not once have I ever wanted you to feel pity or pathetic, y/n you are the most important woman in my life besides my mom and sisters but you mean everything to me and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it. Seeing you with that guy made me physically sick, not because of how you guys looked, god y/n you looked so good tonight but he was grabbing on you and touching you, but I knew I couldn’t be mad because he was doing what I have been wanting to do for years, he just had the balls to do it, oh my god I can’t believe you thought I would ever think of you like that, y/n I’m in love with you and I have been for years, I was just too much of a coward to show it, I want you to be mine”

In that moment everything seemed like it would be okay, you didn’t think about what the press would think or his other friends, all that mattered was him. You nodded. “Lando that’s all I’ve ever wanted was to be yours” before you knew it he was walking towards you and placing you in a firm kiss.

You have had your fair share of kisses but none of them like this, this kiss made your knees weak, it made you want to crumble to the ground. He moved his hand from your cheeks down to your waist giving them a hard squeeze, sending shocks of pleasure down your pelvic area.

You both pull away panting when he places his forehead on yours, “you don’t know how mad I got when he was touching you, the way you let him grind up on you and kiss your neck, I wanted to beat the shit out of him”. You rebuttal by saying “while now you know how I’ve felt for years seeing you with girls, even the ones who talked shit about me, I wanted to fight them all”.

This seemed to catch Lando by surprise “which ones talked shit about you?” “Babes half of them did, I chalked it up to them being jealous but it didn’t hurt any less”. “Fuck y/n I’m so sorry I never even loved any of them that’s the worst part of it, I was just trying to feel a void in my heart”. You went to hug him, placing your head on his chest.

“Y/n I’m sorry I was an idiot and it took this long for me to realize my feelings and I’m sorry you got hurt in the process” said Lando

“No don’t apologize, deep down a part of me knew that if we were ever together, it would make things harder for your career, you would get so much hate”

“Even if it did, I would walk to the ends of the earth for you, no public option would change that”

Something hot grew inside of you and you crashed your lips to his, you wanted him. He fisted his hand in your hair lightly pulling it, that made you moan into his mouth. You could feel him smirk. Your hands settled under his shirt, mostly because your hands are cold but because you want to feel him. All of a sudden Landos hands traveled their way down your back and settled on your ass, gripping hard he stopped kissing you and whispered, “this ass is mine, don’t forget that”. You gasp and nod, you want nothing more than for Lando to take you right now.

You slow down your kiss to talk “ Lando I want you so bad” “ I do to baby” with that you start to pull off his shirt showing his toned chest. It’s not like you’ve never seen him shirtless before because you have but this was different. You stare “you like what you see baby?” lando asked in a teasing tone. You bite your lip and nod.

Lando starts to take your dress off and you panic. You grab his hands, “wait can I keep my dress on”

Lando gives you a look, and you can already tell what's going to come out of his mouth. You want to stop him because he knows you are pretty and your body is pretty but being naked in front of your best friend of 17 plus years is intimate. And it's not that you don't trust him but you can't help but feel the slightest bit insecure. Let's be honest you knew deep down Lando has never been with a girl who looked like you. Lando starts to say “if you want to keep it on you can, I would never pressure you to take it off but I want you to know I think you are the prettiest girl in the world. You don’t know how hot and bothered you would get me showing up to race weekends dressed in short skirts and your tits about to pop out”. In the back of your head you want to keep hearing his vulgar mouth, it does something to you. In response, you nod, slowly taking off your dress. You were left in nothing but your bra and underwear. “Fuck” you hear Lando whisper. Suddenly he’s attacking your neck, leaving harsh kisses.

You feel his stubble, his goatee rubs against the base of your neck. “You look so fucking good y/n, can’t wait to have you wrapped around me” You feel yourself get shy, you’ve thought about this moment a lot and now that it’s finally happening you want to do so much. Lando seems to notice your timidness and asks what’s wrong. “Nothing, I’ve just played this up in my head so much I want to be good for you” you reply.

“Yeah you want to be my good girl huh? Don’t worry baby I have no doubt in my mind you are going to be amazing and listen to me” you feel yourself falling into a submissive space.

Lando continues to kiss you all while walking you both to the bed and gently laying you down. You have your hands loosely attached around his neck, so him breaking away is no surprise. “Gonna eat you out baby, can I?” Lando asks licking his lips

You nod your head furiously, it’s been forever since the last time you’ve had sex and even longer since someone has gone down on you.

