#3 simple easy steps! > lying | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missarchive · 6 months ago

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american jesus³ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; The delicate veil of secrecy is torn, unraveling a truth neither were prepared to face.

A fleeting mistake reveals their intertwined worlds, forcing them to confront the forbidden desire that binds them. Love and restraint wage a quiet war, their connection teetering on the edge of discovery, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

cw; angst, spencer yells at the reader, age gap, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, big big feelings = big big argument, lots and lots of yearning, student/teacher relationship (ezra and aria who?) no smut in this part (i know, disappointing), you'll have to wait for part 4 ;)

an; as always, thank you for taking the time to read my work, i hope you all enjoy. please consider leaving feedback in the form of a comment or an ask if you did enjoy, i always love hearing from you <3

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Spencer murmurs, his voice low and steady, almost like he’s thinking out loud. He’s not saying anything groundbreaking, just a simple truth, but you can feel the sincerity in every word.

You’re lying next to him, the warmth of his body pressing gently against yours, the world outside his apartment fading away. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s just you and Spencer, the quiet hum of the city muted by the walls of the apartment. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, the touch both soothing and reassuring, like a silent promise.

You turn your head slightly to look at him, catching his gaze, and his eyes soften when they meet yours. “Lucky?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, his expression relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place—something that makes your chest tighten in a good way. “I don’t know. You’re... everything. You just get me, you know? You always know when I’m overthinking or when I need a minute, and you’re there without making a big deal out of it.”

You chuckle softly, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” he continues, his hand resting lightly on your hip now, fingers gently tracing along your skin. “You’re so... intuitive. So much more than I ever expected.”

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he says it makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world he could say that to. It feels real—genuine, even. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, your voice quieter now, the smile still lingering on your lips.

Spencer laughs softly, his fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t know about that,” he says, though the affection in his voice is undeniable. “But I’m definitely glad you’re here. Glad it’s... us.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, settling a little closer to him, resting your head against his chest. It’s easy, this thing between you. Comfortable in a way that doesn’t need to be overanalysed or explained. You both know where you stand, and that’s enough.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really like being with you. More than I can say.”

You close your eyes, letting the simple words wash over you, content in the quiet of the moment. The world outside can wait. Here, with him, everything feels just right.

So as you crossed the campus the next morning, your bag tucked tightly against your side like a fragile secret, you couldn’t help but think of him. The air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of autumn, and the hum of the campus buzzed around you. Laughter echoed from a nearby bench, the scrape of skateboard wheels over concrete punctuating the morning stillness. It was a world in motion, but for you, each step felt heavier, each breath tighter.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your spiralling thoughts. A welcome distraction. You stepped into the shadow of a quiet corner in the quad, your back leaning against the cool brick of a building as you pulled it out. The message preview glowed softly on the screen, taunting you with its simplicity. Just a few words, but enough to make your stomach twist. You hesitated, the pad of your thumb hovering over the notification, before swiping it open.

@ thefourthdoctor; Big day today, right? How's it going so far?

You smiled to yourself. He had a way of grounding you, even when the chaos of life seemed overwhelming. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed back quickly.

@ laceandliterature; Surviving so far. One more class. Supposedly the professor is a genius or something.

@ thefourthdoctor; Genius professors are overrated. Bet you'll end up teaching them something.

You let out a soft laugh, earning a curious glance from the student beside you. You put your phone away as the chatter in the room began to quiet. The door at the front of the classroom opened, and a tall, slightly disheveled man stepped in.

"Good afternoon," he began, his voice smooth and steady, carrying just enough authority to quiet the murmur of the room. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’ll be your professor for this semester."

A cold shiver ran through you, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, your brain refused to process them, to connect the dots. It was like a veil had dropped over the classroom, the world outside of him fading into a muffled blur. He was your Spencer—your secret, your late-night confidant, the person who had slowly crept into your thoughts, into your heart.

And now, as you looked up, there he was. Dr. Spencer Reid. The very thought of it made you freeze.

The world around you seemed to tilt, gravity losing its hold, as if the earth had somehow shifted beneath your feet. The air in the room thickened, and your pulse hammered in your ears. You could feel every eye in the room, but all you could focus on was him—on the way his gaze flickered over the crowd, on the moment he paused as if feeling your presence before his eyes locked onto yours.

It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, swift and sharp like a lightning strike, followed by something darker—something that mirrored the panic rising in your chest. His steps faltered, a momentary loss of composure. For an agonizing second, he looked like he might trip over his own feet, his hand reaching instinctively to grip the edge of the podium, as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but the words didn’t come.

The room around you blurred, every sound drowned out by the rushing roar of your heart, by the sudden weight of the truth crashing down on you. Dr. Spencer Reid, the man you had been talking to for weeks, the one you had come to trust with pieces of yourself you’d never shared with anyone, was standing in front of you—your professor. The line between you had just dissolved into nothing, and the implications hit you all at once.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with something raw and unsettled—confusion, maybe even disbelief, a look that mirrored the one you felt inside. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were so close to something, to something more, to a feeling you’d been fighting to define, but now… now it all felt tainted. The connection you had with him was something that had blossomed in the quiet, the secrecy, and now it felt so exposed, so fragile, hanging on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

You watched him struggle to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his brow furrowed with tension, but there was something else beneath it—something deep, something that had been there all along, though you hadn’t dared to name it. The reality of the situation hit you with crushing force: the late-night conversations, the casual affection, the way he made you feel seen and heard… It had all been real. But so was this.

He opened his mouth again, but it wasn’t to speak to you—not directly. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together with shaky breath, and in that instant, you knew that everything had changed. He was no longer the man you had been texting, the one who had shared things with you that felt impossible to tell anyone else. No. Now, he was your professor, the person whose authority you were supposed to respect, the person who had the power to affect your future in ways you hadn’t even considered.

You tried to steady your racing thoughts, but the reality of what was happening, what had just happened, pressed down on you. This wasn’t just an awkward surprise. This was a violation of all the boundaries you thought you could keep between your personal life and the rest of the world. You felt your chest tighten as the dread crept in.

You had been so close. So close to something real, something that had started to feel like it could actually be more than just a fleeting connection. But now? Now, you were staring into the abyss of what could only be a mess. His eyes kept flicking to you, but he didn’t speak directly to you again. Instead, he turned his attention back to the class, clearing his throat one more time before continuing, his voice more composed but still carrying an undercurrent of something strained.

"...I’ll be teaching cognitive development this semester," he said, his tone firm but not quite steady. "It’s a challenging course, but I’m confident you’ll all be able to keep up."

His words felt hollow, detached, as though he were going through the motions, but every syllable felt like an echo of everything you could no longer ignore.

You stayed rooted in your seat, a cold heaviness settling over you, your heart racing, your mind reeling. The world had just shifted, and you weren’t sure how to catch your breath.

"Uh," he stammered, his voice betraying a crack of unsteadiness. "As I said, I’m Dr. Reid. I, uh, specialise in behavioural psychology and philosophy. If you need anything, my office hours are listed in the syllabus, which you should have received by email."

He spoke too quickly, the words tumbling out like they might shield him from the reality of the moment. His hands gripped the podium tightly, and though his eyes swept over the room, you could tell he was avoiding looking directly at you. His composure was a fragile thing, threatening to crumble with every second that passed.

Your stomach churned as the implications of this impossible situation sank in. The air in the room felt stifling now, too warm, too heavy. You were hyperaware of him—of the way he stood just a little too rigidly, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his voice had wavered when he said anything.

This was the man who had been your confidant, the one who made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And now, he was standing in front of you, holding a position of authority that made every shared moment, every word exchanged, a dangerous secret.

He risked another fleeting glance in your direction, his expression unreadable. The air between you felt charged, like the space before a storm, filled with things left unsaid and too many emotions packed into too little time.

Your mind raced, a tangled mess of shock, dread, and something heartbreakingly close to longing. How could this possibly work? Could it even work at all?

Spencer turned back to his papers, his shoulders tight as he forced himself to continue. But the damage was done. The moment had shattered the fragile wall between your two worlds, and now you were left to navigate the wreckage.

And now, he was standing here, just feet away, your professor.

You could still feel his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t looking directly your way. You knew he felt it too—the electricity, the undeniable tension.

As the class dragged on, each word Spencer spoke felt like it was coming from miles away. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t absorb anything except the overwhelming weight of the truth. Dr. Spencer Reid. The realization kept replaying in your mind like a broken record, the echo of it rattling your thoughts until everything else faded into white noise. You tried to look at him objectively, tried to see the professor in front of you, but all you saw was the man who had become your secret, your late-night refuge. The man who, just hours ago, you had felt yourself slipping closer to, only to have the ground ripped out from under you.

When the lecture finally ended, the final bell a dull thud in your chest, you stayed in your seat for a beat too long, uncertain. The others filed out, chattering and laughing, their voices lost to you as if you were underwater. You debated, internally torn between confronting him—demanding answers—or simply running the other way and never looking back.

But before you could decide, before you could move, you caught his eye. Just for a second. It was brief, fleeting, but in that shared glance, you saw it—the acknowledgment, the silent recognition that you were both trapped in the same web of confusion and unspoken desire. His gaze held something more: a question, a plea, a silent call for understanding. You weren’t sure which one it was, but you felt it.

Neither of you said a word, but the air between you grew thick with it, with everything you weren’t saying. It hung there, heavy and suffocating, the invisible barrier that now separated you. You wanted to speak, to ask him what this meant, to demand the answers that both of you seemed too afraid to say aloud. But you didn’t. And neither did he.

This was going to complicate everything.

The days after that first class passed in a blur. The initial shock had dulled, but it had left behind an uneasy tension, a strange sort of tightness in the air between you and Spencer. Something had shifted between you both, but neither of you knew how to handle it, how to navigate the mess of emotions and risks.

In lectures, Spencer kept his gaze trained firmly ahead, rarely letting it wander to your corner of the room. When he did glance in your direction, it was quick, as if he feared even that brief moment of connection might undo him. The smooth flow of his lecture, once so natural, now had a stutter to it when you raised your hand, your voice, anything. The usual rhythm was broken, disrupted by the constant awareness of each other. Every word you spoke seemed to have the weight of a thousand unspoken things behind it, like every sentence was a landmine that could blow everything apart.

Outside of class, things were no easier. The messages between you and Spencer, once frequent and filled with ease, had become painfully measured. You had both learned to carefully choose your words, as if a wrong one could expose everything—the feelings you were hiding, the longing you couldn’t keep at bay, the dangers that now clung to every thought and touch. Every interaction felt like it was wrapped in a shroud of what ifs—what if someone found out? What if this all fell apart? What if it was too late?

But despite the careful distance, despite the impossible situation you found yourselves in, you couldn’t stay away. There was something magnetic between you, a pull that neither of you could resist. Each encounter, each brief exchange, only made it worse, only made you want him more.

And yet, you couldn’t have him. Not like this. Not with the risk of everything unraveling in an instant. But every part of you screamed that you couldn’t walk away, that you couldn’t let go of the thing that had begun to feel so real. And every part of him seemed to feel the same way.

There’s something almost sacred in the way he moves, the way he speaks, each word falling from his lips like it’s meant only for you, like you’re the only one who can truly hear it. You can't help but trace every line of his face, from the sharp curve of his jaw to the faint scrunch of his brow when he's lost in thought. His every gesture seems like poetry, something you could study for hours, even days.

You idolise him in a way that feels almost holy, a quiet reverence in the way you let your gaze linger on him, not just as your professor, but as someone untouchable. Every time his eyes sweep the room, you hold your breath, hoping, praying that maybe this time, they’ll land on you—just you. But they never do.

