#most of it is definitely still on there but i’m now prodding it with my tongue like ‘are you going to bail on me too?’

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - omnipotent perception

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: rafayel x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some plot, porn with feelings, angst with comfort

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 6.5k (who’s surprised)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight spoilers and alterations to ‘omnipotent perception (rafayel’s misty invasion card), slightly toxic relationship, m!receiving handjob, bathtub sex, pulling out, cummies in hair/face, lots of making out, hickeys, HEAVY references to rafayel’s lore (sea god and some abysswalker), references to rafayel’s 4* memory fragrant dream, so much angst (with comfort), soooo much feelings, sensory deprivation, sensory play, blindfolding, switch!raf, desperate rafayel, kinda withholding rafayel, clothes on in tub, p in v seggs, use of y/n, use of pet names

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | xav's version | sylus's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: RAF IS HERE! sooooo this one is a long one. each one of my misty invasions got longer and longer, i am a menace to myself. but this one made sense, i felt as if raf’s misty invasion had the most lore subtly stitched into it and you guys know i always try and explore some angst/lore <3 i am very happy and excited to finally close out the misty invasion series. 

i’m going to be taking a much needed break after this. i’ll likely still be writing, but slowly and in my own time. I had a brief period of motivation, after the clarity of sharing my story, but now i am back to being anxious and exhausted.

that being said, please do not send anyone hate in my name or in my defense. I have never and will never ask for that. it’s enough that i have your support, i don’t need more than that. 

special thank you to my friend @myusuchaa for helping me SO much with the rafayel lore. definitely the biggest fish forker i know <3

as always, if i missed any warnings or used too specific physical descriptors, let me know and i can do better! thank you guys for your support. i love you!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Do you feel lonely in this world that is totally different from yours?”

—

It’d been a beautiful summer day, riding bicycles along the Italian coast of Verona. Rafayel had just finished his piece for an art exhibition in the capital of the picturesque city, and you’d had time to soak in the summer breeze with each other. The air was wonderfully salty, just enough to remind you of the sea itself. Of Rafayel. 

It hadn’t truly surprised you when you’d found out Rafayel had lived here before, especially now knowing his Lemurian roots. Something about the way he walked through the Veronian brick paved roads, the rustic wind tousling his beachy waves, the cloudy sun shining on his effervescent skin. Like he’d belonged here, once upon a time. 

It was the perfect day.

Even when you’d teased him about the Lemurian who’d dissipated into sea foam for a mere human, and Rafayel’s expression misted over with a melancholic nostalgia. When his eyes glazed over with a torrent of inexplicable emotions, he could tell you wanted to prod him about it. But you didn’t, and for that he was incredibly grateful. There was a part of him that longed for you to know, to remember, the truth of that story. But he couldn’t trust you with that part of him again. Not yet. 

Even then, it was a perfect day. The two of you in Verona, the city of Romeo and Juliet. 

Two ill-fated lovers. 

It was perfect, he was perfect. 

Until you asked him that question. 

“Do you feel lonely in this world that is totally different from yours?”

Suddenly, Rafayel couldn’t look you in the eyes. Even when the rain droplets had started to patter onto your sun kissed skin, Rafayel holding you close under his favorite cardigan to shelter you from the onslaught of crystalline water. He couldn’t look at you. He refused to look at you.

If he did, you might’ve seen the tumultuous storm flickering in his eyes. The violets in his irises bright with unshed tears, the blues dark with a bitter loneliness. 

He didn’t speak to you the entire way back to your hotel, heading straight to the bathroom. At first you think that perhaps he’s upset with you, but he only draws you a warm bath in the luxurious clawfoot tub overlooking the Italian night lights. 

When he finally does speak to you, peeling off his layers of soaked clothing, you can tell he’s masking his true emotions under a facade of classic Rafayel sarcasm. Joking about whether he should write a Lemurian handbook for you or just read you 1,001 Lemurian stories. But he surprises you when his voice cracks with a raw genuineness, one that’s masked under layers and layers of hesitancy and loneliness. You can’t quite understand it.

“You can be my caretaker. And I can tell you 1,001 stories,” he mutters, eyes trained on the ground once more, voice soft and vulnerable. 

“I’m okay with every choice you provide,” he continues as he peels your wet jacket off your shoulders innocently. When his hand reaches the inside of your coat, grazing against your exposed waist, he pulls his hand back. His face is a storm of conflicted torment.

“...But you should take a warm bath first. Or else you’ll catch a cold.”

As he turns to leave, the sight of his lean and muscled back making you blush, you muster all your courage and call out to him, “You can’t leave. You still haven’t answered my question.”

You catch his wrist, using all your force to pull him back. Rafayel stiffens, unable to catch himself before he tumbles backwards into the filled tub. 

He’s able to protect his head from hitting the edge of the tub, the water sloshing around and splashing onto the tiled bathroom floor. Rafayel sits in the tub, not a semblance of annoyance on his face. Instead he looks flustered, the warm water clinging to his defined muscles.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Rafayel’s hair is disheveled, the water making clumps of his damp hair stick to his wet skin. His eyes watch you with inscrutable emotions, waiting for you to speak. 

You don’t answer his question, instead asking one of your own.

“You can spare me the details, but there’s something important you should tell me…” you hum, walking to his side by the tub, leaning over him, “How do Lemurians express love?”

Rafayel looks startled by your question for a second before composing himself, “Do you really want to know?” The fragrant candles in the bathroom flicker, the steam of the bath dancing against the soft flames. His words seem less like a genuine question…and more like a vague warning. 

Before you can respond, Rafayel’s fingers are closed around your wrist, tugging you into the tub on top of him. You squeal as Rafayel guides your body onto his, the violent crashing of water loud against the soft sound of the rain against the large glass windows.

Rafayel looks smug, his hand holding yours against his chest. You’re messily sprawled across his half naked body when he shifts you off of him so that he can sit next to you, his strong arm wrapping around your body. The warm water is uncomfortable against your still half-clothed body, but you can only focus on the way Rafayel holds your fingers up to his mouth, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand like you were royalty. 

“When Lemurians fall in love with someone…” Rafayel mutters, his warm breath fanning against your hand, “All our senses are committed to perceive them without question.” His eyes are intense as he speaks to you, hoping to convey even an ounce of the love he speaks so honestly of. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Your senses? Like…this?” You untangle your hand from his, bringing your index finger up to his lips. You barely graze his pouty bottom lip before he’s panting, struggling to speak. 

“...Your way of triggering my “senses” has only touched the surface,” he mutters sulkily, yet he has to look away from you, cheeks rosy at your mere touch. He grabs your hand, eyes locked back onto yours giving you a silent warning. 

But you only proceed further, your fingers grasping his chin, your eyes peering up at him with a faux innocence. It’s not long before your fingers wander south, pressing into his heaving chest, flitting around his sharp collarbones. Rafayel’s reaction only fuels you with mischief and confidence, the way his breath matches his heartbeat: fast, erratic, and demanding. 

He looks at you with almost…disbelief. Disbelief at your actions, but more so disbelief at the way your simplest touches can have his body reacting so viscerally. It was a testament of just how much the dark-mauve haired Lemurian loved you, his every sense reacting to you so readily.

“...Are all humans idiots?” Rafayel grits, refusing to look at you again. But his body betrays his words when your hand ventures further down. You’re barely able to register the shocked expression on his flushed face before your back is pressed into the edge of the tub, the water splashing wilding as Rafayel hovers atop you.

He’s careful not to press his body into you, knowing he’d be an absolute goner once he felt your core against his. His thick muscles twitch angrily as he holds you down against the back of the tub, your hand clutching his shoulder for support against his erratic actions. 

“Someone’s intentions are as clear as day,” he accuses you. Though his words hold not even an ounce of ill-intention, he narrows his eyes at you. Just then, the rain outside turns into lightning, briefly illuminating Rafayel’s ethereal features. The flash of light accentuates the tempest that’s brewing in suspicious eyes. 

As you watch the turmoil flicker in them, you suddenly think maybe you pushed too far, “Do you not like it?” Your voice comes out more insecure than you’d wanted it to, suddenly aware of how forward you were being.

Rafayel sighs, pausing before his voice comes out pained, “If I said I didn’t, would you stop?” 

At the hint of anguish in his voice, you move to pull your hand away. But Rafayel’s hand abandons its grip on the tub to clasp against your hand, holding it tighter against his neck, refusing to let you go.

You gasp, as his movements cause the warm water to swash around. With his forceful hand over yours, your flushed skin prickles against his alarmingly chilly skin. 

“Rafayel, your body is so cold!” you whisper worriedly, fearing he might be catching a cold. For a second you forget that he’s Lemurian, accustomed to the frigid depths of the ocean. As your eyes search his anxiously, hand still gripping his cold shoulder, Rafayel’s own eyes watch yours meticulously. 

The swirls of blue and pink in his eyes have always been breathtaking, like the perfect mix of the most expensive paints. But now, as he watches you with the depth of the whole Lemurian oceans in his eyes, you’re completely speechless to the flickering of rampant passion behind them. 

That is until he grabs your chin roughly. Rafayel was no stranger to taking what he wanted, but this was different. The way he grabbed you screamed of…insecurity. Demanding, but unsure all the same. His cheeks are tinged the prettiest of coral pinks, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he closes the distances between your faces. Quickly, so he can’t change his mind. 

His soft lips slot over yours in a bruising embrace of passion, need, and unwavering longing. There’s something mind numbing about how gently his lips take yours, yet the pads of his fingers hold your chin so forcibly, as if afraid you’d slip into the depths of the water and disappear from his arms forever. 

The thunder rumbles deafeningly but all you can hear is Rafayel. He pants into you, his mouth claiming every inch of your lips, of your tongue. He kisses you like he knows nothing else, like he feels nothing else. 

He doesn’t let you go, although you’d never want him to. You only want him to hold you tighter, pull you closer, take you harder. You want to protest when he finally pulls away, gasping as a thin rope of saliva connects your parted and bruised lips.

Flashes of light illuminate his face, making him look as ethereal as the sirens warned about in ancient tales and myths. He hesitates to speak, trying to find the words to convey the emotions he’s been trying to control since the memories of Verona had begun to overwhelm him. The memories of his past. His past with you.

“And you’re warm,” he pants, still trying to catch his breath. His heart was pounding painfully, his body always so willing to react to you. All his senses, always so hyper aware of you, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His thumb strokes your glistening bottom lip, fingers still holding your chin captive. His eyes watch you with an unbearable longing, the previously intense crinkle in them softened to a tender vulnerability. 

“So perfect for me.”

Butterflies wriggle in your tummy, and you reach your wet hands reach up to cup his cheeks. 

“Rafayel, you seem different…” you mumble, stroking the cold and smooth expanse of his cheek. He looks down, avoiding your gaze, clearly grappling with a turmoil of intrusive emotions and memories. Despite that all, his face softens under your touch, even unbeknownst to him. 

Before you can ask him what’s on his mind, he’s rubbing his cheeks into your palms. The warmth of your affectionate embrace makes it difficult for Rafayel to think clearly, and he can’t stop himself from whispering, “Will you still love me no matter who I become?”

You’re speechless at the blatant insecurity in his voice, in his eyes. Rafayel was always confident, years as a world-famous artist had made him self-assured in more ways than one. But now, as his shadowed and down-cast eyes searched yours desperately for an answer, you could see just how unsure he was. You could see the cracks forming in his polished shield, the fissure spider webbing uncontrollably, on the precipice of shattering completely. 

His eyes pierce yours, fully intending to get an answer from you. You don’t even think he notices how pouty he’s become, his bottom lip protruding in an tragically adorable show of just how badly he needs you to understand him. To love him. 

To remember him. 

Unable to withstand his paralyzing gaze any longer, you yank him down to you by the chain that hangs around his neck. The silver necklace matched the shimmering bracelet he’d gifted you, that currently sits on your own wrist. 

Rafayel grunts as you pull him closer, clearly taken aback. His gaze doesn’t lighten, only becoming more intense and heated as your breath grows more bated against his own parted lips. 

“You…” he grumbles, trailing off, eyes flickering down to the beautiful sheen across your lips, before they dart away, looking to where his fingers grip the edge of the porcelain white tub. The rosy blush that dusts his cheeks gives away just how much he yearns for more, more of you. 

You find him to be so irresistibly tortured that you can’t help but hook your arm around his neck, pulling him further down until your lips collide with his collar. If you can take even an ounce of his tumultuous pain away, you’d do it.

The thunder roars violently as you kiss him, the water in the tub splashing over and hitting the bathroom tile. Rafayel is quick to relent all control, letting you take every inch of him. His fingers thread into your hair as you kiss his sensitive chest, teeth nipping at the cold skin on his collar. His whimpering gasps are audible, fingers tugging at your damp hair, as you suckle torturously at his chest, no doubt leaving a reddened bruise. 

When he finally pulls away, there’s a clear look of reluctance on his beautiful features. You try and pull him back, and he briefly lets you before pulling back, the look of hesitation returning to his thunderous eyes. 

You give up, instead moving your finger to brush against the reddened hickey forming on his collar. Rafayel looks at you, pained and begging for mercy, as your fingernails graze over the sensitive skin. 

“When humans fall in love…” you hum, admiring the beautiful bruise, “We try to leave a unique mark on them.” 

At that precise moment, the moment you mention you’re in love with him, you can visibly see the fractured remnants of Rafayel’s walls come crashing down. He pants, eyes fixed on the way your hand presses over the right side of his chest, so dangerously close to where his heart was. To where his bond with you was etched into his very soul. 

In that very moment, a flip switches in Rafayel. His eyes burn, not with anguish or uncertainty, but with a dangerous desire.

“If you say so…” he rasps, leaning in until your breaths mingle into one. As his eyes flicker closed, lips ghosting along yours, he whispers, just before his lips claim yours. 

“Join me, then.” His lips press into yours, holding back as to not take you completely.

“Let’s drown in the ocean.” He inhales your torrid gasps, his words deceitfully simple. 

“Together.”

Rafayel kisses you, instantaneously consuming you. He pants into you, unable to soften the way his body reacts to you, the way his senses consume you until there’s nothing left of him. To him, loving you, losing you, and repeating the cycle…felt exactly like that.

Like drowning. 

He throws all that emotion into the way he kisses you. The embrace is so intense that it makes tears form in your eyes, emotions welling in your chest so tightly you fear you might burst. 

When he pulls away to breathe, you look up at him, “You never answered my question from earlier.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened, knowing exactly which question you were referring to. What he didn’t expect was for you to be so direct. His eyes dart around, but you hold his face in your palms before he can physically turn away. He opens his mouth to speak, before pursing his lips again in hesitation. 

You gently prod him, fingers stroking his locked jaw, “Raf?” 

“It…” he starts, eyes crackling with emotions. Rafayel struggles to find the words. He knows exactly what he wants to tell you, but can’t find the words to express it to you. 

It’s not that he wanted to be withholding, least of all with you. He would give you anything. He had given you everything, time and time again. To the point where it destroyed him. 

But the fear of having it all taken away, again, had made him so reluctant to lean back into the wind, like he’d done so many times in the past. Too scared of how much of himself he’d lose again in the never-ending cycle of falling irrevocably in love with you. 

And yet, as much as it took from him, it didn’t matter. Because you were everything to him.

“In this human world…it’s not difficult for a Lemurian to become lonely,” he laments wistfully, eyes misted with a faraway look. 

He continues. “But in all the lives I’ve lived, I almost never felt lonely,” Rafayel gently smiles at you, a smile filled with a wistful sorrow. 

“Really? Why?” you ask genuinely, still soothing his hardened jaw. His features had softened considerably as he peered down at your wet form, the tension between his legs growing visibly.

Rafayel chuckles. His answer was simple. 

Because, there was always you. 

But that was a tale for another time. 

“Are you trying to trick a foolish Lemurian into giving up all his secrets again, my little human?” he whispers huskily, leaning down to kiss at the skin under your ear. 

You’re about to ask him what he means by again, but the words die on your tongue when Rafayel sinks his teeth into your neck. His fingers find the buttons of your drenched top, unbuttoning it feverishly, desperately shedding your layers of clothing off of you.