As Lando kisses his way down your body, you feel a flood of wetness starting to pull at your core. Your body felt like it was on fire. “Lift your hips up” he commanded. You listen and do what is asked.

You feel the cool air make contact with your pussy, sending shivers all throughout your body. “You have such a pretty pussy, so wet just for me huh? I bet you taste so good y/n'' Lando speaks in a seductive tone.

All you can do is let out a strangled whine. Desperate to have his mouth on you. He makes you wait a bit longer, he’s a tease at heart and you knew this. He sends kisses up and down your thighs, your stomach. Finally he places a kiss directly on your clit and proceeds to blow a puff of air. “Please Lando please, I need you” you beg, who knew you would be this far gone. “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take care of you” and with that he attaches his lips around your clit sucking lightly. This makes you arch your back and your hands fly into his hair, gripping it tight. It’s almost too much, he notices and starts to lick around your vulva getting you more wet than you already were.

You are a moaning mess at this point, your hands keep pulling at his hair getting a moan out of him. He looks up at you and asks “gonna stick my fingers in you is that okay” you already feel so fucked out that all you can do is nod dumbly.

You feel his middle finger slowly sink into your heat. Lando didn’t have the thickest fingers but they were long, you let out a gasp when the single digit sinks in.

Lando continues to suck and lick around your clit. It’s not long before you start to feel a coil tighten in your lower stomach. If he continues to do what he’s doing you know you are going to come within the matter of minutes. It almost makes you sad because if this was a one time thing, you want to come around his cock, to be close with him. You open your mouth to voice your concern “Lando I’m going to come soon, stop, wanna come around your cock”

He looks up at you, “you can come more than once right? Want you to come all over my face then again on my cock. You can do that right? You can be a good girl for me”. You nod desperately, his words send you further over the edge. You feel his lips engulf your clit and moan sending vibrations throughout your body. He has since added another finger slowly rocking back and forth into you.

You feel your coil snap and a gush of wetness leaves you. You couldn’t even announce that you were coming but Lando got the gist. But he wanted to be a little bastard and play rough. He continued to suck and lick around your bundle of nerves, despite you being sensitive from your orgasm. You whine and try to close your legs around his head. But he only forces them open with his hand.

“Lan please, I want your cock, wanna come again” you hear yourself slur your words. You don’t care at this point because all you want is to feel his body flush against yours.

“How can I say no to you, pretty girl” when Lando comes face to face with you, you see how slick and wet his mouth and chin is. Something primal takes over you and you grab him roughly kissing and licking into his mouth. Lando moans into it and says “you like tasting yourself on me huh? You are so fucking dirty, who knew my best friend and the girl I am in love with would have such a nasty fucking mouth and like such dirty things”.

You can’t even bring yourself to reply because all you want right now is to have his cock in you. You settle for a nod and slowly bring your hands down to his boxers and begin to pull. At some point when you can’t pull them off anymore, he takes over and does it. His cock springs out and all you can do is stare at it.

You are a bit ashamed to say you had imagined what it looked like, but the real thing was 10 times better than what you could ever imagine. He was average in length, but thick and curved to the right slightly. He was well groomed just like you knew he would be. Your mouth watered at the sight, if you weren’t in such a hurry to have him in you, you could sit with him in your mouth for hours. You want to touch so you bring your hand to wrap around the base of his cock.

The first drag up there is a little resistance because he is dry, so you reach down and grab some of your wetness and lubricate him up. This makes the motion go much smoother. When he sees you do this, he moans. “Fuck y/n you are so hot, I can’t believe we waited this long to do something. I need to be with you”.

You want him to go bare but as much as you love Lando you know you both should be tested before you do it. “Condom?” You manage to croak out. He nods and hops over to his jeans and fishes one out of his wallet. You want to make fun of him for having one stashed away there but you let it slide. While he's doing this you pull off your bra, hoping to surprise him.

As he comes back to the bed his eyes are wide. “You have the prettiest tits y/n, they drive me crazy, I felt like such a perv getting hard in my fireproof seeing you in the paddock, talking away. You had no idea huh? No idea that you made me feel this way” he questioned

You shake your head no in response.

As he’s in front of you, you see him roll the condom over his shaft. This is really happening. “I want to see your face when you come, can we stay like this?” Lando questions. “Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way” you say in a soft tone.

