#finally… finally I’ve expressed my love for him in art.. thank god. I was about to explode | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinsandsuccubus · 2 years

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Coming Home to You - Jack Harlow

Context: He's finally home.

Genre: smut, fluff

Word Count: 2k

Pairings: Jack Harlow x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, sexual activity

A/N: This is Part 2 to Piece of You. Please be sure to read that before reading this, as it’ll make more sense.

I’d also like to say thank you so much for 500+ followers. Over the short amount of time I’ve been here, I’ve met so many lovely people and developed friendships. I really appreciate you all and all that this community has offered me.

Please DO NOT ENGAGE if not 18+. Reader's discretion is advised. I am not responsible if YOU CHOOSE to continue.

Masterlist ☽☾

☽ ☾

1 Month before Jack’s Departure for Tour

“Dude, you have to hold still.”

“I can’t, this shit is cold.”

“If you keep moving, you’re gonna fuck it up.” Urban grunted out, holding the container that surrounded Jack’s dick.

The shit he did for love.

He was going on tour this upcoming month and he wanted to leave a piece of him behind for you to have.

He was excited about making the mold for you to use while he was away, however, he did not anticipate how much trouble it would be to make the mold. He had already fucked up twice in the process and had to express ship two more molds, an extra just in case.

Needless to say, Urban decided to help his best friend with the process of crafting the piece of art. However, he did not anticipate how squeamish Jack would be to the contents of the mold.

“Okay okay! Let's throw this one out because this is hardening.” Urban threw away the container, Jack’s dick swinging in the open.

“Woah, what the fuck is going on here?” Druski spoke, walking to the living room to which the best friends were standing.

“I’m tryna get a mold of Jack’s dick for-“

“For yourself? Damn, I didn’t know you were into that.”

“This is for Y/N Druski. Not for me.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I’m tryna get this fuckin mold and Jack won’t hold still.”

“BECAUSE ITS FUCKING COLD MAN.”

“NO CAUSE YOU’RE BEING A LITTLE BITCH.” At Urban’s comment, Druski walked up to the old tub, feeling his hand on the container.

“That’s not that bad…”

“Shut up Druski.” Jack announced, pinching his fingers together on the bridge of his nose. “I can’t even get hard.”

“How about I do a reenactment of you and Y/N?” Urban spoke as braced himself.

“This is based on true events. Ahem. Oh, Jack, you feel so good inside me. Fuck Jack, baby, just like that. Yeah, you like the way I spell my name on your dick? Mhmm, of course, you do.”

“OHKAY!” Jack yelled, looking at Urban with wide eyes. However, it was Druski’s comment that sent him to the moon.

“Dude, you’re fuckin hard.”

Jack looked down at himself, his cock completely erect and red.

“Well, I’ll be damn.” Urban spoke, placing his hand on his hip.

“Let’s just get this over with, so I can take care of this.” Jack pointed to himself as Urban grabbed the container, placing it onto Jack’s dick to mold.

This time, they didn’t mess up.

☽ ☾

The plane ride home was smooth, Jack staring out the window from his first-class seat. He had contemplated going to the bathroom multiple times, the conversation he had with you before he took off flashing back in his mind.

“Fuck Jack, m’gonna cum again.” You spoke, the gushing of your cunt on speaker over the phone.

“Keep going ma, I need you to cum again. I wanna hear you cum all over my dick. Cum for me.” You came with a loud grunt, Jack cooing you on as you came. You had already cum twice with the dildo, Jack refraining himself as best as he could.

He had been holding back from touching himself for the past week, explaining to you that he wanted to give you the most “breedable load” he could muster.

You thought that was hot. So fucking hot.

His voice brought you back from thought with the next statement he made.

“I want you to keep that dildo inside of you until I’m home. I want you to edge yourself, over and over again until I step foot in the house. And I swear to God, if you’ve cum, you’re not gonna cum on my cock when I get home, I’ll only use you for my pleasure. Understand?” Jack spoke as you swallowed, nodding your head.

“Good. I’ll be home in 6 hours baby.”

Now that he sat on the plane, with only forty-five minutes before touch down, he was debating if he should break his own promise to himself.

That plane bathroom looked real promising this time around.

However, it was Urban that was able to pull him out of his own banter.

“Just wait on it dude. It’ll be a hundred times better.”

“Easy for you to say, you had bitches while we were over there.”

“Yeah, well, now I get to come back to my main one. And boy, I’ve been waiting on this one. Shit got me hard just thinking about her.” They both fist bumped each other as they thought about all the shit they’d do to their girls when they got home. Jack checked his watch once more.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. Please prepare for landing."

☽ ☾

Jack forgot his bags in his Jeep as he made it towards your shared home, prying open the door with his keys. He raced up the steps, taking two at a time as he came to your shaded bedroom. Walking in slowly, he caught his announcement on his tongue as he looked at your sleeping form, the dildo buried deep inside of you.

He could say he was proud for the fact that you held up on your end, except, you didn’t fully.

He rolled you over slowly, watching the glistening of your skin in the moonlight.

Fuck, he was happy to be home.

But he was more happy to have his pussy back.

With clean and ample fingers, he began to rub your clit, taking the dildo and thrusting it in and out of you slowly. You let out a deep moan in your sleep, body jolting as arousal flooded your senses once more. You moaned out his name in your sleep, Jack’s dick straining in his pants.

Swiftly and fast, he removed all of his clothing, hovering over you in the bed. He placed your legs over his thighs, removing the dildo before replacing it with own dick, moaning at the feeling.

“Fuck ma.”

“Jack?” You spoke, your eyes fluttering open as Jack began to thrust into you.

“I thought I told you to edge yourself.”

“I did baby, I-“

“Then why we’re you asleep with the fucking dildo in your pussy?”

“I’m sorry Jack, I’m-“ He slapped your breast, forcing a whimper to leave your lips at the pleasurable pain.

“What’s my name?”

“Daddy…”

“Good girl.”

He began to pick up his pace again, you bracing your hands on the headboard behind you as his thrusts got rougher. He placed one leg on his shoulder, hitting a certain angle that made you scream.

“You know, I should edge you myself,” He grunted. “But this pussy feels too fucking good. So, instead, I’m gonna take my time with you.” He spoke, removing himself from you. You whined at the emptiness, to which Jack slapped your clit in response, you jolting from the pleasure.

“Shut the fuck up, I don’t wanna hear shit from you.” He dragged you over to the end of the bed and put you over his lap, ass out in the air.

Well, you knew where this was going.

“Count.” He demanded and began laying heavy smacks on your ass. By the time you’d reach fifth-teen, your ass was bright red, and you were certain Jack’s handprint would remain permanently there.

He shoved you onto the floor, standing up as you pushed yourself to your knees. He stood in front of you, legs spread as he tapped his dick on your face.

“Open your mouth and suck me off.” He commanded, to which you took his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head.

“Don’t fucking tease me.” He grabbed your head and began fucking your throat, you bracing yourself by placing your hands on his thighs, to which he immediately demanded away.

“Put your hands behind your back and take it. I know you can. Be a good little slut and take this dick." And you took every inch of him as he fucked your throat raw, your voice becoming hoarse from the moans and grunts you were letting out. After sometime he withdrew himself from you, spitting on your tongue, to which you quickly swallowed. Tears stained your face as you looked at him through your lashes, licking your lips. He grabbed you by your throat, pulling you up into a searing kiss.

“Get on the bed princess. Face down, ass up.” You did as you were told, following perfect orders as you got yourself ready for him, shaking your ass a little/

“Fuck baby, I missed my pussy so much.” He tapped his tip on your clit, your body jerking in response.

“We missed you too daddy.” You spoke, which pulled a moan out of Jack, him slipping inside of you once more. You both let out sinful moans, your pussy, and his dick, now more sensitive than ever. He began to thrust into you firmly, pulling all the way out to the tip and thrusting all the way in completely.

“Fuck ma, you feel so fuckin good.” All you could do was moan, your mind slipping into a subspace as Jack fucked the life out of you. His pace began to pick up, him lifting his leg and planting it on the bed for a better angle. He smacked your ass once more, the handprints that were formed once before growing red once again.

“Daddy! Oh fuck, daddy.”

“Mhmm, you like daddy’s dick, don’t ya baby? You’re taking me so well ma, fuck. Ima give you the biggest load you’ve ever witnessed, ya hear? I’m gonna get your ass fucking pregnant, you’re gonna be swollen and round carrying my children. Do you want that? Hmm, pretty girl, do you want that?” You moaned at Jack’s voice, him landing another hand print on your ass from the lack of response.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes, daddy! Fuck! I want your cum so bad! I wanna carry your babies, fuck daddy please!” You whined out, your body shuddering in pleasure. Jack felt so good, and he could feel you approaching your climax with how tight you were clenching.

He quickly, and swiftly, flipped the two of you over, obtaining the missionary position.

He placed his hand around your throat and squeezed as he pistoned into you, your body shaking with pleasure.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum.”

“Fuck, me too baby girl. Let's come together. On three.” You nodded your head, control of your body slipping from you.

“3”

“2”

“1”

“Cum.”

You both came with a loud shout, Jack unloading the biggest load into your warm pussy, your walls spazzing against him as you squirted, body convulsing.

That was before the world went black.

☽ ☾

You woke up to the sound of the television and breathing, your eyes fluttering open to find Jack’s baby blue eyes staring back at you.

“Hi.”

“Hello, mamas. How are you feeling?”

“Okay, tired, a little sore.” You looked down at your body, a fresh t-shirt (Jack’s) on.

“I changed our linen and cleaned you up a little. I didn’t put any panties on you just in case you were sore. Oh! And there’s a water bottle with some aspirin on the table on your side. I also ordered us pizza and some other stuff.” He spoke, smiling down at you as he kissed your forehead.

You dragged him down weakly with your hand, pulling him into a deep kiss.

An “I love you”, “I missed you” kiss.

“I love you Jack.”

“I love you too baby.”

Tags ♡︎

@heavyhitterheaux

@babyharleezy

@sealpuptrash

@harlowcomehome

@velvetstreets

#jack harlow #bf! jack harlow #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow smut #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fanficition #jack harlow fic

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dystopicjumpsuit · 9 months

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Tup Tuesday Roundup - Fics, Headcanons, and Artwork

A collection of delicious Tup fanworks, because our boy deserves all the love. Please reblog and add links to your favorite Tup-centric works! I'll be reblogging this a few times with more links, since I have apparently offended the Tumblr gods and can't add any more.

Fics (please assume NSFW; minors DNI)

Hold on Tight by @deejadabbles

This masterpiece by @blueink-bluesoul

Do it Again by @dystopicjumpsuit AKA yours truly

Tup à Trois also by me

Untitled Tup fic by @freesia-writes

Not So Silent by @mandos-mind-trick

Headcanons

Art

@literallyjustanerd

@cobaltbeam

#tup tuesday #clone trooper tup #tcw fanfic #tcw fanart #tcw headcanons

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mistysblueboxstuff · 1 year

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Hello, first of all, I’m really sorry for bothering you with this. I’m a person who other people consider an artist. I’ve made things all of my life with whatever tools I could get my hands on. My family was too poor to afford paper and pencils so I burned wood engravings with magnifying glasses. My handwriting is tiny and precise because I loved writing but had to squeeze every inch of space out of a page. Over the years I’ve done a lot of other things that caught my interest, including sculpture, 3D modeling, modding, making dolls, decoupage, graphic design, oils, watercolor, lots of stuff. I won awards, got into some magazines. People paid unreasonable amounts for my stuff. I even spent two years in college majoring in drawing and painting before admitting to myself that I hated the process and though I had some technical skill, I wasn’t a real artist and didn’t have the inspired creative spark real artists had. I was okay with that; I don’t want to express myself. I’ve always made things because I wanted to learn things and see something I wouldn’t have been able to see otherwise.

I’ve always thought of myself as someone respectful of artists. I’ve spent so much on commissions that I don't have a savings account. I’ve always paid artists as well as I can afford and sometimes more if I thought their rates were low or if I knew they were putting extra work in on a piece. I’ve also bought a lot of fan made merch. Almost a thousand of that has been on prints you’ve made. I love your art.

I’ve been passionate about text and art AI for years. At first I was excited when the public became aware of my hobby and I thought that I’d finally be able to talk about it with people. Except, it turned out that everyone hates this thing I’m passionate about and would hate me if they knew I used it. I’ve had to hide it and keep it bottled up inside, away from the people I want to share it with. Everywhere I look, I see words like AI bro and AI clown and lazy and that people like me should just die.

I’ve heard all of the arguments for and against it. I do get why people are scared and discouraged and feel like they’ve had something taken from them. But I also know that I can't stop loving AI. I can't stop making things and learning new skills in things that interest me. That’s who I am. If I know anything about myself, it’s that.

I have one enormous print of yours of Aziraphale hanging over my bed. It has given me so much happiness for the past two years. I’ve felt love and beauty when I look at it. It’s been a source of comfort and joy. Having grown up lesbian in a religious household that thought I needed an exorcism, there’s something about seeing him turn his face away from God that resonates.

It’s been eating me up inside for weeks because every time I look at the picture above my bed, I don’t see Aziraphale any more. I don’t feel that love. I can only think about the person behind it that I respect and how they’ve said I should die, and the community behind them that I want to be part of but would hate me.

Am I the bad guy? The pain feels like a festering boil that needs to be lanced, so I guess I’d like to hear you say that what I’m doing is unforgivable so that I can take the picture down, grieve and move on. I know that's a lot for a stranger to ask of you. It's probably messed up that I'm even bringing this to you. I'm sorry.

Hiya. Thank you for messaging me. first I'd just like to say I don't think anyone should actually die. I know I say AI folks should die but it's something that I don't actually mean or want, I'm just angry. I don't like being told to "adapt or die". I don't appreciate AI folks saying I should "get on with the times and use the AI". I don't appreciate being told to "learn a new skill" by people who by all accounts have none themselves. I don't appreciate being told to "go work at McDonald's bozo". Being told to "get a real job". These are the things said to me personally, not just to artists in general.

Have you seen the vile things artists are being told by the AI tech bros? How we are being treated? They call us "drawslaves", "paint pigs", but at same time we're the "elite" keeping the poor masses away from their god given right to be able to make art without putting any effort into it.

We have every right to be angry and I'm really sorry me saying they should die has hurt you. I'm hurting too. I haven't been in the best place mentally and I won't go into details but this whole AI thing has only made it worse.

I don't think artists are just scared or discouraged, they're angry because their art is being stolen by this thing made to replace them. It really really hurts, I can't tell you how much. It's also infuriating. A lot of the time it makes me want to just stop making art because what's the point? It'll just get stolen and chopped up, bastardised into some AI monstrosity and soon I won't even be needed at all. I spent my whole life trying to figure out what to do with it, finding one thing i love and managing to make a living off it, only for it to be taken away from me by a machine. Might as well just stab me to death and get it over with. It would hurt less. One of the things that hurt me the most is when people question if my art is AI or not. I hate that I also question every piece of art I now encounter too.

Your story is inspiring and it sounds like you enjoyed making art, so what happened? I can't understand how any artist would actually feel accomplished by generating images via AI. I do understand it's fun and brings joy to people I guess. As for being a part of the art community I don't think most artists will ever accept AI folks as being a part of it. There is a huge AI community though, as I'm sure you know.

Personally I find it really difficult to look at AI images, for many reasons, seeing them treated as art pains me. It's why I left ArtStation and why I'm no longer active on DeviantArt either.

I don't think you specifically are the "bad guy". The bad guys are the people who are pushing for this thing to actually replace artists. The bad guys are the hedge fund billionaire man babies behind it. I do think people using AI are helping it get better at stealing though. The support the AI has been given by folks using it has made people behind it more aggressive as well.

But like I said many times before I don't hate AI specifically and if it stops stealing and starts being used more ethically then it's fine (sort of). But I think everyone knows the AI would be nothing without actual artists' work, that's why they're gonna fight for their "right" to keep stealing from us. Wonder who they gonna steal from when most of us abandon art because we'll have to do something else to survive and there won't be time for making art anymore.

I'm really sorry my stance on AI is making it difficult for you to enjoy my art though, I never really thought about that so thank you for making me consider your perspective on this. I'm happy my art has brought you joy. For what it's worth I don't hate you, I don't think using AI is unforgivable, I don't think you're a bad person for using AI and finding joy in it. But as an artist I will never support AI. AI stomps all over everything art stands for, to me at least. It's a travesty. It mocks everything I've been through as a person to get where i am now. There are so many artists i love and seeing their art stolen and used in this way makes me so mad. It's easy to make the issue sound simple by saying "artists are just scared because AI is better" but it's so much more than that.

I'm sorry you feel like you need to take my Aziraphale painting down. I can't help but feel the way i feel though. i hate AI as it is now but that doesn't mean i hate every single person who uses it. I'm sorry though. i wish i had something smarter to say and something to make you feel better :(

#reply #anti ai #long post

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igotanidea · 2 years

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COUNTERPARTS: Morpheus x OC

Summary: Kayleen was born to be the embodiment of Reality. Protector of the Waking World and Keeper of the Order. Naturally, that makes her a counterpart of the Dream of The Endless. Despite their differences in both approach to life and characters they are forced to work together to keep balance between Dreaming and Waking. Thank God, they are both professionals who DO NOT fight or engage emotionally….. Or do they?

And will anything change after Dream gets imprisoned, and gone for a century, leaving both Dreaming and Waking World crumble?

Pairing: Morpheus x OC

A/N: Not so much Dream in this chapter but we got someone else. Keep hanging on, there's gonna be more of him soon.

Word count: 2087

Epilogue:

Chapter 1 : Sometimes reality sucks

next - chapter 3 : A rough nightmare

Chapter 2

Welcome back to Reality.

Next day after a visit to the Dreaming was always a menace. The human part of me was quite burned with crossing the realms so I felt like I was hangover. Thankfully, I’ve quickly learnt how to deal with that. I mean, I live in the Waking, I am human and I gotta work for a living. That’s what reality is about. So living my second, undercover life and repercussions of that cannot get in the way.

For everyone who may wonder – I work as a teacher at the university. It was actually a funny situation, when a girl looking like she was in her late 20s applied for a position, but let’s face the facts. I am in fact so much older than I actually look. Like, SO MUCH older. Obviously, my knowledge is also proportionally bigger. I got the cathedra on the spot, after answering just a couple of questions. Funny thing being the fact that I teach writing. And before you start laughing about the irony of Reality showing how to make art just stop and think about it. Words are just the expressions of what’s in our heads but what is possible in the real world. No one would read something that had zero chance of happening, right? Stories are hopes for the future, deriving from the dreams and imaginations but rooted in reality. Serves my purpose quite well, doesn’t it? Besides, reality should not be confused with mundane.