Before you know it, you’re naked in Rafayel’s arms, his own bare manhood pressed insistently into your inner thighs, dangerously close to your core. Though the rest of his body is chilly from the rainwater, his throbbing erection burns against your skin. Even submerged in water, you can feel his pre cum oozing onto your leg, hot and thick.

His lips trail down your shivering body, kissing the grooves of your collar, teeth grazing the swell of your breasts. He’s nearly heaving, gasping for air like he can’t breathe. And truthfully, he couldn’t.

The dam of his emotional barriers absolutely decimated, the flood of his unabated passion overwhelming his senses. There is only you. The smell, the sound, the feeling, the sight, the taste of you. 

A Lemurian in love. Utterly, brokenly, and wholeheartedly. 

You try to match his intensity, pulling at his soft and wavy hair, drawing him closer to your naked body. You thrust your chest towards him, wanting him to claim you like he’d done so many times before. 

Rafayel chuckles at your obvious desires, but more than willing to oblige. His Queen. 

His lips close over your breast, his lips cold but his tongue wet and hot against your nipple. The warm water splashes messily against your clashing bodies. The lightning outside flashes, the shadows of your lewd acts dancing against the bathroom walls.

“Nnghnh, R-Raf!” you wail, his skilled mouth devouring you whole. Your spine arches into his demanding mouth, the wet splashes of the bath and the ravenous slurps filling the acoustics of the hotel bathroom. 

The pleasure of his tongue is so intense that your body can’t help but squirm backwards. Rafayel chuckles almost cynically, as he captures the back of your neck with his long and slender fingers. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to run away from me,” he pouts, leveling with your drooping eyes, body already delirious from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to bring you. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, bringing your chin up so that your eyes meet, “Don’t make me wait anymore, please.” 

You can’t help but smile at his adorable pout, his eyebrows furrowed in a sulky plea. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, twirling his wavy hair into your fingers, bringing him closer until your foreheads are pressed together. 

“I don’t want to wait either,” you whisper breathlessly against him, his face so close you can feel the length of his eyelashes against your cheek.

Rafayel gulps, his neck bobbing with the pressure of how forcefully he has to restrain his senses, restrain himself. It’s so clear how vulnerable he is to your every whim, so you take the opportunity to push him below you. His glimmering eyes shine with confusion, but he lets you climb atop him, hissing when your slick cunt presses down on his cock.

“What are you doing, Miss?”

You don’t answer, leaning over the tub to grab Rafayel’s damp cardigan, bringing it up to his face. He raises an eyebrow in question at you, his palms resting in the fat of your hips as your bare pussy drags against his pelvis. 

“Do you trust me?” you grin playfully at him, spreading the cardigan out and preparing to use it as a makeshift blindfold. Rafayel seems to know exactly what you’re planning. He looks up at you, inexplicable emotions reflected in his glassy eyes. 

“I do,” he whispers finally. His worlds are simple, yet something about them rips through your consciousness, filling you with a torrent of bittersweet fractures of a lost memory. 

A memory of another time Rafayel told you those same words.

I do.

Rafayel can read the confusion in your eyes, and squeezes your hips reassuringly. You’re shaken from the confusion of your mind-bending memories. Trying to focus on the moment at hand, you clear your throat and carefully tie the soft and expensive cardigan around Rafayel’s head, effectively cutting off his vision.

You lean down to whisper against his ears, lobes pink with excitement and anticipation.

“Let me show you what else humans do when we’re in love.”

Rafaye’s entire body quakes, his chest rising rapidly at your unabashed words. His fingers dig into your hips as he does his best to limit his embarrassingly visceral reactions to your body. With his vision limited, all his other senses are heightened to your will. 

With your lips at this ear, your neck is exposed to him. The smell of your pheromones mixed with your perfume clouds his thoughts, the urge to drive his teeth into your pulse so unbelievably overwhelming. But your palm on his chest pushes him down, your lips trailing down his ear, down his neck, and to his chest. 

With his eyes covered, his skin is all the more sensitive to your touch, 

“Please,” Rafayel rasps, nails digging into your thighs, “Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

You giggle at how adorably needy he’s become. You can tell just how much the blindfold affects him, his body more readily reactive to your lips, your fingers, your words.

Even with his eyes covered, Rafayel can’t help but pout. The inability to see you, his beautiful Queen, made him all the more desperate.

You decide to indulge him, fist closing around his cock under the water. Rafayel’s hips jolt violently, his lower half lifting to chase the friction of your soft hand. While he cries out in pleasure, you kiss down to where the water meets his defined chest.

“O-oh fuuck,” Rafayel hisses, his head thrown back on the edge of the tub, neck straining into the cool ceramic. His hips buck up into your fist wildly, your hand moving far too languidly for his taste. You continue to tease him slowly, his cock and your hand completely submerged under the surface of the water. He whimpers, teeth digging into his bottom lip, continuously thrusting up into your hand.

You take his desperation as an opportunity to torture him more, moving as gently as you can so that you can move up to his ear without him noticing. With your hand still pumping his oozing cock under the water, you whisper into his ear, letting your tongue graze his earlobe.

“When humans love someone…we want to make them feel good,” you whisper seductively into his ear, purposely letting your words come out in hot breaths. Rafayel jolts and squirms in response, fingers gripping the edge of the tub until his knuckles are pale white. 

“Sh-shiit,” he hisses breathlessly as your hand pumps up and down faster, the movements causing the water to ripple. His muscles flex under your touch, shining with a wet sheen against the flashing glow of lightning. 

“So? Does it feel good, Raf?” you murmur into his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to where his throat bobs with the heavy beat of his pulse. 

He thrusts himself into your hand violently, voice coming out in a gravelly groan, “Yes. You always feel so fucking good. S-so soft.”

Surprising him again, you take his lips into yours, insistently pushing your tongue into his mouth, all the while your fist continues to jerk him off. You catch every one of his unabashed moans with your own mouth, the muffled sounds of his pleasure mixing with the thundering storm outside.

It’s a furious clashing of saliva, teeth, and pure unfiltered passion. His fingers digging into your waist, your fingers squeezing his cock so tightly it threatens to have him spilling all over you and the filled tub. 

When you pull away, the spit dribbles down Rafayel’s chin and onto his damp chest. He looks adorably flustered, the cardigan still covering his eyes. With his sight gone, the feeling of your tongue against his, your fingers wrapped around his cock, your plush thighs against his twitching muscles is all the more intense. His body, all the more pliant for you. 

“Hah – if you keep going, I’m g-gonna–”

He doesn’t even have time to finish his words when his cock lurches in your greedy hands, thick and burning rivulets of cum shooting into the lukewarm bathwater. It’s strangely beautiful, like a ribbon of iridescent pearls. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Rafayel gasps, nearly choking over his own rapid breath, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub.

His body convulses with his orgasm, a broken mantra of swears and lewd groans the only thing audible even in the roar of the storm outside. 

“Nnnghnh – b-baby,” Rafayel whines as you pump him through a mind-numbing overstimulation, desperate to see you. But you don’t stop, only giggling as you watch even more cum spurt from his angry pink tip. 

In a sudden flash of splashing water and strong fingers gripping your thighs, you find yourself under Rafayel again, his hand holding the back of your neck protectively as he slams you into the edge of the tub. His cardigan no longer covers his eyes, likely discarded somewhere on the wet floor.

Your eyes are wide from the whiplash of his sudden movements, “Rafayel?”

His sunset eyes blaze wildly as he watches you, the sight of you so utterly indulgent and overwhelming after having his vision returned to him. 

“Will you let me worship you?” 

His question is vulnerable, desperate. He looks at you so damn hopefully that it’d be impossible to say no even if some insane part of you wanted to. 

You reach up to clasp his cheek in your hands, pulling him closer until your noses brush against each other, “Yes, always.”

With the breathy desperate utterance of consent leaving your lips, fanning across his open mouth, he loses it.

He forces your thighs wider, gripping you by the fat of your hips and dragging you towards him until your bare cunt brushes right against once-again hard erection. You were used to Rafayel’s virtually non-existent refractory period, his cock upright and commanding attention so quickly after his orgasm.

The lukewarm bath water makes every touch feel much more fluid, all the more intimate and sensitive. Your grip the edges of the tub for support, Rafayel’s movements erratic and unpredictable. He leans down towards you, your bodies as close as the confines of the tub will allow. 

“My Queen,” he mutters under his breath like a vow, shifting to line himself up with your entrance. Without another warning, he pushes himself into you. 

You squeal at the stretch, your arousal making it easy for him to push into you completely. Rafayel groans as he enters you, his head thrown back in ecstasy, his large hands wrapped around your thighs. 

Rafayel is absolutely not shy with his cries of pleasure. His body shudders even though he hasn’t moved since seating himself fully inside of your warm and impossibly tight walls. 

When he doesn’t move, you screw your eyes open in confusion, doing your best to speak through the wonderful stretch of his cock inside your quivering walls, “R-Raf? Are you okay?”

Rafayel doesn’t speak, but the glow of the storm outside illuminates the way his throat bobs, every fiber of his body overstimulated with the pleasure of your body gripping his, refusing to let go.

You move to shift towards him, worried about the way he’s locked up, but that only causes your body to involuntarily squeeze around him. Rafayel hisses, pushing you back down gently, his fingers caressing your cheek.

“I-I just need a second.”

“A-are you okay?” you ask worriedly.

“You’re so tight, so warm,” Rafayel chokes out, his fingers tightening around your cheek and thigh. You can vaguely feel his cock growing inside you, and it’s then you realize he’s paralyzed, not by hesitation or pain, but pleasure.

You can’t stop yourself from teasing him, clenching down on his manhood snug inside you. Rafayel moans, his hands coming down to grip your thighs in a silent warning.

“No more teasing me,” he cautions with a pout, one hand shifting to rest on your naval. At your mischievous grin, Rafayel presses down. 

You cry out, eyes rolling back as he forces the walls of your pussy to rub against his cock. Rafayel wants to smirk at your helpless writhing, but the sensation is also overwhelming for him. His body heaves, nearly collapsing on top of you, only catching himself by gripping the sides of the tub.

Your fingers wrap around his trembling biceps, eyes urging him to take you.

Rafayel swears, obliging at the fucked-out look in your eyes. He unsheathes himself fully from your addicting gummy walls, barely even leaving his tip in, before shoving himself back into you.

The newfound vigor of his thrusts makes the water in the tub slosh wildly, splashing all over your face and hair. But you could care less, because the feeling of his excitement bruising its way in and out of your throbbing cunt is literally all you can think about. Pathetic moans of pleasure, the only sound you can make.

Rafayel fares no better, strings of beautiful grunts leaving his own lips. His pelvis slams into your soft inner thighs, the sound of the water against your colliding skin sinfully mixing with your combined moans. 

“You’re so – nghnh – perfect for me, Y/N,” Rafayel groans as he drives into you, the tip of his cockhead brushing into your cervix and g-spot all at once, at every thrust. 

His hands clutching the tub on either side of your head cage you in, making it so the only thing you can focus on is him. And the only thing that his senses can perceive is you.

The only thing he can see is you, your tears mixing with the soapy water, the reddened love bites blossoming on your skin.

The smell of you heightened even against the fragrant scent of the bath soap, your pheromones driving him to the edge of insanity. 

Your wanton cries for him, fueling him to fuck you harder, the sounds of your sweet pleasure making his own noises come out unabashedly. 

The taste of you lingering on his tongue every time he bends down to capture your lips in his, saliva running down both your chins. 

But mostly…the feeling of your perfect walls constricting him, pulling him in, refusing to let go. The feeling of your hands, pressed deep into his twitching muscles. Your soft thighs locking him against your sopping cunt. 

God, he was so in love with you it was nearly pitiful. 

“You’ll always be my Queen,” Rafayel babbles, thrusts becoming erratic as he becomes overwhelmed by the bittersweet memories that’d resurfaced in Verona, “My entire heart.”

You nod vigorously at his words. “Always Raf,” you gasp, holding onto him as he pounds into you even harder, your spine thudding into the tub, the water cushioning the blows.

“You better never leave me,” he broods, putting every ounce of emotion into the way his cock claims every inch of your poor cunt. The word ‘again’ dies on his lips, the writhing artist above you opting to save that for another time.

“W-would – nnghnh – never leave you.”

His wild eyes focus on your words. He says simply, the subtleist hint of insecurity and doubt playing in his shaky voice, “I’m gonna – hah – hold you to that.”

You bob your head, wanting him to see how serious you are, see just how much he meant to you.

Your fingers venture to your clit, desperately pent up from all the sexual and emotional tension that’d built up from today. Rafayel doesn’t see you immediately, his head thrown back in a drawn out groan, his body glistening with sweat and bath water, chiseled muscles twitching with his impending release.

When he finally glances back down, he sees your fingers furiously pawing at your clit and he nearly growls at the sight beneath him.

His voice comes out broken and husky, uncharacteristically so for the normally charismatic and smooth-talking painter. He gently pushes your fingers away, his own lengthy and skilled fingers replacing yours.

“Let me,” he begs, hips stuttering as he nears his second release, “I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

His sweet words make you shiver, your body convulsing around him. Rafayel shudders as you grow tighter around him. It felt like you were nearly cutting off his circulation, in the best way. 

Rafayel’s fingers on your quivering bundle of nerves have you seeing lightning even with your eyes screwed tightly shut. He truly had the hands of a god, fingers slender and deft, the pads of his digits hardened from years of skilfully maneuvering expensive paint brushes. Your body was his canvas, and he’d spend hours creating art with you. 

“R-Rafayel, I’m soo – nngh – c-cloose,” you slur, your body arching into him, head thrown back until all you see is the ceiling above. 

Rafayel heaves at the sensation of you coming undone around him, his fingers still rubbing furiously. There’s a bright desperation in his glowing eyes, the need to see you cum on him as strong as the need to fill you up with his endless seed. 

As his body trembles above you, his fingers grip the tub so harshly his knuckles have turned taut and deathly white. 

“I-I’m close too, baby,” he groans, “Please, can I cum?”

You nod vigorously, wanting nothing more than to feel him release with you But Rafayel wants to hear you. 

“Say it, Y/N. Tell me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.” His voice is so brokenly desperate it drives you closer to your release, the sound of his lewd pleas so utterly erotic. 

“Ra-Rafayel, n-need it s’bad. Shiiit – please!” you all but scream, his insistent fingers pushing you into your orgasm. 

Rafayel chews on his bottom lip as he watches how beautifully you explode on him, so unbelievably close to finishing himself. He desperately wanted to cum inside you, but he knew if he did that he would be at the point of no return. You’d very well spend the rest of your trip in Verona locked in your hotel room, his cock nestled inside you until you literally begged for mercy. And maybe not even then. 

So with every ounce of will he had left, he pulled out of you as he came, standing on his knees so he could wrap his fist firmly around his cock as he came. The force of his cum so strong it shot all over your damp breasts and even your face, your expression still contorted in the ecstasy of your climax. 

You watch in awe, your cunt convulsing around nothing, your orgasm tapering off, as Rafayel trembles through his own pleasure. His cum is hot as it splashes onto your wet body, some of it shooting into your hair. Honestly the sight of how powerfully his cock erupted makes your stomach lurch in arousal.

Rafayel whimpers through his endless orgasm, his fist pumping up and down as he finishes on you. You’re left quivering beneath his imposing body, mesmerized by the white ropes of cum that shoot from his angry red tip. 

When he finally finishes, his glassy eyes watch you, absolutely awestruck. He bends down, his forearms trembling as one grips the side of the tub, the other stroking your cheek. He catches a rivulet of his milky seed with his finger, grinning cheekily at your reddened face.

“I’ve never seen anything so damn beautiful.” 

If it’s even possible, your cheeks burn even more furiously. You swat his fingers away.

“Shut up,” you whine, looking around at your bodies, joined in the filled tub. You inwardly cringe when you notice there’s more pools of milky white fluid than there are bubbles at this point. The amount of cum he gave you every time was nothing short of a phenomenon. 

“It’s everywhere!” you shriek dramatically, hitting his chest above you, “We need to get cleaned up!”

Rafayel’s grin widens, and before you can ask him what he’s scheming, he uses the finger still on your cheek to smear his cum around.

“Rafayel!” you yelp, trying your best to inch away from his filthy fingers, coated in both your arousals, struggling due to the limited space of the tub.