He slowly starts to enter you. The stretch is tight, it burns in the slightest. It feels like the air is being punched out of you. It’s been a while since you’ve had anyone in you so the burn is to be expected, but it’s not unwelcome. You grab Landos arm for support, he notices your discomfort. “Do you want me to stop, baby? You are so tight, you feel so good”. You shake your head, that’s the last thing you want.

“No, just been a while since I’ve had anything in me, you are so thick just give me a minute to adjust” you say

“Of course, take your time” Lando says while kissing your neck, it helps distract you from the pain. He’s fully in now, it’s just a matter of when you are ready to let him move. You let your body adjust for about a minute when you say “you can move”.

Lando slowly starts to rock back and forth in you. The burn is still there but it’s a delicious kind of sensation. Something you feel like you could get addicted to. You look between your bodies and see your stomach. For once you like the contrast of how your bodies look together. Only Lando could ever make you feel this way, you were sure of it.

You feel Lando breathing heavily into your neck, soft moans slipping out every so often. You can’t wait to do more with him. One particular trust has you clenching around him, he lifts his head and says “fuck you feel so good around me, like you were made for me y/n, you pull me in so good”

This almost brings tears to your eyes, for so long you had been there for him, helped him through thick and thin and he’s always been grateful but his praise is making you melt, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your hands are currently at his back slightly clawing away, you know you couldn’t leave marks but you needed something to grab on to. You felt so full, you knew in a matter of minutes you were gonna come around him. “I feel like i'm gonna come soon” you say. “Same, you feel to good around me I can’t hold it off much longer”

He reaches between your bodies and starts to rub your clit, slowly in circular motions. This sends a shot of pleasure through your body as a reaction you wrap your legs around him.

Suddenly he pulls all the way out and you begin to whine but he slams all the way back in. You moan at the abrupt roughness. He moves back and forth with vigor, determined to get you both off at the same time.

“I'm gonna come” you say when you feel pleasure finally reaching its highpoint. You are clenching, you can feel it. Only seconds later Lando mumbles in your ear that he's reached his high as well. Taking a moment before he pulls out he kisses you all over, your cheeks, forehead, lips. You don't want to let him go but you know you need to go pee and he needs to take his condom off.

When you both return to bed you nestle your face into his neck, his scruff scratching the side of your head. There was no other place in this world you would rather be than in his arms, and yeah that may sound dramatic but he was everything you wanted.

He looked down at you with the warmest eyes. “You are amazing, you know that. If it wasn’t clear before, I want it all with you. You are everything y/n and it’s time for me to start showing you how much I love you and appreciate you. If you’re in, I’m in”

“Of course I’m in you muppet”

You bring your lips to his for a soft peck. For once in the 17 years of your friendship, everything seemed to finally feel like it was going to be okay, and you couldn’t wait for the wild adventure it would be to be Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 4 months

Text

Jay Halstead: Bulletproof

This was born from one sentence in my mind. So, it’s on the shorter side and didn’t turn out with quite the vibe I wanted.

Jay’s voice is steady, his words calm and direct. He was sitting facing you on the couch in intelligence’s break room trying to prepare you for what was to come. “This is only temporary,” He promised again, “It’s just until we find this guy. We have a few leads that we are following up on. We should have it dealt with soon. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

You weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself, but if you had to bet it would be on the latter. You laugh softly to yourself- it's a nervous laugh. You were trying to not lose your shit. You didn’t want to make this any harder on your boyfriend than it already was. It was clear he felt guilty for getting you into this situation in the first place. Not that it was his fault.

“You know, you would be a lot more convincing if you weren’t strapping me into a bulletproof vest right now.” Your words tremble slightly as you ask, “Do you think I’m going to get shot at?” You mean it to be teasing but you sound terrified instead. His hands pause on doing up the Velcro straps. His green eyes betray him, you can see the glimpse of fear shining in there before he can blink it away. Not for himself, but for you.

“It’s just a precaution until we get to the safe house.” You swallow hard as he tightens the last strap across your side. “How does that feel? Too tight?” You wiggle around to access the new article. The vest is tight against you but not in a chaffing way. You can feel its weight press against you every time you take a breath. It’s like a reminder that you are not safe.

“No, it’s just heavy.” It felt like it was constricting your airway, but you have a feeling it was really anxiety clogging your throat. You bring a hand up to the front of the vest, fingers slipping between the vest and your shirt pulling down. It takes pressure off, but you still feel like you're having trouble breathing.