And still, you can’t stop. He’s your obsession, your quiet prayer whispered to the stars. You don’t just listen to him; you drink in every syllable, every inflection of his voice, as if his words are the only truth worth knowing. And in those moments, the world falls away, leaving only you and him—alone, even if you’re not.

It started in whispers, in moments so small they were almost imperceptible. A lingering glance after class that held for just a second too long. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed back a graded paper, the touch fleeting but electric. You told yourself these gestures didn’t matter, that they were coincidences or figments of your imagination. But you knew better. You felt it in your chest, in the way your breath caught each time his eyes met yours and lingered.

Then one evening, as you packed up your notebook and pens after a lecture, his voice stopped you mid-motion.

“Y/N,” he said softly, careful not to draw the attention of the few students still milling about. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

You froze, your heart skipping, then nodding as you tried to keep your face neutral. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for onlookers, before he gestured toward the hallway.

The atmosphere in Spencer’s office was tense, a quiet unease pressing down on both of you. The faint hum of the overhead light mixed with the distant sounds of the campus outside, but neither did much to distract from the gravity of the conversation.

Spencer sat behind his desk, his fingers lightly drumming against the edge as he stared at the scattered papers in front of him. His gaze was unfocused, the weight of what he needed to say pulling at his normally composed demeanor. You leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, your posture guarded.

“This isn’t just risky,” he said after a long silence, his voice steady but low. He glanced up at you, his eyes serious. “If anyone finds out, it could ruin both of us.”

You straightened, arms dropping to your sides. “I know the risks, Spencer. But walking away isn’t an option for me, and I don’t think it is for you either.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not. But that means we have to be careful—really careful. We need rules. Boundaries. Something to protect us.”

You stepped closer to his desk, pulling a chair to sit across from him. “Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Let’s figure it out. What’s non-negotiable?”

He hesitated, his fingers lacing together as he thought. “First, no public displays of affection. Not even subtle things. On campus, we have to act like nothing’s going on. No lingering looks, no casual touches—nothing.”

“Agreed,” you said, though the thought of keeping that distance stung. “We can’t give anyone a reason to suspect us.”

“And no communication about us through email or official channels,” he added. “If we need to talk, it has to be in person or through something secure.”

You nodded. “There are private apps we could use, encrypted ones. Only for emergencies, though. No casual texting.”

The practicality of it all settled over you both, the careful parameters of what you could and couldn’t do drawing a stark line around the relationship.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softer now, though no less serious. “If at any point this feels like too much—if it starts to put pressure on your life or your future—you have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel trapped in this.”

You met his gaze, holding it firmly. “That goes both ways. If you start to feel like this is putting your career in jeopardy, you need to tell me.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Deal.”

The conversation felt clinical, like drawing up a contract, but it was necessary. The risks weren’t hypothetical—they were real, and you both knew what was at stake.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked after a pause, your voice quieter now.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he looked at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m willing to try. For you.”

His honesty grounded you, cutting through the uncertainty. “Then we’ll make it work,” you said simply.

You found ways to navigate the tightrope of your relationship, though every step felt like it could be the one that sent you both tumbling into ruin.

You started meeting in places where no one would recognise you. A quiet café on the outskirts of town. A secluded bench in the park. The conversations were tentative at first, but the connection between you refused to fade.

One night, as the rain pattered softly against the windows of his apartment, you found yourself curled up on his couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You know this is insane, right,” he muttered, though his arm tightened around you.

“Probably,” you admitted, tilting your head to look up at him. “But doesn’t it feel worth it?”

His gaze lingered on yours, conflicted but warm. “It does,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And that’s what scares me.”

The line between you and Spencer was razor-thin, a fragile, trembling thread neither of you dared to define. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, the dizzying height both thrilling and terrifying. You both knew the fall was inevitable, yet neither of you could step away. Instead, you lingered there, savouring the tension in those fleeting moments before gravity claimed you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the campus in gold and shadow, you found yourself outside his office door. The brass plaque bearing his name gleamed faintly, a stark reminder of the boundaries you were about to cross. Your pulse quickened as you raised a hand and knocked softly, the sound barely louder than your breath.

“Come in,” he called, his voice muffled, distracted.

You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. Spencer sat hunched over his desk, papers sprawled across its surface like a chaotic map of his thoughts. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair fell untamed over his forehead, catching the fading light.

When he looked up and saw you, the tired lines of his face softened. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, one that chased away some of the tension in his shoulders. “You’re here,” he said, his voice warmer now, but still tinged with a nervous edge. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you admitted, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He stood slowly, his movements hesitant as though torn between his delight at seeing you and the weight of the risks that lingered between you. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he confessed, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “But this... it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you replied, your voice steady but gentle.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, though it lacked humor. “You make it sound so simple.” His gaze dropped to the floor before returning to you, his expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here—I always am—but... we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But I needed to see you.”

He exhaled, taking a step toward you, the space between you narrowing. “This is dangerous,” he said, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed the firmness of his words. “For both of us. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” you replied, your gaze locking with his. “I understand. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

The honesty of your words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Spencer’s breath hitched, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the remaining distance between you.

His hands came to rest gently on your waist, his touch light but steady, as if testing the limits of how close he could let himself be. “You make it impossible to think straight,” he murmured, a faint, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Then don’t think,” you whispered, your hand rising to cup his face. Your thumb brushed against the stubble along his jaw, the touch grounding. “Just let yourself feel, Spencer.”

His resolve faltered, and after a brief, wavering pause, he gave in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When you pulled back, your breaths mingled in the space between you, your foreheads resting together. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

“Then tell me to leave,” you said softly, challenging him with your eyes. “If you really believe this is a mistake, say it, and I will.”

Spencer’s silence stretched, his gaze searching yours for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Then, instead of pushing you away, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—slower this time, more deliberate.

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It didn’t matter that this was risky or complicated. All that mattered was the way his arms felt around you, and the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

But even as you clung to him, the weight of reality loomed just beyond the door. You both knew the balance wouldn’t hold forever. Every stolen moment brought you closer to the edge, but neither of you was ready to let go. Not yet.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of surreal, a delicate haze of stolen moments and whispered confessions that felt like they existed outside of time. For a brief, golden sliver of your lives, the rest of the world melted away. The tension and danger that had once defined your relationship softened, and in its place grew something that felt achingly close to normal—a fleeting illusion of safety in a house of cards.

During the day, Spencer was every bit the professor. His lectures were sharp, his insights unmatched, and his demeanour coolly professional. He kept his distance, his gaze skimming over you with the same neutrality he granted every student. But in the evenings, when the classroom emptied and the cloak of twilight fell over the city, those carefully maintained facades slipped away.

You found solace in the quiet intimacy of those stolen hours, the shared secret between you and Spencer feeling like a delicate, shimmering bubble that shielded you from the outside world—if only for a little while. His apartment, modest and unassuming, became your sanctuary. Under the cover of darkness, you would arrive, greeted by the soft, golden glow of a desk lamp that bathed the room in warmth. The light cast long, flickering shadows across the walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality.

He’d sit at his desk, his slender fingers skimming over pages of handwritten notes or flipping through the well-worn pages of a book. Papers were scattered in controlled chaos before him, but his focus would inevitably drift to you. Meanwhile, you lounged on his worn, olive-green couch, the fabric soft from years of use, a book resting in your hands. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the subtle aroma of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

One evening, the air felt particularly still, broken only by the soft scratch of his pen against paper and the occasional rustle of pages as you turned them. The tension between you wasn’t heavy—it was something quieter, more tender, like the gentle pull of a tide.

“I’m starting to think you’re only here to distract me,” he teased, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up from his notes, catching yours across the room. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and affection.

You looked up from your book, tilting your head with a playful grin. “Maybe I am,” you replied, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable warmth. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, the smirk softening into something more vulnerable, more honest. “I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, carrying a sincerity that made your chest tighten. His gaze lingered on you, filled with a kind of unspoken gratitude, as though you were the one thing anchoring him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

The moment stretched between you, delicate and unbroken, like the fragile stillness before a storm. In that space, with only the golden lamplight and the quiet hum of shared presence, the world outside faded away.

Some nights, you’d find yourselves in his small, modest kitchen, an intimate space that seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched utensils and a few carefully chosen cookbooks, their spines cracked from frequent use. The narrow layout forced you close, your movements effortlessly weaving around each other, as though this was a dance you’d been perfecting for years.

You’d stand at the counter, chopping vegetables with a focus that was occasionally interrupted by his amused glances. Meanwhile, he’d hover over the stove, stirring something fragrant and humming softly under his breath. The warm, savoury scent of simmering herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of oil in the pan.

“Reid, you’re a genius, not a chef,” you teased, pausing to nudge him gently with your elbow. The touch was casual, yet the closeness sent a subtle thrill through you.

Without missing a beat, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “I think genius qualifies me for multitasking,” he retorted, his tone light and laced with dry humor.

The way he spoke, so earnest yet teasing, made you laugh—an easy, carefree sound that filled the small space. His smile widened at the sound, the fondness in his expression unmistakable. He turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful precision, as though the act of cooking together was as much about the process as the meal itself.

Occasionally, his arm would brush against yours, the fleeting contact as natural as it was electric. He’d reach over you to grab a spice jar, murmuring an absent “Excuse me,” though his hand would linger just a moment too long against yours.

He told you stories about the BAU, his voice animated as he recounted Morgan’s relentless pranks or Garcia’s exuberance. You’d laugh until tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your sides aching from the joy of it.

“This feels too good to be true,” you murmured one night, leaning against the counter as you watched him stir a pot of pasta.

“It does,” he replied, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile that made your chest tighten. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to enjoy this.”

And you did. You savoured the moments as though they might slip through your fingers at any moment. But beneath the surface, there was always a quiet awareness—a faint, unspoken dread. You both knew this fragile peace couldn’t last forever. The bubble you lived in was too perfect, too delicate, and the outside world was never far away.

The nights were the best, the moments you cherished most. Wrapped in his arms, the world outside ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to slow down, fading into the background as everything else fell away. The warmth of his skin against yours was enough to make the chaos of the day disappear. He’d trace lazy patterns across your back or along your arms, the soft rhythm of his touch sending a sense of peace through you, grounding you in the present moment. His voice would hum softly, a low murmur that carried the oddest mix of comfort and distraction. He’d recite obscure facts with the same earnestness he applied to everything else, his words a strange lullaby that somehow felt both educational and intimate.

“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?” he said one evening, his body pressed close to yours, limbs tangled together like the quietest dance. His voice was warm, the amusement in it making your pulse quicken slightly.

You laughed softly, feeling the slight vibration of his chest against your cheek. You buried your face against his skin, closing your eyes for a moment to soak in the sense of peace that only seemed to exist here, with him. “And here I thought you didn’t have one at all,” you teased, a playful smirk pulling at your lips.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, almost reverent touch that stilled your teasing. His expression shifted, becoming something quieter, something that caught you off guard. The warmth of his breath against your skin softened, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade.

“I do,” he whispered, the words a soft confession, barely audible but filled with weight. “And it’s yours.”

The words hung in the air, more potent than anything he had said before. The way he said them, so sure, so vulnerable, made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to respond, but the truth was—there was nothing to say. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his touch, said everything you needed to know.

The bubble burst on an otherwise ordinary evening. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with Spencer, your shared secret giving you a sense of intimacy that felt almost unbreakable. But the thing about bubbles is that they’re fragile, no matter how much you want them to last.

It started with a message.

Spencer had been quiet all day, his usual goodnight text conspicuously absent the night before. When you finally worked up the courage to check your phone, there it was.