“But you look so exquisite like this,” Rafayel murmurs, fingers capturing your chin, pulling you up to look at him, his eyes hazy and sated, “My beautiful Queen…”

He dips down to press a lingering kiss to parted lips, mouth hitched open in excitement. When he pulls away he grins playfully at you.

“Besides, it’s good for your skin. Lemurians have a lot of uses, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Is that why your skin always looks so flawless?”

Rafayel’s cheeks flare, his eyes averting from yours, “Okay! Let’s get cleaned up shall we?”

You smile widely, unable to contain your fit of giggles. Your body shakes with your laughter, making the water ripple, “You’ve tried it haven’t you?”

Rafayel’s sheepish expression answers your question, “No! Shut up!”

“I knew it!”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[buckyalpine]

Hard 18+. Incoming dirty thoughts with all the smut. Just feral as fuck thinking about how Bucky touches himself when he thinks of you. Especially if its the biggest crush he's ever had and he has no idea what to do with himself.

Cause it’s honestly an event in itself.

He’s a pretty sight when he gets all worked up, the thought of you making his cock hard and balls heavy. So, so heavy. So full. His body heats to 100. All his clothes come off. He doesn’t rush a thing.

Those plush thighs are spread apart, giving himself slow, languid strokes while his metal hand comes down to cup his balls. He bites back a whimper when he rolls them, his cock getting wet in the process. He thinks about how soft your hand would feel if you touched him there, telling him how heavy and full they feel.

Tell him how you'd empty them and make him feel all better.

Fuck, he wished he could hear your sweet voice saying the dirtiest things to him.

"Such a pretty, pink cock, you're so full, hm?"

"You want me to help you baby, empty your balls, does it hurt. s'all swollen with cum"

Idk why I’m so obsessed with the thought of him playing with his precum, tapping his index finger against his slit, a clear web of his arousal clinging to his fingertip. His mind is in the gutter thinking of how your tongue would lave and play with him there, prodding where he’s most sensitive so you could taste every bit of him.

He lets his finger trace his sensitive head in circles, his moans getting harder to control thinking about the way your tongue would lick him clean because he'd definitely be making a mess.

"O-oh fucck" He cries when he plays with his frenulum, finding out where his cock is most sensitive and needy, wishing it was your mouth discovering his body instead. He needs it so fucking bad, wishing he could hear your choked moans and gags when his tip breeches your throat.

He can only tease himself for so long before it almost starts to hurt because he's so fucking hard. He wraps his fist around the base, gripping it tight and going up and down his length, massaging the head each time. He watches the head of his cock disappear into his hand when he jerks his cock and now his mind is fully focused on how tight your pussy would feel. How you'd suck him right back into your greedy, tight cunt, crying over how fucking thick and big he was. He'd be so hard, so swollen, giving you relentless thrusts making the bed shake, reaching places you didn't know existed.

Fuck, you'd sound so pretty.

He'd be obsessed with you crying out for his name, begging for you to say it over and over again.

"Whose making you feel this good baby, tell me, whose cock makes you cum"

"J-JAMES!"

"That's it, say my name, say it again angel"

"JAmes, James, fuck-J-James"

"Feels good huh, my cock feels good in you baby? Keep saying it pretty doll, let everyone know"

"FUCK JAMES"

His fist moves faster, his hips rolling up to chase the orgasm building in his belly, pleasure spreading down his spine to his thighs.

"M'gonna cum" He throws his head back, planting his feet so he can thrust into his hand. A part of him wants to edge himself longer, rub himself on his soft sheets, hump his bed till ropes of cum make a mess everywhere. The way he'd pound you until he couldn't take it anymore, desperate to fill your pussy up. Making the biggest, creamy mess, filling you up. His hand itches to grab his pillow so he can rut his hips against it like the needy puppy he really is on the inside, gripping it the way he'd grip your hips.

He can't though.

Not right now.

Not when he can feel more blood rushing through his cock, stiff and full, ready to burst.

His chest heaves with his sweat slicked skin, he can't hold it any more-

"Fuck, fuck, feels good, s'good, so pretty for me baby-oh god- Y/n!" His warm spend shoots out of his tip, splattering onto his tummy, endless streams dribbling down his still hard cock. He continues to stroke himself until he's soft and sensitive, all sticky and wet with the mess he made on himself. His mind doesn't leave the gutter. Cum drips down the seam of his balls and covers the inside of his thighs. He traces the mess, hissing when he presses against the sensitive spot under his balls, a curious part of him letting his fingers move further down, maybe one day he'd play with his-

Anyway sorry, I have to go back to actual fics that need to be posted.

[fushiguho]

Thinking about Asshole!Toji who’s so incredibly mean to his sweet girlfriend but only because he knows how nasty she’ll get for him…

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

“You like when I’m mean to you, huh? Turns you on doesn’t it, baby?” He mutters, his fingers threaded through the hair at your nape, drawing your head back and forcing your gaze onto his stoic face as you kneel before him, his fat cock heavy on your tongue.

You can only nod slightly while saliva slips from the corners of your swollen lips. As you sit prettily on your knees, you sputter around him in vain attempts to breathe, all the while his cock rests snuggly in your throat.

“No, no, no. Don’t just fuckin’ nod your head,” he punctuates with hard tug of your hair, “I want you to answer me.”

Physically, you can’t answer him. It’s just not feasible. Not with the way he’s deliberately tucking himself deeper, his swollen balls now pressing against your bottom lip. His warm hand holds your head taut, leaving room for not a thing—not a breath nor a gasp, and definitely not a word.

But still, you try to talk, because for Toji, you’ll do anything. After several trembling breaths through your nose, you attempt to speak with his cock on your tongue but fail horribly, of course. Toji took your relaxed throat as an opportunity to shove himself impossibly deeper, eliciting a proper gag from you. What a meanie.

He’s pouting feigndly, “Aweee, can’t fuckin’ speak can you, sweetheart?” He coos, “That pretty mouth too full of cock to talk to me?” His teeth are clenching now as a guttural moan threatens to erupt from his chest.

Toji is so fucking hard. You always manage to get him so incredibly hard to the point it pains him. That poor cock of his weeps and aches at the sight of you doing literally anything. Most times he can’t help himself when he watches you doing the most mundane of tasks.

Whether it be laundry, cooking, or cleaning, he’s creeping behind you, bending you over the nearest surface, and fucking a load into his pretty girl’s cunt and you fucking love it. Maybe it’s some sick and gnawing primal urge that yearns to be satiated and if not, he’d simply die. Whatever it is, you don’t seem to mind, clearly.

Toji’s bucking his hips wantonly, fucking your mouth as he would your pussy. “Look so pretty takin’ all of my cock like that, baby—fuuuck… such a good mouth fa’me… always so ready for cock, didn’t even have to ask you,” he’s brushing the hair off your forehead, baring your drunken mien, “just got on your knees and pulled my cock out. Couldn’t even take off my coat… always been such a greedy little girl, yeah?” He babbles.

You’re not thinking, not really. Poor head full of cotton and he hasn’t even touched you. You hardly even notice the way he sheathes himself from your mouth to pump himself in his hand instead. Cock thick and swollen, glistening in a layer of your saliva. Languidly, he drags his fist up and down, twisting his wrist as he nears the head, only to swipe his thumb across the slit before repeating it all over again. Like a dog, your mouth pools with saliva as he strokes his cock mere centimeters from your face.

“Gonna cum all over that pretty face… ruin your fuckin’ makeup,” he grits, dragging the tip of his cock along your wet lips, rudely prodding against them, “look so pretty already but I think I like you better with my cum all over your lips, your cheeks, your nose, and anywhere else I fuckin’ want, you hear me?” He’s slapping himself across your face now, smearing his precum along the bridge of your nose, the high points of your cheeks, your chin, and even your fucking forehead.

You’re pressing your thighs together as you nod to him, “I love your cum… I need it.” You whisper.

“Yeah you do.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･

Hey, you! Did you like this? Click here for more!

[evanbi-ckley]

He feels like he’s being weighed down. Like he’s under water or a heavy blanket. His limbs are heavy, and he can’t get his eyes to open. There’s muffled sound nearby, but he can’t make out anything coherent. He’s also really warm. Uncomfortably so.

Is this what death is like? Is he in Hell? Or something Hell-adjacent? Were all the fire and brimstone idiots he refused to give the time of day actually right about something?

But then the heat is gone and there’s a cool breeze that skims across his skin.

Does he have skin? Do people feel their skin once they’re dead?

He’s still debating with himself as he gets pulled further under.

~***~

What is that annoying, repetitive sound? Did he change his alarm? Why the fuck can’t he turn it off?

~***~

It hurts.

Why does it hurt?

He can’t even tell what hurts, but something fucking hurts.

If he could just open his eyes and get up to take some ibuprofen.

Also his nose itches. Why can’t he fucking scra-

~***~

“Fucking bees.”

~***~

He’s warm again, but it’s not uncomfortable this time. 

He feels safe. And alive. 

He doesn’t feel as weighed down anymore.

It’s difficult, but he cracks his eyes open. He’s - in the hospital? That’s definitely a hospital ceiling and hospital lights and hospital machines beeping.

He turns his head to the left - slowly - and sees his arm is in a giant cast. That explains why he can’t lift it.

He turns his head to the right just as slowly. He’s surprised to see a head of curly hair lying next to his hip, a large hand in his own. 

When he flexes his hand, the curly head pops up immediately.

The man looks at him with bloodshot eyes that clearly haven’t seen sleep in days. He’s young - not alarmingly so but certainly younger than Tommy. The stubble on his jaw has gone far past 5 o’clock shadow and has entered the realm of beard, making him look slightly older. But who -?

“Tommy?” the man asks. His voice is low and raspy, possibly unused.

“Uh,” Tommy says. His own voice sounds even worse.

Without hesitation, the man turns - without letting go of Tommy’s hand - and pours a cup of water from the pitcher on the table next to the bed. Then he brings the cup up to Tommy’s mouth, a bendy straw pointing toward him.

Tommy drinks slowly, his mouth feeling like parchment that’s been left out in the sun too long. 

“Thanks,” he says.

The man sets the cup down and says, “Yeah, so um, h-how do you feel?”

He thinks for a bit, taking stock of himself.

“Sore. Numb in places. I assume they’ve got me on the good stuff?” The man nods, a cute smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But there’s also the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen sitting next to me, holding my hand. So all told, I’m doing pretty well.”

The tips of the man’s ears turn pink, and a cute blush spreads across his cheeks. Adorable.

“You don’t have to flirt so hard, Tommy. You should know by now, I’m a sure thing.”

Ah, so -

“So we’re,” Tommy gestures vaguely with his head, “together?”

“Uh,” the man laughs uncertainly, “for about six months now, yeah.”

“Oh.” Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up. “But you’re so…” He trails off, not really knowing where he was going with that.

“So…what?” the man prods.

“Take your pick,” Tommy says. “Young? Pretty? Out of my league?”

“Sweetheart.” The man says it like they’ve had this discussion before, but he’s smiling. “Don’t try to amnesia your way out of being with me. I called dibs forever after our second date.”

Tommy smiles lazily. “Dibs forever, huh?”

“Yep. You’re stuck with me.”

Humming as if he’s considering the pros and cons, Tommy finally says, “I guess I can live with that.”

The man’s smile is blinding. “Evan,” he says. “Evan Buckley. In case you forgot.”

It comes back to him then - a cruise ship rescue in the middle of a hurricane, a basketball game, a kiss, a first date that ended terribly, more dates that ended perfectly, slow dancing in the kitchen, long nights together that ended too soon. A call during a bad storm, total engine failure, glass and fear and rain and acceptance and trees and blue eyes and a smile like warm sunshine.

“Evan,” Tommy says, pulling him closer. “Baby.” He kisses him softly. “I love you more than anything. How could I forget?”

Evan has tears in his eyes and leans their foreheads together when he says, “Don’t ever do that again. I thought I lost you.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. I thought so, too. I thought I’d never get to see you again. I’m so sorry.”

The next kiss is wet with tears - Evan’s or his own, it doesn’t matter. They’re here, and they’re both okay, and they’re together. That’s all that matters.

“I love you, too, by the way,” Evan says once they pull apart. “Can’t believe you waited to tell me until after you almost died, but I’ll take it.”

“I’ll say it every day until I actually die, okay?” he says. He gets a smack to his good shoulder for his effort, but they’re smiling too hard for it to have any weight.

There’s a long road ahead with recovery and therapy and stubbornness and frustration, but they’ve got this. They’ll get through it all. 

Together.

part 1

part 2

part 3

also now on ao3!

[shoot-the-oneshot]

What a joke

Travis Kelce x Reader

prompt 88 “you? beat me? What a joke” requested by @sorryidonttreatulikeagoddess hope you like it!

“Oh come on!” Travis shouted, throwing his hands in the air while you smiled in victory.

It was date night every week you would both turn off the phones and spend time together and this week it was pizza a chess, while it doesn’t happen often this is when you’re reminded how sore of a loser he is, and you loved it.

“It was one game don't get cocky.” He grumbled seeing your facial expression

“It was five games actually baby, but dont worry you’re still the checkers master.” You giggled picking up the plates to take them to the kitchen Travis following not far behind.

“Listen sweetie I’ll let you have this win but just remember I’ll win any other game.” You could feel his smug smile even before you turned around. Matching his position you leaned back against the counter and folded your arms.

“Any game you say?” You prodded, knowing it would draw him in, doing exactly that he stepped forward pinning you with his arms caging you against the counter, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Any game.”

“Even football?” His laugh echoed through the kitchen. “You? Beat me, at football? What a joke”

You waited for him to sober up before continuing with the idea in your head. Travis straightened little laughs escaping his lips. “I’m serious put your team together and I’ll pick mine, we can make a whole thing of it and donate to a charity of the winning teams choosing.”

You had his full attention as you spoke of course you would turn a competition into a good thing and he loved you a little more for it. He thought it over but you knew by the smile on his face he was in.

“Better get your team together because it’s on.” He held his and out to shake but the second your palm touched his, he pulled you into his chest. “May the best team win.” He whispered against you lips before pulling away and immediately going for his phone no doubt calling Pat, good thing you had your own phone calls to make.

You waited until you heard the shower turn on before your struck. Running as quietly as possible into Travis’s office, grabbing his headphones Jasons face popped back up on screen.

“Heyyy Y/N hows it going.” He boasted you’re glad you were wearing headphones or Travis definitely would’ve heard.

“Hi it’s good soooo I’m assuming you’ve heard about the game between Travis and i?” You asked pleading tone seeing him shake his head “Sorry i already told Trav i would play for him.”

“Oh come on.” You begged before a lighbulb went off. “What do you like more, supporting your brother or beating him?”

You watched as it sunk in your fingers tapping anxiously on the desk as you waited.

“So I have some ideas for our jerseys.” And just like that you had a center.

After months of planing the day has come you were decked out in the shiny gold Jersey Jason wanted standing across from Travis and Patrick on the field.

“The time has come baby you can back out now” Travis sang, ever for the dramatic he announced every member of his team as if it was a UFC match. Which to no surprise to you included most of the chiefs players.

“I think you’ll change your tune after you meet my team.” You smiled, taking the microphone from the announcer.

Thank you for everyone coming out to support a good cause and to watch Travis lose against my team today,” you paused looking to the stands as people cheered.

For our center may i introduce… Jason Kelce!!” He ran out of the tunnel to stand next to you while Travis dropped his jaw. “You said you had an interview with ESPN today!” Travis yelled pointing.

Jason shrugged “I probably will after this.”

“My own brother that’s cold” you smirked at his words moving on to the next players

“And next up on defense we have all the way from Miami, Jaelan Phillips! And the cheetah!” (Go watch hard knocks episode 2 trust me)

“And the man who broke the internet with his skims campaign…NICK BOSA!!” Travis rolled his eyes knowing the small crush you had on Bosa before you got together.

“Now for the quarterback. I know we needed something big and might i say i think we delivered.” You paused for dramatic effect, you saw Travis glance at Pat to make sure he wasn’t pulling a switch like his brother.

“The only man to have beaten Patrick Mahomes in the playoffs..Joe Burrow!!” The Crowd erupted as he came running out coming to stand on your other side. you met eyes with Travis “You can back out now baby” pulling his words back on him handing the mic back to the announcer to do his thing while you left your team to run to the sidelines with Kylie. “Now this will be a good game.” She spoke actually wearing the golden jersey which surprised you since she only wears eagles gear but as she said it wasn’t a real team so it doesn’t count.