Jay doesn’t seem to believe you because his strong hands grab the vest and tugs. The vest barely budges from its position, but you rock forward with every pull. It seems to satisfy him because he drops his hands to your thighs. “There will always be someone from the unit with you guys. Kim will be there too, armed.” He takes the plain navy baseball cap off his head and places it on yours instead, pulling the brim low on your face. Then he untucks your hair from behind your ear and it falls like a curtain in front of your face.

“This guy, he is going after female family members?” Jay sighed deep in his chest. It’s clear he doesn’t want to answer your questions. It is probably a vain attempt to try to protect you. He thinks your lack of knowledge will make it easier for you. He doesn’t know that in reality, it is driving you insane. All the unknowns make your head spiral while looking for answers.

“Yeah,”

“Jay,” You plead, and he shakes his head before nodding, clearly fighting with himself.

“He was working with us to help bring down a trafficking rink. His wife and their two kids were killed. He blames us. Now he’s trying to take what he thinks we cost him. An eye for an eye- but baby, I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” You cup his face with both hands. You lean forward and steal a kiss. You put all you can into that kiss like it was your last. You pull back and meet his green gaze head-on.

“I know. That’s the only reason that I’m not completely freaking out right now.” You grab his vest and tug on it like he had you. Unlike you, he doesn’t move an inch. His lips do twitch with the want to smile. You tap the vest with your fingertips three times over his heart. “I trust you- with my life.

#chicago pd #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #jay halstead imagine

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glassartpeasants · 4 months

Text

How to Love .03

Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst

A/N: Sorry that it's shorter then normal but i can not tell you how hard i had to grind to get this shit out.

music playlist

~~~

“Law? You alive?” Soft fingers could be felt gently skimming against Law’s forehead, making him lean into their warmth before his eyes snapped open.

Jumping up, Law looks around his room before seeing you kneeling down beside his bed. His heart slowly calms before finally finding the words to speak. “(Y/N)? What are you doing in my room?”

“Well, good evening to you, too.” Rubbing his eyes, Law looks at you with a confused look.

“What? Evening?” Turning to his alarm clock, he sees it’s 8 am.

“We had a power outage due to an unexpected storm last night. I thought you might have already fixed your clock, but I was wrong.” Law jumps out of his bed and opens his curtains to see a beautiful sunset staring back at him.

“Why didn’t you wake me earlier?! What time is it?!”

“It’s currently 6 pm. Also, I thought you were actually trying to catch up on sleep.” Standing up, Law looks at (Y/N) in bewilderment before pacing around.

“I have stuff I need to do! Shit, I need to pay bills.”

“Done.”

Stopping in his tracks, Law stares at you. “What?”

“I said done. I paid them.”

“I also made a sheet with finances on everything I know we’ve spent at least together in the last month. I didn’t go through your mail. Went grocery shopping and cleaned the entire house. I did save some financing things so we can go through them together.”

“I-”

“I did everything.” A silence covers Law and you as you both look at each other.

“Why?”

“You always work so hard! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep in once since I’ve known you! For a doctor, you think you’d take care of yourself more.” Law watches as you cross your arms.

“I…Thank you.” Law says in almost a whisper. “But never let me sleep in again.”

“But you look so refreshed! Even if you got wild bedhead.” You tease. Law grumbles before trying to flatten his hair, only for it to bounce back. You can’t help but giggle.

“Maybe if you take a shower, it’ll fix it.”

“Alright. Now get out.” You can feel Law push you out of his room before closing the door.

“What? No ‘Thank you for waking me up (Y/N)?’” You say sarcastically.

“I would have said that if it wasn’t 6 pm!” His voice rang from behind the door.

“So ungrateful!” You chuckle before walking away towards the kitchen. The smell of dinner is too much to resist.

As soon as Law heard you walk away, a loud crash and curse left your lips.

“Fuck! Bepo, no!” Law quickly put on a decent shirt before running out to the dining room. His jaw dropped as he watched you holding Bepo, who had a whole grilled fish in his mouth.

“Spit it out! How dare you eat my fish, you asshole! I thought we were cool!” Law was speechless, so he watched his cat and roommate fighting over fish.

Turning your head, you saw Law just standing there. “Law! Help me! Little shit has my food!” You get a good grab on the fish, and just as you think you’ve gotten it, Bepo takes another bite.

Law can’t help but stiffle a laugh as he watches you fight with Bepo. When you finally lost grip of the fish, Bepo made a break for it, which led you to begin chase.

“Damnit, cat! Give it to me!” Law hears you yell from down the hall. Chuckling, Law moved to what used to be the dinner you made. Paw prints everywhere as well as nibble marks from Bepo’s teeth. White cat hair covering every inch of food.

“He’s never jumped on the table and ate our food before. What’s gotten into him?”

He could hear you stomping and cursing your way back to the kitchen, telling him that you were unsuccessful in your mission. When you entered the kitchen, you stood beside him and looked at the mess Bepo had reduced dinner to.

“Looks like he ate good tonight.” Law chuckled, trying to lighten up your now-soured mood.

“He probably just gained all the weight we’ve worked so hard for him to lose! Why would he do this? He’s never done this before!” You whine. With a frown, you begin to clean up the ruined dinner.

“This fucking sucks. I spent so long on this dinner for you, and he came along and ate it!” Law’s eyes widen upon hearing your words.

“You made it for me?” Law watches you stiffen before going back to normal posture.

“Yeah, I did. I wanted you to have a stress-free day, but Bepo decided to be an asshole and destroy dinner!” You sigh as you throw away the destroyed food before putting the dishes in the sink to wash.

“I don’t wanna order takeout 'cause I know you don’t like fast food. I just…” You sigh as you try to figure out what to do.

“Takeout is not that bad. We can order something and watch TV…together?”

Feeling your heartbeat pick up its pace, you gulp before answering. “You sure? I don’t wanna force you to eat food you don’t like just to cheer me up.”

“I’m sure we can find something. I think Olive Garden delivers?”

“Olive Garden, huh? Never took you for a pasta fan.” You joke, trying to lighten up the mood.

“I’m a sucker for restaurants who put actual effort into making their food.”

You laugh. “And our old classmates said you weren’t funny.”

“What? Who the hell said that?” Law’s offended tone made you smile.

“Doesn’t matter. You're a doctor making big bucks and saving lives while they're cleaning Mcdonald's bathrooms for quick cash.” Law couldn’t help but feel a slight smile tug at his lips from your words.

A laugh escapes Law’s throat. “I guess if you think so, that’s all that matters.” Law pauses as soon as he realizes what he’s said. Yet he doesn’t see how his words bring a smile to your face.