As I quickly gathered my things and rush to catch a train I let my mind drift. Today’s class will be covering the topic of creating characters. Discovering the truth behind the words they say. A little bit of judging their motives. Not that I’m saying people are liars but there’s usually more than what they show. Let’s see than. A woman in front of me talking on the phone. She’s describing the party she was at during the weekend. It was amazing, I swear. I had so much fun and I believe Nathan finally noticed me. The truth? She attended a birthday surpise for her popular friend and for the entire evening she felt unimportant and humiliated. Almost invisible like a ghost. A little boy travelling with his mum. Looking like an angel just sitting there with his eyes softly gazing through the window. But in real world? He’s a real devil causing trouble wherever he goes, so his parents decided to take him to the therapy to get some help. Don’t get me wrong, but it’s in human nature to interpret facts and truths in their own. Nothing wrong with that, as long as they don’t get to deep with that.

Oh, here we go, another sleeper. Just an inch from falling of the chair. Morpheus gonna be so pissed but we got human in danger, right? I gently nudge him on the arm and catch him before he gets damaged.

-Hey, here we go! – I sit him back up

-Thank you miss. I guess I dozed off.

-I noticed – I smile at him – rough night?

-You can say so. I was bothered with the nightmares so I did not get enough sleep.

-Well, good thing is was just a nightmare, right? Reality always brings us back on the ground to gain some perspective.

-I suppose it does …..

-Anyway, that’s my station. Have a lovely day, sir.

-You too, miss.

Yeah, Morpheus gonna be SO angry with me.

When the class end I notice one of the students hesitate to leave the room. The girl name is Aubrey, she’s usually the active and bubbly one, always bursting with creative ideas but today she just sat quiet for an entire hour.

-Professor? – she slowly and shyly approach me

-Aubrey, hi. Is everything ok?

-No… I mean, I thought that maybe I could talk to you? There’s something on my mind that I can’t quite shake off. I really don’t know who else to talk to.

-As much as I appreciate that, have you tried the university counsellor? He’s the one qualified for that kind of situations.

-I’d rather talk to you. That is…. if you don’t mind – her eyes are basically begging for help.

-Of course. Please. – I encourage her to sit in the front row of seats and take a place next to her, patiently waiting for her to start.

-So… It’s actually a bit embarrassing, but…. Maybe, that was a bad idea – he abruptly stands up.

-Aubrey, please, let me help in whatever way I can. Tell me what’s happening – my voice resonating in the air.

-Ok – she sighs – it’s a delicate matter. A relationship I was in is crumbling. I blame myself because I never wanted to….you know – she rolls her eyes so I nod my head knowing exactly what she means. – I’m just not ready, but now everytime I see Trent, I mean, the guy, I picture him in some … situations …. That should not take place. Like… you know…. with other girls and …. – she starts to shake – I just can’t. You always teach us to search for the truth behind the words, so I though maybe you would help me get why is this happening? – tears starts falling down her cheeks.

-Oh, Aubrey – I look at her carefully – do you have any evidence of what’s going on inside your head? Did you see something? Or heard something?

-No, no, nothing like that. I just….

-You are just projecting, aren’t you?

-I guess.

-It’s ok, you know. You are so young, a lot of things can easily influence your mind. But I need to open your eyes now.

-What do you mean? What should I do?

-As much as hard it seems you need to talk to him. Ask him what’s happening. Focus on the facts.

-What if he lies? How will I even know if he’s telling the truth

I sigh. I hate this part.

-Don’t worry, he will tell the truth. You will know it, believe me – I reassuringly tap her hand.

-Thank you, professor, I’ll try that.

-Great. You know you can come to me everytime something captures your mind this way, right?

-I know.

-Good. Now, off you go – I smile at her – you surely don’t want to be late for your next class, do you?

I know this Trent guy, Aubrey was talking about. He’s acts like a popular boy, taking care of his reputation, posing like a playboy and heartbreaker, but in fact he’s broken himself. He uses this pose as some kind of shield. He’s in my 11.30 class, so I’m gonna put some reality trick on him. Nothing detrimental, of course, simply necessary means to mend two souls.

***

The conversation groups are usually small, consisting of 5 to 10 people. This gives teachers opportunity to focus on each individuals but also get into some interesting conversations – clash of characters and points of view. This kind of class is the one in which I’m a guest and the students play the first fiddle. I like that. Seeing passion and fire of some, logic and cold approach in others. A clash indeed. This will never get boring for me. We were basically in the middle of conversation when the clock showed that it’s time to end. -

-Ok, class. As much as I hate it and would love to continue, the time we had it’s over. Such a merciless one, isn’t it? – even though I have my abilities because of him – we shall continue this on Wednesday so keep your arguments sharpened and your minds open – Trent I’d like a few words with you, stay please.

-What’s up, prof? – any other student in his place would get cautious, asking whether one did something wrong or something happened but not this one. Like I said, such a poser. How do I even start talking to him, without meddling too much? Let’s roll the ball.

-How’s life been going, Trent? – I mimic his carefree tone – everything all right?

-Yep – he emphasizes the “p” - Pretty great. But did you really call me for a small talk?

-Not really I shake my head - I noticed some changes in your writings. You last essay seems a little more…. Intense in some descriptions, why is that?

-Well – he tries to hide it but his face becomes reddish. – Wait. How do you even know which was mine? They were written anonymously.

-Trent, please. After all the time I’ve spend reading students’ work …..

-So what is the purpose of anonymity then?

-To help you spread your wings and get rid of inhibitions. But … you’re not gonna tell anyone about it, are you? In exchange I’ll show you some truth in your life. – was that morally ambiguous and could be qualified as manipulating the student? Probably. So sad. Anyway.

-What truth? – Trent frowned in confusion. This one was never a smarty-pants.

-Well …. – I look into his eyes. It’s not hypnosis per se, more like a search for underlying meaning. No words are needed so that’s something and after all he won’t even remember being here. The whole procedure as I call it, only takes a couple of seconds. And now, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna mend some bridges with Aubrey. – I think you should go now, Trent. You have some other things to take care of, don’t you?

-Yeah…. I guess… See you Wednesday, prof.

As soon as he exits and I try to gather my things before lunch I hear some familiar voice coming from the door.

-You should be a therapist, you know? Never really understood why you choose a teaching career.

Oh, there she is. Standing there with her perfect smile, her black hair so similar to her brother’s (except curly) floating around as she shakes her head.

-Ego driven choice. I’m a show-off when it comes to knowledge.

-You are a terrible liar – she comes closer and hugs me. Ladies and gentleman, welcome on the stage, The Death herself. Dream’s sister and I daresay – my friend – Hello Kayleen – she smiles blindingly.

-Hello, Death. You truly are a sight for a sore eyes. How many boys broke their necks when you walked in here?

-Just a few I suppose.

-I’m even scared to ask , but are you here on business or pleasure?

-A bit of both, I’m afraid.

Start with good news than.

-Well, I came to visit you. Though maybe a coffee would be a good idea. Maybe in the university cafeteria….

-Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re here for Ellen.

-As if I had any choice with that.

-Been that busy lately? – I grab my back as we head towards the cafeteria.

-No more than usual. But I see you got your hands full.

We both order out drinks – black coffee for me and cappuccino for Death , sadness dripping from our eyes as we look at cafeteria lady, Ellen. She is left with so little time as drinking a coffee takes.

-I would say its’ really no more than usual as well, but I can sense something in the air.

-What do you mean? Is it the matter of Waking or Dreaming?

-I’m not entirely sure. At least not yet. I can only tell we should ….

-Keep our eyes open? – she smiles widely.

-Precisely.

For a second we stay silent.

-You know, Dream’s been acting weird lately…..

-Oh no, please don’t . This is supposed to be a nice break from my duties. Don’t ruin it with mentioning your brother.

-Ok, fine, fine – she surrenders raising her hands– I’m gonna worry about him all by myself. But deep down you are concerned bout him. Is it not truth, Kayleen? – she lets the question hang as she finishes her coffee. – Anyway, gotta get back to work.

-That was a pretty quick reunion – I point out.

-I know. Not by my choice. You should come visit me though. I will have more time on Sunday, I believe.

-You're inviting me to the Sunless Land? You realise I'm still part human, right? - I look at her carefully, narrowing my eyes - I’ll consider that. - I shug my arms casually like a visit to Death was just a social call.

-Awesome – she hugs me again – you know, I’m right behind those black door of yours.

With that, she leaves, and the only words stuck in my head are “you are concerned bout him ”. Well, maybe I am. And maybe I shouldn't be.

next: chapter 3

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myevilmouse · 1 year

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i’m so glad i found your post on luke getting electrocuted. I’ve ALWAYS been insanely turned on by that for pretty much the same reasons you said, and I’ve never seen anyone anywhere openly talk about this ever (considering how massive SW is you’d think there’d be at least one out there somewhere). is there anything else you wanted to say about it and how/why you love it? any other weird unorthodox movie moments that turn you on?

not asking to be weird or perverted, i just love to finally have an outlet to express similar but very niche interests

Hey friend! Thanks for this ask! I love asks and yours is a fun one. First of all, if you haven't explored it already, you may enjoy my tag #he suffers so beautifully, which is pretty much all the Luke Skywalker pain in one place. I have another one #bruised battered bleeding where you may also find some yummy Luke...

I actually took a long time to start reblogging Luke in pain images and gifsets (and some I still don't) because they really sort of hurt my heart, no matter how fabulous Mark looks all contorted and wounded. I'm not a huge fan of whump actually, despite those tags ahahah. Don't really read it and you still won't find a lot of "off with his hand" scenes in my archive, for example. But you make an excellent point--some actors are just sexy when they suffer and there ain't nothing wrong with that.

I think one reason some people (yourself included) may find the electrocution scene so much of a turn on is how those muscle spasms, "o" faces, scrunched-up eyes, tousled hair and jerking hips give us a dark/warped mirror to the erotic throes of orgasm. Someone flailing around so elegantly, those long fingers, those tightly-clad legs....yeah.... Sigh. There’s a reason it’s called la petite mort, you know? 😈

Anyway, definitely don't feel weird or perverted about being into it. I get it. There are whole dissertations about how horror movies, for example, are these psychosexual outlets--examining the penetration of knives as phallic metaphor, etc etc and so forth... Lots of logical connections between agony and ecstasy, in other words.

Also, and I have discussed it here before, the "I am a Jedi" Death Star scenes are really the crowning hotness of all the Luke scenes in the trilogy. Like I don't know how everyone on set kept from creaming their pants that day/those days. Mark looks SO ridiculously sexy both before and after he's zapped, it honestly doesn't surprise me at all that the zapping also is melting everyone's butter.

LOOK AT HIM was grief ever so sexy?!

gif courtesy of @jadedjo

As for other weird movie moments that turn me on, I am a sucker for the blood-spattered hero. I mean, Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves? Mel Gibson in Braveheart? I’m dating myself but cut me some slack hahaha

These are dudes who take a lickin' and keep on lookin' lickable muwahahah. So Mark in that bacta tank, absolutely. I even commissioned art for that to have him super 美少年.

I think part of the attraction to these moments is they humanize our larger-than-life heroes, and they look so good doing it...It's like the old anime cliche of that single line of blood on the cheek. Our gods bleed, and that makes them attainable. Or something like that. I'm on a tangent now. But cinema is full of heroes that only get sexier the more they suffer and angst, so it’s a logical and very understandable kink, imo. Thank you for this ask anon, and I’m so happy I have content that will feed that thirst for suffering Luke.... I hope you enjoy exploring that tag on my feed and thank you for being a tumblr buddy!

#asks #i like asks #he suffers so beautifully #luke skywalker #mark hamill #bruised battered bleeding #never broken #heroes are sexy #i'll tumblr for ya #my thoughts

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year

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Hi! Could I please have a matchup with a character from lotr and Marvel?

My Name is Rachel, Im 18, I’m heterosexual and my pronouns are she/her. My zodiac sign is Taurus and Im a Gemini rising. I have brown hair that comes a few inches below my shoulders, brown eyes and freckles.

I’m a really optimistic person, and I try to help others as much as I can! I’m good at giving advice, and making people feel better. I’m also very charismatic and very outgoing! I love trying out new activities, But, I can get impatient easily and I tend to be stubborn. I’m very affectionate and I tend to make sure that everyone around me is feeling alright before making sure that I am. Basically, I’m like the mom friend.

I really enjoy fashion design. I love sewing and coming up with a new ideas of something I can make! I’m also really passionate about music. I’ve played piano since second grade, and it really helps me to express myself! Some of my other hobbies include baking, crocheting and shopping. My personal style is a kind of mix between softie and angelcore. I love clothes that are pink, ruffly or have some sort of lace on them. Some things I like include, pretty perfume bottles, flowers, and jewelry I have a huge sweet tooth, so I also really like desserts! I absolutely hate bugs.

I hope that’s good, thank you so much!! <33

Thank you so much for requesting!! I hope you enjoy it!! <333

Lord Of The Rings;

Samwise Gamgee:

🥔 You joined the Fellowship in Rivendell, becoming the tenth member; you were skilled in the arts of healing, so Elrond knew the rest of the Fellowship needed you

🥔 The journey was dangerous and adventurous, but some fun, minus the orcs and all that; you were pretty glad that you were chosen to go

🥔 But when things took a turn for the worst, you didn't hesitate to make sure everyone was okay

🥔 Bandaging wounds and cuts and making sure the horses and ponies were fed, you finally made sure you were fine and dandy

🥔 During the trip, you grew closer to Samwise, who insisted that you call him Sam; he was super sweet and kind to you, always with a smile on his face (he loves the way your freckles dot your face)

🥔 You felt a bit protective over Sam, but he was a strong little Hobbit and actually wanted to protect you; the two of you had bonded like no other, and you both cared for each other a lot

🥔 When he went after Sam for the ring, you felt like your heart had been taken with him, you felt as if you should've gone with them; you were scared something bad would happen

🥔 Finally, when the ring was destroyed, you were reunited with Sam; you couldn't stop yourself from hugging him and digging your nose in his messy golden curls

🥔 You were surprised when Sam asked if you would come back to the Shire with him, and of course, after some shock, you said yes

🥔 Living in the Shire with Sam is amazing and so calming, living in the Hobbit Hole, you spend your days gardening with Sam, making your own clothes with the fabric you buy in town, and baking with Sam by your side; life is perfect in the Shire, the sky is always blue and the grass is always green, and Sam is always by your side

Marvel;

Thor Odinson:

⚡ You joined the Avengers because of your amazing powers, Fury having no choice but to make you join, you were just that good

⚡ You were quick to befriend all of the other Avengers, even Bruce and he's shy so that surprised you, but everyone thought you were funny, charismatic, and a bit stubborn

⚡ You loved all your new friends dearly, but you had a special connection with Thor, the God of Thunder; it was like there was this spark, the moment you laid eyes on him you felt as if electricity ran through your veins

⚡ At one of Tony's parties, all sitting around the table with Thor's hammer on it, everyone was dared to lift it; even you

⚡ You stood from your seat with a smirk, placing your fingers around the handle, you didn't think you'd actually lift it, but you did; the look on all of their faces was priceless

⚡ Thor was speechless and adored you even more so than he already did, and from that, he gained the courage to finally ask you out on a 'Midgardian' date

⚡ Since he was still pretty new to Midguard after he asked you out and you said yes, he asked what humans did for dates, and obviously you took him to the mall; where you did some shopping, before you went to a nearby garden where you wandered and looked at flowers; at the end of the date, the two of you baked a cake

⚡ Thor finds you irresistible, impeccably so, he thinks you are brilliant, kind, and understanding; he finds your talent for playing the piano spectacular

⚡ When Thor goes on trips to Asgard when he can't take you with him for some reason, (if you do, he requests explicitly for your Asgardian gown to be pink), he brings you back the finest Asgardian jewelry your eyes have ever seen

⚡ Thor loves the way your brown eyes light up when you see him, and the way your smile lights up the entire room; you love the way Thor's hair shined in the sun, and how protective and determined he is (you are the best couple is all of the Avengers)

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hisblossom · 2 years

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45. What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?

oh fuck. Jesus. Buckle in.

Listen, I’m super far left leaning, I’m a homebody, I don’t party or go to clubs, I have a small social circle and I’m into reading and art and music and photography and plants. so let’s preface with that.

I matched a guy on tinder, he seemed chill, relatively cute for a dude.

He shows up 45 minutes late to pick me up, by then most places had closed, so he suggested (without apology btw) we go to a McDonald’s for coffee (oh my god) and I straight up was like no. Nope. We’re going to a cafe close by that’s open for another hour.

Now, this guy had pulled up in a massive, LIME GREEN pickup truck, wearing literal cowboy boots, and was a solid 3 inches shorter than me while his tinder bio claimed to be a solid 5 inches taller. So. Hm. Math ? (Which, btw - I don’t care about. Everyone I’ve dated has been shorter than me, between an inch and 6 inches. It’s fine. But don’t ?? Lie???)

So we sit down, I forgo the coffee and get a beer cause I’ll need it. and then he starts.

We chat about stuff - normal things. But here’s a roundup of the worst things he slid in there.

“Yeah, I love going out to bars every night I can haha - there’ll always be another day but there won’t be that party again 🤪🤪🤪” (as though every fucking club night isn’t identical)

“The girls at clubs are insane hahah I don’t know how they can respect themselves (me, asking huh??) Oh, just the way they dress and going to clubs all the time, it’s such a turn off.” (Me, glancing at his cowboy boots and hearing the echoes of him proudly announcing his own club addiction 3 minutes prior)

“I can’t believe how many women are into politics these days, I don’t think that’s the best route for us..?”

“I’d like to get into politics myself one day yeah I think there needs to be more access to guns around here!”

“I’m into photography too! (Me, expresses interest in his work) yeah I loooove driving my truck out onto a country field and taking photos of it 😍 (me, asking about other subjects) Nah, I only take pics of my truck!”

“I can’t wait to settle down with a wife and have kids, yeah I totally picture my wife being a stay at home mom and raising the kids haha (me, asking what if she wants to get a job) Well I think the mother should stay home. (Me, asking what about the father staying home and the mother working) Nah, I’m pretty traditional and I think the woman should be at home”

This sounds like…. Like..? I genuinely thought I was being punked. He was the anti-me. I actually thought it was some weird joke my friends arranged. But no.

And that’s not all, no no no.

We finally wrap up the worst night in the world (maybe 35 mins, max) and he drives me home. To his credit, he did stay to make sure I got in alright. And lucky that he did, because I didn’t have my keys. They were still at the fucking cafe. Enter: the worlds most fucking awkward drive back there, where they had sure enough closed. Now, it’s winter. So there we were in the parking lot kicking around snow by where the truck was parked, looking for my keys.