@ thefourthdoctor; We need to talk. Can you come over?

Your heart sank as you read the words. “We need to talk” was never a good sign.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what he might say. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling as you knocked on the door.

He opened it quickly, stepping aside to let you in without a word. His expression was tense, his usually warm eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely steady.

He closed the door, running a hand through his hair. “Something happened,” he said, his tone clipped.

The weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. “What do you mean? Did someone—”

“Someone knows,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Or at least, someone suspects.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “How? Who?”

“I don’t know who,” he said, pacing the small living room. “But today, a coworker asked me why I’ve been acting distracted. He didn’t say anything outright, but I could tell he’s suspicious. And if he’s suspicious, it’s only a matter of time before someone else starts asking questions.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “What did you say to him?”

“I brushed it off,” he said, his voice strained. “But this isn’t just about the team. If the school finds out…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

“So, what are you saying?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m saying we need to stop this. Whatever this is, it’s not worth the risk.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Not worth the risk?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Is that all this is to you? A risk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but the damage was done.

“Then what did you mean, Spencer?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “Because it sounds a lot like you’re saying I’m not worth it.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

“Unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought—” Your voice broke, and you had to swallow hard before continuing. “I thought this meant something to you.”

“It does,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You mean something to me. But this—us—it’s reckless. It’s dangerous. And if we keep going, we’re both going to get hurt.”

“So, what? You’re just giving up?” you asked, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re walking away because it’s easier than fighting for me?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it.

“Protect me from what?” you shot back. “From caring about you? From wanting to be with you?”

“From yourself!” he yelled, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “You don’t think things through! You’re impulsive and immature, and you don’t understand the consequences of your actions!”

The room went still, his words hanging heavy between you.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his words crushed you. “Is that what you really think of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His face softened for a split second, regret flashing in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

“Maybe we should’ve never started this,” he said quietly, the words like a final blow.

You felt something inside you shatter. Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your movements mechanical as you grabbed your coat.

"I'll write you a check, Spencer," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You can have every cent back, every single dollar you ever gave me. I don’t want it anymore—I don’t want any of it. Not the money, not the memories, not you.”

“Wait,” he called, his voice desperate now. But you didn’t stop.

As the door closed behind you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you walked away.

This time, you didn’t look back.

Spencer stood frozen in the middle of his living room, staring at the door you had just slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

He felt hollow, like the argument had carved out a piece of him and taken it with you when you left. His chest ached, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides, still trembling from the heat of the fight.

Anger flickered in him—not at you, but at himself. The words he’d thrown at you echoed in his mind, sharp and bitter. Impulsive. Immature. Reckless. He had said them to push you away, to make you understand the gravity of the situation. But now they tasted like poison, regret seeping into every corner of his mind.

What have I done?

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His mind replayed the look on your face when he had yelled at you—the way your eyes had glistened with unshed tears, the tremble in your voice when you asked if that was what he really thought of you.

He didn’t mean it. Not any of it.

The truth was, you weren’t reckless. You weren’t immature. You were brave in a way he couldn’t comprehend, willing to take risks for what you wanted, for what you believed in. And Spencer admired you for it, even if he couldn’t admit it aloud.

But admiration wasn’t enough to protect you.

That was what haunted him the most. He had been terrified—not of you, but of what your relationship meant, of the potential fallout, the consequences that could ruin both your lives. He thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But now, sitting alone in the empty apartment, all he felt was loss.

Spencer’s throat tightened as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call you, to apologize, to take it all back. But the rational part of him held him back. You were right to leave, he thought bitterly. I’m no good for you.

Still, the thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your laugh or feeling the warmth of your touch, was unbearable.

The apartment felt colder, emptier, without you in it. Spencer closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he had said and everything he hadn’t.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly, devastatingly alone.

You got me red, white, and blue

Pledging my allegiance to you

Tell me you believe in me too

next part

#missarchive #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #bau x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds

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sugarcoatedcherry · 6 months ago

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Reach Turiya (Void state) in sleep

Words used alternatively- Pure consciousness/Turiya/Void.

Reaching the Turiya state (the "fourth state of consciousness") through sleep is a profound spiritual practice rooted in many traditions, including Vedanta and Tantra. Turiya is a state of pure awareness beyond the three conventional states of waking (jagrat), dreaming (svapna), and deep sleep (sushupti). It represents transcendence and connection to universal consciousness—the formless, eternal aspect of reality.

Turiya is the underlying state of wakefulness, dream state and deep sleep. Experienced yogis and meditators find it easy to transition from wakefulness and Turiya. For the rest of us, transitioning from the other two states is easier.

In sleep, Turiya can be accessed by cultivating awareness during the transitional states of dreaming and deep sleep phases, where ordinary consciousness is dissolved but awareness remains. Here's a detailed explanation of how to use sleep as a pathway to Turiya:

Key Concepts of Turiya and Sleep

1. Waking, Dreaming, and Deep Sleep as Portals:

In waking (jagrat), the mind is tied to the external world. In dreaming (svapna), the mind is absorbed in internal projections. In deep sleep (sushupti), the ego and mind dissolve, but there is no awareness. Turiya exists as the witness behind all these states, observing without being bound by them.

2. Sleep as a Natural Entryway:

Sleep provides a fertile ground to access Turiya because the mental activity reduces significantly, and the ego temporarily dissolves. With training, awareness can be sustained during the transitional phases and deep sleep.

3. Awareness as the Key:

The critical difference between ordinary deep sleep and reaching Turiya is awareness. Normally, in deep sleep, consciousness is inactive. To experience Turiya, one must retain awareness as they transition into and through sleep.

Steps to Reach Turiya through Sleep

1. Preparation Before Sleep:

Meditation: Before lying down, meditate to calm the mind and detach from sensory distractions. Focus on your breath or a mantra to center your awareness.

Intention Setting (Sankalpa): Set a clear intention to remain aware as you fall asleep. A simple affirmation like, "I will remain aware as I drift into sleep and beyond" can help.

Body Relaxation: Practice body awareness or progressive muscle relaxation to ease tension. This creates the foundation for effortless transition into subtle states.

2. During the Hypnagogic State (Between Waking and Sleep):

Observe the shifting mental states as you fall asleep. Be a witness to the random images, thoughts, or sensations without becoming attached to them.

Focus on a mantra, breath, or inner sound (nada). This acts as an anchor for your awareness.

Stay relaxed but vigilant, avoiding active engagement with any arising mental content. The goal is to observe without being drawn into dreams.

3. Cultivating Awareness in Dreaming:

Practice lucid dreaming techniques. By becoming aware in your dreams, you begin to dissolve the boundaries between dream consciousness and the witnessing state of Turiya.

If you become aware that you are dreaming, remind yourself that you are the witness of the dream. This awareness is a step toward accessing Turiya. Follow one of these.

4. Maintaining Awareness in Deep Sleep:

In deep sleep, there are no thoughts, forms, or perceptions—only pure stillness. To reach Turiya, the goal is to remain aware during this formless state. When people say they "woke up" in void, this is what they mean.

5. Practice Witnessing the Transitions:

Pay attention to the gap between wakefulness and sleep, between dreams and deep sleep, and between sleep and wake fullness. These gaps are portals where the ego dissolves, and pure awareness/void can be glimpsed.

Challenges and Solutions

1. Falling Asleep Completely (Losing Awareness):

Solution: Strengthen your practice of mindfulness during the day. The more aware you are in daily life, the easier it becomes to retain awareness during sleep.

2. Restlessness or Overthinking:

Solution: Practice calming pranayama (like Nadi Shodhana) before sleep to quiet the mind. Or switch between direct and indirect techniques.

3. Difficulty Transitioning into Deep Sleep Awareness:

Solution: Focus on the witnessing state during meditation daily. This helps train your mind to maintain awareness even in non-ordinary states. Or use Lucid dreaming techniques instead.

Vijñāna Bhairava Tantra is an ancient Hindu scripture that reveals 112 techniques to enter the void state. Let me know if you want a post on that.

(this is not the guide/challenge I was talking about, this is only a informational post. The other one will be out by tomorrow)

#void state #law of assumption #void success #neville goddard #lucid dreaming

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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 years ago

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On The Naughty List

Yandere Krampus x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, spanking, bondage, dick piercings, size difference, Krampus, Christmas, assassin reader, punishment, kidnapping, biting, very mild blood from biting, general yandere behavior Word Count: 1.5k (Hey guys, I hope you all like this. Kinda rushed, not beta read, please forgive any errors. My second Christmas gift to you all. I hope your holiday is amazing <3)

You got yourself settled in your hotel room. It was very early in the morning, not past 3am, on Christmas. But you were not Santa Claus and you were not delivering cheer. You had with you only a simple black suitcase. The furnishings in your room were sparse, but that was okay. You did not select this room because of the accommodations but rather for its view. It was not particularly scenic, merely a view of a road and residential area. But you were an assassin and this room afforded you clear aim into the room of your target’s living room. All you had to do was wait.

Your weapon was easy enough to assemble. A sniper rifle, of course. Finally you saw your designated victim pull up into their driveway and enter their house, so you opened the window and readied yourself. An icy chill filled the room. Your vantage point was clear and your weapon was ready but before you could take out your mark you heard a strange and tumultuous sound from behind.

It sounded like the Earth was being torn asunder and the four winds themselves were howling in unison as they collided.

You turned around and saw the very fabric of space and tear before you leaving a purple portal leaking black mist blocking the door to the hotel room. An odd scent like that of cinnamon and coal filled the room. You were about to flee through the open window, you had the skills necessary to scale the building, but the window slammed shut before you could act.

Not many things made a hardened combatant turned assassin such as yourself scared but you would be lying if you said you weren’t trembling.

You could hear a slow and rhythmic pounding sound getting nearer and nearer as if some unseen monstrosity approached from the other side of the portal. And that’s exactly what it was.

The first thing you saw erupt through the rip in space was the head of a horned beast. It was humanoid and wore a wicked grin full of sharp teeth. Eyes like black coals stared into you, piercing you with unrestrained glee in your fear.

Followed by this terrifying face was its body.

Muscular thighs with legs like tree trunks that ended in cloven hooves.. And his whip-like tail lashed angrily at the air. The demonic beast was covered in thick black fur.

The horrifying creature was at least 7 feet. tall.

The faint scent of burning coal filled the space surrounding it.

It took a thundering step towards you, and you cowered in place, momentarily stunned as it said in a deep booming voice, "I’m Krampus and someone has been verrrry naughty this yeeeear."

Though you felt more fear than you ever thought possible you were still a trained combatant turned assassin for hire and you managed to collect yourself about as well as it was possible for any mere human to in such a situation.

You shot the thing right between the eyes with your high-powered rifle, and he... laughed. The bullet bounced off uselessly, and he just... laughed...

You screamed and shouted as loudly as you could, hoping to attract help. Though what they could possibly do when he had shrugged off, a bullet remained to be seen.

No help came for you. Krampus always magically silenced noise from leaking out of rooms where he was punishing someone.

Suddenly, he closed the difference between the two of you and was upon you in record speed, moving supernaturally fast for such a behemoth.

With precise movements, strong hands and sharp claws made confetti out of your dark clothing before he had you bent over his knee.

"I usually use a birch rute for this, but I wanna feel your skin on my hand..."

You struggled and tried to get away, but there was no chance he would let you go. Krampus had to punish many humans, but you were special. Ironically, it was your defiance, the fight in your eyes, that initially attracted him to you.

His hard, calloused hand came down on your bare ass, causing you to curse and tremble.

With all your training something as simple as a slap to your ass shouldn't have bothered you much, even from such a large adversary, but it was like he had slammed the essence of dread into your very heart.