~~~

You can’t help the smile that sticks to your face as you work endlessly to fulfill customers' orders. Your mind is running with the thought of Law and his smile.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Killer asks you as he cleans the counter.

“What? Am I not allowed to smile?”

“You are, but that’s not a regular smile you got on your face there.” His words make you stop in your tracks as you snap your head in his direction.

“You have someone on your mind, don’t you?” You can practically hear the smirk behind his mask.

“You don’t know what the hell you're talking about, Killer.”

“I bet it’s Law, huh? Doesn’t shock me. You’ve been his roommate for about five months and went through a breakup together.” You hit Killer in the arm.

“Shut up! What if someone hears you!” You whisper with a burning face.

“Afraid he’s gonna show up and hear me saying the truth?”

“Killer, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to murder you.” Killer only laughs as he looks at you.

“Yeah, okay (Y/N). Whatever you say.” You huff as you look down at the clean coffee machine in front of you. Killer’s words bouncing in your skull. You didn’t want to admit it, but maybe Killer was right. Perhaps you were falling in love with him again.

“I did have a thing for him in college. Before dating Eustass. I ended up falling for him during our time together working on that project.” Killer stops cleaning as he looks at you. Silent but wanting to hear your words.

“I don’t know what it was about him, but by the end of the project we were grouped together for, I had ended up falling for him. Hard. It took me a lot of convincing, but I thought that maybe he liked me too.”

“Did he?”

You stay silent before answering. “ I guess not because my best friend asked him out, and he said yes.” A deep pang shot through your heart as you remembered.

“She had told me afterward that she liked him since we started college but never told me until I talked to her about asking someone out. I didn’t say Law’s name, but he was the one I was talking about.” Sighing, you grip the counter.

“Her telling me she’s liked him since we started college broke me. How could I try dating the man I liked for a whole semester while my friends liked him from the beginning? It broke my heart to hear him agree to be her boyfriend. Having her bring him around was like torture the first few months.”

“While I, of course, never acted out of place with Law while he was with (.....), I only managed to get over him when I heard him say ‘I love you’ to her. That was when I knew I had lost. After a few months after that at graduation, I begin to date Eustass. After that, we slowly stopped talking and only saw each other when it was with (.....). Until five months ago.”