I sidle up to the window of the cafe, and THERE THEY WERE. Under my chair, at our table. And there was someone closing the till. I banged on the window like a lunatic, pointing frantically at my keys, the dude inside realized what I was doing and smiled reassuringly at me, got my keys, handed them to me out the door, we had a chuckle, and then I walked back to Yeehaw Boy and his jello-coloured truck and then he took me home the second time.

So, bless his stupid, ignorant, old-values heart for taking that relatively well in stride but yeah we didn’t even try to pretend with the whole “yeah let’s do this again sometime”. I just said thanks for the ride and that was that.

#ask

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storiesoflilies · 27 days

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OKAY WHERE DO I START,

mutual pining is so hawt, please i wanna fucking scream it. It is SO HOT. The little glances in the cafe, the smallest force of attraction and interest in each other bringing them closer, thats enough of a force to fuck up Newton's laws SJDJDJSNSHSH please all the cafe scenes are so delicately crafted, just the right amount of interaction, the pesky college dude giving toji a chance to get closer to her and keep her safe from anything, the bruised and broken knuckles maybe indicates that he actually took care of that weirdo? A.MAY.ZING

Each got thier own chances to get closer to each other, her being a cashier, the little thoughtfully hot cup of green teas, and the protein balls, and tojis chances with the mugs and the creep ass bitch. And finally roped them together with the biomechanics question 😭😭😭😭, im a sucker for slow burn, renders well 🥹😍🥹

The smut hello?!? Lily, you mentioned this is your first time writing smut and this is the softest, sexiest, most passionate smut of tojis, so preciously balanced on respect and pleasure, the flirty teases, the urge to be closer, UGH NEED

Also was the angst foreshadowed with the supernova?

Cause you mentioned her as a nebula before, then a star when she got drunk and finally a supernova when they slept together. And if im not wrong thats on the path to becoming a black hole..? And maybe, hear me out, whatever they had together, toji and her, it didnt matter after that seemingly common razor cut and it got sucked into the abyss of hers, while she was stuck in a abyss on her own worries..? That signalling that she had finally reached the end stage and not even fate would escape from that. When toji gave her no chance to explain herself too, just that.

Also the little physics comparison in addition to the supernatural being of angels controlling your everymove with equations despite physics disproving the existence of angels otherwise, iS SO FUCKING BEAUTIFUL I ADORE THAT JEUDJDDHDJDBDHJDJRHEJE

Gosh, the amount of hurt i went through went toji blocked/deleted his number, ugh, the way he wanted nothing to do with her, even if she hadnt meant to hurt him, just as blackholes are so unique in nature and and so attractive and destructive, she pulled toji towards her slowly but surely, but at last she was the reason why thier relationship was destroyed too

I am in tears and awe at the same time

Thank you for this art, i love you

Oh my GOSH MY DARLING!!!

I cannot tell you how much I fucking loooooove to read lengthy, in depth comments about something I’ve written. Like oh my god, I made something that made you write all THIS?!? For meeee?!? Like damn, my heart is swooning <3

First off, I’m so happy you loved the smut! It was something I was quite nervous about, so much so that I sent it to my two best friends to see if it was good enough before posting!! And all the things you’ve said about it is exactly what I was aiming for!! I didn’t want to write what I call “mindless smut”, which is just filthy, hot smut. And don’t get me wrong, I do love those too, but I just feel a lot of fanfics these days are just ALL about that with not much story (this is an obvious sore spot for me that I don’t want to delve too much into). I wanted my smut to be something nice, between two people who love each other and want to express it. So thank you for appreciating what I was trying to do :)

Now, I don’t want to get too much into saying what was right and wrong about how and why everything happened the way it did in their relationship. It’s completely up to every reader to decide why they think it ended the way it did, as well as interpreting anything they thought was foreshadowing, but I am so interested and up for discussing all the theories!! The way you’re looking at comparing the MC to a black hole and ultimately destined to destroy everything is certainly an interesting perspective on the story, and I actually didn’t consider it before!!

With so much love for you darling,

Lily xo

#metanoia #💌 lily answers

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noctumbra · 3 years

Text

𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞

summary ─ you were hypnotized. his handsome face was contorted with such emotions, he was so lost in the music, lost in the instrument, and it was mesmerizing to watch.

pairing ─ rockstar!bucky barnes x virgin!reader

warnings ─ smut, +18, language, dirty talk, pet names, fluff, so much fluff, bucky is an adorable dumbass, softdom!bucky, kissing, first date, natasha romanoff is a very good bro, drinking, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), virginity loss, light fingering

a/n ─ this happened because of seb. hope you like it. please leave a comment if you do, i really worked hard on this one! thank you <333 (this is worst banner i’ve ever made btw pls ignore it) [enjoy this 9.2k monster. this is officially the longest one shot i have ever written]

title is from def leppard - pour some sugar on me.

The lead guitarist had been eyeing you since the concert started. You were lucky enough to buy yourself a front row ticket, but you didn’t know you were that lucky to get the attention of the lead guitarist, James.

Commandos were your favorite metal band. Their music made everything better for you after you discovered them, and following the band for three years, you finally got to see them live. You were very excited while you made your way over the stadium where the concert was going to happen. Your friend, Natasha, accompanied you to the concert because she liked them, too, and even she could tell that James’ eyes were on you.

“Is he looking at you?” She hissed into your ear. You shivered with the excitement. You were bobbing your head to the beat, feeling every drag of James’ skilled fingers over the guitar strings deep in your bones. “Y/N, what the fuck, is he?”

“I don’t know,” you hissed at Natasha back. You didn’t want to get excited over something that was very unlikely to happen and just wanted to focus on the moment. “Let’s enjoy the concert, please?” Natasha frowned a little, but she nodded, both of you turned your heads towards the stage again.

You watched James getting lost in the song. His fingers were flying over the guitar; stroking the strings, hitting the notes and feeling every note he hit in his soul. It was so obvious that he loved doing this. It was written all over his face. You were hypnotized. His handsome face was contorted with such emotions, he was so lost in the music, lost in the instrument, and it was mesmerizing to watch.

Honestly, you didn’t understand how fast three hours passed until they announced that this was their last song and that they would be missing touring. You felt tears filling your eyes slowly. You loved them, valued their art and found yourself in their songs so much, it was hard to say goodbye to them now that you’ve seen them live.

“We’ll be back before you know it!” James said, sending the crowd a wink and making his bandmates and the audience chuckle. They waved and walked towards the exit, and with that the stage lights went off.

“This was a ride!” Natasha exclaimed. You nodded eagerly.

“It was better than I expected!” You were still shouting because your ears were howling. “I never wanted it to end!” Natasha pointed herself, meaning that she didn’t either. You held her hand, never letting go, because you didn’t want to lose her in the crowd. Both of you slowly made your way to the exit. Just as you stepped into the small corridor to get closer to the exit, you were stopped by a bodyguard.

“Miss,” the guy said, raising his hands in the air. “You were invited to the backstage with your friend, Miss.” You turned to your right to look at Natasha owlishly who was looking at you right back with the same expression.

“Us?” You asked. “Are you sure?” The guy nodded. You looked at Natasha again, hoping that she’d answer for you.

“Alright,” she said. “We’ll come.” The guy smiled, stepping aside, he showed you the way to the backstage. You thanked him. Tightening your hand on Natasha’s, you walked towards the entrance.

“What the fuck,” you hissed. Natasha just smirked and shrugged.

“He was looking at you,” she said instead. “He just proved it.” You gave her a disbelieving look, pinching her arm at the same time. Natasha chuckled. “James the guitarist has a crush on you,” she murmured. “It sounds good, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. Yes, it did sound good, but accepting their offer to get into the backstage? When it was passed midnight? God, you hoped you wouldn’t be fucked up tomorrow.

You slowly made your way inside, the bodyguard right behind you both to show you the way. All the guards you passed had smiled at you warmly. They were kind, hell, maybe even friendly, but you weren’t here to find out that. You were invited. Fuck.

“Walk straight, the main room will be on your right after you passed the number seven,” the bodyguard said, pointing at the number. Natasha and you thanked him. The guy just smiled at you both and bid you good night. After he disappeared, you took a deep breath and walked to the number seven that was winking at you at the end of the hall.

“Are you excited?” Natasha asked, sounding perfectly calm.

“Of course, Nat!” You hissed. “You said he was looking at me, and now, we’re invited to the backstage, and you’re asking me if I’m excited? Fuck yes, I am!” She grinned. Looping her arm to yours, she pushed you to walk a little faster.

“Maybe you’ll have sex with him tonight,” she said cheerfully. You whimpered. You wouldn’t dare. Would you? Who were you kidding, you would. “Maybe he asked you to come to him because it’d be a chaos for him to come up to you.” You huffed out a breath. She was right. You couldn’t even imagine the crowd that would be gathering around you if he were to come up to you.

“Yeah,” you murmured. Natasha pulled you towards the door on your right, and you realized you were about to pass the number seven. You stopped. “Nat,” you whispered. She squeezed your arm.

“It’s fine,” she said gently. “We’ll walk out if you don’t want to do anything with them. We could just say hi and bail.” You looked at her green eyes for a couple seconds, biting your lip. “It’ll be alright. Maybe, we’ll have some real fun. Come on.” You nodded. You weren’t going to back out. You weren’t going to miss this chance.

“Okay,” you said and continued to walk.

It took you half a minute to reach the door.

Tentatively, you stepped inside the huge room. It had three, different color, big couches, and one wall was covered with mirrors and make-up tables. The lights were yellow and dimmed; they weren’t hurting your eyes. There were a couple plants at the corners of the room. There was some chatter going on, chuckles and laughter were echoing from one wall to the other.

“Um,” you started. “Hello?” As soon as the word left your mouth, the chatter died. You tried not to cringe and get awkward with the silence. “W-we were invited?” You saw Steve’s, the vocalist, eyes widening and brows rising.

“Oh!” He said. “Bucky!” He called out, inclining his head backwards. “Your visitors are here!” You frowned. You didn’t know any ‘Bucky’, but when you couldn’t see James around, you assumed it was him. “Why don’t you girls sit down? He’s probably battling with his make-up.” He grinned.

“Sure,” Natasha agreed easily and pulled you to the couch with her. “Is he the only one who wears make-up?” She asked. Sometimes you were jealous of her making-small-talk ability, and right now was one of those moments. Steve chuckled.

“Sammy here also likes to indulge himself with some mascara,” he said. “Hell, I even saw him rockin’ white eyeliner once. It was dope.” You smiled. White eyeliner would look great on Sam, the bassist, you thought. “Thor likes mascara like Sam. Clint has his own make up with all the bandages he puts on his face,” Steve snickered when Clint protested. Natasha and you chuckled.

You looked around the room, at the people, and saw how tired but happy they were. Thor, co-guitarist, was sitting on a large armchair with his phone in his hands. Clint, the drummer, was sprawled on an empty couch with his drumsticks in his hands, spinning them aimlessly. Steve was humming, Sam was tapping his foot to some imaginary beat, and you could hear someone, probably Bucky, swearing in one of the dressing rooms.

“I swear to fucking God if Sharon fucks with my bag ever again─” Bucky stormed out of the room with anger etched on his face but cut himself off when he saw you and Natasha sitting in front of Steve. “Oh. Hello, girls.” He smiled warmly. You wiggled your fingers and saw Natasha smiling at him. “I hope they weren’t being assholes as usual,” he added, narrowing his eyes at his bandmates. Steve and Sam flipped him off simultaneously while Thor and Clint didn’t acknowledge him.

“They were nice,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks burning along with your body. Bucky smiled at you widely, making your stomach flip. He was so handsome, looked so pretty smiling like that, you sort of couldn’t believe you were sitting in front of him right now.

“As much as this is nice,” Natasha started. Her green eyes were narrowed, and she looked a little terrifying. “Did you invite us here just to have a small talk or…?” You saw Bucky blush, Steve smirking, Sam elbowing Steve, and Thor wiggling eyebrows at Bucky. You frowned. Something was going on for sure, but you didn’t feel alarmed yet.

“Um,” Bucky murmured. “Well, I was going to come up to you but didn’t wanna make a scene. I was just wondering if you’d like to accompany us to the bar? We’re gonna celebrate our last day, and I thought maybe you would like to… hang out… with us?” Bucky looked shy and a little embarrassed, a scrunch was sitting on his nose adorably. Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Are you asking me or her?” She asked, making you choke on nothing.

“Natasha!”

“What? I know you wanna bone him, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to say no to that.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides they are gonna celebrate, Y/N,” she added, wiggling his brows, sending you a wink. You groaned. Covering your face with your hands, you whined.

“I’m gonna disown you from friendship when we go home, just so you know,” you mumbled, making everyone in the room laugh.

Bucky cleaned his throat with a light cough. “I was asking her,” he pointed at you, “but Sam here really liked you.” He placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, alarming the guy and making his eyes widen. “He told me so, and I thought he could ask you to hang out with us himself, y’know. I’m that kind of a wingman.” He winked at Sam.

“The fuck,” Sam grunted. You snickered with Steve. Natasha smirked, it was a dangerous, seductive smirk. Uh-oh, you thought gleefully. Natasha was going to seduce the hell out of Sam, and he wasn’t going to know what hit him.

“Brace yourself,” you said to Sam, causing him to frown and give you a questioning look. Before you could answer him, though, Natasha slid off from her spot on the couch next to you and perched herself on top of Sam. You heard him making a mix of choking and gasping noise, eyes comically wide, he looked at Natasha. Steve was trying to keep himself from laughing while Clint was recording the whole thing with his phone. Sam wasn’t going to live this moment down, you knew that for sure.

“She’s gonna ruin him for other women, isn’t she?” You heard someone ask you, and when you turned your head to your left, the spot Natasha was occupying, you saw Bucky. He was still smiling, looking friendly and non-threatening. He had his usual combo on: A black t-shirt and tight, black jeans. His sleeves were on display, you could see his tattoo neck, too, and the piercing on his eyebrow was shining with the lights around him. He still had eyeliner around his eyes albeit faint, but he didn’t seem like it bothered him.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “She has that effect on people generally.” Bucky snickered. He slowly sat down next to you but put some distance because he wasn’t an asshole like his friends loved to call him. “You, um, still have some…” You stammered, pointing at his eyes. Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I tried to wipe them, but they don’t come off for some reason. They might be waterproof? I need to scrub them, I guess,” he said. You nodded again. You hated these awkward moments because you just didn’t know what to do.

“You could try coconut oil, though,” you blurted. Bucky frowned lightly. “It, uh, it helps t-to remove the, um, waterproof eyeliner.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “I think I saw a small jar in one of the make-up bags. Will you help me?” You froze for a second. Of course, you would help him, but that would mean you were going to be close to him, right? You didn’t know if you could handle it─

“Yes, she will. She helped me with the same situation many times,” Natasha chimed in. “She’s gentle.” You side-eyed Natasha. You were so going to hit her with a pillow when you went back home. She saw you looking and blew you a kiss.

“Y-yeah, I did. I- I will,” you said. Taking a deep breath, you decided to just roll with it because you weren’t getting out of here anytime soon, apparently. “Come on.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the room he stormed out earlier. You ignored all the whoos and cheers although they made your cheeks and body burn. “Show me the jar?”

Bucky nodded mutely. Without letting your hand go, he moved to one of the desks that were against the wall with big mirrors and lights all around just like the other room, he pulled out a bag. “Should be in this,” he said.

“Okay,” you agreed. “Sit down.” You let his hand go, missing its roughness and warmth immediately, you opened the bag to dig the jar out. You grabbed a small piece of cotton, dripped some oil onto your hand and turned to Bucky. He was on your level, now, sitting down. “Close your eyes,” you whispered. He did. Inhaling slowly, you stepped closer to him and slowly applied the oil on his eyelids.

His skin was soft, you realized. He had lots of small moles on his face. Most of them were hidden with his long hair and light scruff, but they looked beautiful on him. His lips had a pretty bow shape, their natural color pink-ish red. You suddenly wanted to lean down and kiss him to see if they were as soft as they looked. Blinking, you pulled your hand away and brought the cotton to wipe it off. The oil helped, of course, and soon, the cotton was all black with the make-up.

“There you go,” you whispered, signaling that you were done. Bucky slowly opened his eyes. They were dark and mesmerizing; his pupils were large and almost swallowed the pretty color of his eyes, and you felt stuck. You saw him licking his lips with the corner of your eyes. His hands came up to your waist, one of them moving to your face to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb stroked your cheek gently, so gently that you sighed and nuzzled against it without thinking. You heard him letting out a soft sound, and then his lips were onto yours.

Moaning in shock, you stood there, trying to process what was happening.

You were being kissed by James Barnes. The lead guitarist of Commandos. Your favorite band. You were being kissed by him. You pushed him away. Your hands still on his chest, you looked at him, the disbelief visible on your face.

Bucky cursed to himself silently. He should have known better than just kissing you like this, he should have taken you out first and let you that he was thinking of asking you out for real because he had been watching you throughout the whole concert, and you were so fucking pretty─

“What─ Why did you do that?” You asked him, interrupting his inner panicking. Bucky swallowed and looked at you, the color of his eyes had returned slightly.

“I─” He started, but realized he didn’t know what he could say. “Wanted to?” He cringed. God, he was hopeless. “I’m sorry, I should have asked. I’m─ Look, I wasn’t trying to force myself on you, I swear. I’m really sorry.” He tried to stand up, but you stopped him with putting your hands on his shoulders.

“Why did you do that?” You asked again. Yeah, he might have wanted to kiss you, but you had to know exactly why. Bucky held his breath.

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he said with a soft voice. “Because you looked so pretty singing along to the songs I wrote with your friend, looked so carefree and gorgeous, I wanted to know you, wanted to kiss you so bad. Because you felt right when you were close to me. Because I wanted to keep you even closer, so that no one would try to steal you away fro─ Mmfm!”

You cut him off with pressing your lips against his. Of course, you were attracted to him. He was this devilishly handsome, funny and charming lead guitarist of your favorite band. How could you not? Him admitting that he wanted to know you was dizzying, to kiss you so bad was definitely passing out material.

Bucky sighed into the kiss as he brought one of his hands to rest on the small of your back and the other on your face. Tilting his head to his side slightly, Bucky deepened the kiss. With the hand on your lower back, he pulled you to him, making you step into his personal space even more. You hummed. Your hands were on his cheeks, fingertips playing with his hair while your thumbs stroked his cheekbones.

He kissed so nicely.

His lips were as soft as they looked. They felt like silk onto yours as he kissed your breath away. His body heat was setting your own body fire. His hands on you were like a dream come true. The way he held you close to him felt so good, you wanted to cry at the feeling. You were a little touch starved, but he was feeding you well with his itty bitty touches.