But that still wasn't enough to still you. You kicked, punched, and clawed ferally at any inch of flesh you could reach, like a feral animal backed into a corner.

But he only laughed more as he spanked you over and over. Until you were crying. Worse than the pain was the total humiliation.

Through it all, though, you never stopped struggling. No matter how much terror and pain you endured. You didn't realize it, but it only made him more into you.

Everyone he had punished before, broke them like a kid with a toy, and left them to deal with the trauma. But you didn't seem so easily broken, and that sealed your fate.

If you kept resisting like you were, he was going to keep you forever.

Krampus finally stopped the assault on your rear and dragged you, kicking and screaming over to the bed. You could now see his cock, large and uncut with a frenum ladder set of piercings going up the underside of his length.

"Stop! Get away from me!!"

"Yeah, because you're really the one in position to give commands right now."

He chuckled and bent you over the bed as you writhed madly, knowing what was about to happen.

"Might need to keep you still for this."

In a puff of black smoke, a coil of rope appeared in his hand that he skillfully used to bind your legs and arms.

While he had tied up many people in his line of work, he had never actually used rape to punish someone. But he wanted to see how far he could take things with you. Though at this point, even if he broke you, he was sure he would keep you anyway, just to fix you up again.

Krampus spit on your hole and plunged his cock in roughly. Hardly enough prep to do anything for the pain. For the fiery burning stretch that came with his big dick breaching your entrance.

Despite being bound you still wriggled as best you could while screaming until your throat hurt.

"Fuck you! Goddamned piece o- AHHHH!!!!"

He smirked as he increased the pace. Good. His toy STILL wasn't crumbling apart.

Sharp claws raked your back as his hot breath cascaded down your neck while he whispered, "For someone so bad you feel so good."

Tears rushed down your cheeks. You were infuriated with him and with yourself for having allowed yourself to be taken with such ease. What was far more reprehensible than that though, was the fact that your body had adjusted to his size and it was actually starting to feel somewhat good despite the pain and discomfort.

You yelped as he lightly smacked your sore ass while fucking you.

"Go to H-hell bastard!"

"Ha, been there."

He pulled out, flipped you over on your back, and slid right back into, profuse amounts of precum now providing more adequate lubrication. Embarrassingly, you couldn't stifle a moan as he entered back into you with his piercings adding to the sensation you were trying to ignore.

If your legs hadn't been tied you would have tried to kick him right between the legs for making your body betray you like that.

He leaned over and nibbled on your neck lightly with his sharp teeth, licking up the little droplets of blood that welled to the surface of your skin

You moaned as he did so, as you were pulled closer and closer to orgasm.

Violently, you twitched as you came hard, blushing deeply and cursing him as you did so. He ignored you and licked the blush on your cheeks, humiliating you even farther.

For a few more moments you thrashed as much as you were able in overstimulation as he continued to breed you. His skin meeting yours with an audible slap at each thrust.

Finally he went in deep and filled you with abnormally hot cum that coaxed another orgasm from your exhausted body.

After a few moments of panting he sighed with content and slung you over his shoulders, cum leaking from you and out on to him as he carried you. Vulgarities rolling from your tongue with each heavy step he took.

Another portal opened and he stepped through with you. The cussing, the fierceness, the unbreakable spirit. A perfect partner.

You were the best Christmas gift he had ever given himself, and there was no way he was ever going to give you up.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #yandere monster #gender neutral reader #male yandere x gn reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere #yandere Holidays #Yandere Christmas #Happy Holidays 2023 #christmas 2023 #Yandere Krampus #Krampus x reader #yandere scenarios #Yandere Scenario

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daredevils-stuffed · 4 months ago

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What was that sweetheart? -Oneshot

Matt Murdock x Reader

Prompt: Secrets, Lies, and well…Matt Murdock. If you’ve seen Mr & Mrs Smith. It’s kinda like that.

Tags: Closet sex. Very sexy. A little rough.

a/n: Happy Episode 3 day!!!

You smiled as you ended the call, slipping your phone back into your clutch.

"Drinks with a friend." The lie rolled off your tongue as easily as a breath.

It wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Matt was always busy, always buried in cases, and he never pushed when you gave vague answers. You hated lying to him—really, you did—but it was easier this way.

If he knew what you really did when you weren’t wrapped in his sheets or tangled in lazy morning kisses, he’d never look at you the same.

Your heels clicked softly against the polished marble as you stepped into the ballroom, the air thick with expensive perfume, hushed conversations, and the quiet hum of a string quartet.

A room full of powerful people, criminals hiding in plain sight, corruption dressed in designer suits. And somewhere among them was the man you needed.

Your eyes swept the crowd as you moved toward the bar, shoulders back, chin high. Confidence was everything in places like this.

And then—

A shift.

A slow, creeping awareness slithered down your spine, sending the faintest prickle across your skin.

It wasn’t obvious. Not enough to make you stop, not enough to make you turn your head. But something in the air felt… off.

Like you were being watched.

You forced yourself to ignore it, fingers tightening around the stem of your champagne glass you acquired.

Focus.

Your target was standing near the dance floor, sipping an overpriced drink, eyes skimming over the room like he owned it.

He was older, wealthy, predictable. The kind of man who liked feeling important. The kind of man who would love being wanted by someone like you.

You took a slow sip of your drink and made your move.

The pulse of the music in the ballroom vibrated through the floor, but all you could focus on was the banker in front of you. His hand was at the small of your back, and his breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in closer, almost too close for comfort, but you needed this.

You felt the familiar tension rise in your chest, the way you could almost taste the danger in the air. The man's cologne mixed with the scent of expensive champagne, but it was the distinct scent of leather and pine that made your heart skip a beat—Matt. You knew that smell better than anyone’s. But you couldn’t let an impossibility get distracted. Your target was talking, moving his lips, but all you could hear now was the rhythmic thumping of your heartbeat in your ears.

The man’s hand slid lower, too low, and you tightened your grip on your glass, using the tension to keep yourself grounded. You weren’t going to let him get away with touching you like that. It was a game of seduction, a necessary evil. You leaned in and whispered softly in his ear, "Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

As the banker nodded and walked off, you gave him a knowing look. It was just a matter of time now.

——

"Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart. I’ll probably be at the office late."

The lie tasted bitter, but it left his lips effortlessly. It had to.

He hated lying to you. Hated how easy it had become. But the alternative—the truth—wasn’t an option.

If you knew what he was really doing at night, if you knew what kind of people he dealt with, what kind of violence he waded through, you wouldn’t just be angry.

You’d leave.

And Matt wasn’t ready for that.

The line clicked dead before he could linger on the guilt gnawing at his ribs. He exhaled sharply, pushing it aside as he tugged his tie loose and turned his focus back to the task at hand.

The banker.

The man he was after had a laundry list of sins, and somewhere in the depths of his corruption lay the key to bringing down a major player in Hell’s Kitchen. The plan had been simple: track him, listen, wait for the right moment to step in.

The rhythmic hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the soft shuffle of expensive shoes against marble floors—Matt let the sounds wash over him, sorting through them with practiced ease.

But then he heard you.

It was subtle at first, just the faint trace of your perfume threading through the air. A scent he knew like the back of his hand, lingering on his pillows, his clothes, his skin.

It stopped him cold.

No. That’s not possible.

You were supposed to be out with a friend, drinking, laughing—safe. Not here. Not weaving through a crowd of criminals and elites like you belonged among them.

Then he heard your voice. Low, warm, laced with something dangerous. And that’s when he felt the first twinge of something ugly in his chest. Because you weren’t talking to just anyone.

No, you were talking to him. His target.

Matt's grip tightened around his glass. He forced himself to remain seated at the bar, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He had to be wrong. This had to be a coincidence.

But as he listened, as he tracked the steady rhythm of your breathing, the precise cadence of your voice—too smooth, too controlled—it became undeniable.

You were working him.

What the hell are you doing, sweetheart?

He turned his head slightly, pinpointing your location with ease. You were dancing with the target, your bodies pressed too close, the silk of your dress whispering against his suit. He could hear the way your heart maintained its steady rhythm, unbothered by the hands on your waist, by the weight of the moment.

But Matt was bothered, to say the least.

His fingers itched to move. To do something—anything. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t you. The woman he knew didn’t belong in a place like this, whispering in a criminal’s ear, making promises she had no intention of keeping.

But maybe he didn’t know you as well as he thought.

Then he heard it.

"Meet me in the office at the bottom of the hallway. I’ll be waiting for you."

No. Absolutely not.

Matt was on his feet before he could think better of it, discarding his drink as he moved through the crowd with quiet precision. He told himself it was because he needed the banker alive and he wasn’t sure what you were capable of.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

The truth was that he needed to know what the hell was going on with you.

And he needed to get to you before the banker did.

—

You could feel it coming.

The banker’s breath was warm against your skin, his hand inching higher, his body pressing just a little too close. You forced yourself to stay still, to let the moment build, to make him think he was in control.

But you were seconds away from shoving him off.

You needed him comfortable. You needed him compliant. You needed him talking.

You try not to look at him as he leans in.

His lips barely parted—

And then he collapsed.

A shocked noise left his throat as he slumped forward, the dead weight of his body falling against you before you could move. Your hands shot out, gripping his shoulders just in time to keep him from hitting the floor too hard.

Your heart stuttered. What the—

And then you saw him.

Matt.

Standing there, completely unbothered, like knocking a man unconscious was just another part of his night.

Your mouth parted in shock, but he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at you.

He just exhaled sharply—like this was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight—then reached down and slipped a USB from the banker’s pocket.

That snapped you out of it.

Your body moved on instinct. You still had a job to do.

"I’ll take that, thank you," you said smoothly, reaching for it. Staying professional. If he’s not going to say anything, you’re not either.

But Matt was faster.

His grip tightened, fingers curling around the device before you could snatch it.

You barely had time to react before he moved.

A step. A shift. A precise block as he stopped your attempt to take it.

You inhaled sharply, twisting, countering—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion, his other hand already anticipating your next move.

"Really?" Matt muttered, voice laced with frustration.

You smirked, twisting out of his hold and stepping back. "Afraid I might win, darling?"

His jaw clenched. "Not afraid. Just annoyed."

Then he struck.

It wasn’t a full-force attack—more like a dance. A game. A controlled exchange of movement as you dodged, deflected, struck, countered.

Your breath came faster, the air between you charged with something sharp and hot, something tangled between frustration and something else entirely.

Your foot hooked around his ankle—he caught himself. His grip slid up your arm, twisting you just enough to get the upper hand—

So you grabbed the nearest thing within reach—a framed photo on the desk—and threw it. At Matt. Your boyfriend.

Matt barely had time to dodge. The frame shattered against the wall behind him.

"Y’know, I needed him awake for the passwords," you snapped. Your head leaning back against his shoulder. It’s definitely Matt, not just a random clone. If it is a random clone, then they have got his smell just right.

"I have the passwords," Matt grunted as you jabbed him in the ribs.

You fought the flicker of irritation. Of course he did.

Then, suddenly—

You were locked.

Your back hit the desk, Matt pinning your wrists, his body flush against yours, his breath warm and too close. “What are you doing here” he whispers against your ear. His forehead bumping against yours with affection.

Neither of you moved.

The fight had stopped, but your pulse hadn’t slowed.

Your eyes flickered to his lips.

For a fraction of a second, you almost forgot where you were. Forgot that you weren’t tangled in his sheets, weren’t waking up to lazy morning kisses, weren’t supposed to do this here.

Your body leaned in instinctively—just like it always did when he left for work, when he whispered see you tonight, sweetheart against your lips before slipping out the door.