“When you caught Eustass and (.....)?”

“Yeah…When I caught them.” Your heart burns at the memory, but not as bad as it had been before. What used to be a stab in the heart now felt like a bee sting.

“How am I supposed to tell him that I’ve fallen for him again? What if he doesn’t feel the same? How am I supposed to live with him? Not to mention, ruin a friendship.”

“I suppose that does complicate things.”

“I don’t understand. How come this has to happen? It’s like the universe is doing this to fuck with me. Shoving something in my face that I want something I can’t have.” Killer stays quiet as he listens to you speak.

“It’s easier just to shove them down before you end up hurt.”

~~~

“Is that a smile on our grumpy doctor's face? What’s got you all happy?” the charge nurse teased Law.

“Your the second person to tell me that, and it’s annoying me.” The nurse chuckled.

“Oh, please, Law. Everyone can see you’ve got something on your mind, or is it…someone?” The nurse watches as Law tenses, and his cheeks dust pink.

The nurse squeals. “It is!” She claps her hands in excitement. "You have to tell me! I promise I won’t tell anyone!”

“No! I’m not telling you anything!” Law whisper yells.

“Aw, why not? I could give you advice!”

“I’m not telling you about my personal life! So stop asking!”

Huffing, the nurse gave up. “Fine! But here, there is a 3rd-degree burn case in room eight. Says a new co-worker turned up the coffee machine too high, and when it accidentally spilled on her hand, it scalded her.” Law snatches the clipboard and narrows his eyes at the nurse before making his way to room eight.

Opening the door, he expected anyone but the person before him. “(Y/N)?!”

“Hi, Law,” you chuckle nervously. “I didn’t know you worked in the ER.” Law can hear the nervousness in your voice. His eyes scan your body before seeing your bandaged hand. He carefully grabs your hand and looks at it.

“How did this happen?”

“A relatively new co-worker put the coffee temperature too high, so when I went to pour it and accidentally spilled some on me, it got all over my hand and burned it. I didn’t think it was that serious initially, but Killer made me come in. And now it turns out I have a third-degree burn.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Not really.”

“Well, you're an idiot for not coming in sooner.”

“It didn’t hurt other than the initial pain of being burnt!”

“That’s cause it burnt away your nerves!” Your shocked expression told him all he needed to know. Law sighs as he examines your burn.

“It’s definitely a 3rd-degree burn; you're gonna have to keep it bandaged and change it at least once daily. It’s not big enough to need surgery, but it’s still gonna scar. Drink a lot of fluids. I’m prescribing you an antibiotic to prevent infection.”

“Alright. Good thing I live with you. You can help me with it all.” You say with a smirk, causing him to roll his eyes but with a smile.

“But forgetting about me, how’s your day going? Did you drink your fluids?”

“I’m the doctor, and you're the patient. Don’t try that with me.” Law chuckles.

“You seem to be popular with the ladies' Law. A lot of nurses are looking at you from outside the room.” Law’s head snaps to the doorway to see a few nurses sticking their heads into the room through the doorway.

“I’ll be back.” You giggle as Law walks away and out the door.

Leaving the room and closing the door, Law turns his head to the nurses. “What are you doing?!” Law whisper yells at them.

“She’s the one that's got you all smiley, isn’t she?!” The nurses squeal.

“No, she isn’t! She’s just my roommate until she finds a place she can afford!” Law tries to defend himself, but the pink that swarms his cheeks tells the nurses everything.

“She is! And you're even roommates with her! That’s perfect! Come on, you have to ask her out on an official date!”

“That’s not happening! God, you people are so nosy!”

“What’s stopping you-”

“I’m not her type, alright?” Law snaps, causing the nurses to hush.

Running a hand through his hair, Law sighs. “I’m not her type, so even if I did like her, she wouldn’t say yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I went to college with her. That’s all your gonna get.” Law runs a hand through his hair.

You rotten his brain and wormed your way into his heart. Somehow, in the semester-long project he did with you all those years ago, he ended up gaining feelings for you. There was just something about you. The way you laughed, your smile, how you always seemed as happy, the list could go on.

He was sure you liked him too. How you looked at him couldn’t be anything other than it, right? You’d scoot closer to him when you both worked on the project—texting him about things other than the project. Bringing him food you had made.

He wanted to, oh, how he desperately wanted to ask you out. So when he got a note on the desk he always sat on had a note that said to meet him at the park, he was so sure it was you. It had your handwriting and everything. It had to be you. And when he saw (.....), your friend instead of you, he was shocked.

She had told him that you had written the note for her cause she was too scared to do it during school hours. She had even joked about a double date with you and a guy you were thinking about asking out. He felt his heart break when he heard it. Did he really jump to conclusions and think you liked him when you could have just been friendly?

All these thoughts ran through his mind that day. He didn’t know why at the time, but he did say yes to (.....) asking him out on a date. Possibly to forget the pain he felt? A distraction? He didn’t know.

But now, those feelings he thought were snuffed out reappeared stronger than ever. He wanted to be with you all the time. All he could think about was you. Even worse than college. His dreams were filled with images of you. He heard your voice when you weren’t there. Almost everything reminded him of you. He could look at a cloud and somehow be reminded of a memory you two shared.

Ever since you moved in as well, his diet has gotten relatively healthier. While he still drank coffee and energy drinks nonstop, you always ensured he ate. Hell, you’ve even started making him lunches to bring to work two months ago when you found out he usually didn’t eat anything during his shift. He couldn’t help but chuckle cause with every lunch came with a terribly drawn Bepo picture on whatever color sticky note you had. Each one he kept in his desk drawer.

“Law! What do you want for dinner?” You yell through the rooms door to Law, causing him to be pulled from his thoughts.

“Just roommates, huh?” One of the nurses asked with a smirk while the others held smug grins. They could easily see through the stoic doctor's facade.

“Just roommates.” Law glares before entering the room to answer your question.

“I give it another month before he caves.”

“I say two. He seems to be pretty worried about his friendship with her.”

“True, I say three, though. Gotta give him time to boil in his feelings for a little longer.” The nurses converse with each other as they try to sneak peeks at the doctor and the cause of his smile.