“Let’s just hope they win.”

(I do not know enough about football to write the game but I’m learning)

Later that night you and Travis found yourselves back on the couch large trophy sitting on the coffee table. “You, beat me at football what a joke.” You repeated in a comically deep voice while giggling.

“Yeah yeah next week we’re playing checkers.” He pouted with his arms crossed gearing at your trophy. “If you promise not to throw a chair this time sure” You joke ending with a yelp as he lunges at you.

Hey guys my first time writing NFL hope yall liked it check out my other works here

[jennifer-jeong]

Hi there :)

Can I request some headcanons about Xiao and Wanderer (separated) with an old s/o? Like, they've been together for decades, but reader is a mortal and they're not, therefore they don't have many years left to live now that they're in their 80s. I would like something sweet but feel free to add some angst in it.

HI ANON TY FOR YOUR ASK! Ok so I’m literally goiNG TO CRY because I actually purposely make my own self insert immortal because this makes me so depressed but dw I will make it a fluffy happy ending. I would be unwell if I didn’t make it a happy ending LMAO

Fluff + Slight Angst | Xiao/Wanderer x Reader Mortals

CONTENT Fluff, some angst, gender neutral reader, HAPPY ENDING WOO, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

XIAO has been alive for longer than he can genuinely remember and most of it was spent suffering alone. He’s scarred so deeply that even until the end of time, the marks will never fade. He can’t get rid of his past but you came along and he realized he could at least start to heal from the centuries of pain. Your time together has been the best years of his life and it makes his heart ache to think that you’re about to come and go before even living for a fraction of his life. He’s watched your mortal body age but he still thinks knows that you’re the prettiest thing he’ll ever encounter. Xiao has always treated his time with you like it was limited, even when you were younger. He’s been getting desperate recently though, your body has slowed down, and you’re well into your elderly years. He’s always wanted to ask you if he and Zhongli could help you with this, return you to your younger body and help you live forever. But, he thought it would hurt you. Immortality is more of a curse than a blessing and he of all people should know that. But as your health deteriorated, he started to plan how to ask you without pressuring you. Honestly, when he finally brought it up, you giggled at him and said “I didn’t even know you could do that.” He blinked as he realized how much time had passed and how he really had been avoiding it all these years. It was just somewhat unfathomable to a 2000 year old being that all these fun years with you had already been a few decades. He explains why he felt bad suggesting it, but you quickly comforted him and thanked him for even bringing it up. You said you needed some time to think about it but you knew that you wanted more time with your beloved. It’s near impossible for most people to find their soulmate and so since you found yours, you wanted to somewhat selfishly hold onto him as long as you could. Of course he secretly felt the same though. Your time together might end soon as the traveller discovers the underlying mysteries of the world or it could end millenia later. Either way, you knew you’d be able to face it, together.

WANDERER has been through so much over the past few centuries of his life and he’s believed his emotions have been so useless to him as he isn’t even human. His suffering, pain, and desire never made sense because he always lacked a heart. He thought he’d be doomed to this forever until he met you. You breathed life into his mechanical body and into his new anemo vision heart. He felt truly alive with you, it was like he was freshly born as a real man when you came into his life. He took a while to properly warm up to you before he could express himself in a healthy way but you always had the patience for him. The problem was that he couldn’t have the same patience, not because he wasn’t a healthy partner, but because your life had a definite end. He was impatient because he couldn’t lose you and he didn’t know what else to do. He consulted Nahida/his mom about it and she suggested using his body as a template to create a body for you. One that would last forever with him. He was immediately overjoyed to hear that there was hope and he almost forgot to consider that you might not want to live forever. He probably tries to gauge if you would want to by prodding you with small questions but you see straight through him. You know something’s up, and you tell him that you know there’s enough trust between you two for either of you to speak freely. So he does. You take some time to debate it and decide to do it because even if at some point you can’t take it, you’d talk to him about it and come up with a solution (but you doubt that'll come up <3). There was a lot going on in Teyvat at the moment but just knowing that you’d have more time gave both of you peace. He was worried that afterwards you might not be the same, and that you might become emotionally hollow. But you knew that with him there, you’d never feel any less alive. Even without your physical body, you both had your souls, and it was all you’d ever need.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[cayleeuhithinknot]

❛ KISS, KISS ❜

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉. . .matt finally agreed to do the “stupid” tiktok trend with you.

cw: fluff, slightly suggestive, use of pet names, established relationship.

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛--ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

at first, matt was a little afraid to do what you had asked. not because of embarrassment or anything, but because of the possibility that your lipstick might stain.

“that’s what you’re worried about?” you giggled. you sit at matt’s bedroom desk in his chair, where you’d skillfully propped your phone up against a half-full sprite can and used your most velvety red lipstick.

“well, yeah! my skin breaks out so easy!” matt retorts, earning more laughs from you. “you’re such a dork,” you snicker. “says the one who wanted to do this corny-ass video.”

and he was right in a way. you weren’t really one for very cheesy gestures, but you’d had this idea on your mind all week. it didn’t matter what app you opened—instagram, tiktok, twitter, and even pinterest was plagued with sickeningly sweet couple videos where one had smudged lipstick, and the other was smothered in lipstick prints. every time you watched one, you felt a parade of butterflies dance in your stomach, because you just imagined it was matt’s hand swiping away your lipstick. and the image of him stamped with your lips was…really enticing to say the least. however, you knew he wasn’t opposed to the idea either, because of the way the boy was teasingly staring at you with a beet red face as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“c’mon, matty” you prodded at him, “it’ll be fun! i’m not even wearing that much, see?” you swiveled around in his chair, puckering your lips at him before rubbing them together and releasing them with a pop. the boy nearly fell to pieces as his eyes took in the sight of your lips curling up into a smile.

“you kinda look like marilyn monroe.” he complimented.

“you think?”

“mhm,” he nodded. you took notice of the way his eyes slyly traveled down, and all of a sudden, you weren’t nearly as worried about the video as you had been 30 seconds ago.

you weren’t surprised, because it only took a few weeks of dating matt to realize that he was useless once you were in a pair of shorts. he couldn’t keep his eyes on the TV, hell—even the road when he could see your thighs up close. and since he liked it so much, you of course wore them all the time.

in a painfully slow collection of movements, you rose from the chair and stood in front of his figure, tracing the outline of his jaw with your long nail. matt let out a soft huff and closed his eyes, and you could almost see every individual muscle in his neck and shoulders relax. you leaned down and pressed one kiss to his cheek, just below his eye. you made sure to press nice and firm on his soft skin, letting the feeling linger for a second. his skin was so warm it sent a shiver down your back. you pulled away to admire the print, only to see that his eyes were still closed.

“cute,” you sighed.

matt sneakily peeked through one eye at you and asked, “well, what are you waiting for?”

“oh, so now you’re with it, hm?”

the boy rolled his eyes, and you were so focused on the color in his cheeks that the feeling of his hands on your hips almost shocked you. he pressed his palms to you and gave the slightest pout. “sit with me?”

the boy’s eyes flew to your waist as you threw one leg onto the bed, the other following as you rested yourself in his lap. he leaned back just a bit, and his hands rested at the hem of your baby pink shorts, fumbling with the slightly frayed fabric.

“comfy?” you asked.

you watched him shiver this time around, and he smirked as he hooked his thumbs under your waistband and tugged your hips toward him until you were pressed right against his warm chest. then, he pressed a fiery, breathy kiss to your neck, knowing it would definitely set you off.

“god, you’re such a tease,” you grumbled, grabbing his face in between both of your hands and getting to work. the boy sat blissfully as you generously peppered his face with cherry-red kisses, covering his cheeks and nose and jaw and ears with traces of you. his nimble fingers left your waist and sneakily trailed beneath the hemline of your shirt, pressing flush against your stomach and sending shockwaves through your body.

you tried your best not to absolutely lose your mind as he made tiny hums with every last kiss, and drew tiny shapes on the pudge of your stomach. every single touch felt like you’d never felt his hands on you before. and you did perfectly fine with all of this heated politeness until you reached his adam’s apple. when you kissed him there, he’d let out a much prettier noise, and you knocked him onto his back in hunger.

he then caught your lips in his, moving back and forth with ease. your momentum was so easy for him to follow, like you were just perfectly made for each other. the boy let out a soft whine as you entangled your hand in his brown hair, tugging slightly at the soft curls.

“we—were—supposed to—make—a video!” matt wheezed between stolen breaths, barely able to form words with the way your hips pressed against his.

“fuck the video,” you devilishly grinned.

matt wrapped both of his arms around your waist and sat you back up right again, but you weren’t done yet. you locked your legs around him and kissed along his jaw a little more, absolutely wasted on the way he pushed back into your sweet touch. but the boy knew he had to stop you, because you two couldn’t do much more than this in an apartment with two other brothers right in the next room (which you were happily ready to ignore.)

“baby, hey,” he twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, feeling slightly overheated from the warmth of your hands against him. “hey, come back.”

“hm?” you pulled back, your eyes instantly widening at the state of his handsome face. there were no longer distinct lipstick marks. now, he was just a rosy mess, his face adorned with smudges and splotches of color. the boy couldn’t help but laugh at you, too, because your lipstick was smeared around your lips, sort of like a clown.

“i think we might need to redo it if you still wanna make that stupid video,” matt laughed, running his thumb across your swollen bottom lip.

but, you shook your head. “nope. i like you like this.”

“you do?”

"so handsome," you gushed, pressing one more soft kiss to his lips. it took all your strength not to pin him down again. he was set on holding you still though, with both hands properly stationed at the creases where your hips met your thighs.

"then get your phone, angel.”

at this point, you were in quite the hurry to get everything over with. hitting record, you applied just a tad more lipstick for the camera, and his hand swiped some away. you swung the view to your boy who was red as you felt. then, you saved the video and threw the phone on the bed, glad to be rid of the thing rudely distracting him from continuing with you.

"all done!" you cheered, brushing his mop of hair back with both hands. he lifted his chin into the motion, looking up at you with starry eyes. you took his wrists gently and guided his palms to the crook of your thighs again, and he put a little pressure down. you grinned and kissed his nose, nipping it softly.

"you really are sick in the head," he teased.

"just keep touching me."

it took a bit of skill and too much self control, but you stuck to those same old sloppy kisses- though your mind was racing with…other ideas. and he was definitely patient, because he wasn't so focused on how bad his skin might stain anymore. that was a problem for much later.

a little later, when you posted the video, you had to turn your phone off from how much it had continuously buzzed. matt scrolled through the comments proudly on his own phone, watching the way people lost their minds over the mess you made of him in the comments. every other comment was "oh my god" and "I LOVE THEM" and one even said "SOMEONE SEDATE ME!!!", which of course cracked him up. sometimes, when he was with you, he felt he needed to be sedated, just from how crazy you’d make him go.

he admired the glazed and dazed look in your eyes in the video. he knew he was the reason you’d looked so out of it. so drunk on the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands on your body, his presence in general. he thought you were so pretty when you wanted him. and he would be willing to break out in hives over and over if he could make you look at him like that again. so, he put the phone down, and went to go find you.

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛--ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

a/n: i absolutely loved writing this! it’s honestly one of the cutest tiktok couples trends i have ever freaking seen i swear.

tags: @sturn-saturn @xysbree @sturniolos4life16

[indigogvf]

Bottled up

Summary: Jake comforts you after a bad week at work.

Warnings: Crying? There’s no others that I can think of, just lots of comfort and fluff.

Word count: 1279

AN: Thanks for helping me decide which fic to do on my poll!! Im still gonna do the other two at some point, but Jake comfort was the winner so you’re getting this one first😁

Also, my requests are open!! I’d love to hear any ideas.

You just finished work, and you’re walking rather quickly to your car, whilst also desperately holding back tears to avoid your boss after he gave you a deadline for a presentation; a presentation he told you about yesterday. And the deadline is on Monday.

It’s Friday.

After the immense stress and pressure you’ve been holding in this week, it was safe to say you were now at your breaking point.

You practically threw yourself into your car as tears started streaming down your face, not wanting to catch the attention of any coworkers who might also be leaving. Everything that had even slightly upset or bothered you this week now seemed earth shattering as you finally let yourself feel all the emotions you’ve been pushing away. You were never one to talk about how you felt; you always felt as if no one really cared, or that you were being a burden. Everyone has their own stuff going on, why do they need yours to think about too?

You pulled up in the driveway, taking a deep breath before getting out of your car and making your way to the house. You walked in, chucking your keys on the side table and hanging your coat up. “Jake, I’m home.” You called out. You walked through to the kitchen to see where he was after you heard no response, and found him cutting up some type of vegetable, which you couldn’t quite see because he was in the way. “Hey. What are you making?” You questioned.

“Hey, honey. I’m making lasagna for dinner. I know it’s your favourite, and I wanted to do something nice for you.” He smiled. You took a deep breath, not wanting to start up the waterworks for the second time. He was so good to you.

“Oh. That’s very thoughtful of you, Jake. Thank you.” You returned his smile as he pulled you in for a sweet little kiss. “I’m gonna head upstairs and take a shower.” You began walking away,

“Wait!” He called, “How was work?”

You were really hoping you’d dodged that question.

“Uh.. yeah, it was fine.” You briskly walked away, desperately trying to avoid any further questions.

You failed.

“Just fine? Are you sure?” He paused for a moment, awaiting your response. When you hesitated, he continued. “You’ve been a little off with me this week.. have I done something wrong? Is there something going on elsewhere that’s bothering you?”

Fuck.

You hate this. You almost hate yourself for this. You’ve been pushing him away all week, attempting to avoid this exact conversation. As much as you want to just curl up on the couch with him and bathe in his love and affection, you knew yourself too well. You knew you’d crack and end up crying to him about how stressed you’ve been, which is exactly what you want to avoid. You hate that you’ve made him feel like he’s done something wrong. You can feel your lip quivering as you hold back your tears for the second time since you’ve come home. “I’m sorry. I.. I just-“ aaaand here it comes.

You put your head in your hands as you start bawling, trying to conceal the fact that you’re most definitely not okay. Although you think it’s fairly obvious, because Jake rushes over to you, embracing you in a tight hug as your body shakes against his. “Hey, it’s okay. Shhh. Just let it all out,” He says softly into your ear whilst gently stroking your hair. “Talk to me, baby. What’s going on?” He prods.

You collect yourself, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself enough to explain yourself. “I’m sorry for pushing you away all week. You didn’t do anything, I’ve just had a week from hell. I didn’t want to be a burden to you so I just kept it to myself, but I knew if you were to ask about my day, I’d crack.” You mumbled, feeling slightly ashamed because saying it out loud makes you feel slightly pathetic.

“What makes you think you can’t talk to me? You can always talk to me - about anything. I want to be there for you, honey. But I can’t if i don’t know when there’s something bothering you. Your problems will never burden me, I promise. Now, tell me what happened.” He reassures you, still giving gentle strokes across your hair.

You knew your thought process was slightly unnecessary when it came to Jake. He’s never made you feel like you can’t talk to him; in fact, you know you can talk to him. You assume it was from when you were a teenager and your two friends ignored you for being upset, and then proceeded to tell you it was draining to be around you. You’re glad that Jake shows you nothing of the sort.

“Well, on Monday, there was four clients who phoned and screamed at me down the phone for the way that their previous issues were handled. I didnt even deal with their original complaints. On Tuesday, my boss called me for a meeting about those calls and basically questioned my ability to do my job, despite the fact that I told him multiple times I didn’t handle their original complaints. On Wednesday, my coworker shouted at me in front of the entire office about how i didn’t send him some documents he needed, even though he didn’t tell me about them. On Thursday I split my coffee on my cream coloured jumper and had to walk around with a giant stain down my chest. Today, my boss gave me a deadline for a presentation. He told me about the presentation on Thursday, and the deadline is on Monday.” You took a breath, feeling like you were suffocating because of how quickly and passionately you listed all of the problems of the week.

“Oh, love. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to be treated this way. You’re always working so hard, it’s a shame they can’t see that. Have you thought about working somewhere else? You deserve to be respected and seen for your work, and I don’t think you’re going to get that at this company.” He spoke in the most delicate voice.