Matt inhaled sharply.

Then he stiffened.

"There are guards coming," he muttered, pulling you tight against him.

Shit.

Before you could react, Matt grabbed your hand, yanking you off the desk and pulling you toward the door. You didn’t have time to argue. Didn’t have time to question why your heart was still racing.

Because Matt was leading you straight out of the room—And into a storage closet. Where he promptly shut the door, pressed you back against the shelves, and exhaled like he was already regretting every choice that led him here.

You let out a breathless laugh. The door had barely shut before you twisted in his grip.

Matt was fast—always was—but you had trained for this.

Your elbow shot up, breaking his hold just enough for you to spin him around, slamming his back against the shelves instead.

A sharp exhale left him. Then a smirk curled at the edges of his lips.

"You’re enjoying this," Matt muttered.

You huffed, pressing your forearm against his chest. "Wouldn’t have to if you weren’t being so difficult, Matty."

Matt tilted his head, brow arching. "I’m difficult?"

"Oh, so difficult."

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh—God forbid. Instead, he moved.

Fast.

One swift motion, and suddenly you were against the shelf again, Matt’s body crowding yours, pinning you just enough to make a point.

"You still haven’t answered my question," he murmured.

Your breath came fast. "Well you lied to me." You say with confidence, knowing full well that you also lied.

He just stares at you, not saying anything. It’s the kind of look he gets when you tell him a really stupid fact that he isn’t sure is true.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. I’m here for a client."

Matt scoffed. "Really? What kind of client sends you to seduce a banker?"

You shrugged, as if you were talking about what’s for dinner.

"A very important one."

Matt’s jaw ticked.

"Try again."

You arched a brow. "Why? Not buying it, counselor?"

"Not for a second," he said flatly.

The tension in the air shifted.

Not anger.

Not hostility.

Something else.

Something warm and electric, something that hummed under your skin like a live wire, something that shouldn’t be there but was. Because no matter how irritated Matt was, no matter how much he hated the idea of you being here, you could feel the way his body responded to yours.

And you weren’t above using that to your advantage.

"Your turn," you murmured, lips brushing his ear. "Why are you here? Thought you had late nights at the office, darling."

Matt’s fingers twitched against your hip.

A hesitation.

A tell. A grin takes over your face. Matt exhaled sharply. "We aren’t the same. What we’re doing isn’t the same"

"Isn’t it?"

You leaned in, just a little.

Matt didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

Your lips hovered close to his jaw, his throat. Right where he likes to feel your kisses.

Close enough that you could feel the way his breath hitched. "Seems to me like we’re in the same business, sweetheart."

"We are not in the same business," Matt growled.

"Oh, but we are," you said, fingers trailing up his chest. "Both lying. Both sneaking around. Both playing a game. Question is—"

You leaned up, lips almost brushing his. Pulling at his tie you distract him enough to grab the USB.

"Who’s going to win?"

Matt inhaled sharply.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was hot and sharp and charged, like striking a match in a room full of gasoline. Your lips on his has never felt so good.

Matt made a noise deep in his throat, something between surprise and frustration, but he didn’t stop you.

Didn’t even try.

His hands found your waist, gripping just enough to pull you flush against him. Your fingers tangled around his tie, anchoring yourself to him, using it to drag him impossibly closer, to keep his mouth against yours as long as possible—

Until Matt broke away with a growl.

"Not fair," he muttered against your lips.

You smirked, breathless. "All’s fair in love and espionage."

Matt let out a short, almost pained laugh. "We are going to talk about this later."

"Looking forward to it," you purred. You bring him in for another kiss, this time deeper. You want him to forget why he is there. You know the perfect distraction. And you’re going to let Matt think it’s his idea.

Matt knew exactly what you were doing—trying to distract him. But he was more than willing to play along. To forget, just for a moment, why you were here in the first place.

His fingers bunch up your dress, teasing, deliberate. But he’s not gentle. Not tonight. He wants you to feel his frustration, to know just how much control he still has.

You whimper, loving every second of it as his fingers plunge into you. Desperate for more, you press your lips to his neck, sucking just enough to leave a mark. But Matt’s focus is singular—to make you beg. To have you unraveling beneath him.

Your hands roam, grasping at him, wanting him to feel even a fraction of the pleasure clawing through you. He groans, his voice wrecked, his restraint slipping as you grind down on his fingers, chasing that unbearable, aching need. Gone are the slow, teasing nights—this is something raw, something reckless.

"Come for me, baby. You know you want to."

And you do. Hard. The world blurs, your name, your purpose—everything vanishing in a tidal wave of pleasure.

But you’re not done. Not even close.

You drop to your knees, ravenous, desperate to return the favor. Your fingers make quick work of his belt, but before you can take him in, his hand tightens in your hair, binding you in place. He sets the pace. You let him. You always do.

You do that thing with your tongue, the one that makes his breath stutter. The one that makes him lose himself. You want him to forget everything but you. And he does.

For a moment.

Then Matt exhales sharply, his grip in your hair tightening as he yanks you up.

"Come here," he murmurs, voice dark, dangerous.

Then he’s inside you. And there’s nothing sweet about it.

No slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, aching need.

You gasp, arching against the shelves as he thrusts into you—hard, deep, possessive.

"Fuck—" Your fingers claw at his shirt, searching for anything to hold onto.

Matt’s hands are everywhere—your hips, your throat, your wrists. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you feel every inch of him, every punishing snap of his hips.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" His voice is a dark growl, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Wanted me to fuck you until you can’t think straight?"

You whimper, nails raking down his back.

"Wanted you to forget why you were mad at me," you admit, smirking even as your body trembles under his.

Matt grunts, his fingers wrapping around your throat—not to cut off your air, just enough to make you feel it. Just enough to remind you that you’re his.

"Oh, I haven’t forgotten," he murmurs, dragging his teeth along your jaw, biting down at your pulse. "But I’ll deal with that later. Right now—"

He slams into you again, harder, sharper, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Right now, you’re mine."

Your thighs shake as you grind against him, pleasure coiling tight, blinding. Matt knows. He can feel it.

"Come on, baby," he rasps, voice wrecked, grip tightening on your hips. "Let go for me. Let me feel it."

And that’s all it takes.

The tension snaps, white-hot pleasure consuming you whole. You shatter around him, gasping his name, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

Matt groans, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

Just heavy breathing. Sweat-slick skin. The air thick with sex and something else—something dangerous.

Then Matt chuckles—low, dark, smug.

"You still think you’re winning, sweetheart?"

You grin, breathless, lips brushing against his ear.

"I stole the USB five minutes ago."

Matt stills.

Then he laughs.

It’s not amused.

It’s not surprised.

It’s infuriated.

And it sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers teasing exactly where you're still sensitive.

"You really wanna play that game with me, baby?" His voice is a promise. A warning.

You smirk, tilting your head. "Oh, darling, I’m counting on it."

Matt hums, his lips grazing yours, his grip tightening.

"Then let’s see who breaks first."

#matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil smut #daredevil x reader #daredevil: born again #foggy nelson #matt murdock #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x you #smut

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barcapix · 17 days ago

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✮ Always On My Mind - Pablo Gavi

pablo gavi x ex!fem!reader

sy: after a message back, only three simple words, you have the highest hopes that things will restart. but all it takes is one step into his apartment to have your dreams crushed.

a/n: idk if anyone still remembers this but wooo it’s been months since i’ve updated this. i’ve tagged who wanted to be, hope this makes sense tbh<3

warnings: angst.

PART1 || PART2

remind yourself, why did you agree to this?

agree to another round of absolute torture, horror—a second tragedy waiting to unfold. for the foreseeable future, was this even worth it?

a part of you, your heart, says yeah.

you’ve longed to see him again. to hear that boyish laugh— the one that still echoes in your dreams like a ghost refusing to leave.

better yet, you told yourself it had to mean something: that he reached out because some part of him missed what you had. why else would he say he needed to talk?

wasn’t that code? wasn’t that always the code?

and isn’t love worth fighting for?

the other part, your brain, says no.

he’s caused you so much pain, that it’s not worth it. not worth the hassle, the unforgettable pain that would follow. what if this is just another scandal so he can stamp over your heart again?

even though you dwelled on said thoughts, you fully believed he’d invited you over in a plea to restart—because he wanted you back.

or so you thought.

its only 8am on a saturday morning, the spanish sun creeping its way over past windows of shops, and heading over rooftops. your knuckle hovers over the wood of his new apartment, but before you make contact, it swings open.

“hi—hey. you actually came.”

god, seeing his face again, now two, weeks ago, you’d never imagined he’d be looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes again.

pablo looks different. more.. grown. it’s viable to see he’s let his facial hair grow, his hair is no longer settling on his forehead, and he looks rather like a man now, not like the teenage boy you remember.

not the one who used to fall asleep on facetime or text you song lyrics at 3am.

someone else. someone else’s.

“please, come in,” he steps aside, gesturing into his apartment. you nod, flashing him an easy smile despite the churning acid pitting in your stomach.

the fresh smell of laundry hits you like a gust of wind within the first step. it’s neat, tidy, in here and suspiciously organised.

you scan around the room, its entirely different to how your house used to look. there’s simple, modern artworks on the wall—ones with bland colours and shapes, whereas you had both agreed vibrant and wacky ones looked best.

fresh flowers in every pot—but he’d always opted for fake plants, because they “lasted longer.”

how does he change so much in so little time?

you swallow thickly. “hey, since when did you become such a neat freak?” you take in the folded clothes on his sofa. “i don’t recall you being this tidy.”

you almost awkwardly laugh, until he says. “it’s not me, it’s my girlfriend.”

“she’s very much a neat freak, like you were,” he explains, not really expressing another emotion rather than joy. “although, she doesn’t put up with my used socks lying around.”

his lips curve into a smile as he mentions her. your stomach spins like a washing machine eating its own wires—sick and twisted.

“aren’t you going to sit?” he motions to the sofa behind you, plopping down himself. you blink thrice, eventually lowering down onto the cushions, cautiously, as if they’d bite.

“beer?” he pulls one out of the ice bucket you never even noticed; you refuse.

pablo shrugs, popping the lid off and taking a sip. was this a mind game? a performance? if he invited you, sought you out, why does he seem so.. detached?

he’s here, but he’s also not here.

after drinking and a rather stiff silence, gavi shuffles up a little closer to you, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. that posture—it’s too familiar. it used to mean i’m sorry or i fucked up.

his lips part in a breathless whisper, until you take the words from his mouth.

“—ill save you the breath pablo,” repeatedly you tap syllables into your bare knee. “why did you wanna talk to me?”

he opens his mouth, then shuts it again. exhales, slow.

“it clearly seems you’re still in love with her—“

his eyes stop staring ahead of him, now at you as he stops you. “what? i am. why do you think i invited you here for?”

your brows furrow. right.

his face drops in realisation. “oh.. look.” your eyes well up with tears, and he reassuringly grabs your forearm. “i want us to clear the air between us,” gavi says, trying to be as polite as possible.

fuck. what were you thinking?

all you crave to do is knock unconscious, crawl back into the burrow of your bed and rot. building a fairytale over the words, “can we talk?” like a fool; you’d convinced yourself it was a love story waiting for its second chapter.

he didn’t leave you, move onto other woman for funsises. it was clear enough to see, but evidently not enough for you.

you glance down at your hands, how they tremble slightly like all your tendons are trying to hold you together. “i just.. i didn’t want to leave things messy between us,” he continues, running a hand through his hair like that could smooth out the past.

a dry laugh slips past your lips. “they were always messy, pablo.” he winces in response—he knows you’re right.

that gauche silence returns.

outside of the building, a car honks. someone laughs in the apartment next door. the world doesn’t pause for heartbreak.