“Mmm,” he hummed as he pulled back for oxygen. He opened his eyes, watching you nuzzle in his palm, kissing his wrist, Bucky felt immensely happy. “Darling love,” he whispered. “You feel so right in my arms.” You let out a broken sound as you buried your face in his palm, partially hiding in it. He chuckled softly. “You do.” You wiggled even closer to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

Just as both of you were getting lost in the kiss, the knock on the door made you jump. “We’re leaving for the bar!” It was Clint. “Are you guys coming or not?” Bucky looked at you.

“Let me take you out?” He asked, hope shining bright in his beautiful eyes. “Let me treat you? Please, honey?” You nodded mutely. You were too stunned to answer him verbally. He smiled. “Alright,” he said and stood up. He, then, took a step back and extended his hand to you. “I’m James, but people close to me call me Bucky.”

You chuckled at his cheesiness. Holding his hand, you shook it. “I’m Y/N, but Natasha calls me dumbass sometimes,” you said, making him grin. Bucky held your hand in his as he brought it up to his lips, kissing your wrist.

“Can I take you out on a date? Buy you a drink?” He asked, then. You bit your lip as you grinned.

“Yeah,” you answered him. He beamed.

“Great!” He pulled you against him. “I know just the place.”

──

You’ve been at the bar with the band and Natasha for two hours now. You were having so much fun that you couldn’t stop giggling or cracking jokes sometimes. You felt incredibly lucky to get to know the band this way; they were a bunch of charming and funny guys who occasionally called each other asshole.

Thor was a weird one; he kept talking like he was someone from a Shakespeare play but he was a very funny dude. Sam was a sarcastic but a very charming guy; him and Natasha had kept the flirting going since she sat on his lap at the backstage. Steve was actually a pretty smart guy, but he loved fucking with others and playing dumb. He was almost as flirtious as Sam, but he kept the flirting to Thor only which you later learned that Thor and Steve had been dating for two years. Clint was… he was a real dumbass. He was a beast with his drums, but in general he was a walking disaster and the bandages on his face and arms sort of gave that away.

They were a good bunch.

Then, there was James. Or Bucky as he reminded you to call him that once or twice. He was funny just like the others. He was charming and actually a sweetheart. You learned that he was also the Mama Bear of the band while Sam had taken the Papa Bear role. They were the ones who kept the others doing shit. He was considerate, lovable and smart guy. He loved his music, loved playing his guitar whenever he could and loved exploring new things.

You might have been a little in love with him already.

“Aight!” Steve interrupted the chattering. He was a little tipsy, not drunk, and leaning onto Thor more than he probably should. “Round… four? Five? It’s on me. Who wants what?” Everyone placed their order with Steve and Thor, but you.

“Just water if they have such a healthy drink in here,” you said, chuckling. “I had enough.” You weren’t big on drinking your consciousness away, and considering this was sort of your first date with Bucky, you wanted to stay sober.

Steve and Thor nodded, not pushing you to drink when you didn’t want to, and made a bee line to the bar. Bucky was holding you against his side, his arm was either over your shoulders or around your waist, and you were leaning into him. He placed a soft kiss onto your temple, making your body heat up with the simple touch of his lips. With a sigh, you buried your head into his shoulder.

It was sort of surprising that you felt so safe and at ease with Bucky although it’s been only three hours since you met officially. Sure, you’ve known him partially from the interviews, but you spent three hours in his presence, and the closeness between you two felt like you’ve been like this, close and touching each other, for years. It was a weird but not unwelcomed feeling. In fact, you loved it a little too much.

“Are you okay?” Bucky whispered. His breath smelled a bit like beer, but you didn’t mind. Yours probably smelled the same. You nodded. “I can take you back home if you want or to a hotel? I… just realized I don’t know where you live.” You chuckled.

“I live around, don’t worry,” you assured him. “Like an hour or so away with car? I’m local.” You snuggled deeper into his embrace. “I’m fine, though, it’s been very fun so far.” Bucky hummed.

“Yeah, they are good guys,” Bucky agreed. “But say the word and I’ll take you home, alright?” He said, looking into your eyes.

“Okay,” you agreed, kissing his cheek. You have never felt like this with a guy before. Sure, you were a virgin, but you had boyfriends, you had dated. None of them made you feel this at ease around them. None of them but Bucky. You found that you loved this feeling. With a smile, you hummed happily.

After Steve and Thor returned with a new round of drinks, you’ve spent another hour and half laughing and talking with them. It was around 3 AM when all of you decided to call it a night.

“It’s technically morning, though,” Clint said, swaying on his feet a little. Everyone groaned. “Fine, geez. I ain’t makin’ any joke anymo’,” he grunted and flipped the bird. You snorted lightly. Clint got offended real easy when he was drunk, apparently.

“So, girls,” Sam started. “We can take you home if you want? Or put you in the same hotel we’re staying for tonight?” Natasha shrugged.

“It’d take us at least an hour to get home, I’ll take the hotel option,” she said, and you hummed approvingly. “We don’t need new rooms. I think it’s obvious where we’ll be staying,” she added with a smirk. You felt your cheeks burn.

“I’m so divorcing you when we go home,” you muttered, and Natasha snickered. You felt Bucky’s assuring squeeze on your arm.

“We can get you a new room if you don’t feel comfortable enough with sharing, though,” he said, ignoring Natasha. You frowned as you thought about it.

It wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know what you’d do. Would you just cuddle and go to sleep or… You sighed. You wanted to take that step. You were in your mid-twenties and you wanted to get rid of your virginity already. It stuck with you for a long time. You didn’t want to push him for it, though. Frown deepening, you realized you wouldn’t mind whatever you chose to do when you shared a room. Even though you wanted to get rid of things, you really would like to cuddle with Bucky and go to sleep.

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “I won’t mind sharing a room if that’s okay with you.” Bucky shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“Of course,” he said. “Let’s go then.”

─

It took you fifteen minutes or so arriving the hotel and all of you quickly scattered your own rooms. You followed Bucky. He was holding your hand into his gently, you in front of him, his arms were around your waist and hands holding yours as you rode the elevator. When you were on the floor nine, you got off and walked down the hall.

Stepping inside the room 107, you felt nervous. It wasn’t Bucky who was making you nervous, but yourself, you knew that. You could come clean and tell Bucky; he had been so patient and loving with you all day and you knew he wouldn’t mind you telling him about your conflict.

“I can take the couch,” Bucky started. “I don’t mind. It’s actually pretty comfy,” he grinned. “Took a nap there before we hit the stage.” He wiggled his brows adorably. “I can lend you some clothes if you wanna shower, I’m definitely taking one. I have no idea how you put up with my stink for four hours.” You chuckled.

“You don’t stink,” you said. “You smell nice, actually.” Bucky tilted his head to his side and sent you a cocky smirk. Fuck, you thought.

“Nice, hm?” He laughed, then. “I half-showered with my perfume is probably why,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Anyways, you gonna shower?” You bit your lip. You were hesitating just a little, but you knew you had to take some steps yourself in these kinds of things.

“W-what if we take o-one to-ogether?” You stammered clumsily. “We, uh, both need one, anyways, right?” Bucky froze. His eyes snapped at yours, watching you carefully as he tried to see if you really wanted this.

“You really want that?” He asked. You nodded. There was nothing else you wanted more at the moment, you thought. “Honey,” Bucky murmured. “Do you know what you want? Do you wanna tell me?” Ye walked closer to him and placed your hands on his chest when you were close enough.

“I want to take a shower with you,” you said, surprisingly with a steady voice. “I… We don’t have to, but if you want, I, um, also want to have sex with you, too.” Bucky exhaled shakily at your words. They were affecting him, you could see it in his eyes. So, you thought, might as well drop the bomb. “I, um,” you continued. Your fingers were playing his exposed dog tags. “I really, really would like you to be, um, the first one to… you know…” You narrowed your eyes, looking at him and hoping that he’d understand.

“The first one to what, love?” He asked. His eyes were intense, now. They looked at you like they wanted to see through you. You shivered and licked your lips. Your mouth opened and closed, words wanting to get out but didn’t know how. “Y/N,” Bucky said when you didn’t answer. “Honey,” he called out. “Are you a virgin, love?”

You nodded. Your whole body was burning with embarrassment, burning under the intense look of his beautiful eyes. You fidgeted in your place, tearing your eyes from his, you gave your whole attention to his dog tags. You played with them until you felt his fingers gripping your chin gently and tilting up.

“Are you sure?” He asked. “Do you really want me to do that?” You nodded again. Words were hard for you, at the moment, you were beyond embarrassed. “Sweetheart, I’m honored that you see me worthy.” You snorted.

“Dork,” you whispered. He grinned.

“That’s me,” he said, making you snort again. “Alright, let’s take a shower together.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the bathroom. He left you by the sink to undress while he adjusted the water. You were stripping off your clothes one by one, not feeling so confident about your body, you had a strong urge to hide it.

It was Bucky, though. You may not have known for a long time, but you knew he wouldn’t mind. Still, you couldn’t silence the irritating small voice in your mind that had been whispering how different you looked from all the women Bucky had seen out with.

“Water is ready,” he announced, unaware of your inner struggle. He turned around as he yanked his t-shirt off his body. “Y/N? Are you okay?” His eyes roamed your body, moving up and down and up again. “What is it? It’s fine if you don’t want to do this─”

“It’s not that,” you muttered. “Well, sort of about it, not that exactly.” You shrugged. Your tears were on their way to fill your eyes, you could feel them, but you weren’t going to cry. “It’s just… I don’t have a model’s body, like, um, all the other women you’ve dated? I don’t have it, and um, it just makes me feel a little self-conscious?” You watched Bucky’s face going from worried to soft in a matter of seconds.

“Baby,” he whispered, stepping forward and getting into your personal space. “I don’t care.” He tucked your hair behind your ear, stroked your cheek and looked deep into your eyes. “I don’t care that you don’t have a model’s body. I actually like your body better than theirs because yours tell me that you’re happy and not starving yourself to look the way they do. You’re beautiful.” You whimpered. “It’s alright if you wanna back up, it really is, but please do not think that I won’t find you attractive because you don’t have a body like theirs, okay?” You sniffed lightly as you nodded.

You slowly got rid your t-shirt, dropping it on the floor like he did with his, and reached behind your back to unclasp your bra. He looked into your eyes all the while you undressed yourself. His eyes never flickered down once. They kept looking into your eyes, and his thumbs kept stroking your cheeks and your neck. Once you got naked, you fought with the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and cover your bits. Bucky liked your body, you reminded yourself. You were beautiful to him.

“There you go,” Bucky whispered. “That’s a good baby.” He leaned in and pecked your lips. “Let’s get under the water, alright?” You nodded. He quickly rid himself from his remaining clothes. His tattooed and pierced body’s naked glory was right in front of you, and you wanted to leave some marks. You wanted people to know that he was yours, now, no one else’s. “Come on, love.” He nudged you into the shower gently, pulling you out of your head. You carefully stepped into the tub, the water hitting your back immediately, you shivered with the warm water. Bucky walked in behind you and closed the glass doors.

Bucky plastered his front to your back, gently encouraging you to lean against him. His arms wrapped around your middle, he dipped down and placed kisses on your neck. The steam coming from the warm water warming your body, making his kisses feels even more sensual. You shivered.

“Let’s get you wet,” he murmured, eyes shining with mischief. You let out a soft snort and rolled your eyes. He grinned. He turned you around and stepped under the water with you still leaning against his body. You could feel his well-defined muscles on your back. His bulging biceps around your waist was giving you a nice feeling, too. His already warm body was even warmer now thanks to the water.

You sighed.

Bucky grabbed the shampoo and washed your hair, fingers massaging your scalp. After you were clean, it was his turn. He had to crouch down, later he went down on his knees since it was easier for you to reach all of his hair easily. As you washed his hair, Bucky held onto you, face buried in your stomach, he breathed calmly as you massaged his scalp like he did to you. You could feel the tension draining out of him. He must be exhausted, you thought, and suddenly felt guilty about springing this whole I-want-to-have-sex-with-you conversation. He needed rest, not more action. You huffed to yourself silently. Telling him to stand up, you grabbed the second loofah and dragged it along his body, washing away the dirt and sweat of the concert.

Washing away the shampoos and last of the dirt on your body, you turned off the water and stepped out, Bucky right behind you and still holding onto your waist. He grabbed a big towel from one of the cabinets. It was white and looked so fluffy. He smiled when he saw your wide eyes and wrapped it around your body, squeezing you into a hug with towel around you, he held you against his chest. You chuckled. Your face was right into the crook of his neck; his warm body was radiating heat even with a towel between your bodies.

“It’s so fluffy,” you said, amusement in your voice. Bucky snickered.

“Yeah, that’s what I love about fancy hotels.” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows and grabbed another towel from the rack to dry himself. Both of you walked back into the bedroom again with your naked bodies covered with fluffy towels.

“Hey,” you called out softly. “We, um, don’t have to do it now,” you said. “I know you’re tired, and you need some rest. So, it’s totally okay if you─” Bucky placed a finger on your lips and silenced you.

“I want it,” he whispered. “I am tired, I’m not gonna lie, but I want to do this, too.” Amusement shone in his eyes. “Don’t be surprised if I fall asleep on you in the halfway, though,” he said. You chuckled. Your hand poked out under the towel and hit him on the arm gently. Bucky grinned. He leaned in and kissed your cheeks; they felt warm under his lips.

Bucky started humming as his hands grabbed the hem of the towel that you’ve been hugging tightly. You frowned lightly, trying to make out what he was humming. While you were thinking, Bucky took the towel off of you gently. You barely felt the cold air hitting your body because of his body heat. It was coming off of him in waves and warming you in a weird way. He smiled as he pulled back a little. His face was so close to yours, his moving lips were brushing against yours as he continued to sing the song.

“Television lover, baby, go all night,” he sang softly. “Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet,” he continued and pressed a kiss on the corner of your lips, arms pulling your closer to his body. “Little miss innocent sugar me, yeah.”

You frowned lightly, face scrunched in a very adorable way. “What are you singing?” You asked, still trying to making out what song he was singing. Bucky grinned.

“Ooh, in the name of love,” he started and saw the light bulb going off. “Pour some sugar on me. C’mon, fire me up.” He swayed to right and left, making guitar sounds just to make you giggle. “Pour some sugar on me. I can’t get enough!” You laughed.

“Oh my God, Bucky!” you exclaimed, tears in your eyes. “I can’t believe you’re singing─”

Bucky grinned even wider. “I’m hot, sticky sweet. From my head to my feet, yeah!”

Both of you cracked up. Bucky was still humming the song as he, too, discarded his towel. He came closer, looking into your eyes and searching for a ‘yes’ in there, which you gave him while still giggling. Bucky crouched lightly to grab you by your thighs and hoisted you up. You squeaked. Your arms were quick to wrap around his neck as he carried you to the bed.

“Crazy little woman in a one man show,” he continued to sing. “Mirror queen, mannequin, rhythm of lovee!” You snorted. “Sweet dreams, saccharine, loosen up.” He kissed your cheek. He lowered you on the bed, lying you down gently. You smiled at him. Bucky winked and leaned in.

His lips found yours with a sweet sigh escaping from you. Bucky hummed. His lips stroked yours gently, pried them open to deepen it with a small tilt of his head, and suddenly, you were kissing heatedly. You moaned when you felt his tongue licking at your bottom lip, his teeth nibbling on the soft flesh lightly. You opened your mouth, allowed his tongue inside and moaned again. Bucky grunted. He dropped his body onto yours, minding his weight, and caged you under him.

“Baby,” Bucky moaned when he pulled back for oxygen. His lips moving from yours to your neck, he hummed appreciatively. The light scruff he had was scratching the skin of your neck raw, but you didn’t mind. It felt so good, so nice to have his warm body onto yours like this and to feel his lips on your skin. Your body was on fire. Between your thighs, you were aching and dripping wet; the urge to press them together was strong, but Bucky was in the way.

“Bucky,” you sighed as he nipped on your collarbones. His breath was hot on your already heated skin. The rough texture of his hands drove your body into the edge of oversensitivity as they brushed and stroked every inch of skin they could reach. Bucky hummed appreciatively at the sight of your breasts on his face. His eyes flicked up at yours, silently asking for a permission. Heart beating in your mouth, you nodded. Every breath you drew in was burning you in the best way, making your head rush.

You gasped loudly when his hot and wet mouth closed over your nipple. His tongue was teasing the delicate nip gently; cheeks hollowing as he sucked on it, he slurped. One of his hands had closed over your other breast; the rough texture that drove you crazy was on your boob now, and his calloused fingers were playing with your nipple. Your arched your back. Your hands wound tight in his longish brown hair, pulling on them whenever he sucked too hard and twisted your nipple in a very good way.

“Oh, shit, Bucky!” Eyes closed, you threw your head back as you thrusted your chest against his face more. Bucky just grunted and switched nipples. His hand was now playing with your saliva covered nipple while his mouth had closed over your other breast. When you moaned high and very feminine, Bucky scrapped his teeth over the sensitive bud, making your hips buck against his unintentionally. “God, I─ This─ Shit, feels so good,” you sighed, breath hitching.

Bucky let go of your nipple with an obscene ‘pop’ sound and placed a kiss on your sternum. He kissed his way down, tongue dipping into your belly button and placing a kiss there, too. You tried not to squirm away when he finally made contact with your dripping core. His hot breath was licking your mound, making you hyperaware of his presence there and also making you even wetter.

Feeling how nervous you were, Bucky looked at you softly and kissed your inner thighs. You breathed in shakily. His lips were covering your inner thighs with kisses, hands stroking your sides and stomach, fingers occasionally finding your nipples, Bucky calmed you down. Soon, you were melting under his soft and loving touches as he made his way to your pussy slowly.

First flick of his tongue on your clit had you gasping, bucking your hips and grabbing onto his hands on your stomach. Bucky shushed you and placed a kiss on your clit, sucking it just a little.

“Oh my God! Bucky!” You moaned. He shushed you again with grounding strokes of his thumbs on the back of your hands. He dove in.

His tongue flicked on your clit over and over again, lips closed around the tiny bud and sucked little hickeys onto it. His scruff was rubbing on your inner thighs and making this whole new experience even better. You kept moaning, whining and whimpering; your hands never letting of his, you held onto them tight as you arched your back and buried your face into the pillow with your eyes closed.

You could feel your slick running down, dripping onto bed, because the sounds Bucky was making while eating you out were so hot, it made your thigh muscles twitch around his head. He was burying one groan after the other into your pussy, humming and grunting at the taste of your slick and your tight hold on his hands.

At one point, he pulled back. Freeing one of his hands out of your hold, Bucky swiped a finger from your slit to your clit. You cried out. The colors were exploding behind your closed eyes; your body was taut with the expected orgasm. Bucky swiped his fingers a few more times before he slowly dipped it inside you. An audible hitch in your breath, Bucky stopped. He pulled his finger back slightly only to push it back in.