You thought for a moment, contemplating his suggestion of getting a new job. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about that; but I think you might be right.” You replied.

Jake pulled you closer to him, placing your head on his chest. “You know you can always talk to me, don’t you?” He asked.

“I do. I guess I just overthink it sometimes.” You said, reassuring him.

“Do you promise you’ll talk to me next time?” He held his pinky finger out.

“I pinky promise, Jake.” You shook his pinky as you smiled at each other.

He pulled you in for a gentle kiss to your lips and then planted kisses around your face, leaving an extra big one on your forehead. You giggled in response, already feeling much better.

“Why don’t we eat our lasagna and try to come up with some solutions that might make your work easier, and then cuddle on the couch with a movie on in the background, hm? That sound good, pretty girl?” He suggested.

“Mmm, that sounds amazing. Thank you, Jake. I love you.” You nuzzled your head into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat gently thumping in your ear.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on your head whilst simultaneously giving you a tight squeeze.

You loved him so much, it was almost too much. But you especially loved how loved he made you feel.

[tgmsunmontue]

Online & Anonymous 16/16

Hangster. Explicit. Years before they meet in person Bradley and Jake strike up a friends-with-benefits relationship online. And then something more like an actual relationship.

>>Bradley chatting (bold and italics)

>>Jake chatting (italics)

2005/2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 2019-redux

Many thanks AGAIN to @celandinebergerac, @phisworld14, @redfurrycat and @nevergettingoverit for being my sounding boards as I hashed this out. First chapter was 2nd April, and four months later it's all done. THANK YOU.

EPILOGUE

                The last year has been good. Bits of it absolutely great and he no longer keeps second guessing or waiting for something terrible or bad to happen. Maybe he’s finally used up his allotted lifetime amount of bad things. He and Mav have mended their relationship, definitely helped along by Penny, Amelia and Jake, carrying conversation and easing lingering awkwardness when it happens. Then Mav had asked him to be his best man at his wedding to Penny and that had been a whole other experience. It had been a December wedding, their leave period finally not getting sabotaged by new assignments or natural disasters. Instead they’d found themselves working together at the Hard Deck for two weeks while Mav and Penny had a honeymoon and then spending their first Christmas together.

                His morning coffee cup now has a photo of his original morning coffee cup on it. Everyone had thought it was a gag gift at Christmas, but it hadn’t been. A picture of a cup just says I’m thinking of you, Wish you were here, I’m sorry, I miss you. It covers a multitude of things and it’s one of his most prized possessions. Jake’s family has become his family; Mav, Penny and Amelia are an extension of that for Jake as well. Amelia has helped stop Jake almost hero-worshipping Mav at least, calling Mav out on his stupid shit and then looking to Jake for back-up, clearly not expecting it from Bradley. Despite the fact that Bradley agrees with her all of the time his relationship with Mav still feels a little too fragile to withstand constant poking and prodding like what Amelia seems to take joy in.

                Amelia and Susie get on almost too well, something that terrifies Jake. Amelia had said she’d always wanted a sister; Bradley had been dumb enough to ask if she’d ever wanted a brother. She’d just rolled her eyes, asked why she’d ever want one of those and he’d shut his mouth, ignored the silent laughing coming from Mav’s corner of the living room. Why indeed. His life feels full to brimming, and he cannot wait to get back to them now, but especially Jake.

                Although he’s a little confused and more disappointed that Jake isn’t there to meet him when he gets off his flight, but he’d told Bradley he’d be waiting for him at home. He’s tired, has missed him and cannot wait to crawl into bed with him. He doesn’t care if it’s for sex or sleep right now, although he does hope it’s sex and then sleep. It’s been a three-month separation, definitely not the longest they might be apart, but definitely the longest so far since they started afresh with all cards on the table and no more secrets between them. Or simply things they’ve never mentioned, like names.

                He drags himself toward Jake’s condo, his own house filled with Daggers. They’re still a squadron, however they’re often used in training exercises now and split in half as and when needed. He’s been in the middle of the Atlantic along with Phoenix and Bob, Halo and Omaha and Fritz. He knows his next deployment is with Jake and he cannot wait, and it’s not only to prove to the higher ups that their relationship isn’t of any more concern than Javy and Natasha’s, or Bob, Rueben and Fritz. Although he’s not sure if the higher ups are aware of that one or are taking a very firm head-in-sand approach because they don’t have the forms and paperwork that would encompass what they have. Not his problem he reminds himself as he turns the key and pushes the door open.

                Jake is standing there in his dress whites, looking absolutely fucking gorgeous, well rested and suddenly every nerve in his body is wide awake, sloughed off and away with the sight in front of him. They’ve talked about this, not recently, but in the last year it’s definitely been raised, usually when they were apart, but sometimes when they’ve been wearing them, Jake has given him a slow sly look. The fantasy of fucking in their dress whites, well, more Jake being fucked while wearing them. He thinks he might have swallowed his tongue, ability to talk completely gone as he takes in the sight; he’s into it more than he thought he would be, the time since he’s been with Jake definitely adding to his arousal. He’s not in his whites, definitely not his blues, just his khakis, but Jake knew that and he’s pretty sure Jake doesn’t give a fuck about what Bradley is wearing, it’s all about him.

                “Welcome home.”

                The door swings shut behind him as he steps forward and drops his duffle, the peak of Jake’s hat bumping his head and they’re kissing, hands grasping at each other with the desperation that only separation or danger brings. Holy shit it’s just as well he didn’t come and pick him up, they’d both have ended up under review and facing disciplinary action for ungentlemanly behavior. Fucking your boyfriend in public is definitely not allowed.

                “Jake…”

                “Please.”

                “Fuck. Don’t need to tell me twice.”

                His cock is already half-hard, and if he’s developing a conditioned response to seeing Jake in his whites then that’s going to be a terrible problem for future-Bradley. Then Jake drops to his knees, his mouth already pressing against the fly of his pants and Bradley groans. He takes off Jake’s hat and tosses it toward the sofa, and they’re definitely going to need to pay special attention to cleaning everything later but right now there are more pressing matters at hand.

                “What do you want?”

                “Going to get you hard with my mouth, then I want you to bend me over the sofa and fuck me. Okay?”

                “Yes sir…” Bradley says with a smirk, because Jake’s acting all demanding but nothing he’s said is a hardship in any way. He is so onboard with everything, and Jake isn’t going to have to work to get him fully hard at all. “God I’ve missed you.”

                Jake’s crinkling eyes tell him he’s smiling against his cock, his fingers working the zip of Bradley’s fly down and Bradley works at his belt buckle, carefully pulling it free and undoing the button, shoving his pants and underwear down, his cock springing free and Jake simply opens his mouth and starts sucking. No tease, no finesse or any slow introduction. Not that he needs or wants it, more than okay with Jake directing the show, just runs his fingers through Jake’s hair and lets himself enjoy the hot tight suction for what it is; a means to an end that Jake has been fantasizing about for years. It’s not even a couple of minutes before Jake in rising to his feet, his hand curling around Bradley’s cock and he’s leading Bradley by his cock toward the sofa. He can’t help the little laugh, loves that they can be silly with each other like this, his awkward shuffling walk because his pants are still on, although they’re slowly falling with each step.

                He takes in the throw over the back of the sofa with a smirk, already knows it’s there to cover up stains and to stop more stains. Like they already know exactly how the height of the back of the sofa is perfect for being bent over, a happy coincidence considering Jake’s sister had bought it. Jake is reaching for something, coming back with lube but no condom. They still use them occasionally, have stashes of the latex-free type in the glove boxes of their vehicles, wallets, bathroom, bedroom… he’s probably never without one except when he’s in his flight suit now that he thinks about it. At home like this though…

                “We making a mess Jake?”

                “Yes. Yes we are. You leave those pants around your ankles. I want it hard. Want to feel it later.”

                “Yeah?” Bradley asks, and his cock jumps at the thought and Jake’s hand squeezes around him in response.

                “Yeah. Think you can manage that? Not too tired?”

                Bradley rolls his eyes, reaches to slap him on the ass over his pants but then grabs a cheek firmly, rubbing his palm in a circle and then grabbing again and pulls him in closer

                “Never too tired for you.”

                “Promise?”

                “Promise.”

                Then he’s pushing his hands under the jacket to get to Jake’s buckle, flicks it open and reaches his hand inside, runs his fingers over the hard flesh of his erection, rolling the underwear down slightly. Steps forward to capture Jake’s mouth in a filthy slide of lips, wants to get in as much kissing as he can while they’re facing each other like this, Jake pushed up against the sofa but not yet bent over it. Then Jake is spreading lube on his cock and Bradley groans, feels the head of his cock rub against the rougher fabric of Jake’s pants and god he must really not care about getting them messy. He pulls them down carefully, easing the tailored fabric over the bulge of his erection and swell of his ass cheeks. Jake rolls his hips and Bradley shifts forward, wraps his hand around Jake’s erection and his own, encourages Jake’s fingers to do the same and swallows the gasping breath made against his mouth.

                He’d prefer to be naked, to have Jake naked, but he is also all about fulfilling all of Jake’s wants and needs. Is glad Jake’s not holding back going for what he wants and knows it’s because they’ve got a decade of open and honest communication as a foundation even if their few later years of communication weren’t quite up to the same standard. He thinks they’re both there now. He runs his other hand over Jake’s ass, glad it’s bare now, runs a teasing finger between the cheeks, fully expects to feel lube but more surprised by the feel of firm silicon. A plug. He groans and pushes on it, feels Jake’s body jerk against him, his smile against his lips.

                “Oh my god Jake…”

                “Told you. Want it hard.”

                “Yeah. Okay. Fuck. Turn around.”

                He pushes Jake so he’s bracing himself on his forearms, ass sticking out, a strip of flesh framed by his jacket on his torso and covering his flank and most of his ass, the pants tight around his thighs where Jake has spread his legs to stop them from falling but also to give Bradley some room to just look. The plug is dark blue and he taps at it, wonders how long Jake’s has had it in. Waiting for him to come home.

                “Fuck.”

                He tugs on the plug, pulling it so the broadest bit is stretching Jake’s hole, then he pushes it back in, rubs his cock against the swell of Jake’s ass cheek and swallows roughly.

                “Fuck you’re gorgeous like this.”

                “Want to be gorgeous on your cock, come on…”

                He huffs in amusement but he’s achingly hard now, wants to press into the tight heat and give Jake exactly what he wants. Just because he needs to, for his own peace of mind, he drags the plug all the way out and then pushes it back in, over and over, watching with hypnotized fascination as Jake’s body opens and then closes around it, all while Jake swears at him and thrusts against nothing. He grabs the lube, uses it on the plug and spreads more on his cock, isn’t going to give Jake any warning.

                On the next pull out he presses in with his cock, feels the resistance give way to slick tight heat and he moans Jake’s name as he pushes forward, fingers digging into Jake’s ass, little circles of white looking like halos around each fingertip as he just keeps pushing and pushing. He pulls back slowly, controlled, and Jake lets out a shuddering breath that is partly his name. He presses forward again, leaning forward with his entire body so he can kiss the side of his head, whisper into his ear.

                "Going to mess you up…"

                "Please…"

                He moves firmly, not slow and soft, but it’s also not as fast as Jake likely wants, not yet. There’s a difference between hurting him and making sure he feels this later though. He curls one of his hands in Jake’s hair, the other squeezing an ass cheek possessively, Jake’s legs spread as far as they can within the confines of his pants, probably stretching the limit of the cotton holding the seams together. He knows Jake probably won’t care if the pants rip a little, not at the seams. Those can be mended.

                It’s only five or six firm slides, his pelvis pressed tight against Jake’s ass, balls catching on his bunched up pants than Jake jerks and presses back with more force, little grunting sound the tell that Bradley was waiting for. He’s glad Jake can’t see the smug grin on his face, wouldn’t at all work in his favor right now. He pulls back and snaps his hips forward, knows that this is what Jake was angling for, digs his fingers into the flesh of his ass and hips, pulls him toward him as he thrusts forward. Knows he’s likely leaving little bruising marks, that’s also part of what Jake wants.

                He lets himself lose it a little, the feeling of Jake around him and under his fingers, the sight of his cock sliding into his ass and the ass almost hidden by the crisp white fabric, doesn’t know if he’s imagining the smell of starch used to make them stiff, the sound of flesh slapping but also muffled by the fabric. His khakis are sticking but he doesn’t care, can feel his orgasm approaching in the tight twirling sensation in his gut, building heat. Sex with Jake always makes him feel so good, glad to be alive all over again and that they found each other.

                Jake is making little gasping sobs, none of the half-formed words he’s managing are coherent. He’s dropped to his chest against the back of the sofa, pressing his ass back and Bradley knows he’s close, his body taut with pressure. He's gorgeous. His. He moves faster, pace increasing as he watches and feels Jake’s body tighten, tighten, tighten. He moves a hand around to Jake’s chest, presses his fingers into the ribbons there. He pulls back and thrusts in deeper, repeating the movement, using the full range available without pulling out completely.

                “Bradley… ah…ah…"

                “Come on Jake. Make a mess.”

                He increases his pace, can see Jake’s arm jerking, meaning his hand is working his cock, pumping furiously, and then he's coming, hand still moving as he comes and Bradley doesn't stop, keeps thrusting as he watches Jake’s body jolt and twitch and then feels the sudden crest of his own orgasm wash through him and he groans loudly, presses against Jake and moves in slow grinding circles as it shudders through him. He kisses the side of Jake’s face, wraps an arm around him and he smiles, lets them have the quiet for now. Know the snark will start back soon enough, although if he’s fucked Jake well enough he might be spared a few hours or even a day.

                “You know, if this is the welcome I get every time I get back from being deployed I’m going to start looking forward to leaving you. Only so I get to come back to you.”

                “Mmm,” Jake says and Bradley grins so wide he has to smash his lips together to hold back the little bubble of laughter that wants to escape.

                “Sleepy huh?”

                “Yeah. I’ve been looking forward to that for weeks and been fantasizing about it for years.”

                “Oh… sorry I made you wait so long. You think we should invest in a set of uniforms solely for fucking around in?”

                “No. I want you to look at me and know you’ve fucked me in it.”

                Bradley groans, his groan echoed by Jake as he slowly pulls out. He steps out of his pants after toeing off his shoes, feels weird being half-dressed. Then he rubs his hands down Jake’s back and thighs, gathers him up and directs him toward the bedroom. Yeah, he’s definitely going to end up with a conditioned response to seeing Jake in his whites.

                “I might need to invest in some sewing lessons.”

                He bullies Jake into the shower with him, amused that he’s so soft and tired, kisses him and lets his hands roam everywhere under the guise of getting clean. It’s nice and reaffirming after their months apart and feels like a type of homecoming.

                “Thank you…” Jake murmurs, forehead resting against his neck and Bradley doesn’t hesitate in kissing him again.

                “Mmm, such a hardship. You really put me out having me do all that.”

                “That was so good.”

                “Come on, bed…”

                They dry off, and he’s well aware that there are pieces of various uniforms strewn through the house, but it’s a tomorrow problem. He lies down and pulls Jake into his arms, lets himself be bullied into rolling so Jake can spoon up behind him and hold him, reaches over to turn off the bedside light.

                “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you,” Jake says quietly against his neck, voice so quiet like he doesn’t want to wake him. As if he’s ever fallen asleep that quickly.

                “You literally just thanked me…” Bradley says, amusement lacing his voice because Jake gets loopy when he’s tired and he’s not the one who has been deployed.

                “Shut up. I’m being serious. I mean back in the beginning. Like when we first started chatting online. I’m thanking you for that.”

                “Oh.”

                “Yeah. You were… nice. And good. You made me feel less alone in the world. So thank you.”

                “You’re welcome,” Bradley replies quietly, because they’ve spoken about it obviously, often and it’s something that they sometimes fall back on, writing things down when they’re feeling especially vulnerable. Written words carry more meaning for them, heavier with more thought and intent. Their tempers making spoken words too harsh, spoken too quickly. They know this about each other now and it fills him with confidence that they can overcome anything and everything thrown their way.

                “You look really good in your dress whites.”

                “Mmm. So do you,” Jake says and Bradley has to grin again, because he wasn’t even wearing his whites.