“she’s good for me,” he says after a moment and you flinch. “i think… i think you were too. but at the wrong time.”

you swallow that like poison. “yeah,” you breathe. there’s a question hovering on your tongue, like if you don’t ask him for the answer your body might implode. “so what was i to you?”

he leans back, eyes closing briefly. opposed to the iron-fisted grip he had on it earlier, the beer sits loosely between his lap.

“everything,” he admits eventually, almost too prolonging. “you were everything to me.”

it felt like he was toying with your feelings. anger rises within you.

first, you think he wants to start over, he denies you. then, you think he doesn’t care—and he says he did. does.

“was i?” you press. “because if i was, you wouldn’t have just.. moved on like it was nothing,” your mouth runs dry and suddenly his face seems distorted. “like i was nothing.”

“it wasn’t like that. it wasn’t nothing.”

“then what the hell was it?”

you’re raising your voice now. you don’t care. your heart is already halfway shattered— what’s a few more cracks going to do?

he opens his eyes, and this time, there’s emotion. guilt. regret. exhaustion. everything he wanted to tell you, but couldn’t.

“it was me panicking. being naive. selfish. i didn’t know how to be what you needed.”

you look away, jaw clenched but still with a pang of softness. “and now you do? for her?”

“maybe,” he says. too honestly. too honestly than you would of liked.

you blink at him, stunned by the ease of it. how casually he admits it. his words say one thing, his actions say another.

“wow. okay.”

“i didn’t bring you here to hurt you..” he jumps in his seat, voice softer now. “i’ve been carrying this. what i did to you. i needed to say it.”

“say what?”

you’re practically shaking to the sheer bone.

“that you loved me and ruined me? that you regret it, but not enough to come back? that you sleep better now because you told me sorry?

his silence is an answer enough.

you nod in recognition, swallowing the lump that’s been growing in your throat since the moment you walked in.

“did you ever love me, pablo?”

he answers too quickly, as if it’s a rehearsed act. “of course i did.”

“but not enough,” you whisper, biting the inside of your cheek to compose any tears. “to stay.”

“not in the way you deserved,” he replies. and that feels worse. you sit in that—in the quiet kind of hurt that hums in your bones.

he sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

you stand. you can’t bear to sit in this mausoleum of what-ifs another second.

he follows your movement with his eyes, but doesn’t stop you. doesn’t beg. doesn’t ask you to stay. and that says everything.

you walk to the door. your hand on the knob, you hesitate—just for a breath, a second, a flicker of time where you pretend he’ll say something. anything.

but he doesn’t.

and when the door shuts behind you, the finality hits like a slap. your first love, your first heartbreak, and the first time you wished you’d never met him.

the tears don’t come right away, they wait until your legs feel like jello, that if you were to take a singular step, they’d give way.

you collapse against the door, letting your head fall back, as the water from your eyes unleashes freely and ruins the makeup you spent two hours, doing.

the tears fall just like the night he left.

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli @bernalswifeyy @pabl0andm3 @htpssgavi @kixxkmzz

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zweigsangel · 10 months ago

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doing this trend with bf!chris

"c’mon, please!!" you exclaimed, your voice full of desperation as you stood at the edge of the bed, pulling on chris's arm in an attempt to get him to stand. your other hand clutched your phone tightly, the screen still glowing with the video you had just watched—a trend set to the song "disco" by surf curse. you had seen so many couples doing it, and you could already imagine the two of you pulling it off just as well.

chris, still lying comfortably in bed, let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "i told you no," he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of mock annoyance as he rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a slight upward curve. he always tried to act disinterested, but you knew better. his smile gave him away every time.

undeterred, you pouted dramatically, your lower lip jutting out as you dropped onto the bed beside him. without giving him a chance to protest further, you began to pepper his face with soft, playful kisses. "please," you whispered after every kiss, your voice soft and pleading. you could feel him starting to crack, his resolve weakening with each affectionate peck.

chris finally let out a small chuckle, his expression softening as he looked at you. "alright, fine," he relented. how could he say no to you? you bounced up from the bed, your excitement barely contained as you pulled him up to join you. once he was on his feet, you eagerly held up your phone, showing him the video that had you so captivated. "it's easy," you insisted. "it’s nothin’, really." as you began to explain the simple steps, chris watched while shaking his head slightly at how something so small could make you so happy. but that was part of what he loved about you—your ability to find joy in the little things.

after practicing a few times, you carefully placed the phone on top of a furniture, adjusting it just right so that the camera had a clear view of the two of you. the excitement was bubbling inside you as you set the timer for 3 seconds, giving you just enough time to get into position. “ ‘kay, ready?” you asked, turning your head to glance at chris, who nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile.

with a quick tap on the screen, you started the timer and hurried into place in front of him. as the music began, you glanced up at him, a small giggle escaping your lips. you gave him a supportive nod, and the two of you started the first moves of the dance, raising your arms in sync with the beat. the rhythm flowed naturally as you both moved your shoulders, your chest leaning forward while his leaned back, your eyes never leaving his. “like this?” he whispered midway through the video. you nodded, a reassuring smile on your face, and continued into the second part, moving in the opposite direction, both of you chuckling softly.

as soon as the video ended, you grabbed the phone, eager to watch the result. “it turned out amazing! see, told you it was easy,” you commented, your voice full of excitement. chris smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you close. “perfect. now—” he began, but before he could finish, he pulled you both down onto the bed, drawing a burst of laughter from you as he tickled you and covered your face with kisses. the sound of your laughter mixed with the music still playing from the phone, the video you’d just made echoing in the background as the two of you tumbled together, caught up in the moment.

#sturniolo #sturniolos #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #tiktok trend

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beneathashadytree · 11 months ago

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THREE CONFESSIONS - RAFAYEL QI X READER

Warnings : spoilers for his date from the last event, references to his Lemurian nature & myths, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : so much tooth-rotting fluff <3

Word count : 1.5K words (oops)

Additional notes : This was a combination of 3 lovely suggestions I received for Rafayel. Writer’s block sucks sometimes☹️ But I’m actually quite proud of this!! Hope you guys like it🫶🏽🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Rafayel’s tongue wasn’t used to the saccharine sweetness that they made him want to spout.

He was a fighter; a man—who wasn’t a man, not really—who bled for his people and burned like a flame that would never be put out. He lashed out, like a beast that couldn’t be tamed, and struck true, like a blade that never rusted. Though objectively he knew he was beautiful, he always saw himself as having that sort of fierce beauty; a contradictory sharpness and roughness lying in his soft siren-like features.

But somehow, those edges of his were rounded to a gentleness he’d never known himself to possess. All for one person, the very same person who’d managed to tame him first had laid claim to his heart—or what’s left of it. It made him want to do the unthinkable; made him want to speak the words he’d never thought he’d even want to say.

It wasn’t easy to go against your very nature, though. Sparkling daggers didn’t turn into smooth silk over night. So maybe it was the coward’s way out, but he thought the best way to ease himself into it was to devise a new plan, based on 3 things he’d learnt through simple observation and his keen eyes.

1- The way to one’s heart is through their stomach.

“C’mon, let me have it,” Rafayel whined, trying to pry their hands off the bowl that they seemed to have glued to their fingertips. He had not accounted for them being this strong (not that he had it in him to fight harder and potentially hurt them, anyways), nor had he accounted for them joining him as he was baking for them.

Gritting their teeth, they pushed back against him, protectively covering the bowl. “No. I will not let you eat raw cookie dough when you just got food poisoning last week.”

“Oh, but you would’ve let me have it if I had been perfectly fine?” he asked, a challenge in his voice as he arched his eyebrow. “So it’s not on principle of looking out for me then. Some bodyguard you are.” He dramatically waved them off, earning a roll of their eyes.

Unable to help himself, he smiled a little. Maybe every single one of their micro-reactions stung his torn and fractured heart, and maybe he liked it. Maybe the idea of spending the rest of his days bickering like this made his face flush, forcing him to turn to the fridge to hide it.

Maybe.

“You’ve got bonito flakes?” he asked, beginning to dig through their drawers.

“Figured you’d wanna snack,” they snorted, and he heard them set aside the bowl and rummage through their cupboard. “You always get hungry while baking.”

“Hey, are you saying I’m gaining weight?” Rafayel furrowed his eyebrows and turned back around to them. “For your information, I just wanted to add them to the cookie dough. Brand new flavor, it’s gonna be incredible. Trust me on this.”

Horror washed over their features at that, and their hands caught his arms in a vice like grip, an almost wild look in their eyes. “Don’t you even dare, you baking heathen.”

2- Sincere gifts speak volumes from the heart.

“Are we getting any closer?” they asked, shuffling slowly after him on the sand. Though Rafayel was tempted to do anything they asked of him (one of his baser instincts, he supposed, though this had nothing to do with being Lemurian), he still kept them blindfolded and tugged them along the beach.

And so what if a not-so-small part of him was just looking for an excuse to keep holding their hand? He wasn’t embarrassed about that—even if his blush said otherwise.

“Almost… two more steps actua—yeah, right here.” Much to his own disappointment, he was forced to let go of them in order to unveil his surprise for them. Maybe his hands shook a little as he removed the sheet and stabilized it, and maybe he was grateful for the fact that they couldn’t see how nervous he was.

But now that he’d taken their blindfold off and stood to the side, he’d never been more terrified to present his work in his entire life. There he was, baring his heart on a canvas, and there they were—

With a gasp, their hands flew to their mouth, and he could swear that there were no prettier jewels in the world than their teary eyes as they stared at his painting against the backdrop of the sunset reflecting on the ocean.

A vibrant painting of them in all the most passionate hues; the essence of their very soul captured in that breathtaking way of his and immortalized on a canvas. In a way, he’d breathed new life into them, gifting them some of his own years and they possessed all of his.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he looked away. “You deserved something for your last mission. Something more than just empty praise.” Their silence only encouraged more of his rambling. “It’s not an exact portrait, of course, more of an interpretation. Just the way I—”

He didn’t get the time to spiral, because they threw themself into his arms before he could even continue his sentence, squeezing him tightly in their embrace.

“It’s stunning. Thank you, Raf.”

3- Words carry weight.

“If I used your name, would you do whatever I asked of you?” they quietly asked, the gentle breeze fluttering through their clothes.

For a few moments, Rafayel was silent. What was there to say, when someone asked you if they had full control over you? Dare you admit it and risk being hurt by them? Or would you hide the truth out of self-preservation?

“Yes.” The former. He tried to lighten the somberness of the moment by weakly joking. “But it doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight.”

Another silence. This time, he couldn’t tell what they were thinking. It scared him; Gods, it did. Then—

“Hold my hand, Rafayel.”

How foolish of them, to ask for something he’d so readily give them for no reason. Did they have no idea how his heart always roared to life everytime their hands were entwined? Hadn’t they noticed how reluctant he always was to let them slip through his fingers?

“You’re silly,” he tried to admonish them, though there was no malice whatsoever behind his words. Instead, immense fondness filled his eyes as he gently obeyed, every brush of his skin against theirs deliberate and careful. His thumb stroked the back of their hand, and soon it felt like everything were right in this world, right then and there.

He couldn’t walk away from their gaze. Not when they looked at him as though he was the most heavenly creature of the ocean.

“Now come closer.” For some reason, they sounded as though they were begging with a desperation that even words couldn’t conceal. “Let me really see you, Rafayel.”

And he did nothing, except inch forward a little. After all, what was there to do, when he’d already stood naked before them, his heart bare and his entire being open? There wasn’t anything else left for him to do to show just how vulnerable he made himself for them.