“James,” you whined. You could feel the pressure gathering in your lower belly. “Please, God, please─” You groaned when he continued to move his fingers in you as he pressed his thumb over your clit. You were close. You were so close, you could fucking taste it. You whimpered. Your free hand found his body, and you grabbed the meaty shoulder, digging your nails deep. Bucky hummed and crooked his fingers.

You screamed when you came.

Your body went taut, muscles cramping, you felt them relaxing at the same time. It was a bit weird and amazing feeling which you loved. It wasn’t that you’ve never made yourself come, you have, but none of them felt like this.

“Your fucking face─” You heard Bucky growl lightly. He climbed his way up to your lips and kissed you passionately. “The way you look when you come? Gorgeous.” He kissed you harshly, nipping your bottom lip. “The way you taste? Magnificent. Pouring out some sugar for me, there, don’t you, baby?” You felt your cheeks burn at his words as he ducked in for yet another kiss which you gave him happily. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. He pulled back just a little and started kissing on your cheeks and neck. “You still wanna do it?” He asked. You nodded. “Speak up, bubba,” he nudged your jaw with his nose. You squirmed happily at the pet name.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Still wanna do it. Still wan’it to be you. Please?” You looked at him with wide eyes, face open and excited.

Bucky wanted to hide you in his bed forever because you were too good to be true. “Alright, love, okay,” he whispered. He reached for his wallet that he left on the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom. Bucky was quick and efficient as he put on the condom, discarding its small package.

You gasped lightly when you saw his cock. It was a little above average, wasn’t too big that it might really hurt you. He was uncut, but you could see faint lines of veins throbbing there. There was a shining metal going through his cock head, but to avoid panicking, you diverted your eyes to his ball. They were big and looked full, and suddenly, you felt your body burning even more with the thought of them slapping against your skin.

“It’s might hurt at the beginning, okay?” He said, drawing your attention back to him. “Tell me, please, just tell me to stop if it hurts really bad or you just don’t wanna do this anymore, alright?” You nodded. He tapped on your lips. “Words, honey.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it.” He nodded with a big smile on his face.

“That’s right,” he whispered and kissed you. Settling in deeper between your thighs, Bucky kept kissing you. One of his hands was on your face, gently stroking your cheek, while the other had grabbed his cock and lined it up.

The slide in was smooth, and Bucky was going real slow. He really didn’t want to hurt you, make this experience a bad one, so he was being extra careful. He could feel how your silky wet walls wrapping his cock slowly as he inched in, in and in. His eyes were rolling backwards behind his closed lids. It was addicting, the way you felt around him. Bucky never wanted to pull out, wanted to stay buried in you forever because you were so tight, so warm and so wet, it was like a dream come true.

“Sweetheart,” he croaked. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” Your breath hitched at his low voice calling you a sweet name. Between your thighs you were aching, hurting just a little it, too, but it wasn’t unbearable. You held onto him tight, reeled into the feeling of his cock sliding into you and just… felt.

You whimpered when his cock was fully seated. There was a throbbing pain, almost pulsating with the same beat as your heart. Bucky was panting in your ear. He wasn’t moving, was just holding you tight against him and trying to control himself until you gave him the go. You hummed a little as he pain subsided.

“You good, bubba?” He asked, lifting his head only a little to look you in the eye. You sniffed, tears had sprung to your eyes at the pain, but it was gone now. You nodded, hands tightening on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Move, please?” Bucky groaned. He gave you another kiss on the lips: A sweet, chaste and soft kiss. You sighed into it.

Carefully, he pulled out a bit and slid back in, stealing your breath. His breathing was shaky. You could hear his silent grunts and groans. His hands were fisting the bedding until you grabbed them and twined your fingers together. He kissed your neck as thanks. He continued to thrust into you slowly. Every drag of his cock, you could feel it in your bones, deep in your body, and it was so goddamn good.

“God,” you choked on a moan. “Fuck, faster, please─” Bucky growled.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. Sweat was beading on his forehead, chest and back, making his skin glow. You whimpered as you turned your head to him where he buried his face into the crook of your neck and kissed his temple.

“You won’t,” you said. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, please!” You clenched your thighs around his hips, urging him to move a little faster. His growling increased; it sounded like he was almost snarling with each thrust of his hips.

“You want it hard, darlin’?” He asked, taunted. You whimpered again as you nodded. A wanton cry of ‘yes’ spilled out of your mouth. “You want me to fuck you faster, hm?” You let out another litany of yeses and tightened your hands in his. Bucky groaned deep and loud. His hips started to snap against yours. His balls hitting your slick covered skin, his cock started to move in and out of you at a rapid pace.

The pleasure it brought was fucking blinding.

You moaned when he gave you a particular hard thrust. You were moving up and down on the bed where you were lying on your back as Bucky thrusted in and out of you madly. You could feel the metal you saw through the condom stroking your sensitive walls, making the pleasure feel even better, and you knew you were going to come. You could feel how close you were.

“James,” you breathed, your face drowning in pleasure as he looked at you. “’m gonna come,” you whined. “’m so close, ‘m gonna come!” Bucky snarled.

Straightening up a bit, he leaned onto his elbows, still holding your hands. His thrusts were deeper now. He was hitting at a spot that got you choking on almost every moan that wanted to get out, stealing your breath with each thrust; you were delirious.

“Bucky,” you sighed. Your voice carried a panicking tone, but it was because you were so close to coming. “Bucky, fuck, I’m─”

“Come, honey,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “Come for me, c’mon.” He ducked down to bite one of your breasts, sucking and licking at the same time. You gasped. Your thighs and walls clenched around him so tightly, Bucky’s eyes rolled behind his head, mouth open and he was almost drooling at the sensation. “Fuck!” He roared. The vice of your walls around his hard cock felt so fucking good, he started to move in and out of you rapidly. He was jackrabitting, so close to coming himself, and you didn’t mind. It still felt good albeit a bit too much.

“James,” you whispered. Your hand squeezed his and you lifted your head enough to peck him on the lips. Bucky moaned brokenly. He leaned down, fully pressing his lips on yours as he kissed you deeply. He was releasing moans and grunts and sighs into the kiss, into your mouth, and you smiled. “Come on, lemme see you,” you whispered again. Pecking his lips once and twice, licking his bottom lip, you bit it gently.

Bucky cursed. His thrust halted for a second. His balls jerked as he thrusted into you one last time, and he filled the condom with his seed, his face buried in your neck. You hummed. His weight on you was a welcomed one, it felt like a personal, living, weighted blanket and you hummed again.

“Oh shit,” Bucky whispered. It was quiet for a while. He silently and carefully pulled out of you and ditched the condom. He got up to get a wet cloth from the bathroom. When he returned, he gently cleaned the between your legs, taking away all the dirt and slight blood that he caused, and then cleaned himself. Dropping the cloth somewhere in the bathroom, he walked back inside the room, lay on the bed and gathered you in his arms, hugging you tight against his chest. You sighed contently. “How do you feel? Was I too rough?”

“Mm, no,” you murmured. Your face was squished on his chest. The barbells on his nipples were warm against your cheek. “It was perfect.” You smiled dopily as you pulled back. You kissed him on the cheeks and then on the lips. “Thank you.” He smiled at you back; the crinkles around his eyes showing themselves, he scrunched his nose.

“You’re very welcome, bubba,” he whispered, kissing your nose. You chuckled and settled back on his chest. You lay in the silence. Although both of you were tired, you didn’t feel the need of sleep immediately. Bucky was in agreement with you since he started to hum again. You frowned for a second until you realized he was still singing the same song from before. You chuckled. “Hmm,” he said.

“Same song still?”

“Yup,” he grinned. “Lyrics fit, don’t you think?” You made a questioning sound. His grin widened. He was expecting you’d react like that. “You got the peaches, I got the cream,” he sang, and you snorted out loud as your face burned yet again. “Sweet to taste, saccharine.” You started to laugh. “Cause I’m hot, hot, so hot, sticky sweeet!” He started to crack up slightly. “From my head, my head to my feet, yeaah!”

“Oh my God, stop!” You cackled, face buried in his neck.

“Never,” he said and went back to singing. “Take a bottle, shake it uuup! Break the bubble, break it uuuup!” He stopted, looking at your with the corner of his eyes. You snorted and bit his neck lightly. “Come on, sing this part with me.” You shook your head. “Come ooon! Do this and I’ll shut up, I promise.” You looked at his grinning stupid face. Rolling your eyes, you murmured a ‘fine’.

“Pour some sugar on meee!” Both of you sang, trying very hard not to crack up. “Oooh, in the name of looovee! Pour some sugar on meee! C’mon fire me uup!” Bucky flipped your positions, taking you under him again, causing your breath to hitch and stop you singing.

“Pour some sugar on me,” he sang quietly this time. He leaned in and kissed you passionately, deeply, lovingly. His lips traveled your neck, peppering kisses and then came back to your lips again. He whispered the last notes of the song as he leaned in close enough for his lips to crush against yours before he engulfed you into another hot and loving round of sex.

“Ooh, I can’t get enough…”

Your grinning self was turned into a gasping and chanting his name with pleasure one real quick after that.

──

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #rockstar!bucky barnes #rockstar!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes blurbs #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #pour some sugar on me

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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sunrisefairy · 3 years

Text

My muse

Pairing: Art student!Sirius x reader Warning: NSFW! MDNI 18+, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex, if I’ve forgotten anything please let me know! Summary: Sirius is struggling with an art assignment until he finds inspiration in his girlfriend. Or the one when Sirius and reader bang on a canvas. A/N: wrote this for @anxiousblanketqueen writing challenge, I had a lot of fun with this one Jill so I hope you enjoy it too. Based of the prompt Art Sex. This article is helpful with visualising the art work!

Taglist: if you’re crossed out i couldn’t tag you @theweasleyslut @anxiousblanketqueen @accioweaslcy @widowdays @inglourious-imagines @garbdump @star-sunshine-sage @weelittleweasley @a-dusty-emerald @starlightkell @omghufflepuff @weasleysprincess @j-amespotter @gryffindorgirl To be added to the taglist click here

“Oh my god this is fucking bullshit!” Sirius groans before throwing his paint brush, it landing with a clatter on the hardwood floor of his art studio.

You hear all the commotion from the kitchen and decided to check in on your boyfriend. It was nearing the end of the term and Sirius had been very agitated and snappy from all the stress.

“You okay babe?” you poke your head through the door to see Sirius standing in the middle of the room, practically death staring a half-finished painting resting on one of his wooden easels.

“Fucking bullshit,” your boyfriend mumbles, clenching and unclenching his paint stained hands.

You slowly walk up to him and wind your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his white cotton t-shirt, “wanna talk to me about it?” you whisper.

Sirius twists in your grip until he’s facing you allowing you to get a good look at him; his shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched tightly from the pressure of school and his eyebrows are furrowed which has become a regular facial expression of him the past few weeks. You reach your hand up and delicately trace the worry lines in his forehead. Sirius immediately relaxes at your touch; his faces becomes more natural and his shoulders slump. Since dating Sirius you’ve come to understand how much he struggles to talk about his feelings. He doesn’t like dumping his problems on those around him as it makes him feel like a burden. So you try your best to be patient with him and always remind him you’ll be here no matter what.

“Just stressed about school,” Sirius murmurs his eyes looking down at the floor between your bodies.

You let your hand fall down to his shoulders, lightly squeezing, “yeah? What about school?”

Sirius’ hands find their way under the t-shirt you’re wearing which evidently is one of his that you’ve stolen, he lets his fingers trace patterns on your warm skin. “Just this one assignment is making me go insane. Can’t seem to get it right.” He gestures to the canvas sitting in the middle of the room.

If you’re being honest, anything Sirius paints leaves you memorised and evokes numerous emotions from you. You are constantly telling your boyfriend how talented he is and every time he’ll roll his eyes at your compliment. “I think it looks amazing babe,” you state truthfully.

To no surprise, Sirius rolls his eyes at your comment. “yes, well you have to say that ‘cos you’re my girlfriend.”

Sirius leaves your embrace and walks back over to the painting, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning so intensely you think laser beam might shoot from his eyes and through this artwork. He starts mumbling again, irritation is laced thickly on his words, “representation of raw love,” he mocks, “what a load of utter crap. My professor is so pretentious, the only instruction he gives us for this stupid bloody assignment is ‘make a piece which represents raw love’ what does that even mean? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s fucking bullshit.”

You shuffle closer to Sirius so you’re standing at his side, both staring at his current piece. You’re not really sure how to help, you’re no artist but you hate seeing Sirius so worked up. “What are other people in your class doing for the assignment? Maybe you can gather inspiration from them?”

Sirius shrugs and stuffs his hands in his dark jeans which are covered in paint splatters, “Kirra’s doing a photography piece of her husband and kids, Gage is making some sculpture of his dog.”

“Alright,” you pause for a brief moment “well maybe think of ways people show love or how you show love, like real emotional love ya’know?” you feel like you’re grasping at straws here and making up some bullshit.

You glance over at Sirius, he’s biting his bottom lip deep in thought, you stay silent not really knowing what else to say to assist him. Slowly a look of realisation washes over your boyfriend’s face, eyes wide and a grin gracing his lips. “Holy shit baby, you’re a genius!”

Butterflies erupt deep in your belly from the praise and you giggle when Sirius starts peppering your face with tiny kisses to show his gratitude. Eventually he connects your lips together in what you thought would be a short but sweet kiss. However, you squeak in surprise when Sirius quickly deepens the kiss, his hands gripping tightly at your waist before slowly moving them down to grope at your arse.

“You should probably get working on your project then Sirius,” you breathe against his mouth, disappointed to stop things before they get too heated but you know Sirius’ inspiration comes and goes in waves and if you wait until after the two of you get off, then he might fall back into feeling unmotivated again.

“I am working on it,” you pull away confusion all over your face.

“What do you mean?” you query.

Sirius chuckles and moves away from you to move the canvas and easel to the edge of the room out of the way, he starts laying out a large piece of cream canvas fabric on the floor. “Think about it, what’s a way people show love?” he asks you, squirting numerous colours of paint carelessly onto the fabric.

“Babe there’s a lot of way people show love,” you answer puzzled, what did making out with you have to do with his piece? And why was he now squirting colours onto a blank canvas.

Sirius continues, “yes I know that but what about a raw, emotional way people show love? a primal way to show love so to speak?”

When you finally look back up at Sirius’ face you’re met with a cheeky smirk that you know all too well. It’s not until he removes his shirt do you connect the dots. “Sirius I’m not letting you fuck me on this canvas for a university project for god’s sake.”

The raven-haired boy’s grin only widens as he slowly moves closer to you, his eyes burning into your skin. You feel hot and vulnerable under his gaze, it’s like he’s stalking his prey. Your breath hitches in your throat when Sirius’ body is pressed flush against your own and you can feel his hot breath fanning your face as he speaks in a low, hushed tone, “I’m not going to fuck you,” his voice drops an octave like it does when he’s feeling horny. Just the tone of his voice alone causes a wetness to pool in your panties. “Wanna make love to you baby. Wanna show you how much I love you, can I do that darlin’?”

You bite your lip trying to swallow the moan that is threatening to spill from your mouth when Sirius starts leaving sloppy kisses on your neck. Damn Sirius Black for knowing all your weak spots.

“Just want to make you feel good baby girl,” he tugs the off t-shirt your body. “Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?”

You close your eyes and focus on Sirius’ large hands cupping and massaging your breasts tenderly, you always were putty in his hands. Fuck it you thought. “Yes, please make love to me Sirius.”

The boy grins and whispers a thank you against your skin. He takes no time in removing both of your clothes until you’re standing in front of each other naked. You and Sirius take the opportunity to study each other. You gaze over all the curves and lines on Sirius’ body, the way his muscle flex and move, the freckle on his hip bone, the tiny scar on his left shoulder, the coarse hair of his happy trail. He was beautiful, stunning, breathtaking. And he was all yours.

Sirius helps you lay down against the canvas, you gasp at the cold, squishy feeling of the paint beneath you. It feels foreign but not unwelcoming, you wriggle a little, enjoying the way the substance slides around. Sirius kneels between your legs, relishing in the way your chest is already rising and falling frantically from arousal, “so gorgeous darlin,” he traces a finger down from your collar bone all the way to your core finding it soaked already.

You squirm when Sirius teases your entrance with his finger, the cold paint moving and mixing into the canvas under you. A quiet whine escapes your lips the moment Sirius pushes his index finger inside you and starts pumping it steadily.

“Need you to be loud for me baby, want to know how good I make you feel ‘kay?” Sirius commands trying to get into a comfortable position in between your spread legs, his body sliding slighting from the paint.

You answer him with a loud moan. Soon Sirius has added 2 more fingers into the mix causing you to wriggle and rock your hips into his hand, “so good Sirius, fuck.”

With his free hand, Sirius grips your thigh trying to keep you still, blue paint smears against the soft flesh of your thigh and Sirius is captured by how striking you look laying here right now, chest flushed, and eyes closed. The way your body is squirming from pleasure is causing the paint on the canvas to blend and mix together. Sirius scoops up some red paint from the fabric and swipes it across your breasts and over your nipples, “so pretty.” He mumbles tugging and pinching your nipples.

“Sirius,” you pant desperately, “please. Need more.”

Sirius withdraws his fingers earning a whine from you and strokes his cock a few times before lining it up with your entrance, “shh darlin’. M’here to make you feel good, yeah? Want me to make you feel good?”

You wrap your legs around him urging him to finally push into you. You needed it, needed to feel Sirius stretch you out and fill you up with his cock, needed to hear Sirius gasp and groan into your ear, needed to feel him rock his hips into yours, “please Sirius.”

With a low groan escapes from both of you when Sirius finally pushes into you, Sirius begins thrusting his hips deep and slow into yours, both of your relishing in the feeling and sensation coursing your bodies. Hands around running along the others body, squeezing, tugging, scratching at skin, leaving traces of paint in its wake. Sirius has buried his head in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek, mumbling how beautiful you look spread out for him.

Deeper, you need it deeper. Wrapping your legs tightly around your boyfriend, you manage to roll the two of you over, Sirius underneath you with you straddling his waist, allowing you to bounce of his cock. From this angle, he reaches deeper inside of you, his hard cock prodding at that sponging spot inside of you. The pure affection and love the two of you feel for each other was unmistakeable in this moment. The tenderness and intimacy of this act made your toes tingle and heart warm in your chest.

Continuing to bounce up and down on Sirius cock, you take a second to watch the boy below you, the only word seemingly fitting to describe him was angelic. His dark locks are sprawled out around the canvas, a mixture of red, blue and purple paint framing his body as well as splotches on his skin. His eyes are trained on yours, a look set in them that you’ve come to be familiar with, undying love.

You lower your head to connect your lips together, wanting-no needing to feel close, to feel connected.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly against Sirius’ pink lips. You feel that familiar euphoric sensation creeping up on you, Sirius’ cock hitting your g-spot every time you lower your body.