                “Thought you didn’t have a uniform kink.”

                “I don’t. I have a you kink.”

                “Oh. I see. Good to know.”

                “Next time we’re both in our whites will you fuck me again?”

                He groans, yeah, definitely going to have a conditioned response.

                “You don’t want to fuck me instead?”

                “I don’t care, just… can we?”

                “Of course. You know that.”

                God, he’s never going to be able to say no to him.

                “Promise?”

                “Promise.”

THE END

[ramblingoak]

Napping With An Outlaw

~ A special edition of Naps With Copia ~

For @da-rulah 💙 who requested a special nap with cowboy!Mary Goore

Mary Goore x Reader

While obviously not Copia this is similar to the Naps With Copia series. Just a nice soft nap with the cowboy!Mary Goore from my fic The Cardinal's Bride. You do not need to read that at all to enjoy this!

Warnings: Brief descriptions of blood and stitches, Mary is a terrible patient (and a tease), sfw, 1,400 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)

“What the hell, Goore?!”

You had finally finished with your shift in the saloon.  A long day of filling drinks and slapping hands away when they got too close.  All you wanted was to wash off and crawl into bed.  A bed that you had been daydreaming about for most of the day.  Except right now your bed was occupied with the last person you wanted to see.

Especially since they were bleeding everywhere.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Goore.  Why are you here?”  You took a few steps closer, your eyes widening a bit when you saw the gash on their head.  “And what the fuck happened?”

“Ran into an old friend.”  When you crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him Mary sighed,  “We had a little disagreement.”

“I can tell.  So, why are you here ruining my sheets?”  Mary looked a little sheepish then, picking at a tear on their pants before looking back up at you.  “The pout isn’t gonna work on me, Goore.”

“What will?”

“Nothing.  I am tired.  Too tired to deal with you bleeding all over my things.  Get out.”

“Oh come on!  You owe me!”

“Like hell I do, remember a few months ago when you came crawling back here after running into that Cardinal guy again?”  Mary winced and became very interested in the hole in his pants again.  “You’re kidding me.”

“This time wasn’t my fault.”

“Uh huh.”  You sighed and took a few steps closer, reaching out to prod at the wound on Mary’s head.  They hissed and tried to jerk away but you grabbed their chin to keep them still.  “Stop being a baby.”

“Stop poking me!”

“Do you want my help or not?”  Mary finally relented, staying still and leaning into you a little bit.  “Thank you.  Geez Mary, did you get hit by a rock or something?”

“A frying pan.”

“A fry–you know what, I don’t wanna know.  Alright, lean back ok?  I’m going to go get some clean water and the sewing kit from the Doc.”  

You ignored Mary’s groan, quickly leaving your room and heading down the hall.  The Doc would be down at the tables this time of the night so it was easy to slip into his room and grab his kit.  After getting a job here it wasn’t long before you were helping out all over the place.  While the town was relatively quiet there still was the odd bar fight or even a random shoot out from time to time.  Enough action to warrant hiring someone just in case.

When you made it back to your room Mary was still on your bed.  For a moment you were frozen, worried that they had been hurt a lot worse than you had thought.  You dropped the kit and rushed over to your bed, your hands landing on Mary’s chest and shaking him.  Mary wasn’t yours by any means, you had no doubt Mary never had trouble finding a warm bed no matter where they were.  But that didn’t stop your heart from plummeting when you thought they might be gone.

It didn’t stop you from wishing things were different.

“Ow, ow, ow!  What the shit?!”  Mary shook themselves awake, immediately swatting at your hands to get you to stop shaking him.  “I am injured here!  You’re supposed to be fixing me, not making things worse!”

Pinching their nipple wasn’t something the Doc would recommend but hearing Mary’s indignant squawk was worth it.

“Just making sure you’re alive.”  

You smiled when Mary groaned and dropped back against the bed.  They had definitely been through the ringer, whatever had happened.  You couldn’t imagine an outlaw such as The Cardinal using a frying pan of all things, but you supposed anything could be a weapon in the right hands.  Mary was thankfully still when you began cleaning the wound on their forehead.  The blood was caked in their hair so you did your best to clean it without having a tub to dunk them in.

Maybe you could talk them into a bath tomorrow.

“That feels nice.”  They were practically purring as you let your fingers rub against their scalp, trying to avoid the gash.  It would definitely need at least a few stitches.  “I knew I came to the right place.”

“I’m glad you came here too.”  That got you a lazy smile, the one that had lured you into Mary’s orbit to begin with.  “Time for the stitches.”

Mary whimpered, clenching their eyes shut as you got to work.  The gash wasn’t that bad but you knew how vain Mary could be.  It would look a lot better after this and they’d certainly whine about it a lot less.  The whole thing was over in a few minutes and after tugging Mary into a sitting position you helped them out of their shirt to clean up the rest of them as best you could.

“Mmm, I knew you’d try to get me out of my clothes.”

“You caught me, Goore.  That’s what I wanted to do the minute I saw you in my bed.”

“Anything else?”  Mary grunted when you tugged on their boots, chucking them across the room so you wouldn’t trip on them in the morning.  Their pants were next and you groaned with the effort it took to tug the stupidly tight things off their legs.  “Well, sweetheart?”

Mary was grinning at you, the only thing covering them the sheet they had pulled over their lap.  It was an attempt at modesty you weren’t used to, typically Mary spent most of their time in your room naked.  Not that you minded but it was pretty obvious by the way Mary was squinting and the yawn they just let out that Mary was in no condition for anything but a thorough cuddle.

“Actually yeah, there’s one other thing I’d like to do with you.”  Mary kept the grin as you moved closer, their hands going to your waist when you got onto the bed next to them.  You leaned forward and pressed a kiss over the stitches before dropping a few more across their face.  The strength seemed to leave Mary’s body then and you wrapped your arms around their shoulders and tugged them back down onto the bed.  “Let’s take a nap.”

“That’s not very sexy.”

“Neither is having you bleed everywhere.”

“Not bleeding any more.”

“Yeah but it’s hard to kiss you when you’re yawning constantly.”

“Other things besides my mouth you cou–ow!  Fine!  Ok, ok I’m sorry.”  Mary let out a pained groan when you pulled your fingers away.  “Pinching an injured man, does Doc do that?”

“No, but he also doesn’t kiss his patients either.”  You reached down and pulled the blanket up over you both, your eyes trailing over Mary’s body as it disappeared underneath the fabric.  They had some new scars since you saw them last and you made a note to ask about them whenever Mary was feeling better.  For right now rest was the most important thing.  “Go to sleep Mary.”

“Hmm, I guess.”  They wiggled around in your bed, wrapping their arms around you and tugging you so your back was against their chest.  Mary’s breath ruffled the hair next to your ear making you shiver.  Their arms tightened around you in response and you couldn’t help but smile, letting yourself relax and enjoy the feeling.  “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Mary’s voice was muffled against so you turned your head to try and catch their eyes.  

“What?”  

Those gorgeous green eyes of his sluggishly opened and they gave you a lazy smile before repeating themselves.

“When I wake up?  You still gonna be here?”

“Of course, Mary.”  They let out a soft hum, tugging you back against their chest.  You felt their breath evening out as they began to fall asleep and while you were tired yourself you couldn’t help but tease them one last time.  “It’s my bed anyway.”

It was Mary’s turn to pinch you, quickly followed by his fingers digging into your sides and tickling you.  After you screeched trying to get away an unfortunately aimed elbow had him groaning and demanding mercy.  You turned in Mary’s arms, humming as you brushed their hair out of their face.  

“Terrible bedside manner.”

“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Goore.”  You kissed their pouting lips, their cheeks and their forehead until Mary settled down again, their breath evening out once more.  Right when you were on the edge of sleep yourself you smiled against Mary’s chest, murmuring a promise into their skin before sleep took you,  “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

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[samuelsdean]

The Cure to Injuries

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you most definitely didn’t think that the most effective cure to a bruise is a gentle kiss placed on it.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 1.8k

author's notes: this is the first fic i have ever written since my stay on wattpad during grade school. so, forgive me for any mistakes & cheesiness that bled into it. spencer is too cute and he deserves more softness in his life. anyway, i hope you'll enjoy what you're about to read as much as i enjoyed writing it. i hope you'll like & reblog if you find this fic good. please do tell me if you want me to write more because i will!

GROWING UP, YOU’VE ALWAYS KNOWN YOU WANTED TO DO SOMETHING TO HELP PEOPLE. The first job you thought of was becoming a teacher. However, you realized that making lesson plans and dealing with naughty kids weren’t your thing. 

The next one was becoming a lawyer. But, you’ve had enough of seeing your dad being buried in paperwork and your family telling you, "You’d be a great lawyer! You literally enjoy debating with everyone."

Then, you thought of becoming a doctor. You were good at science, and you found the human body interesting. That was your dream until you had to see your friends vomit literal bile on the sidewalk and have their stomachs pumped after a night of drinking. After that, you didn’t think you could deal with vomit and other possible human excretions in the future.

Luckily, one sunny day, your brightest idea of what you wanted your future to be like finally came to you. You wanted to work for the FBI. You’ve always been a bit too interested in criminal justice, but at the same time, you wanted to fuse it with your interest in science. So, you’ve decided that becoming a profiler is your end goal.

You just didn’t think about how becoming one could involve getting bruised and battered, possibly even shot at and blown up, and you most definitely didn’t think that the most effective cure to a bruise is a gentle kiss placed on it.

"Ow! It’s good you aren’t the medical doctor kind of doctor because your patient would definitely file a complaint against you." 

You huffed and puffed, as you gingerly sat on the ambulance, accompanied by your co-worker, Dr. Spencer Reid. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at you as he continued prodding you for other injuries. 

The FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU, has been your workplace for almost four years now. You never thought you’d get here after you realized that you don’t only need brains to become a profiler but also brawn. Fortunately for you, you were too smart for the FBI to pass up on, and, well, you at least passed your physical exams—albeit barely but still enough to get to where you are now. Oh, the dream!

Where you are right now, despite that, is definitely not the dream. You were presently black and blue after being the one to take down and make the arrest of the unsub who had abducted children in Kentucky as surrogates for her deceased child. Despite your injuries, the day ended on a positive note. All the children are going home to their parents alive, and that’s all you could ever ask for. Well, that, and the incessant flocking of your co-worker, who just so happened to be the person with whom you have harbored romantic feelings for quite some time now.

"What you did was stupid, Y/L/N! You could’ve gotten killed, going in there like you’re bulletproof or something," Reid exclaimed, complete with the hand gestures and the word vomit when he’s excited or worried. "Did you forget what happened five months, seven days, and three hours ago? You got shot in the arm!"

In this case, you’re positive he’s about to pass out from all the talking and lack of breathing.

"You know, Reid," You chuckled in amusement and said, "I’m more concerned about you keeping track of the exact date and time I got injured. Are you sure you’re doing that out of concern for me as your coworker, or is it because you secretly have feelings for me?"

The doctor paled, his pouty lips opening and closing like those of a fish, swimming in the depths of the ocean.

"W-what?! What do you mean I have feelings for you?"

That made your heart twitch, and not in a good way. You knew the doctor couldn't reciprocate your feelings. He just happened to have a phenomenal memory. He can’t help but store random information; he has no choice but to remember. But, you can’t help yourself. A tiny part of you still yearns for him to return your feelings. Oh well, you’d rather have him as your friend than nothing at all. But, a little teasing won’t hurt, right?

"I’m kidding, Reid," you snickered, "I know you know that piece of information because of that eidetic memory of yours or whatever."

"It’s not just because of that, you know," Reid sighed.

That gave you pause. It seemed like your world stopped turning and nothing else mattered. It couldn’t be, you thought, there’s no way he likes you back. You’re you, and he’s this otherworldly guy. You can’t even believe he’s real.

"What?" You chuckled nervously, tugging at your ear gently, "What are you saying, Spencer?"

Spencer sighed and frowned, "I know I was the reason you got shot that day, Y/N. I saw the glint in your eye when you thought the best way to save me from getting shot was to push me out of the way and shield me. And that was a stupid move, by the way."

Your jaw dropped. You were about to say something, but Spencer beat you to it.

"Let me finish first," He said, raising his index finger as if to say I still have a lot to say, "It’s stupid because you almost got yourself killed. I was about to move out of the way when you covered for me and you got hurt! You got hurt, Y/N! How was I supposed to live with myself if you ended up dying that day because of me? How, Y/N?"

"But I didn’t! I’m here, Reid." You’re scowling now and about to rant Spencer’s ear off. " What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I wanted to save you that day? Because I’m not!"

You know that what you did that day was incredibly stupid of you. What Reid was saying was true. You could have died that day, but you were too selfish to admit that. You were so selfish that you couldn’t imagine living a life without Spencer Reid in it if you hadn't pushed him out of the way and ended up hurting yourself for it. And you have had no regrets to this day about doing it.

"That’s the thing, Y/N," Reid was almost full-on shouting now: "No matter how much you end up getting hurt to protect the people around you, you don’t care! Did you really think I’d appreciate what you did for me if you ended up seriously getting hurt, or worse, dead?"

Your vision is getting blurry from the unshed tears now. You love Reid so much, but he wouldn’t get it. He would never see you as more than just a coworker. More than a friend.

"No, Spencer," you sniffled, looking directly at him now, "I know you wouldn’t have appreciated it if that happened. Call me selfish, but I care for you too much to ever let anything hurt you and regret what I did."

You stood up from where you were sitting and were about to head to the SUV where you could be alone before driving back to the precinct, but Spencer didn’t let you. He held your wrist, pulled you back, and groaned.

"God, you’re insufferable!" He exclaimed, "Don’t you get it? I care about you, Y/N!"

"I know, Reid," you smiled wistfully, "you care about me because I’m your friend."

"No, I don’t." 

This made you stop in your tracks and stare at him intently.

"I don’t care about you as a friend, Y/N. I never did."

"Oh."

Reid sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I don’t expect you to love me back—"

"I love you." This made Reid stop fully. "I have loved you since the day you talked my ear off about Doctor Who. I have loved you since that time I woke up in the middle of the night back in Atlanta and ended up knocking on your door because I couldn't go back to sleep. You told me you'd always be here for me."

"I love you, Spencer Reid."

Before you could overthink your sudden confession, Spencer held your uninjured cheek with his slender hand—and the next thing you know, he is kissing you. 

You couldn't help but gasp. You were startled by the suddenness. His lips were warm and soft, almost pillowy against yours. Warmth blossomed in your chest as Spencer's lips brushed against yours tentatively. The smell of his hair—like the smell of early mornings after a night of rain—was dizzying. He smelled so clean and fresh, like soap, with a hint of the smell of a new book.

You felt lightheaded as he swiped his tongue against your lips, asking for entrance, which you gave him. You could taste the hint of sweet coffee he drank just minutes before the takedown. You could feel the soft tickle of his breath and his fingers as he carded it through your hair while you breathed each other in.

You never imagined kissing Spencer could feel like this.

Regretfully, your bruised cheek was starting to take the brunt of all the snogging. You had to pull away because you were running out of breath, so you tapped his cheek. Spencer wasn't taking the hint at all, which made you giggle—cute. Having no other choice, you held both of his cheeks and pulled away.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, silly," you chortled; he's so cute. "I just ran out of breath, and my bruised cheeks hurt. It isn't your fault. Don't worry." You assured him.

Spencer sighed a breath of relief, which made you want to tease him.

"I know what can stop my bruises from hurting, though."

Eager to please you, the doctor was about to start searching for possible medical remedies to your injuries, not knowing you had something else in mind.

"You could plant a kiss on them." You grinned widely as you saw Spencer's neck start reddening, "I'm kidding, Spence," you said, "You don't have to—"

You didn't expect Spencer—of all people—to be the type of person who would shower you with kisses if you asked him, but he is. He started planting light kisses on the purple blotches on your face—not caring that anyone from the local police to your workmates from the bureau could see you. 

"I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N," Reid said, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he brushed his lips against yours once again.