“You already do,” he softly smiled, an aching tenderness filling up his chest as he gazed at them. Gods, he’d never get enough of them, no matter how much time had passed. Amidst the sweet scent of the blooming flowers of the garden, and the gentle sunrays kissing every inch of their beautiful face, they were truly a vision straight out of his most wishful dreams.

Not looking away, not even for a second, they gripped his hand tighter. “Rafayel, just… tell me you—”

A finger against the plush of their lips silenced them, and he met their confused gaze with a shake of his head. Affection brimmed through his touch and overflowed, unable to keep it hidden any longer. “Don’t. You shouldn’t use my name to ask me to do something I want to do myself.”

Rafayel could feel their shaky breath leave them, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, impossible fondness lacing his voice and entwining with every single syllable he devoted to them; always them, only ever them. “I love you. With every part of me.”

Yearning seared through his blood, and he could almost sigh in relief as they leaned further into him. “I—Rafayel…” Rendered speechless, their eyelashes fluttered slowly, heavy gaze flitting between his intense eyes and his lips. Two breaths mingling with each other, hearts entwined like clambering vines—somehow, nature had made them so in-sync that they fell into a familiar beat engraved in their souls.

If he could stay like this forever with them, he’d immortalize the unadulterated, peaceful happiness he felt surging inside of him. For the first time in his life, Rafayel felt that he was made to love; made to rest his weary bones, and finally retract his sharp nails and let himself grow soft in their hands.

For once, both his Lemurian blood and his human soul burned for the very same thing—the person who owned him completely, and someone he willingly gave himself over to.

He couldn’t stand the little distance between them any longer. “Let me show you that for the rest of our lives,” he mumbled against their lips, before letting his all-consuming adoration engulf them both.

Taglist: @vash-yuu @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @riinari-sa @reika-desu @tikitsune @roll-of-royces @lemonsupernova @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @flavoredhappy @ay-chuu @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 @thatbaepizzalover @imhere2dosomething @saerotonins @cantescapethevoid @teewritessmth @lovra974 @straykidz143 @reishuus @xinnn6 @vyntagei (more in replies!)

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shes4twnksinatrnchct · 9 months ago

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Straight to the Heart

Josh Kiszka x fem. reader

You and Josh were friends long before you were lovers, yet somehow can't manage to grapple yourselves into an actual relationship with one another (oneshot).

Warnings: Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, angst, mutual unrequited love? kind of? smut (dry humping, oral {f. receiving}, unprotected sex, p. in v.)

Words: 2.7k

Please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and enjoy!

Why were you here, again?

You know it always ends this way.

A tear falls and splatters on the top of your foot, your elbows digging into your knees from where you’re sitting on the edge of the tub in the hotel bathroom while holding your head in your hands.

If the small digital clock on the nightside table is correct, it’s nearly 3:00a.m.

You should go get back into bed and continue staring at the ceiling to avoid looking at the man that’d been lying next to you in a deep sleep–to avoid the guilt that shreds at you because you know this time will be no different.

He knows it, too, deep down…he just refuses to acknowledge that feeling that settles in his gut and tells him repeatedly it’s never going to work between the two of you.

And it’s an easy fact to ignore when you’re so entrapped in one another.

All the begging, whining, moaning, cursing, praising, gasping, grasping, hounding, grinding, licking, kissing, touching, holding, pulling, scratching, biting, teasing and everything else that conspires between the two of you acts as bountiful excuses not to accept the simple fact that those primal things is all your relationship will ever be.

You’re both so drastically different that it’s difficult to bond over anything other than being completely addicted to the feel of each other—any further step you’ve tried to take toward an actual relationship had always ended in the two of you fighting each other.

He was too him—who you adored–but quickly came to the realization that he was overwhelming in a relationship. Just as he realized that you were far too you, who he thought the world of but felt smothered by outside the boundaries of friendship.

Too opposite, perhaps, but it didn’t stop you two from trying to force it to work.

It was just a constant run-around of bickering, having sex, breaking up, having sex, getting back together, having sex, and repeating the cycle.

You’re pretty sure his family and friends, and yours, are ready to strangle the both of you because how quickly things change between you so often…

Wiping your eyes, you sniffle and head back into the room.

It’s freezing cold, the air conditioner offering a peaceful rustle in the corner of the pitch-black room.

The lights of the city flicker through the window every now and then when the a/c catches the curtains every once in a while, other than those, however, the only light is that of the smoke detector.

Padding across the carpet, you step to the bed and see the silhouette of Josh still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

It’s been a few hours since you both got out of the shower after a drawn out reunion in the mid-priced hotel that’s across town from the much pricier inn that his bandmates are staying in.

He felt like a teenager sneaking out once everyone got back to their rooms after the show.

His security was sworn to secrecy of where he was going and who he’d be with, because he didn’t want to hear his brothers try to talk him out of it.

The moment he knocked on the room door, it swung open, and he didn’t even have time to admire your infectious smile before you were snatching him inside by his shirt, gathering his soft hair into your hands while his mouth wasted no time in seeking yours.

You should change out of his shirt, pull your clothes on and leave, but he’s right there within reach, which is something he hadn’t been in a couple months.

Though the two of you would make up for it over the phone, it never compared to hearing, seeing, feeling everything in person.

Josh feels the dip in the mattress when you get back into bed, crawling over to him.

Careful not to put your weight on him, you swing a leg over his hips, your lips press to the smooth skin of his chest, gently trailing up to his jaw while he shifts in his sleep that’s growing lighter the more you kiss along his skin.

By the time you get to his prominent cheek bone, his hands are grabbing at your thighs, pushing up to grab your waist to pull you further down onto him.

“Fuck,” You breathe out shakily as your already sensitive clit rubs along the fabric of your panties, the feel of him underneath you causing your eyes roll back as one of his hands grab at your jaw.

“Back for more already?” He whispers, the tickle of his facial hair dancing along your mouth as he speaks, his nose teasingly swiping against yours gently.

You nod pathetically, and he obliges, tracing your bottom lip with his tongue before it tangles with yours.

You’ve already battered and bruised one another, hickies decorating the two of you, bite marks imprinted in skin, not to mention the soreness between your legs that spikes with you growing all the more wet when his hands slip under his shirt you’re wearing to squeeze at your chest.

It’s discarded rather abruptly, the soft white being thrown quite aggressively before his hands are back on you, rolling your nipples, taking in the sight of you once again moving against him, your nails biting into his hands.

That wave of something strikes in you, your mouth falling open as you hump against him, no doubt ruining your panties while he grins up at you, groaning out softly from the friction against his throbbing cock as a sharp gasp leaves you at the sight of him being so amused watching you.

“Make as big of a mess as you can, pretty girl, I wanna clean up every last drop.” He assures you, guiding your hips.

“You do?” You ask weakly, needing to hear him divulge how badly he wants to taste you.

“I always do, don’t I?”

You nod, falling forward to brace your palms on his chest, squeezing your eyes closed as you grow closer and closer to your finish.

He feels the sticky wetness of you through your panties, the thin sheet and his underwear, his mouth watering with anticipation as he shifts his hips up to meet yours.

“You’re so wet, aren’t you?” He asks, a frantic nod from you being his response.

Your mouth falls into an “O”, brows sharply furrowing as you look down at him and pick up your pace.

“Josh.” You whine, doing the best that you can, your eyes going blurry as you pant, sweat cloaking your chest as your clothed pussy works desperately against him.

And then it rapidly happens, your orgasm swallows you whole when you see stars, your walls throbbing and clenching at nothing as your release spills out of you and he gets his wish.

He chuckles at you, a breathy, “Fuck, y/n,” leaving him while he pushes you off of him.

You’re limp, your eyes shut and your mind unable to think while he grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed.

Josh stares down at you, running a hand down his face at you disheveled and sweaty, hair tangled, lips swollen.

He splays you out, palming at himself through his underwear at the sight of your soaked pussy soaked, already able to feel your tight cunt around him. He can’t wait to get you split open on him, writhing and crying, begging for him to fuck into your harder just for you to try to crawl away say it’s too much, it feels too good, only to end up a fucked-out mess, scrambling to open your legs wider to take him deeper and plead for him to cum in you.

You’re predictable in that aspect, but every time it feels like it’s the first time you two have done any of it.

Just as exhilarating.

Your back arches and your hands tangle in the sheets when he reaches out to run his palm along your pussy.

The sound itself is vulgar, a soft, “Oh,” leaving you as his fingertips tease at your clit.

“You want my mouth here, don’t you?” He asks smugly, picking up his pace as your hips start rolling with his movements.

“I want your mouth everywhere,” You confess, more than content to have him anywhere you can get him.

“Good answer.” He leans down, kissing your lips while one finger slips into you.

Your teeth bite into his lip as he digs into the spongey, soft flesh of your back wall.

Josh pulls from your mouth and adds a second finger, his forehead resting against yours while he watches your face shift.

“Whose is this?” He questions you, knowing very well the answer.

Even when you’ve had non-exclusive suitors, and potential partners through the years, they all are thrown out the moment he gets ahold of you.

“It’s all—ah! It’s yours,” You promise, gasping, the wet sound of him finger-fucking into you echoing in the room.

“You’re so fucking tight, y/n, you know that?” He asks, next, your pussy clinging to his digits as if trying to milk them for what they’re worth.

All you can do is nod, his movements growing more demanding, repeatedly digging into your g-spot, giving you no other option but to cum again.

“Oh, where are my manners?” He suddenly pipes, pulling his fingers from you, causing you to nearly cry, tears in your eyes as the orgasm you were approaching is torn away from your grasp.

“Josh!” You complain, looking up at him when he stands back up.

“Do you want me to eat it or not?” He slyly inquires, smirking down at you.

You can’t argue, adamantly agreeing with a loss of your breath, pushing up on your hands when he sinks to his knees.

Your head falls back when he kisses along the inside of your thighs, your chest heaving as he looks up at you and finally licks at your swollen.

He groans when you tug at his hair, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth before shaking his head, your back having to collapse into the mattress because your shaky arm lets you down as a high-pitched, “Ah!” Crawls from the back of your throat and you try to close your legs.

His hands dig into your skin when he forces your thighs apart, and drinks up.

Rolling his tongue has you struggling to breathe, but then his fingers push back into you.

“Josh!” You don’t even try to muffle it, probably giving your neighbors a wake-up call as you moan it out brazenly. “Please, please don’t stop, Josh, please, it’s so good, you eat it so fucking good.”

You can’t help but grind into his face the best you can, feeling like you’re hostage to his touch that’s unrelenting as he mercilessly digs into that spot again, lapping at your clit simultaneously.

You’re done for, he can tell in the way you stop speaking and just cry out, your legs shaking.

He keeps his word, licking up every drop of your slick, pressing sweet kisses to your pussy in between strokes of his tongue, examining his work once he’s finished, wishing he could acceptably take a picture of you like this.

Now you really are out of it, your core aching from the ghost of his fingers, your body twitching from the aftermath of pleasure while he’s stripping from his underwear, stroking at his cock that feels as though it holds his heart beat with the relentless pulse of his desired release.

The thick tip of it runs along your folds before he eases it to your entrance.

“So pretty,” He says to you, but his eyes are locked on the juncture of your thighs, a hiss leaving the both of you when he pushes his tip in.

“Ow,” you whisper, despite being slick enough to take him easily, there’s still that initial pinch of adjustment while his mouth falls open from the vice grip of you around him.

“You okay?” He asks you with a shaky breath.

“It’s just so big,” You say thickly, furrowing your brows as he eases deeper into you.

“I’ll have you good and stretched out—fuck— before too long, baby.”