Sirius’ grips your waist tight and firmly, his own hips slamming up into you, “I love you too baby, so much.” He can feel your pussy clenching around him, he watches the way your breasts bounce between your bodies, he reaches his head forward to latch his mouth onto your nipple, sucking and licking on the sensitive bud. The noises slipping from your mouth makes his cock twitch.

“Sirius,” you pant threading your fingers through his dark hair to keep him close to your body.

Your body feels like it’s on fire and ready to combust, your legs trembling, and you know you won’t last much longer with the way Sirius is suckling at your nipple and he knows it.

“Want you to cum for me darlin, be my good girl and cum on my cock,” he groans into your breast, sucking and licking at your salty skin.

The coil in the pit of your belly snaps and with a load high pitched whine you’re releasing all over Sirius’ cock, your pussy clenching and legs shaking from the stimulation. After your release, it only takes Sirius a few more thrusts until he’s following suit, his load shooting and filling you up, a string of I love you’s tumbling from both of your mouths.

You collapse onto Sirius’ chest, neither of you make any effort to move even once your breathing has settled. Laying here with Sirius made you feel safe and protected. The way his index finger was trailing up and down your spine made you shiver, and you could feel him kissing your scalp gently. Undeniably, there was love radiating from his body, you could feel it and you only hope he could feel it radiating from yours too.

~~~

“Hey guys, that painting hanging up in the bedroom is new, yeah?” James questions, traipsing back into the living room where the rest of the group was.

You feel a heat rise in your cheeks when you realise which painting the bespectacled boy is referring too. Sirius nods pulling you tighter into his side.

“Did you paint that one Pads?” Remus asks. Most, if not all the artwork displayed in yours and Sirius’ home was created by him. It normally took a bit of persuading Sirius to let you hang up his work, he didn’t like to come across as cocky. But as soon as this canvas was dried and stretched onto a frame Sirius wasted no time in mounting it; above your shared bed, him claiming it ‘gets him in the mood whenever he looks at it’ (and he really wasn’t lying).

The boy beside you grins and plants a sloppy kiss against your cheek, “me and Y/N painted that one,” he says teasingly.

You shoot him a death glare warning him to keep his big mouth shut. “Don’t,” you mouth.

“That’s so cool! Didn’t know you were so artistic Y/N!” James exclaims excitedly, clearly impressed by the painting.

Sirius chuckles loudly pinching your side making you yelp, “oh she’s very talented when he comes to that type of stuff. I think we might need to make another piece together babe, what do you think?”

#JTR23 #Sirius Black #Sirius Black smut #Sirius Black x reader #Sirius Black x you #Sirius Black imagine #Sirius Black imagines #smut

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

512 notes · View notes

literaila · 3 years

Note

hi i have a fic request: the reader and spencer were dating and instead of emily dying the reader “died”. and during the time that the reader was presumed “dead”, spencer met maeve and they started dated and everything and when the reader came back there was a ton of tension and awkwardness. and after maeve dies the reader comforts spencer and like they grow closer and get together? ty ily<3

the art of knowing

spencer reid x gn! reader

warnings: criminal minds themes, angst, fluff, death. all that fun stuff.

a/n: its four am. i take no credit for any of this. thank you for the request, my love.

he couldn't let go of that tiny piece of paper.

vaguely, he thought it might smell like you, still.

through the ceremony, through the tears, the stains on the vinyl flooring that everyone was walking on, the fresh grass, and the silence that followed when everyone had said goodbye-- he just couldn't let it go.

it was just a small piece of paper. a hastily scrawled-out letter to him, from you, that was on something only slightly bigger than a sticky note. he knew the words by heart, and even if he didn't, he could’ve guessed what it said.

he knew as soon as he saw it on his desk, as soon as he noticed the lone flower, the organization of the flies he’d left sprawled out. he knew that you’d been there, and he knew that you were gone. how could he not have known?

he couldn't get the question out of his head, and he couldn't get this paper out of his hand.

“goodbye, spencer” was quite possibly the last thing he would ever hear from you.

no, it was. he knew that.

god, he was sitting at your funeral, watching other people cry over you. he’d been asked to say something and he’d refused because you wouldn't want him crying on some podium in front of everyone else. because he wanted to save that for when he got home. he knew all of these things, and yet he still didn’t understand.

he had to face the truth, teach himself the reality.

he was still clutching the paper when derek came over, when he offered spencer a hand on the shoulder, his never-ending support.

spencer was trying to wipe away any hint of water that might be left on his face even though he knew that it would only irritate his eyes more. that he would cry some more today anyway.

“i’m sorry,” derek said instead of asking him what everyone else had asked him today. as if there was a difference in the responses they might get.

“you didn't do anything,” spencer said instead of telling him that he’d already said that. that he already knew. that he was sorry too.

“i didn't do enough,”

“there wasn't anything else you could do.” spencer didn't know why he was reassuring him, but, at least it distracted from the flowers everyone was laying on the ground.

“reid…”

spencer stood up, he clutched the paper in his hand harder, willing himself not to think of those last words again. he didn't look at derek, but he didn't walk away. his body was numb, his fingers felt like nothing. withdrawal, he could have told you. this is what heartbreak was. withdrawal from chemicals he’d grown dependent on.

but somehow, the science wasn't enough.

“i feel like i should have known,” he whispered, letting his eyes sting again. he didn't have the energy it would take to blink the tears away.

“known what?”

the scoff that followed the question was anything but kind. “two years. two years spent with y/n and i didn't even get the chance to know-” he could feel the words leaking out of his chest, flowing like blood, like there wasn't enough pressure. “a whole different life i didn't even know about.”

he was mad. he was so angry. he felt so guilty, but he couldn't feel anything but mad at the little piece of paper in his hands. the goodbye you had known he would need.

“we all have secrets,” derek said, another reassurance that just made spencer want to scream.

“yeah, and i’m supposed to know everything.”

it was just a tiny piece of paper. it wasn't you, it wasn't anything like the person he had known. you had died, you were dead, and you had died someone that spencer had never even known.

really, how couldn't he have known?

he’d known about addiction long before that day. long before he could ever properly understand what it was-- that you could be addicted to a person, too.

but, he also knew, he learned, that you could stop it. that you could put addiction in a drawer far away and move on with your life-- that you would take it out sometimes, just to look at it, and still it would be okay. that you could have more than just a second chance.

he knew that, now, then, before all of this, even.

spencer was a genius, and he knew now how grief worked. he knew how the passing of time could really heal a person.

he knew that he was falling in love with a voice.

that there were multiple stages to addiction.

and one of those was leaving you behind.

he… he didn't know who this person was.

he didn't, he just didn't understand who was standing in front of him, who was there, why you were standing there right in front of him.

awkwardly smiling.

you didn't exist anymore. not to him-- not to anyone. you were dead, you were sitting in the ground somewhere, you were a ghost flying above his head, telling him it was okay to move on.

you were there, standing in front of him.

he didn't know you. he didn't know those eyes, and he didn't know that smile, and he didn't know who he was when you were here. he didn't know how you were here.

so he asked.

“how?” he swallowed, tried to get that dried feeling out of his mouth.

“y/l/n’s identity was strictly ‘need to know’ and Paris was a safe place to be reassigned until their security was assured.”

apparently, it was now because you were standing in front of him.

you were standing in front of him, and he wasn't addicted to you anymore. he didn't care, and he couldn't feel anything, even when he willed himself to. he felt like the corpse, like he was the one who was burried in the ground-- like you were supposed to be.

but, no. no, because you were alive and he felt nothing.

and when you spoke, his heart didn't race. when he looked at your eyes, he didnt even classify them as familiar. they were something else, you were something else.

he knew beause he had your last words memorized, and these certainly weren't them.

and god, he certainly didn't know you.

it didn't take long to understand. not for you, who had known spencer better than you’d known anything before. not for you, who used to study his face, watch his expressions until you got bored-- just for fun.

it didn't take long to understand that something had changed, to see the difference in the air between the two of you. to feel it.

there was something different in his eyes, and, something had changed. even from the first moment he looked at you, that first pass of his eyes, even then. you knew.

how couldn’t you know?

they were different-- the brown, the swirl of colors, the familiarity. it was different. it was strange and terrifying, the change.

those eyes weren't looking at you the same, he wasn't looking at you like he used to.

and you knew that, you could feel it. so half an hour later when you were all walking out of the room, you had to chase him down. no after how determined he was to get away.

“spence-” you followed him, focused on nothing else. “spencer, hey-”

he turned around. you were shocked, by his eyes, by his frown. you took a step back, and you felt more than you possibly could in a hallway at the bureau.

“what?” he asked, and you weren't sure. what else was there to say? what were you supposed to know? how were you supposed to guess what had changed?

“i…” you willed your eyes not to sting, willed yourself not to be affected by this certain feeling in your chest. “i missed you?”

and maybe it was the wrong thing to say, maybe it was. but the scoff from spencer, the scoff hurt.

“i missed you too, when i thought you were dead.”

you stepped back, hurt, concerned, anything but the happiness you’d hoped to feel when you finally saw him again. his words were unfamiliar, his eyes were unfamiliar, and you still didn't know what to say.

how were you supposed to fix this?

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, looking down. you felt small now. you didn't understand, no matter how much you thought you might.

you’d died, you knew. you were gone for months, but you’d missed him. you’d spent every day, every single one of them, hoping, dreaming, wanting to go back to him. you wanted to touch him, to hear his voice, to listen to him even if it was over a cellphone. you wanted to be alive to him, to be his still. you just wanted him back.

you’d spent every day wanting him back.

but now, now all you wanted to do was to feel bigger. you wanted to see him smile, to know what had changed. you wanted the truth and nothing short of it.

“y/n, i…”

and this. this wasn't anger. his voice, quiet as it always was, beautiful as it always had been, desperate like you’d never heard before-- his voice was full of guilt, of shame you couldn't recognize.

“i’m glad you aren't dead.”

“ha,” you deadpanned, angry now at the sound of his voice. angry now at the feeling building in your chest. you weren't used to him anymore, you didn't know him the same anymore. but still, you knew too much.

“really, really glad, but i’ve,” his voice cracked, his eyes fell, his body was slouching. you knew how to read this, you would’ve known even if it wasn't him.

you didn't want to hear the next words, but you had to, and you did.

“i met someone- i-”

and maybe it was grief, maybe it was anger, maybe it was desperation, but you smiled. maybe it was an effort to be enough.

“it's okay, spencer.”

those words were such lies, but you had to believe them, you had to feel like you believed them. you owed him that.

“if you’re happy, then it's okay. that's all i’ve wanted, all i could hope for in-” you swallowed, took a breath that was just enough to keep you from falling on the floor, from begging at his feet. “paris,” you smiled wider, you took a step back, but this time just to give him space. “its okay,” you repeated.

and that had to be enough. it had to be enough because you were walking away.

but, really, spencer was the one who was leaving you behind. you should’ve understood sooner-- because how could you not have known?

you didn't bother to look at him.

it had been three weeks. three weeks since you’d broken up-- officially for you since you’d never actually gotten the chance to before, but you supposed you couldn’t actually break up with a corpse. three weeks since you’d smiled and walked away.

it had to be what was best for him. if spencer could find someone who made him happy, if spencer could find someone in the minuscule months you’d been gone, if spencer could move past you, then he deserved to. you couldn't be the one to stop that, and you wouldn't be mad because, honestly, you’d done it to yourself.

and he couldn't be mad because you weren't. because you’d let him go and he had no more reason to be mad. he could even go back to pretending you didn't exist if he wished to.

so you were both content. you both worked with each other, you both avoided eyes. you couldn't bother to look at him or his eyes when all you wanted to do was scream at the feeling in them.

because you’d known that feeling--before. because you’d been on the other end of that feeling before, because your eyes had mirrored his before, and because you knew how that felt.

and you were desperate to get it back. you wanted to pull him back, force him to stay in the cocoon of the two of you. you wanted to claw at him and never allow him to move away.

but that was selfish. you’d already been selfish enough. you’d made him grieve you, and now you had to return the favor.

the difference between the two of you was that you didn't know enough about addiction. you didn't know that despite the time that had passed, your withdrawal had never actually gone away. you didn't know how it worked and so you didn't know that it was still there.

you just saw the look in his eyes. a look you’d used to create. the look of love, of admiration, of hope. love, you used to feel, you think.

when you looked at him all you could see was the feelings he had for someone else.

so no, you didn't bother to look at him.

here was what spencer knew about grief: it passed. it was just withdrawal until it wasn't. love was just another addiction, just some more chemicals in your brain, just an idea that you clung to.

it would pass, he knew.

but how could he have known this would happen again?

it would pass, eventually.

but how was he supposed to live through it twice, but really only once?

because you were still here. because you were alive, and not dead, and you were walking him home. you were making sure he got there safe.

and you weren't dead, but she was.

and how was spencer supposed to cope with that?

how could he grieve, when he really didn't know how?

if this had been a fraction of what it was like when spencer thought you died, if this was anything like that-- you couldn't bear to see it.

it was like repetition, it was like deja vu, like a memory.

you saw his eyes, and you saw his hopelessness, and you saw yourself reflected back in the colors of his face. you saw the grief, the pain, the anger, the loss.

you couldn't bear to watch this, not then, not now. not when you still felt angry, not when you were still angry.

they had all pleaded with you-- go talk to him, they said. talk to him, you’ll understand.

but that wasn't fair because spencer hadn't died for you. you’d left him and spencer had survived. it wasn’t fair because you still hadn't learned how to deal with any of it. you still couldn't let go, move on, as he had.

so then, why were you standing in front of his door, holding a card addressed to spencer from all of your friends?

well, you couldn't bear to stay away. and you almost couldn't bear to face him when he opened the door, but somehow, you did. somehow, you spoke first.

“hi, spencer,” you said, waving at him, moving back a little, just to give him some space.

“what’re you…” he looked around, looking for someone with you, someone else. his voice was rough like he hadn't talked in days. he looked like a skeleton, standing there in front of you. “...doing here?” he looked you up and down, but he wasn't really looking at anything.

you noticed the hand he had on the door, the subconscious way he had begun to close it, the hand he was holding over his chest, blocking you from him.

“the team sent me, they’re really worried,” your voice was shaking, and you had no idea why. “i brought a card from them, and- and i wanted to see how you were doing.”

his brows furrowed, like what you’d said didn't make any sense. you copied him, concerned with your own sanity. wondering again, why you were here?

“no offense,” he started, standing up taller, looking and sounding anything like spencer, anything but pleasant. “but we aren't really friends, are we?”

there was some irritation rolling up your spine at his words, but his face was innocent. he wasn't being malicious, he wasn't trying to make you feel ridiculous, and he wasn't trying to hurt you anymore. he was too kind for that, you knew.

you took a breath in, tried to smile. “i guess not,” you sighed, looking down at the ground with unmistakable shame, but then you looked back up. “but, i care about you. i want to be here for you. i- i want to be.. here.”

and no matter how closed off he looked, no matter how strange his face looked, no matter how much you knew he didn't want to, he opened the door and let you in.

and that was how it started. your friendship with spencer.

really, who could’ve known?

"i like your apartment," you said while the two of you walked through it. while spencer led you through whatever this strange place was.

"yeah, well, i couldn't keep the apartment after..." he trailed off, no remorse, no feeling in his voice.

you went to sit on his couch, strange and different, but he stayed standing. he paced around the floor, mumbling things under his breath you couldn't understand.

the tightlipped smile you had on your face was doing nothing to conceal your emotions.

"after i died."

he looked up at that, shocked by your crudeness. you rolled your eyes, pulling off your jacket.

"that's a shame, i really liked that kitchen."

spencer bit his lip, continued his pacing, muttered "i know" under his breath. his irritation would've made you laugh if he wasn't looking so insane.

you saw the bottles on the table, the mugs laying around, the papers and books thrown across the floor-- all the things you didn't want to see, you saw them. and you almost couldn't bear it, almost tried to pretend you still hadn't noticed them. but, you were familiar with this.

he did this before when he was still in love with you. when he was stressed.

despite how hard you might try, you couldn't just forget everything about him.

"do i need to ask spencer?" your voice was softer now, quieter. you knew him, and he knew what you were asking.

"do you really want the answer, y/n?" he retorted, rolling his eyes.

maybe sometime, you'd tell him that his defense mechanism was sarcasm. maybe sometime, you'd let him know how annoying it could be.

"it's not going to be what i want, but, neither is anything else." it was a subtle remark about the situation, you hoped spencer hadn't heard those last couple of words. "i don't want this for you, spencer, but i'm here to listen, and so i will."

he stopped pacing, stopped stepping over books and around paperwork. he stopped moving, and it reminded you of that night.

it reminded you of him collapsing in on himself, it reminded you of the anger you knew you didn't deserve to feel, the relief you knew you would never get.

it reminded you of further back when all you could do was smile and let him go.

you'd known him for so long, but you'd never seen him broken like this.

your thoughts distracted you from spencer, who was sitting next to you now, running an agitated hand through his hair, turning himself away from you.

"do you know what grief does to the body?" he asked.

yes, you could have answered. yes, im feeling it right now.

but instead, you said "no," and waited for him to continue.

he did, begrudgingly, a few moments later. "the shock factor causes a spike of adrenaline in your system-- a lot like someone gets in a bad accident --and then when the adrenaline wears off, your body has no choice but to succumb to the pain."

and you, well, you could have told him that, but you let him continue.

"a lot of people have documented actual inflammation which attributes to health issues after a loved one has..." he stopped there. he paused, and his eyes were gone. his feeling was gone, his words were gone.

you could practically see him disappearing on the couch, right next to you.

you could see him slipping away, the reality sinking in further than it could before, and so, you started talking.

you had to say something, and this would have to be enough. your remorse for him would have to be enough to get you through this.

because otherwise, how could you stand it?

"do you ever get that moment in the morning, when you've temporarily forgotten everything bad and it just feels... peaceful?" the words were a shock to both of you. the sound of your voice.

you weren't looking at him, but the wall, willing yourself not to feel that reminder. not to think of any of it. "do you ever get that?" you repeated, eyes off.

spencer nodded, small, hard for you to see when you were actively trying not to look at him-- but enough to continue.

"it's like our conscious and subconscious make a pact, to give us that split second of peace." you laughed, bittersweet, and looked at him. you turned towards him, making sure he was looking at you.

making sure he couldn't tell what you were thinking about, that this was about anything but him.

"when that relief happens, spencer, you have to grab hold of it-- just hold onto it."