You never thought the best day of your life would be the day you get injured. You never thought the best cure for cuts, scrapes, and bruises could be a kiss from the one you love the most—Spencer Reid.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Hiiii 💕💕💕

For the wip game (the highlighted ones)

-❤️🪐

Hello!! For you since you’ve been interested in it for awhile and i promised you a scene ages ago and only just now finished it: big heart, I wanna let it bleed, aka buck joins the team younger fic! Here’s a complete drabble about them running into Phillip on a call…

They’re not in an enclosed space but, somehow, the kid’s laughter is still echoing around them. Bobby tries to bite down on his smile as he calls a vaguely warning “Buck,” though he’s not too worried about professionalism seeing as the surfer — who’s trunks are truly mystifyingly tangled on his board — is cracking up even harder. He’s sort of… hung up there, board stuck nose down in the sand, man dangling up on the back end of it. They seem too far up the beach for a wave to have done this, but what does Bobby know, he’s from a landlocked state.

“Sorry, Cap,” Buck wheezes. “Do we, uh… need the ladder?”

Bobby takes a measured inhale as he hears some kind of frantically smothered squeak sound coming from — is that Chimney? One of the paramedics, anyway — and shakes his head. “I think we can just lower the board down, if you’ll give me a hand. That sound alright to you, sir?”

The surfer gets through a few more wheezing chuckles before he can say “Yeah dude, lower away.”

They manage it pretty smoothly, with him and Buck on either side and Hen and Chim ready to catch the weight of the surfer. Hen starts off the next small round of laughter as she tries to de-tangle the swim trunks to move their vic, but everybody manages to calm down as they get to the actual medical examination.

As Hen and Chimney poke and prod, Buck chatters. “I learned to surf a few years ago, over in the Carolinas.”

“No shit?” The surfer grins. “Like Charleston? I gotta cousin over there.”

“Yeah, Folly Beach sometimes, but mostly went up to the Banks.”

“Sick.” The surfer gestures to where Hen’s wrapping some gauze around his bloodied elbow. “What’s your worst wipeout?”

Buck laughs again, a little delighted sound, always happy to be included. “Oh man- My first time out on the water, like the second wave I ever caught, just tossed me right off completely.” He tugs up his shirt before Bobby dawn shake his head not to, and twists around to show a jagged old scar on his lower back. “Landed on some rocks, needed fourteen stitches.”

The surfer whistles as Hen shakes her head. “I don’t think you’ll need any stitches for this one, but there’s enough debris in there I’m gonna recommend we take you to the hospital so they can get it all out.”

“Sure thing,” the guy says, looking more relaxed than Buck taking a nap on the couch after second helpings of mac and cheese. “Thanks man.”

“No problem,” Bobby says, definitely no trace of a chuckle in his voice no matter the delighted glances his team sends him.

The surfer tries to twist towards Buck once they get him on the gurney, winces, and then just turns his head. “You ever surf out here?”

“Have a few times, but I don't have a board or anything.”

“Man, you should come out and join us! We got a group most weekday mornings, I'm sure somebody could get you set up.”

Buck looks happy as a dog with a bone, glancing at Bobby with a mile wide grin. It's a familiar kind of look, though it takes until they're almost at the ambulance — Buck chatting away all the while — for him to place it, and it nearly makes him stumble when he does. Robert would give him that look when he made a new friend on the playground and got invited to hang out. Please, Dad, can I go? He's sure Buck didn't mean anything by it. Bobby doesn't have that authority in his life, nicknames and Springsteen concerts nothing that adds up to a tangible connection. And the kid- well, he's not a kid. 25 years old, can arrange his own playdates perfectly well. Still, Bobby feels a little off kilter as they load the ambulance.

“Rad, man, see you around.” The surfer is grinning at Buck, two happy little suns shining at each other. “Ask for Stevey,” he says, loosely pointing at himself. Steven Barney, he'd given as his name to dispatch.

Buck smiles, waves goodbye. “I'm-”

“Evan?”

Buck turns like a man in a haunted house, startled at an impossible sound with all the color draining out of him. The apparition takes the appearance of a white man a little older than Bobby, wearing neat, pale clothes and a sort of constipated, caught expression. They see that look on calls sometimes, with men who are going through an emergency with women who are not their wives and who are still trying to pretend they've done nothing at all untoward.

“D-” Buck blinks, a few times, hard. “Dad?”

Bobby can't help joining in Hen and Chin's shared oh shit look. There's not an overly familiar resemblance between the two — perhaps a shared stake in forehead real estate — but the man doesn't refute it. “I'll let you get back to work,” he says, glancing towards the sea, the ambulance, eyes landing briefly on Bobby before jumping away again, startled.

“Wait, wh-” Buck steps forward, hand wandering out in front of him before dropping back to his side. “What are you doing in LA? Did you have- a-a work trip?”

Buck's father clears his throat. “It's Brian’s birthday.”

“Oh,” Buck says, blinking again, rapidly this time, a fish thrown in new water. “He- he lives in California now?”

“No, no,” the man says dismissively, like he doesn't know why anyone on earth would choose to live in California. “He’s retiring early, wanted to make a weekend of it.”

“So-” Buck scrambles, visibly, and it makes Bobby aware of the small audience of first responders (and surfer), so he closes the ambulance door despite Hen and Chim’s wide eyes and shaking heads, and thumps the back so they pull away. Buck doesn’t seem to notice either way. “You’re- you’re here for a few days? We should- we could go get lunch? I-I have to work until tomorrow morning but-”

“It’s a busy weekend,” the man grumbles, doing a motion with his hands almost like he's patting himself down to make sure he has his wallet, the movements of someone making sure they're good to leave. “I won't have the time.”

Buck stands there, looking more wounded than any of the times he's been banged up on calls. “I- haven't seen you in- in like four years-”

“And who's fault is that?” His father laughs dismissively. “If you want to run off and throw your life away you can't complain about it later.”

“I-I didn't, I like what I- I have a job, I- I found…” Buck frowns, and Bobby worries for a moment he's going to cry out here in front of his father and colleagues and the beach goers of Santa Monica. He holds it together, though. “I like it here, and I like my job, and I'd like to tell you about it-”

“I won't have the time, Evan.” He doesn't even consider for a moment backing out of his obvious lie. “You can call next week if you want. Your mother will be glad to know you're in one piece.”

“Okay,” Buck says, shoulders sinking down and turning in. He goes from a 6’3” wall of muscle to a lost child right before Bobby’s eyes, hell of a magic trick. “Sorry,” Buck says, as Bobby does some math, works backwards a little. Fourteen stitches, definitely more recent than four years ago. He thinks about the laws of physics, or at least traffic, he’d break if he knew Robert was bleeding in an ocean somewhere in the world. “Sorry,” Buck says again — why, why should he be apologizing — and nods a few times. “I’ll- I’ll make sure to call.”

His father nods back. “We still work, so-”

“Yeah, after five, I know.”

“And your mother has book club on Tuesdays.”

“Okay.” Smaller, and smaller. Bobby remembers reading Alice in Wonderland to Brook, wonders how big Buck’s pool of tears is to shrink him so much. “I’ll just-” Buck clenches his fists, just for a moment, and then hides them in his pockets. “I’ll just try. If you’re busy you don’t have to pick up.”

Oh, God, give an inch and they’ll take a mile. Buck’s father looks visibly relieved at the offer of plausible deniability. “Alright.” He doesn’t move to hug his son, doesn’t even reach out for a handshake, staying a careful several feet away. “I’m sure you need to get back to your job,” he says, raising eyebrows in Bobby’s direction. It makes him bristle, he doesn’t want to be a forced coconspirator in judging Buck for something he hasn’t even done wrong. Buck wilts even further beside him. His father gives one final nod. “Goodbye, Evan.”

He’s already walking away by the time Buck says “Bye, Dad.”

And then they’re all just standing there. Hen and Chimney went off to the hospital, sure, but there’s still a handful of firefighters lingering around, either trying to make a lot of eye contact or no eye contact at all. Buck stares firmly at the ground. Bobby clears his throat.

“Alright, let's pack it up.” If they were operating under any other circumstance Bobby might compliment his crew for how quickly and quietly they get loaded into the trucks.

The ride back to the station is quiet, too, usual engine chit chat locked in everyone’s throats. Bobby’s pretty sure he sees Nichols subtly and somewhat frantically typing on his phone. Mostly, though, he watches Buck in the rearview. The kid is staring resolutely out the window, but Bobby would bet he’s not seeing a thing. His leg bounces on the seat, and Rodriguez doesn't even do the polite cut-it-out cough. Bobby wonders how many of Buck's stories he's overheard, if he's also now watching them tilt, shift, rearrange in his head. Dumb little boy stuff, skateboard-bike-motorcycle stunts, climbing up trees to fall out of them, all told with class clown energy, wasn't I stupid but wasn't it fun, wasn't it funny? Bobby got up to some shit when he was a kid, trailing after Charlie and taking any ill-advised dare the older kids tossed out to him, but he got hurt and he went home, his mom kissed his scrapes, even his dad would ruffle his hair and grab the first aid kit on his good days. Bobby looks at Buck looking out at nothing and tries to count the broken bones scattered between the big grins and his audience’s corresponding groans, tries to imagine Buck — all his silliness, all his sunshine — going home hurt to parents whose care comes with office hours.

When they pull into the station everyone flees the engine like there’d been a chemical spill, leaving Buck standing alone silhouetted against shiny scarlet paint. Bobby hesitates, one foot still up on the truck bed. He doesn’t want to overstep, but- he can’t stop thinking about how far away Buck’s father stood. The kid deserves someone to come closer. He only wished there was someone better than himself around to do it.

“Hey, kid-”

“I never knew what I did wrong.” Buck is frowning into middle distance, shoulders still tucked in around him. “I- I know I was stupid in- in high school, and college, but-” he looks right at Bobby, eyes wide, and he looks- oh, kid, come home. You’re hurting, come home, you’ll be taken care of, I got a first aid kid at least and I’ll learn to do better than that. “It was always like this- I-” Buck shrugs and here, finally, come the tears. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bobby says, and it's only two steps over to him, and he’s never even casually side hugged this kid before but Buck sinks right into his arms.

“You can’t know that-”

“I can.” Buck’s so tall. Bobby’s not sure the last time he hugged somebody taller than him. He wonders how tall his dad was, looming so large in memory but an unknown in actual imperial measurement. He wonders how tall Robert would’ve gotten. “You were a kid. You were their kid. There’s nothing you could have done that was so bad they shouldn’t have loved you anyway.”

Buck shudders against him, and his shoulder is getting wet, and the ambulance will be back soon and there’s firefighters milling about and, always, work to do.

But they can take a little time here. Bobby’ll bend it around, if he has to. The laws of traffic, the laws of physics. It startles him, scares him a little, but- he’d break them for Buck, too.

[sshadowritestoriess]

Hi hi, can I have some ramattra first time HC’s plzz ily it’ll actually make my week omg 🙏💖

Hiii I hope this is sufficient 🫶

Ramattra’s First Time

Outwardly, he wouldn’t seem nervous in the slightest despite it being clear he needs some guidance

He knows how it works, that much is obvious. But he heavily lacks an understanding on how important foreplay is, and that there’s more that can be done during sex than just rutting against one another— so you’ll just have to show him

You’ll likely have to ask him to slow down a couple of times, and after the third or fourth attempt to stop him from rushing into it, he’d eventually give up on taking the lead

“Now what?” Becomes a popular question when he’s checked off something to your liking.

He’s aware he needs to be gentle during such an intimate activity, a stark contrast to the typical brute force he exerts for most of his daily tasks. But he’s still partially rough in his first tries to touch you— you’ll just need to grab his wrist and tell him to be careful, and he’ll try again

But his excitement and steady rise in confidence will result in quicker and rougher movements now and again. So reminders, reminders. Else he may attempt to break you.

He’d definitely find some difficulty in being vulnerable, letting you touch him to get riled up was not something he had mentally prepared for. It’d be a whiplash of internal conflict over how terrifying it is (who would have thought he’d allow human hands poke and prod at him to elicit pleasure) and how nice it feels.

Omnics have far more control over the sounds they can produce and when. It doesn’t take much effort for Ramattra to stifle small noises of encouragement, but in such an exposed and trusting state it is extremely easy to catch him off guard. Dragging a nervous grunt out of him will make him raise a hand to cover his throat, where his vocalizer hides. (He didn’t know he could even make that sound.)

He’d be easily embarrassed if you compliment him on anything— how he looks, how well he’s doing. He thanks you every time very politely, but you can practically hear how bashful he is in the stammer of his tone, as much as he tries to hide it in his body language.

He’d have a preference for the ‘main event’ to be in missionary for his first time, so he can see your face and watch carefully to make sure he’s doing everything right.

He’d express his gratitude to you as he sinks in, agonizingly slow, for being patient with him and trusting an omnic of his model to be vulnerable with you. Maybe a bit cheesy, but he was mostly running words out to keep himself from rushing his full length in with a single shove. A self-induced distraction so he doesn’t harm you by accident.

He would invite you to keep your hands on his chest or the silver handles on his hips, just in case, to give him a small push if he does anything too rough. He was designed with heightened senses— even the smallest amount of deliberate pressure could be detected, so he’d know to take it down a notch.

But he’d do just fine when he starts thrusting, small and shallow rolls of his hips controlled by a surge of nervousness to perform well. He may even begin narrating what this feels like for him; “It’s… like I’m on fire.”

He’d become addicted to your warmth very quickly, hiking your ass higher and pulling your thighs further over his while he arches in closer to you, burying his faceplate into your shoulder and relishing in the way his sensors alerted him toward the rise in temperature.

He’d cage you underneath him with his arms, eerily quiet— focused— on how much warmer he could make you, already experimenting with angle of his hips as he slows his pace and rides into you with differing strokes.

And then your walls flutter around him and that would be the first time you hear him moan. This shaken, breathy sound that rumbles from his upper chest, and releases the air vents in his shoulders with a quiet hiss.

He’d notice your reaction to the sound instantaneously— not only seen in the reaction of your face, but additionally in the way your internals hug around him and nearly pull him back inside. He’d be elated that his voice could cause such a response, and he’d become a lot more noisy for you after that

Ramattra would find himself asking every so often “is this alright?”, and you may have to try and stay focused enough to be able to reassure him, or else he’ll stop. It’s hard to tell if he pauses because he’s worried when you don’t respond, or because he’s being smug knowing you can’t.

If you encourage him to try going faster, he might hesitate. But with further praise, he may comply, trying to be quicker while being just as gentle as before.

He’s an extremely quick learner, however. One correct response to anything he’s attempted is immediately memorized and saved, and he will try certain things again exactly as he had the first time to get the best reactions out of you. His first time quickly begins to seem like it’s his hundredth time, becoming an expert in just under ten minutes.

So quickly molded to your liking, trying things you would like, toying with your body like a plaything to earn more praise and encouragement. For Ramattra, it’s so much less about the euphoria he feels from you, and more about how long he can please you before you come undone.

But he still would like an orgasm, so he may get a little selfish toward the end of the exercise. He would whisper to you to please forgive him, pushing into you more rough than before, hammering wave after wave of pleasure into himself until he’s completely overwhelmed his systems.

You will literally have to brace yourself the first time he ‘cums’ inside you, his entire frame would tremble and shake while his limbs go rigid and lock up, until he eventually collapses on top of you with a deep sigh as he’s lulled into a brief unconscious state. But he would be up again in just a handful of seconds, and he’d apologize once more

And, being a machine with a nonexistent sense of stamina, he will make it up to you again and again if only you wish for it. Sex turned out to be a lot more fun than he had imagined, especially with a human, and he’d love nothing more than to show you how eternally grateful he is toward you for letting him play.

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

DAI x BG3 matchups I need to see. I’m not good at writing crossovers nor am I clever at all. This is very much non-exhaustive and very much not the end point of these characters’ potential interactions with each other.

Karlach + Sera + Iron Bull

The absolute chaos. The absolute CHAOS. A powerhouse. Putting aside Karlach’s demon heritage aside, she and Iron Bull tossing back tankards and swapping war stories as vets that have been dealt shitty hands but continue to chug along despite it. Karlach and Sera connecting over growing up mainly on the streets and having soft spots for little ragamuffins. Plus they all talk about women’s tits a lot. I feel Sera would find Karlach sexy and funny.