~~~

“Law, hurry up! It’s about to start!” You yell to him. The sound of his footsteps rings throughout the apartment, letting you know that he heard you.

“I’m coming. I’m coming. Give me a second.” Chuckling, Law sits down next to you on the couch.

“I’m so excited! I can’t believe they’re making a Sora: Warrior of the Sea show! You know what that means, right?” You squirm in your seat in excitement.

Putting his feet up, Law looks at you. “ What does it mean?” He says with a smile.

“That means every Thursday we get to hang out and watch a new episode! Doesn’t that sound awesome?” You can feel your heart beating out of your chest from happiness as you smile brightly at him.

Law looked down at you and felt his heart leap. You were so excited to be near him. Telling him how you couldn’t wait for it to be a common occurrence. Despite him telling himself not to go down this road again. He couldn’t help but imagine how it’d be if you two were an actual thing—feeling your warmth against his cold frame, holding you close. Laying down next to you at night, hearing your soft breaths. Being able to admire your calm features as you sleep. And even feel your lips against his.

Law could see you sitting next to him, so close your thigh touched his. You didn’t seem to notice or care, which made his heart beat in his ears. He couldn’t even pay attention to the show, as he was more focused on you and how close you were to him. There was an itch inside him, telling him to do something. Now would be the perfect time to make a move, even if it was small. So, taking a breath, he took the risk.

Law moves his arm up slowly before laying it behind you on the couch. His heart beats rapidly, as he pretends not to notice he’s done it, giving you quick glances to see if you’ve noticed anything. So far, to him, you haven’t

But you noticed right away.

You were screaming internally with excitement and nervously biting your tongue. Could it mean he liked you too? Was it an accident? Either or made your heart beat against your ribs. Your head spins as you try to act cool and not show how excited you were to have him so close to you.

If he had made a move, then who were you to ignore it? So, with an internal deep breath, you lean back against his arm. His warmth makes a shiver run across your spine. It felt as if your face and body was on fire from his skin touching yours. You curled your toes in your socks as you tried to contain a steady breathing.

You take a swallow the lump in your throat as you decide to take a jump of hope. With a sharp intake of breath, you lean closer into Law, placing your head on his shoulder. His cologne flooding you like a calming aroma. In his arms felt like a dream come true. Laying against his shoulder as his arm laid behind your head.

Even though the you told yourself that you wouldn’t fall for Law or act on your feelings, sometimes it’s okay to lie. Even if it’s to yourself.

~~~

Taglist:

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#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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