he stared at you, brows furrowed.

"you reach, and you grab it, and you keep it." you nodded along with your words, feeling that sick crawling up your chest, feeling that grief along with all the guilt.

this wasn't fair to him, you knew that, but if this could help-- even a little bit --you had to try.

"why...?" spencer tried to start, clearing his throat to keep his word from breaking.

"that's how you get past it." you motioned to him, to the floor, to the things all around his home, and finally, to yourself. "passed all the shock, and adrenaline, and all the sick."

spencer was looking down, not at you anymore, not at anything.

you used to know those eyes, you were sure. you used to understand every thought that ran through his head, you used to remember the person you had been with him. you used to be able to think of him without cringing, without that sick feeling in your stomach, wrapping itself around you like a blanket.

you used to understand, and now you didn't. but this had to be enough. this had to be enough for you, to be here with him.

"okay?" you asked, softer, gently. "okay?" you repeated.

and he nodded.

you went over once a week. just for the first couple of months. you went over to spencer's, you watched movies, you held his hand and squeezed his shoulder.

you managed not to tear yourself into pieces, managed to actually smile when you were around him. you managed to do it all, managed to do enough to keep the nightmares away, to keep those circles from under his eyes.

and that's all you wanted, really. that's all you needed. as long as spencer was okay, okay as he could be, as long as he was coping, moving on, doing everything a normal human being should. as long as he was doing all of that, you didn't need anything else.

and, and if there was a tiny piece of you, locked away in all the dark parts you tried to keep secret-- if there was a piece of you that was hopeful, that was holding onto something other than just tiny moments, if there was a piece of you that thought maybe he would just-

if there was any piece of you that thought differently, well, you would ignore it.

you went over once a week, just to make sure he was okay.

and really, where was the harm in that?

"'the shining' tonight?" he asked, walking alongside you, carrying the coffee you had just bought for him.

"why do you insist on watching that at least once a month-"

"this is actually only the third time,"

"it was enough the first two." he smiled at you, and you couldn't keep the grin from slipping back.

"sounds good," he concluded, walking along.

and if you followed him, well, you were just being a good friend.

"do you think i should get a haircut?" you asked, walking around his desk, prancing more like. prancing like he was your prey and you were about to eat him.

the thought made you giggle.

"your hair looks fine," he answered, not really paying attention. instead, he was marking something off of a page, flipping to the next one in barely a second.

"real nice, spence. as long as you think it's fine-"

"did you know that the average person gets around 150 haircuts in their lifetime?"

"yeah, spencer, and all those people have dead ends," you groaned and he hummed.

and if you liked the way the light was reflecting off of his face, hiding the shadows you knew were there, well, you were just bored.

"spencer-" he was running away from you, running away from whatever ghost was following him.

you had to stop chasing him, but somehow, you knew you wouldn't be able to even if you tried.

"spencer, will you just-" you tried again, running far enough ahead so that you could stand in his way.

you couldn't bear to see the blank look in his eyes, the emotionless void you would never get used to.

"yes?" he asked, like you were a child like you were a little kid and you needed him to fix something.

it was condescending and rude and you just wanted to yell at him-- to yell at yourself for being irritated.

"are you okay?" you asked instead. you hated the words, but you hated this feeling more.

"i'm fine." and then he attempted to get past you.

"spencer, those girls, they were all-"

"all what, y/n? all shot? all murdered?"

"that's not what i mean-"

"that's the job, y/l/n. you should know that."

he was gone after that. disappearing, like you both had before.

and, if you wanted to scream, to bang your fists against the wall until it broke, to beg him to just listen to you, to sleep in his bed and watch him while he slept, well. you were going to ignore it. grief wasn't an object, and it wouldn't go away.

you would know.

some nights, particularly on the ones when spencer was busy, when there was a case and you weren't supposed to be sneaking into each other's hotel room, on those nights you felt colder than you ever had before.

you felt that feeling again-- the one spencer had taught you about.

the sick that almost made your insides collapse. the sick that was going to fill you to the brim until it couldn't anymore, numb you to the very edge. the sick that had been there for over a year, a long year full of death. full of life and nothing but destruction. the infection that should've been gone ages ago.

on those nights, you tried to hold onto reality, tried to remind yourself of what had actually happened.

it was all a chain of events, really. and it was truly all of your fault.

you couldn't be angry because if you wanted to be angry at someone, it had to be yourself.

it couldn't be spencer, or maeve, or hotch, or the universe.

just you.

and the sick would pass, you knew. the next day when spencer would hand you your coffee mug, when he would say something-- anything --and you would listen. it would all go away.

and if those feelings, if that reality that you kept trying to avoid, if that wouldn't go away, well. you were going to have to let it go because you couldn't keep going like this. pretending.

honestly, how couldn't you know?

recently, the effort you'd put into keeping at least a three-foot distance between you and spencer was tireless.

to give him space, obviously. to avoid bumping into him when you were walking, to keep yourself from tripping into him.

it was just convenient, you told yourself. nothing else to it.

except, on this night, after a long day at work, after spencer had sat down right next to you with a book in hand, so much closer than you wanted. well, you couldn't just simply move away.

there was no space on this couch anyway.

technically, you were supposed to be watching a movie. technically, spencer had picked this one out-- something about the discovery of water, you thought --and you had no interest in it. technically, he was completely ignoring it.

before, two years ago-- almost, that was. almost two years without him. before, two years ago, you would've bickered with him about it until he gave in. until he put down the book, clicked a button on the remote you'd misplaced, and lean in so close to you that you could barely breathe. it was a routine, you were sure, and back then you wondered if he brought the book out just so you would tease him about. like it was an excuse to kiss you if he needed one.

not that you were thinking about that. not that he was doing it again. not that it mattered, honestly.

just a memory that hit you, is all, as you stared at the screen, pretended to listen to the words when all you wanted to do was put some distance between the two of you.

it was getting hard not to feel that pull, not to let that feeling trap you.

"spencer," you whispered, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

he hummed instead of answering, didn't look up from the page.

"you're cold,"

he quirked an eyebrow at you, turning towards you only slightly. he was only a little bit closer now, but it only proved you were lying some more.

he was desperately hot.

"do you need a blanket?" he asked, the picture of innocence.

at least one of you was.

"no, just maybe a little more space. don't want to get hypothermia," you coughed, an attempted laugh maybe, and tried to move away.

"you're not showing any of the symptoms of hypothermia-- are you fatigued, or is your heart racing?"

you would've laughed if he wasn't moving his face closer to yours, trying to check your pupils discreetly.

"um, no, spencer. i was kidding, i'm just going to--" you moved, an inch, and then another, smiling at him.

it wasn't too suspicious. and the movie was halfway over.

"okay,"

and you looked back at the screen...

only to feel his eyes on you a moment later. you turned your head slightly. he hadn't picked his book back up, hadn't moved an inch from before.

"aren't you going to read your book again so you can keep bothering me, reid?"

you didn't need to look to see the smile. "is it bothering you?"

you threw your head back, turning so he could see you roll your eyes. his brown ones, impossibly bright, impossibly beautiful were staring back at you, mischievous. you bit the inside of your cheek and then laughed.

"no, of course not, spencer." you turned towards the tv again. "i am very interested and equally involved in the discovery of water," you waved your hand for him to continue.

"that's not actually what..." he trailed off, freezing at something.

"are you okay?" this time, you didn't hesitate to move closer to him, to place a hand on his shoulder and get him to look at you.

his heat was excruciating and addicting. a dangerous combination.

but your concern beat your stupid feelings, and so, you didn't move away.

"deja vu..." he said, head-turning, eyes looking down on you.

"what?"

"we've done this before," was all he said, continuing to stare like he didn't know what was happening. staring at you with strange eyes, strange wide eyes.

it was only scaring you a little bit. you didn't understand.

"we've never watched this movie before," you reassured as if he was worried about that. as if that was the problem.

"no," he said, moving a foot closer, breaking the boundary you had put between the two of you. "no, but we've done this before."

he was too close, now.

"spencer... what?" you looked from the screen to him, nervously, trying not to feel intimidated, small. he hadn't been this close in so long.

"just-" and then he was leaning in. he was leaning close enough for his breath to trail across your skin, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his cheek, that you could barely see his eyes anymore.

close enough to kiss you.

but, you couldnt breathe like that.

and so, with all the grace you had, you moved back. so far back, and put your knees up as a barrier between the two of you. anything to keep him away.

"um, spencer i don't know if you forgot-" he tried to interrupt, but you weren't paying attention. "i died, remember? and then- and then, um, you moved on and, we haven't done that in a long time and-"

“y/n-"

"-we're just friends, right? and friends don't really get that close- we shouldn't get-" but he was, he was getting that close, and your stuttering was slowing because you couldn't focus on anything but him.

"i remember," spencer whispered, but his eyes weren't on yours anymore. no, they were on your lips, staring down at the place he hadn't bothered to look at in two years. at your face, which he hadn't seen until now.

"we cant-"

"can i kiss you?" he asked, instead of paying attention, instead of remembering, instead of understanding that this was going to tear you from the inside out.

"i don't think that's a good idea, spencer, i really don't..." you trailed off because he was moving back.

"i'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to," he promised, looking so beautiful, speaking so plainly.

and those words, they made your heart start beating again. because who was he to assume?

"no! it's just- we haven't kissed. we don't kiss, anymore."

it was a painful reality, and you almost felt bad for saying it when you saw the wince on spencer's face, but, it was the truth. you couldn't deny either of you from the truth.

"i know it's familiar, and maybe comforting, but i don't think it's a good idea." you breathed in once, wanted to scream at yourself for saying those words. wanted to scream because you'd wanted to kiss spencer since the moment you'd stopped.

"no, that's not why i want to kiss you," his voice broke on the word kiss, and you attempted to scramble yourself on the couch, to move so that he wouldn't have the opportunity to convince you.

it wouldn't take much.

"it'll just hurt us both more, spencer." your voice was monotone because you weren't sure if you could get this out any other way. the stinging around your eyes had to be fake because you weren't crying.

honestly, you didn't care.

and then, spencer got up, walked away.

and you had to care. you had to care because, despite the fact that he'd left you, that you'd been grieving for him for the last two years, that you missed him more than it was possible to miss another person-- despite all of that, he was your best friend.

he'd become your best friend, had been that since you'd first met, and you couldn't let that go now.

so you followed, you followed again, and called his name again, and begged him to come back, for the first time out loud.

but when he came back out of his bedroom, all you heard was the crinkling of paper.

you just saw spencer's never-ending serious face, but, mixed was the tiniest him of embarrassment. the pink splattered across his cheek, the hesitation to look at you.

he was holding something.

"what's that?" you asked, distracted from the issue, momentarily focused on just him and not the past.

except, when he held it up, you could see that it was the opposite.

"it's the letter you wrote me when-" he swallowed, smiling a sad smile at you and then looking down again. "when you left."

you'd left it on his desk, so he'd find it first. so that he would be the first one to know.

"oh," you breathed out, shocked, sick.

"i kept it because it was the last piece i had of you," he folded it into tiny pieces, then unfolded it along the creases. it looked like a practiced motion "i used to keep it in my shirt pocket, but when i met maeve, i put it in my bedside drawer."

goodbye, spencer. you'd wrote. you'd cried while writing it, cried while you drove away, cried when you woke up in the hospital, cried every night after you came back.

it was excruciating to leave without spencer, but you'd learned it was worse to have him leave you when you were still there.

you'd have traded that feeling for anything else.

you breathed in, shakily. you didn't like these memories, you didn't like that he was digging them back up, but you had to listen. you wouldn't leave, now.

"i put it in my bedside drawer because it's important to keep mementos-- its actually a method of coping, and some people believe it strengthens relationships, and you were gone, but i thought that-" he stopped. took a deep breath in, closed his eyes and counted to three. you could tell, you knew him that well.

you smiled, despite the stinging in your eyes, the pricks on your skin, the crawling up your stomach.

"i kept it because it was the last words i got from you, and i couldn't let that go. i still cant, y/n."

you couldn't process these words, you couldn't process this feeling. it was detrimental, and you had noting you could say.

"i don't know if you can ever stop loving someone, i mean," he snorted, looked right at you like he didn't know what he was saying. "i know you can learn to love someone else, but, i don't know if you can ever get rid of that feeling... of that-" and he was still looking at you, but he wasn't talking anymore.

and you weren't breathing because this was a dream, because you would not allow yourself to wake up from this, and you would not start crying in front of him.

you were selfish selfish selfish.

"i don't know how i couldn't have known i was still in love with you, but i didn't, and now," his eyes, his voice, his entire demeanor softened. he was molding, changing right in front of you. it had to be impossible. "i do. i know."

spencer had never spoken this much, he didn't confess, he didn't not know things, so this had to be fake. it had to be.

"spencer," you gasped out, shocked by the sound of your own voice. shocked to find out that you still couldn't breathe.

shocked to watch him move forward, smile the same smile you thought you might've fallen in love with.

"you know now, so, can i kiss you?"

you couldn't remember the last time the two of you had kissed. you thought that it might've been right before bed that night, that you might've kissed him on his forehead while he was sitting on his desk, that he might've kissed up your neck while you cuddled each other to sleep.

but you couldn't remember.

and so, it was painful to even utter the word "yes".

it was painful to feel that again. that lovely, lovely feeling.

his lips against yours, softer than you could remember, slower than you'd ever imagined possible. so much better than you could've thought another persons lips could be.

and you wanted to gasp, to breathe, but you didn't dare move away from him.

this was too good, this was too waited for, this was too painful to move back.

and so you didn't and neither did he. neither of you could.

you grabbed at each other, threaded your hands through his hair, held onto his face like you would never let go, and you kissed him like you loved him.

because you did.

and then, when you did break, when you were sure, you moved back and couldn't stop the slip of "spencer" that came from your lips.

your puffy, recently kissed lips.

and when you finally got the courage to open your eyes, the most beautiful smile you could've seen was there. waiting for you.

"you're my moment." spencer said, he whispered as if it was a realization.

"what?" you asked, still breathless, still addicted to a kiss you hadn't allowed yourself to think of, really, in two years.

"that moment in the morning, the moment of peace when everything is still good... you're my moment."

your heart stopped again. stopped, because this was you, these were your words coming from his lips.

"do you remember?" he asked, thinking of those words from those months ago, those words you'd told him in an effort to comfort yourself. to remind yourself that he was still there.

you nodded and spencer smiled.

"you're my peace and my relief, y/n," he pulled your face closer to his, leaned in, and it was like nothing you'd ever felt before.

his smile, his lips, his words.

this was a strange feeling.

"i'm holding onto you, now. i don't think i can let go,"

these weren't his words, but they were enough.

you were smiling, you realized. even with the tear stains down your face, even with the puffy lips, even with the heartache and the addiction, even with the years between the two of you.

you were smiling.

"i love you, spencer."

and so was he.

because really, how couldn't you have known?

my masterlist here.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid fan #spencer reid sad #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #Criminal Minds Reid #fanfic

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cuttoothed · 3 years

Text

A little fic for @jonsimsandcats and also inspired by some adorable art on discord! Featuring notes on kitten rearing, and of course some Jmart because it’s me.

Jon works at the Institute here, but a non-spooky version of it!

Martin is doing a final check on the fish tanks when he hears the bell above the front door jingle. He sighs; he knew he should have locked up first. Just his luck.

“This is your fault,” he tells the angelfish balefully. They don’t seem contrite, too busy nosing in the fine gravel for any food they’ve missed. Martin walks out to the front of the shop, preparing his best customer service smile to tell whoever’s come in at—he glances at his watch—three minutes past eight that they’re closed, and no, they can’t just wander around for a few minutes to look at the animals. Honestly, some people seem to think there’s no difference between a pet shop and an art gallery.

There’s a man standing at the front counter, looking around anxiously, a bundled up jumper clutched against his chest.

“Sorry, we’re—” Martin begins, and that’s as far as he gets before the man unleashes a frantic tirade.

“Please!” the man says, “I need your help, I-I’m not sure they’re breathing and they were out there for hours on their own, I know you’re not supposed to move them in case their mother comes back but I couldn’t just—just leave knowing they were still there, and all the vet offices nearby are closed, this was the only place I could think of!”

The man is wild eyed, almost panicked, and Martin lifts both hands in an appeasing gesture.

“Woah,” he says, “Uh, maybe start from the beginning again? Slowly?”

“Right, ah, sorry. Sorry. I spotted them this morning, under a bush just outside my work.” The man sets the bundle of jumper down on the counter, and unfolds it to reveal two tiny scraps of fur: one gray, one black. Kittens, Martin realizes, so small they can only be a week or so old; certainly not old enough to be without their mother.

“I left them alone, because I’ve heard that the mother usually comes back after a little while. A-and I meant to go and check on them again during the day, make sure.” The man sounds anguished now, his face miserable. “But I—I got caught up in work, forgot about it. It was only when I was leaving that I remembered. And they were still there, on their own. Barely moving. Please—is there anything we can do?”

Martin looks down at the tiny creatures in their nest of wool; he can just about see the shallow in-out of their breathing. All day outside alone, at their age, the odds aren’t great. But he’s met enough kittens to know that they’re shockingly resilient little sods, and he’s never given up on a so-called hopeless case before. He’s not about to start now.

“You did the right thing moving them,” he assures the man, moving to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED. “We need to get them warmed up and get some food into them. Body heat is the best thing for them right now—can you start warming them with your hands?”

“Oh—ah, yes,” says the man, turning to his bundle of jumper with a worried frown. Martin leaves him there while he rushes around the shop, grabbing kitten milk replacer and nursing bottles, and then into the back to heat two mugs of water in the microwave while he makes up the bottles. He pops them into the mugs to warm, and brings the whole lot out to the front. The man now has a kitten in each hand, and is holding them pressed carefully to his chest for additional warmth; his expression is still worried, but also desperately tender, and Martin feels a pang of something behind his ribs at the sight.

“One of them is moving,” the man says eagerly as Martin sets the bottles down. Martin can see the gray kitten wriggling weakly in the man’s grip, responding to the heat. Its sibling is still motionless, and Martin’s heart sinks a little.