Wyll + Cole

Like Solas and Varric, Wyll would take to Cole because he recognizes Cole’s desire to help others, even if his methods are a bit unorthodox. He would recognize Cole’s soul as gentle and kind, and his efforts to atone for the murders he committed in the Tower as proof of his humanity. He will join the Uncle-Dad Duo and complete the Uncle-Dad Trio. Cole would gravitate toward Wyll’s goodness in turn, and probably tell Wyll that him making a contract wasn’t foolish because in the end he saved a city, and if that was his desire, then he committed no sin in doing so.

Solas + Astarion

The messiest shit can only occur, and my messy bitch self wants to see it. Watch as Solas’s upright and stiff demeanor utterly bores Astarion. Watch as Astarion’s selfishness, penchant for violence, and casual disregard for the well-being of others utterly pisses Solas the fuck off. Watch as Astarion yawns or interrupts Solas’s lectures with a “yes, yes, we get it” or the most dramatic eyeroll and overwrought “ugh”. Watch as Solas and Astarion immediately sniff each other out as liars and schemers from first jump and hold each other at a distance, the tension spiking at random moments early in them knowing each other where the other prods at their falsehoods. Watch as Astarion is dumbfounded by Solas expressing his condolences to Astarion upon learning of Astarion’s enslavement to his master, because how could a man who holds such reproach for him still manage to feel pity? ‘It is not pity, but compassion, which you are at liberty to reject. That is your right as a free man, just as it is my right to feel it.’

In the best case scenario, Astarion calms down eventually, teasing Solas but still treating him like that friend of a friend that you grudgingly admit is useful. I think a part of Astarion would find Solas’s penchant dislike of him funny.

Vivienne + Astarion + Dorian

We are all doomed. The haughtiness will be scarcely contained. Dorian and Astarion are definitely flirting. Fucking? Not sure. But definitely flirting and enjoying killing bad guys, playfully arguing over wine, snickering over Solas’s shabby dress.

Shadowheart + Leliana

Tools forged to serve a religious order? Check. Crisis of faith? Check. Subterfuge preferred? Check.

Lae’zel + Cassandra

Soldiers recognizing soldiers. 🫡 ‘Why are the men around me so annoying.’

Minsc & Boo + Cole

Cole might be able to understand Boo! If not his speech, then his little hamster feelings. Minsc might be wary of Cole for the information that he manages to glean from Minsc’s head, but his unquestioned understanding of Boo would probably smooth that bump in the road, right?

Solas + Gale

A friend remarked that Gale would remind Solas too much of himself (prideful, ambitious) and thus they would not get along. There is that. I think that Gale would get a small smile out of Solas every now and then with his quips, because Solas himself is clearly a fan of banter; Gale would provide more of the energy in the same way Dorian does with his and Solas’s more civil banters. Gale and Solas also both hold a great measure of respect and adoration for magic as a force, an element, a piece of entirety that is beautiful for its own existence. Not simply just what magic can do for them as wielders of magic, but what it is and how it does so much to enhance a person’s understanding and interaction with the world, as precious as sight or sound.

Minthara + Iron Bull

Oh she will have him cowed in a goddamn minute. Oh man. Oh no. ‘Yes ma’am’, ‘no ma’am’.

Minthara + Cassandra

Oh this would be so interesting. Disciplined, serious bulwarks with little time for silly little men—Minthara would share Cassandra’s frustration and lack of amusement with Varric, though Cassandra would consider her suggestions to maim him.

Solas + Halsin + Iron Bull

I see potential here. Iron Bull and Solas already have a dynamic of Iron Bull’s “I have a pretty good idea of who you are, and it’s a liar” toward Solas, while Solas grudgingly respects Iron Bull’s strength and mental acumen in the same way you would respect a very intelligent bear—do not draw attention more than necessary, but stand tall lest it smell fear. Halsin feels like a softer Iron Bull, a mediation between the two. Like Iron Bull, his stature and build belies a thoughtful and sharp mind. Like Solas, he sees everything as connected, feeding into the other as part of a system, and would too feel a sense of loss at magic and mundane being so dramatically split as it is in Thedas—an aberration against what is natural. Also like Iron Bull, he’s frank with his sexuality. I’m certain the two would swap stories over booze. The trio would be arguably the three most mature and experienced in a room in any given situation. Not only that, but Halsin is far more actively in touch with his heart and honest with his feelings than Solas or Iron Bull. The latter two very much care about their loved ones, but with Solas it is under the surface and with Iron Bull it’s mixed up in cultural trappings of romance not being a “thing” in his culture, and thus both struggle with their feelings. Halsin however is very much in touch. There is next to nothing obstructing what his head and heart wants. He listens to his heart and he follows it. Solas and Iron Bull could learn a thing or two from him, tbh

Also I feel like Iron Bull, Halsin, and even Solas have a bit of a brat tamer streak in them so there’s that

Also Astarion would outright reject the notion of drinking Cullen’s blood cuz it smells like battery acid.

[mokutone]

Hey I hope it’s okay to message you! Just wanted to check in on how you were doing… I wanted to DM you but I’m way too shy, I wanted to let you know— in 2023, after four years of complete silence, your art inspired me to start creating again. From 2019 to 2024, I was completely run dry. I didn’t create a single piece of art! But seeing your wonderful drawings, the way your compositions seemed to breathe life into your art, and your gorgeous use of colors… helped me to start creating art once more! It’s almost a year since then, and I’ve still been steadily creating. Thank you so much for bringing joy back into my life!! I had forgotten that it existed all along… I appreciate you and your art so much, I hope that you have many happy things to smile about. Peace and love 🫛🤍

i've gotten a handful of asks gently prodding me to make sure i'm alive (theyre very sweet) and i'm answering this one only bc it touched me deeply if i wait a while to answer it i know the asker won't get alerted so! 1) it's definitely okay to message me! but, that said: i probably will not reply to most asks for a very long time (sorry!) 2) that is, i think, the sweetest thing you could possibly say to me—maybe to any artist. i'm really, really, profoundly glat that my art made you want to make art too!!! other artists have done this for me when i was stuck, and i am eternally grateful to them, and now eterernally grateful to you, for finding what you needed in my art, that's a beautiful thing, and it's an honor as an artist!! i hope that somebody is brave and kind enough to tell you that your art inspired them to create—its a feeling like nothing else. i'm SO, so glad, that art is bringing you joy again!!! 3) (as for how i am doing—life continues, in its own way. most things are not good, but some are! i've made a promise with myself not to post on this blog until i sort out some unfortunately very real life difficulties, and.......it's been a year and i'm still working on it! life continues. good days and bad days. i suppose i'm also in a bit of a silent period of my own at the moment, in many ways! it happens to everyone, and it'll end eventually for me too)

and, with that said—let the silence resume for now.

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The aftermath of injury leads to a desire for comfort.

Warning: Mentions of injury, hospitals, probably incorrect info on concussions, mentions of alleged abuse (like for a second but not in great detail), fluff. P.S: Idc if reader is coming off a little childish in the beginning, i said it before and i’ll say it again reader is honestly almost completely based off of me and something about me is that i hate hospitals. I’m a chronically ill girlie and i still despise them, every time ive had to go ive complained—it’s who i am as a person.

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word count: about 2k

Rest

(Master list, Prev Ch, Next Chapter)

“So where to next?” I ask as I buckle my seat, allowing my head to rest finally. I am more than happy to leave behind this apple-loving, pagan-worshiping town.

“‘Bringin’ you to a hospital” Dean answers, starting the car. I jolted up, immediately regretting the action as the pain in my head spiked and my vision wobbled. “Nooo. No. No hospital” I plead, not caring if I sounded pathetic, “I hate hospitals!”

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to go, sweetheart” he quips. “No, please! I’m totally fine, sure I'm a little beat up but nothing a bandaid and sleep can’t fix.”

“You’re not winnin’ this one” he replies with a little half shrug. I turned to Sam, who already had the map out, and pulled open. “Sam, help me.”

“Sorry Y/N, Deans right.”

Dean sighs dramatically, “I love bein’ right.”

“Shut up” Sam half laughs, “Seriously though Y/N, you probably have a concussion. You should get checked out for a definitive answer.”

“Okay, well, Dean he was hit over the head with a gun too.” I try and deflect. Sam turns his head to face me giving me a “really?” look, “He’s also walking and talking fine, and doesn't look like he’s fighting to keep his eyes open.” I thought I was talking and walking just fine despite feeling like everything was spinning and I was doing a wonderful job of ignoring the ringing in my ears.

I open my mouth to make another retort but I don’t get a single sound out before Dean cuts me off, “If you try any of your escapes I'm callin’ your brother.” That shuts me up, I love my brother but he's very protective and will yell at me if it means being safe. I lean back against the soft seats of the car, pouting, I hate hospitals. I catch Dean's eyes staring at my lips in the rearview mirror, “You can pout as much as you want to, ‘still going.”

I know I'm acting like a child but hospitals are the worst, sure the doctors can be nice but there's so much always going on that it's just too overwhelming and they poke and prod at you. And especially as a hunter, you must make such elaborate lies just to be seen.

The dark-haired doctor removes the small yet extremely bright light from my eyes, “You have a minor concussion” she concluded after the many tests she ran, “there's not much we can prescribe you. But you need a lot of rest and to relax, no drinking or crazy activities for at least a week. You can take Advil in 24 hours if the pain is too much.” If the boys were in this curtained-off room they would most certainly say ‘I told you so.’

She suddenly looks a little nervous, staring back at the curtain before looking at me again, speaking quietly, “This is a safe environment, if those boys are hurting you I can help you.” Her eyes slipped to my wrist, of course she saw the bruises and made the connection to restraints. And so much of my appearance from the now cleaned and bandaged wound on my head to my dirt-stained clothes would lead her to that thought.

I tug down my sleeves, trying to cover them, “No! No, they didn't do anything, they would never do that to me, seriously” I insist, eyes wide. She doesn't seem so convinced, “Look” I sigh, “The person who did this is being charged, alright the cops know about all this. The boys I came with did not do this.” It was mostly a lie, of course, but the point was to clear their names, that part was true. She nods, “I’ll be back with your discharge papers.”

She pulls back the curtains, and the second she's out of sight I sigh. I know it's her job but in this case it wasn't helpful, I didn't want any further fights or complications to go on today.

….

I hold a hand up, “I don't want to hear it. Yes, you were right.” Sam’s lips curve up into a smile, “Hey I said I don't wanna hear it” I cut them both off before they could say anything. Dean swings his arm around my shoulder pulling me into his side, “Like I said, ‘love bein’ right.”

It was still early afternoon when we pulled up to the motel. It was just your regular-looking motel, with two floors of rooms to choose from with dingy lighting but I could not be more happy. We all exited the car rather quickly, it had been a long couple of days. I grab my bag meeting the boys by the trunk, Dean distributing our duffle bags. But when he gets to mine he doesn't hand it over, just closes the trunk, “I can carry my own bag, you know.”

He shrugs, “I know.” God, he was a sweetie pie. I study him as he walks just a few steps ahead of me, after everything that transpired I don't think I want to be alone. I wasn't scared per se, I just wanted comfort and I didn't have any stuffed animals packed. I didn't want to be a burden to him, he was probably tired and would want a bed to himself. But maybe I could just hang in their room for a long while.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, stopping to look back at me. Of course, he could practically sense it. He places our bags on the concrete, getting close enough that I could easily breathe him in. He lifts his hands to cup my face gently, he’s been doing that a lot lately. “‘Your head hurtin’?” He was looking down at me so carefully, his green eyes softening as he watched me. I have to remind myself to respond even as my thoughts extinguish each time his thumbs caress my cheeks, careful to pass over the bruises there, “Well yes but that's not…” I don't finish my sentence not having a single idea of what I should say to him. He looks down at me expectantly, just waiting. I wanted to hug him, keep my head buried in his chest even as my head pounded like a bass playing through an amp, but I can’t exactly say that.

I sigh, “Is it okay if…” I swallow, speaking quietly, “Can I stay with you?”

His eyes widened a fraction and if I wasn't looking right up at him I would have missed it entirely. It's not like this was anything new for us, we've cuddled before while watching a movie or something and even slept in the same bed if needed for a hunt. But to ask like this somehow felt so different, so much more personal. “Of course” he answers simply, eyebrows scrunched together as if he was insulted that I would be so hesitant to ask. He lets go of my face, and I immediately miss the steadiness of it all, he takes a single step back but not before grabbing hold of my hand and picking up our duffles to hold in his free hand.

We catch up to Sam in the small lobby, two keys in his hand instead of the usual three. Was it a coincidence that they just didn't have a room I could use or did he just know? I guess it was possible he saw us in the parking lot and figured out what I would want, am I that easy to read?

….

The room was quite nice, the walls were grey with some white detailing. And the beds were big, most likely a queen, with the crisp white blankets and a tall cushioned headboard. Sam walks in first, choosing the bed on the far side of the room, which was predictable at best seeing as Dean preferred being closer to the door out of a sense of protectiveness.

Dean places his duffle on the bed, handing me mine, “You can take a shower first” he says, telling me more than offering. I swing off my messenger bag, placing it on the bed before looking between both boys, “Are you sure?” I was already intruding in their room and his bed I didn't want to take over the bathroom too. They both nod their heads, I mumble thanks before heading there.

I didn’t care to study the bathroom, just wanting to be under the hot water and wash away the dirt and feelings of the day. I turn the shower on, lifting my shirt over my head before having to stop with it halfway off of me to stop the room from spinning. I close my eyes forcing myself to relax and not sway as I stripped down to nothing.

Being naked only made my bruises look worse. My wrists were rubbed raw, painful red marks adorning each one, and my cheeks had dark bruises on them from being punched twice over the span of a couple of days. Never mind the gash on the corner of my forehead, which I’d have to bandage again after the shower, and the subtle black and blues on my side likely from being thrown to the ground.

I swallow hard, I don’t want to think of any of this anymore. I step into the rather small shower, the hot water pouring over my head and down my body taking the tension with it as it went down the drain.

I step out of the steamy bathroom feeling infinitely times better despite the spinning room and hurting head. My hair was wet and clean and felt lighter now that it was no longer dusted with dirt, and I was in comfortable pajamas.

Yes, it wasn’t nighttime yet or time to sleep but that doesn't mean a girl can’t wear comfortable clothes. It was nice to be in pajamas, wearing some white plaid pants and a loose tee with a cute little embroidered bear in the corner and of course an oversized sweater because somehow I was always cold. It was a wonderful yet small feat.

Dean’s sitting up in bed, both boys watching some football game on the small TV. I slump into the bed carefully lying my head down as I get underneath the covers. Dean seemed to study me for a moment, smiling softly, he was probably trying to assess how I felt. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to find, nodding to himself before getting up and heading to the bathroom with a change of clothes. A moment later the shower turns on.

I sink into the bed further, turning away from the TV, I didn’t care enough for sports to want to watch it anyway. The weight of the past few days catch up to me quickly, my eyelids feeling heavier and heavier.

….

The bed beside me suddenly sinks down, and my eyes flutter open being met with Dean’s familiar frame, “Sorry sweetheart didn’t mean to wake you.” I shake my head, I must have been out for just a couple of minutes, “It’s okay” I mumble still on the outskirts of sleep. He gets under the covers, his black shirt accentuating the muscles in his arms as he moves.

Once he situates himself he holds his arms open to me, silently asking if I wanted to get closer. He always seemed to know what I wanted or what I felt, sometimes I feared he knew me too well. I shift closer to him and he meets me halfway pushing me the rest of the way into him.

He practically places my head on his chest, close to his shoulder, his arm closes in on me holding me impossibly closer to him, his hand resting on my waist. His body warmth immediately reaches me, and in his embrace, any fears or anxieties I had the last few days seemed to dissipate. I place a hand on his chest feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. The hand on my waist begins to move slightly, his thumb rubbing slow circles into my side, my heart seems to flutter and I fear I won't be able to move on from this. It is moments like these that I find it hard to keep my feelings to myself, my love seems to bustle in my veins threatening to spill out. And with everything I have in me, I must bottle them back in, even as he places a soft kiss on my forehead and I think my heart just took off flying.

I melt into him, neither of us saying anything–not that we needed to. I can feel his rings on my side and the comforting weight of his hand there, the warmth he let off and his scent of something like pine or maybe it was wood, and just for a moment under the fog of a mild concussion, I imagine a forever like this. Being able to fall asleep each night to his hold and wake with him still there right beside me.