“That’s great,” he says. “Hold onto her for another minute, and let me see if I can get her sister moving too.”

He holds out a hand, and the man almost reluctantly passes him the black kitten. Martin doesn’t try to notice that the man has lovely hands, with long, slim fingers, narrow wrist jutting out of his shirt sleeve, but, well, he notices a bit. He turns his attention to the kitten; he can’t make out the motion of its breathing anymore. He takes it in both hands and starts to massage it gently. It lies limp in his palms, head lolling, and Martin starts to feel despair crawling cold up his spine.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You can do it.” The man is watching him anxiously, the gray kitten cradled against his chest, and Martin knows he can’t give up. He keeps rubbing the kitten’s small body, trying to will warmth and life back into the tiny, fragile form. At last, after what seems like an eternity, the kitten squirms in his hands and a faint, plaintive mew escapes it. An answering mew comes from the gray kitten, and Martin laughs, relief washing over him.

“Right, let’s see if we can get them to eat.”

After checking that they’re not too chilled to feed, Martin tests each of the kittens with a drop of formula on their tongue; thankfully they both seem able to swallow without difficulty. He shows the man how to feed the gray kitten, holding its body in a neutral position with the bottle tilted for a gentle flow. It doesn’t take long for the kittens to figure out the process, and Martin can feel the tug on the bottle as his kitten begins to suckle.

“Oh,” he hears softly from beside him, and turns to see the man gazing in delight at the gray kitten, whose tiny, unfurled ears are twitching as it sucks.

“She’s doing great,” Martin comments. “Good job.” The man gives him a tentative, pleased smile, and Martin still isn’t trying to notice but it’s a very nice smile. “I’m Martin, by the way.”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon,” says the man, and then gives a small, tense laugh. “God, I haven’t even apologized for storming in here while you were clearly trying to close up for the night.”

“That’s all right, I didn’t have any exciting plans tonight anyway. I’d much rather be spending time with these little beauties.”

Jon smiles again, more sure this time, and all right, maybe Martin deliberately notices the dimple in his right cheek. Just a bit.

Once the kittens are fed, Martin shows Jon how to stimulate them; both of them only pee a little—poor things are dehydrated—but it’s a good sign. They clean them up and tuck them back into the nest of Jon’s jumper, where they curl up into a small puddle of black and gray. Jon gives a sigh that’s somewhere between relieved and exhausted.

“Thank you,” he says. “I, ah, I think I forgot to say that as well. You know a lot about this.”

“I volunteer at a shelter, there are a lot of kittens. If you like, I can take them for tonight and bring them in tomorrow?”

“Ah,” says Jon. “Do you think that’s—I mean...I-I’m not sure I’d feel right, handing them off to someone else. Not that I think you’re not capable!” he rushes to add, and Martin finds himself smiling.

“No, I get it. You found them, you want to take care of them. I’ll warn you, though, it’s a big commitment. For the first couple of weeks you have to feed them every two hours, even during the night, and then it’s every three or four hours until they start weaning. It’s like having a newborn baby.”

“I don’t get much sleep generally,” says Jon. “At least this way I’ll have something to do while I’m up all night. And my work is—well, I’ll explain the situation.”

He looks set on it, brow furrowed with determination. Martin considers arguing more: that a shelter will be better equipped to care for the kittens, that there’s no guarantee they’ll survive in any case, that Jon doesn’t know what he’s signing up for. But the shelters are always crowded, and kittens this young have simple needs, and really, a dedicated foster parent—armed with the right knowledge—is probably the best thing for them.

“Right,” he says, “Let’s make sure these two are well wrapped up before you take them home.”

He scrounges a cardboard box from the back and they settle the kittens into it, still wrapped in Jon’s jumper along with a soft fleece blanket printed with cartoon fish. Martin gathers a couple of cartons of liquid formula and extra bottles to get them started, and shows Jon how to pierce the nipple so the flow isn’t too strong.

“It should be warmed to body temperature,” he explains, “But not directly in the microwave—put the bottles in heated water, like I did earlier. Do you have a hot water bottle?”

“Yes, I do,” says Jon, frowning intently as he listens. Martin nods.

“It’s better than a heating pad at this age, they’re less likely to get overheated. Don’t make it too hot—body temperature, again—and wrap it in a blanket so they’re not touching it directly.”

“Got it,” says Jon firmly, and Martin believes him. He bags up the formula and bottles and an extra pet blanket, and presses them into the hands of a startled Jon; the till is shut off for the night, but Martin can explain and pay for the items tomorrow.

“What’s your phone number?” he asks, and Jon looks even more startled.

“S-sorry?”

“Or your email. I’m going to send you some links—videos, a couple of good blogs that should be helpful.”

“Oh, ah, right. Of course.” Jon recites his number and Martin saves it under “Jon (Kittens).” He peeks into the box one last time before Jon scoops it up, and sees the kittens snuggled in the folds of the jumper, paws waving in little kitten dreams.

“Thank you again, Martin,” says Jon. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.” His tone is shy but genuine, and it sends warmth through Martin’s chest and up into his cheeks.

“Any time,” Martin says. “And feel free to text me if you need anything—if you have a question or...anything. Or call me if you like.” He’s aware he’s rambling a bit, but it’s not every day an attractive man says that he doesn’t know what he would have done without you, so he can hardly be blamed.

“I will,” says Jon solemnly.

He doesn’t text Martin any questions that night, but when Martin sends him the links to a youtube channel and three blog posts on kitten care, he replies:

Thank you :)

Martin spends most of the rest of the night wondering what that smiley face means.

He doesn’t necessarily expect to see Jon again, and certainly doesn’t expect to see him the very next day. But just before one o’clock in the afternoon the bell above the door jingles and there’s Jon, looking tired and more than a bit sheepish.

“I got all the way into work this morning before I realized I’d never paid for any of the things you gave me,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“Those were gifts,” Martin tells him firmly. “Sort of a “welcome to foster parenthood” care basket?”

“No, I couldn’t let you—” Jon starts to protest, but Martin shakes his head emphatically.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. I get an employee discount anyway.”

“I...well, then I suppose I need to thank you yet again,” says Jon.

“It’s becoming a bit of a habit,” Martin jokes, grinning, and Jon smiles in return. He hesitates a moment before continuing:

“Maybe I could buy you lunch instead, then? To pay you back.”

“There’s no need, honestly,” says Martin, even as his brain berates him: What are you doing, idiot, he’s asking you to have lunch with him? Say yes!

“Please, I’d like to,” Jon says, and then gives a thoughtful frown. “Only if you want to, of course, don’t feel obligated—”

“I’m on lunch in five minutes,” Martin blurts out before he can overthink it.

“Great!” says Jon, sounding pleased. “If you have time, we could go by my office as well and visit the kittens. I just fed them before I came to see you.”

Before I came to see you, not before I came to pay you back, and Martin feels that warmth crawling up towards his cheeks again. Even if Jon’s intentions are purely friendly rather than...anything else, well, Martin could always use more friends.

“How were they last night?” he asks, and the smile that spreads across Jon’s face this time is pure delight.

“Oh I barely got an hour’s sleep,” he says, waving a hand. “And today they’re sitting under my desk reminding me every couple of hours that they need attention and that they are far more important than whatever I’m working on. They’re perfect.”

“Sounds like cat parenthood suits you,” Martin teases gently, and Jon laughs.

“I think it rather does.”

Lunch is...nice, and only slightly awkward in the “getting to know a new person” sort of way. Jon is serious, but also funny in an understated, acerbic way, and there’s a gentleness to him that wouldn’t be immediately apparent, if Martin hadn’t seen him cradling two tiny, fragile lives to his chest last night. He’s the kind of person Martin would like to know better, he thinks.

Afterwards they go to Jon’s workplace, which is extremely academic with a brass nameplate by the door and everything, and down to the basement office where Jon works; Martin doesn’t really know what archiving entails, but it looks like mostly a bloody great pile of paperwork. Jon’s two colleagues give Martin friendly and extremely curious glances as they pass; Jon pointedly ignores them in favor of directing Martin to his desk and the cardboard box sitting beneath it.

When Martin glances inside, the two kittens are curled up in the folds of the fish-print blanket, lying against the shape of what he assumes is the hot water bottle. Their bellies already look rounder than they were last night, thanks to regular feeding, and their limbs twitch as they sleep.

“I’ll take them to the vet for a check up after work,” Jon murmurs quietly, gazing down at them with a soft expression. Martin recognizes that look of adoration, and he knows this pair won’t be going to a shelter or anywhere else; they’ve found their home with Jon.

“They’re lucky you found them,” he says, and Jon smiles self-consciously.

“I think I’m the one who was lucky,” he says.

They spend a bit more time with the kittens, and then Martin realizes that it’s about time he got back to work if he doesn’t want to get in trouble. He excuses himself, waving goodbye to Jon’s still curious colleagues, and Jon walks him out to the grand front entrance of the building.

“Thanks again for lunch,” he says. “And—you have my number, right? The offer is open, if you need anything, just text me.”

“I will,” says Jon. “And, ah, let me know if you’d like to come and see the kittens again. Any day. Well, most days,” he corrects himself. “We could, ah, maybe have lunch again?”

“That sounds...really nice,” says Martin. Jon smiles, pleased, and Martin isn’t trying to notice the faint flush that spreads across his face, but it’s very cute anyway.

As he walks back to work, Martin’s phone vibrates with a text. It’s a picture of the kittens, curled up on top of each other, with the message:

Come back and see us soon!

Martin grins; the kittens, he thinks, weren’t the only ones lucky to be found last night.

#the magnus archives #jonsimsandcats2021 #my fic #jonmartin

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xtinyaurora · 3 years

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Oh my gosh thank you for doing my ask. Reading Seonghwaart was soooo satisfying. Can you do y/n doesn't believe that they're sexually attractive, so Ateez proves to them that they are (sexually). Please and thank you 😊 ☺ ❤

Ateez reaction: Their Y/N doesn’t believe that they’re {sexually} attractive

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➼ requested?: yes

➼ genre: smut & fluff

➼ pairing: Ateez x female!reader

➼ Word-count: 2k+

➼ Warnings: nsfw content, strong language, cursing, spanking, mentions of scars & stretch marks, pet names, daddy kink / sie kink, nudes, reader kinda puts themself down, anal sex, chocking, oral sex, breeding kink (?)...

➼ Note: This is not based on their real behavior or meant to represent real life. This is simply a fan fiction and is only for the purposes of fun, it’s a hobby, so read at your own risk!

➼ A/N note: I hope I wrote this the way you wanted... Also, if anyone’s interested in a male version, let me know! All gif credits go to their owners!

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Park Seonghwa

You were standing Infront of the mirror, looking at your naked body, which was still a bit wet from the shower you took a few minutes ago. You were ashamed to say the least. You couldn’t understand what exactly Seonghwa found attractive about your body. You wanted to look good for him but you’re just a flat piece of a human being. As you were starting to build tears in your eyes, your boyfriend walked into your shared bedroom. „What’s wrong, baby?” He knew what was up, it’s not the first time he caught you crying over yourself. You shook your head not wanting to talk about it and grabbing your towel to cover yourself up. Hwa breathed out loudly, shaking his head. He then pulled the towel away, ignoring your protests. „Do you see this?” He grabbed your tits, slowly massaging them. „Do you see how perfect these are, how well they fit into my hands.” Then his head made its way to your right breast. He slowly started licking your nipple, it immediately getting hard. Out of nowhere he slapped your left breast with one of his hands. „You like that?” You silently nodded your head, a scoff left Seonghwas mouth. „Fucking shit you’re so hot. You don’t understand how you make me feel. How those pretty little tits could make me cum just from touching and slapping them like that, fuck.” Seonghwa then roughly threw you on the bed and started to undress himself...

Kim Hongjoong

„Say it, baby, come on.” You tried to get your breathing under control but Hongjoongs speed was too fast, the pleasure too much to take. „I - I, agh!” You couldn’t stop screaming moaning. „I know you can do it, come on.” His hips started to move faster than before, making it harder for you. You were so overwhelmed that tears started to form in your eyes. „I can’t-t.” A hard smack landed on your ass. „Yes you can and now say it!” Yelled your boyfriend from behind. He harshly pulled you up by grabbing your throat, making you face both of you in the mirror. „Tell me beautiful, tell me how breathtaking you look, I know you can do that for me, baby. Show daddy how much of a good girl you are.” You squeezed your eyes together, forcing those words out of your mouth. „I am beautiful.” Hongjoongs grip on your throat got stronger. „Open your eyes, princess.” You did what he said and opened your eyes, almost reaching your high. „J-Joong, I think I-.” „No, the fuck not. You’re not going to cum until you do what I asked you to.” You closed your eyes again, god. Hongjoong movements completely stopped, making you whine out loudly. „Look at yourself.” You pulled your eyebrows up, eyes getting rounder. „Do it!” Damn boy, chill out. As your were looking at yourself, Hongjoong slowly pulled out of you. Another whine left your mouth, not going unnoticed by him. „Look at this pretty pussy, all wet and all mine. Men, am I lucky. Oh and... those beautiful tits, this fucking cute ass, my god I am about to lose my shit. How am I so lucky to have all of this? I love you so fucking much Y/N. Don’t worry though, I will show you how beautiful you are. You wanna these tits to be bigger? Oh, don’t worry, can do that for you. I can’t wait to get you pregnant, you will look so beautiful with a round belly, fuck.”

Jeong Yunho

You two were currently play fighting over some food. Both of you thought it would be a good idea to visit the park and have a picnic today, since it’s finally warm and sunny again. You didn’t notice how far your skirt actually went up, when you jumped on your boyfriend. It wasn’t that short of a skirt, it covered more than 60% of your legs but it was loose, so it was easy to raise up. When Yunho gave you a smack on your ass, you were fast to sit back and pull it down again. Yunho looked at you questioning, you only shaking your head, hiding face. „Was that too much?” You immediately assured him that it wasn’t about that slap on your ass. „Then what’s wrong?” Again, you shook your head. The male then grabbed your face, making you look at him. „Baby, tell me.” You moved his hands from your face, lowering your gaze. „I just don’t feel comfortable with showing myself off, you know, my legs could be seen when I jumped on you.” When you looked back up to see his reaction, a smile was placed on his face. „Honey, you’re beautiful. Those pretty legs would turn on every men, no, even girls. You don’t know how much I wanna grab them and pull you over me, so you can ride my hard ass cock.” Your eyes torn open, a blush creeping on your face. A loud laugh left Yunho’s mouth, him staring to eat again as of nothing happened.

Kang Yeosang

When you read the massage your boyfriend sent you just a few seconds ago, you almost spitted out your drink. Now you had an incoming call... „Uhm, hello?” Silence. Then you heard heavy breathing. „Baby, please. I need you to do that for me, I can’t take it anymore, I need to release.” You didn’t know what to say, only blushing more. „Yeosang, you know how I feel about my body, I can’t jus-“ „Baby, don’t you understand that I need that beautiful hot body to cum? That you turn me on that much, that I only need to see you to cum. Fuck, please princess I need you. Please send me some nudes, it hurts. I promise once I get home, I will reward you, hm? How does that sound?” You nodded your head, even tho you knew he couldn’t see you. „Sounds Good.” A load moan left his mouth. „That’s my good little girl, now make daddy happy and take your close off so he can see those beautiful small tits, yea?” You bit bottom lip. „Yes, sir.”

Choi San

A loud whistle was heard when you walked into the living room. When you looked at the male, he bit his lip. „Damn, baby, look at those curves. Shit, come here, I wanna smack that ass.” You only stood there, shocked. San then raised one of his eyebrows. „What? Can’t I touch my girlfriend now?” You shook your head. San looked as if he got offended by that. „Oh? Why is that?” You now shrugged with your shoulders. „Don’t you want to use that pretty mouth of yours, baby? Talk to me.” He now stood up and made his way to you. When he reached you, he slung his arms around you waist, face just a few inches away from yours. „Not listening to me? I guess you wanna use that beautiful mouth of yours for something else’s then, huh?” Now you started smirking, kinda enjoyed where’s this is going. This was way better then going out for a fancy dinner with the boys. Don’t get me wrong, you loved the boys, but you didn’t feel comfortable and confident enough to go out with that dress, San bought you for this dinner. „Look at you, so beautiful. Even my friends want to have you and fuck your pretty pussy. They wanna grab this fat ass and smack it, want to cum on your pretty body. Oh how bad for them that they could never have you, you’re all mine, this pretty body is all mine.”

Song Mingi

„Mingi! You can’t just walk in like that.” His eyes went big. „Why not, I am your boyfriend?” His innocent voice made you melt, he’s so cute. You turned around, hiding your body from him. „I know that, but you know how I feel about myself. I am ashamed.” His eyes got even rounder. „Even if it’s me? I thought you feel comfortable with me. Did I do something wrong? Oh my god I make you uncomfortable. What do I do?! I shoul-„ „No Mingi. It’s not that... it’s just... never mind.” You kept on cleaning yourself, trying to ignore him. You heard the sound of a belt and clothes moving. When you turned to look what he was up to, you directly looked into your boyfriends eyes. He smiled at your surprised expression and leaned further into you. „Mingi, I-“ You got interrupted by a kiss. Soon, the kiss got more intense, both of you starting to touch each other’s body’s. Mingi broke the kiss, giving you time to breath. „You know Y/N, I know it might take some time until you understand that but you’re the most stunning human I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And you know those scars and marks on your body? They are just as beautiful. They make you unique, it’s just like art. I love you, you and every tiny bit of your beautiful 'flaws'. Please never forget that baby.“ You were on the verse of tears, like damn, you love that boy so much. A smile was sitting on both of your faces, you leaning back in to continue your make out session.

Jung Wooyoung

He slowly placed soft his kisses down your tummy. When he bit into one of your belly roles (is that even the correct word? lol), you immediately scolded him for that. „But it’s cute.” You rolled your eyes. „No, Woo, it’s not cute. Please stop.” He chuckled at your reaction, still thinking it’s cute. „Okay, cry baby.“ He then kept on kissing your tummy, started to go further down towards your core. „Woo...” You couldn’t really make out if you were warning him or were asking for more, either way, he kept going and pulled your PJ pants & panties down. Now, he had a perfect look of your stretch marks. You tried to hide them by placing your hands on top of them but Wooyoung slapped them away. „Ouch!” He didn’t gave a fuck, honestly. „Move, I wanna look at those sexy stretch marks. Damn, this is all mine.” You got a hard slap on your left thigh, letting out a moan, your boyfriend only smirking a smirk by that. „Like that, huh? Lemme eat you out then.” He gave you another slap, this time on your clit. I guess, what he wants, he gets?

Choi Jongho

„Jongho, no.” He kept pulling you on himself. „Hey, don’t worry, baby. Did you already forget how strong I am?” He let out a cute chuckle, making you smile but it soon vanished out of your face again. Jongho wanted you to ride his face but you felt uncomfortable with that idea. Your were too heavy, at least in your own opinion. Jongho always told you that you’re beautiful the way you are and that he loved you no matter what. He also always assured you that you aren’t heavy and even if, he could handle it, since he was a strong guy. Still, you were too scared of hurting him. Jongho assured you that he would be fine and would stop if you don’t like it, so you made your way above his face, slowly sinking down. You immediately let out a soft moan when his tongue met your cunt. After some time he told you to move, your fear of hurting him rising again. „Princess, don’t worry. You did so good till now, I know you can do even better. Come on, ride my face, cupcake.” You closed your eyes and started to move slowly. While so, Jongho kept on praising you from time to time, you growing more confided by that. You soon reached your high, making a mess all over your boyfriends face. Jongho licked you clean until every drop was gone. You then stood up and checked on him, he giving you a proud smile. „I knew you could do it, I am so proud of you! We need do this more often tho, that was freaking hot.”

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