You clench around him with his promise, wanting nothing more than for him to do just that.

When he bottoms out, you’re reaching for him, wanting him on top of you, as close as he can be.

Grabbing your legs to rest them on his shoulder, he sinks deeper into you and you close your eyes, feeling his lips press to your temple when he crawls over you.

“I’m so full.” You whisper, looking up at him with watering eyes at the pleasure of him slowly pulling out of you only to slam back in.

“You’re gonna be when I come, too,” He gets it out roughly before kissing you, his thrusts becoming quicker but keeping their depth, your toes curling and your hands roaming his muscular arms and back before settling in his hair.

Any other time he’d fuss about his precious curls being harassed, but sex is never a time for complaining in his eyes—whatever makes you feel better, screaming louder, come harder, he’s in full support of it, so long as he gets to watch your pretty face as you do so.

Your compressed lungs struggle for breath, the heat of him over you eating you alive as the stretch of his cock pounding into you renders you speechless aside from moans.

He leans down to kiss you, and you eagerly return it, your tongues working together in a lazy, sloppy, dance.

When the two of you are like this, it’s hard to believe that you aren’t in-love. That’s why it’s so damn hard to walk away.

You regain your vocals when he pulls from your lips and his hand snakes between you and starts toying with your clit again, licking his lips when you untangle your arms from him and start trying to get away.

“I can’t, baby, I can’t, I can’t,” You beg, the sensation nearly painful as another orgasm builds in you, your abdomen already trying to recover from earlier in the night.

“You can, just let go, baby, I wanna feel you,” He tells you, feeling more of your juices coat him as you grow louder with your cute little whimpers that try to stifle your screams.

That is until he’s pulling from you, flipping you to your stomach and re-entering you.

It’s impossible not to be loud like this.

He learned long ago if he wanted you to really show out, you had to be bent over and rode into.

The mattress does absolutely nothing to quiet your cries—and you are crying—the ecstasy laying into you relentlessly with your back arching painfully as you take him to the brim.

The back of your thighs get soaked from your own arousal in this position, running down them, getting all over his legs, the mattress below the two of you…

Your have to bite into the covers when he angles himself to find that spot again, and when he does, it’s hell.

“There she is,” He praises you as you grow louder than before, struggling to keep your ass up with your shuddering thighs as your hot walls spasm around his length, “Just like that, y/n, you keep taking it.”

He kept to his word, your pussy ruined with him, the sight of your swollen cunt greedily accepting him being enough to make him clench his jaw and chase his own release.

“Do you still want it?” Josh asks you, struggling to keep himself together.

“As deep as you can, baby, please,” You beg, and he does as you ask, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a sighed out, “Fuck, y/n.”

He stays inside of you as you both calm, his lips meeting the base of your back as he catches his breath.

The two of you collapse beside one another, sharing a sweet kiss as he looks at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his that always seem to convince you that this will end differently than what you both know it will.

That’s why you’re here, after all.

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fic #fanfic #gvf fic #josh kiszka #josh kiskza smut #gvf josh #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka x reader #josh gvf #josh kiskza fanfic

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fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

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Kid-Pirates Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

Eustass Kid:

Shameless (NSFW Series 3/3)

You have a type, one that has been forcefully revealed by your crewmen's incessant nagging. After being ordered to return to your workshop to receive further instruction, you become fully aware of why you have been hidden away from meeting with the captain of the Victoria Punk. He was exactly your type.

"Good Boy" (one-shot)

Eustass Kid didn't know exactly when it happened, but now he craves to be praised by you. He thrives beneath your words, but the one time you didn't call him a "good boy" has him in a bratty rage.

Restrained (NSFW one-shot)

Eustass Kid didn't know what possessed him to allow his lover to restrain him against his Captains' chair. But yet, here he is: stuck and loving it.

Cellist Kid (NSFW drabble)

Your academic rival and you do not get along. You find his boorish intensity revolting, and he finds your attitude standoffish. As your conductor decides to pair you together to practice, tempers flare and passion ignites.

Longing (drabble)

Eustass Kid doesn't know how to behave around you, especially now that he's developed feelings for you.

You're So Much More To Me (NSFW Pollen One-Shot)

Desperate to impress the Straw-Hat botanist as you travel with his unruly bunch of pirates, he goes against your warning and immediately goes into uncharted territory and does the unthinkable.

Told You You'd Like It (NSFW One-Shot)

You suggested something new in the bedroom, and your boyfriend immediately shot it down. You thought that's where the conversation ended, it had now flung from your thoughts never to be thought of by you again. Unbeknownst to you, Eustass Kid was consumed by the thought so much he almost thought on nothing else.

Baby (NSFW One-Shot)

Eustass Kid wants to treat you like he does with all of his other partners. He wants to top you, degrade you, pound into you like a wild animal. But he can't. Not when you give him praise like that. He's far too in love with the pretty words fleeing from your lips to try.

Whatever you wanted (NSFW One-Shot)

For a single night, Eustass Kid gave you permission to do whatever you wanted to him. He was not expecting the direction you took at, nor how needy and desperate to please you in you pleasing him he became. Trust and love between you, you got to have whatever you wanted.

Massacre Soldier Killer:

Will You Let Me? (NSFW Pollen!one-shot)

Your crew was docked at a port, exploring a new land while you requested to remain behind. Enjoying being without the unruly bunch, your momentary calm was disrupted by the staggering step of your superior. Coughs, grunts and stuttering over his words: your concern grew more severe as you offered to help him through it.

Killer Watchdog (One-Shot)

Studying at sea was never an easy feat, especially while travelling under the captainship and serving alongside the unruly crew sailing on the Victoria Punk. As you complete your intensive over Den-Den, you notice the silence and choose to investigate the cause.

Killer Needs You Too (One-Shot)

Killer longs for you as much as you yearn for him.

Heat:

They'll Love You (One-Shot)

Heat is nervous about meeting your friends and fearing their judgement in your choice of lover. You reassure him they'll love you as much as you do.

Vulnerability (NSFW One-Shot)

Two best friends in the quiet of the night, Heat expresses his emotional and intimate encounter with you to Wire. Wire helps his friend understand his experience, and coaches him through his vulnerability while listening to the waves crashing against the Victoria Punk. (No explicit smut, just suggestive)

Side Profile, digital

Art Practice:

Lying down, digital

Heat as a child, digital

Wire:

Stolen Moment (One-Shot)

Too much time had passed between the rare moments you and your partner found for one another. You both decide to rectify that by doing something as simple as sharing the same Crowsnest and painting your lover's fingernails.

Craving Your Touch (One-Shot)

Although the Kid Pirates were beyond tactile in their love language, the only touch Wire found himself longing for was yours: a former marine joining the ranks of their crew with a properness to your language Wire continuously makes fun at.

Misc and Multiples:

Kiss their cheek (Drabble one-shot)

It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind? Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law, Kid

How They Kiss (drabble)

Four different kisses with all of your favourites. Where would you place them in these categories?

You Shot a Baby? Sweet Baby Boy (Dialogue + Drabble)

Benn Beckman shot Eustass Kid's arm off. You are not happy about it.

Dreaming of You (NSFW Drabble)

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Kid, Killer, Heat

Competency, Stupidity, Duality (one-shot)

They can't help what attracted them to you. No matter what you did, they simply couldn't get enough of you. Their emotions finally catch up with them, and they confess their adoration for you. Kid, Zoro, Killer.

Acid, Salt, Fat and Heat (NSFW One-Shot)

Your captain has engaged with a petulant challenge that included refusing to make port until both Kid and Law did first. Feeling pent up at sea, you set your sights on the blonde first mate to aid you in finding relief. The catch? He won't unless his captain does too. Kid x afab!reader x Killer

Laundromat (NSFW One-Shot)

You're folding clothes in the laundromat and a needy captain Kid decides to enjoy you on the benchtop. Kid x afab!reader x Killer

Wearing Their Shirts (Mini-Fic)

What wearing Kid and Killer's shirts is like.

It won't fit (NSFW One-Shot)

The four commanders of the Victoria Punk were large in size, in every way. Eyes finally catching what goes on below their hemlines, you're brought to terms with the fact that it would be difficult to fit. Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire

Hey Doc (Series)

You are the medical practitioner aboard the Victoria Punk. You are overworked, exhausted, underpaid, but so loved and appreciated. The crew seeks you out for everything that ails them. The Straw-Hats adore you, the Heart-Pirates pity you, your own crew fears you sometimes.

#one piece #x reader #eustass kid #kid pirates #massacre soldier killer #kid x reader #killer x reader #op kid #op killer #op heat #heat x reader

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leaawrites · 6 months ago

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No one's gonna tell her what I'm on about

Liam Gallagher x fem!reader

Summary: when Liam takes on a dare from his friends, he doesn't believe of finding himself making the biggest mistake in his life.

This part 1 of a series.

Warnings: swearing, lying, Liam being a player

Wordcount: 1.6k

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Masterlist

“I dare you to -”

It started simple - it really did. A shot here, a dare there and so on. Nothing too harmful, just little jokes on the bartender or the people around.

With the lights dimmed and the air in the pub growing thicker by the second, Liam could hardly tell apart what once was and what was happening right now. His friends’ words blurred together, creating a chain of sounds with no meaning behind them other than, ‘I dare you to’ and he’d do it. No matter what it was, he’d do it because in his eyes: What was shame if not loneliness? He’d still have the same people around after doing whatever and people might like him less but what did he care about them?

One of his friends looked around the room as he thought of a second part to his sentence, a challenge that would make him say “no” even when it seemed impossible for Liam to say that. It seemed like that word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary, like it was some foreign sentence he could only deny because he wasn’t aware of it’s significance and would rather go on with his day like normally.

“I dare you to,” he started again, his eyes lighting up with mischievous as they found it’s next prey. Bouncing his leg, Liam waited patiently for his task, cigarette burning down in between his fingers. Being the ‘cool guy’ made it easier, he had to admit, he was never lonely, there would always be someone around. “Go home with her.” His friend pointed somewhere into the crowd at a table.

Liam followed his finger, letting his gaze linger on all the people around until he finally found her. The girl he was dared to take with him tonight. Sat in a corner far away from them with her head hanging low over the pint in front of her eyes.

“Easy,” he mocked, starting to stand up and swagger over in his usual step.

Her eyes snapped up as soon as she saw the familiar body stand in front of her, elbows leaned on the table and a smug smirk on his face.

Liam Gallagher, a boy she only got to observe from afar in school or from her bedroom window, hanging with his friends behind one of their houses. There had never been more than a quick glance her way from his side, so why would he lean so close to her now?

“What do you want?” she asked, shifting the glass further away from her body.

“Nothing,” he casually answered. “What ya got there?” Taking the glass, he sniffed at it before taking a sip. "Eww, what’s that shite?”

“What do you care?” she asked annoyed, taking it back from his grip, brushing his fingers in the action.

“Just don’t want you having to taste something so awful.”

Without another word, Liam turned on his heel and walked towards the bar, holding up two fingers and saying something to the bartender before looking her way again, smirking at her and almost missing the moment two glasses were slid over the counter his way.

Returning to her side once more, he put one of the pints in front of her and taking the other one himself.

“What’s that now?” she asked, not quite trusting whatever he was having in mind.

“Guinness,” he answered, taking a sip himself. “Me favourite.”

“So it’s good?”

“Of course, love,” he answered, looking almost offended. “Everything I like is good.”

“Sure,” she muttered under her breath, still lifting the glass up to her lips and tasting the liquor held within. Twisting her face at the bitter taste on her tongue, coughing slightly as her taste buds took in the taste of the beer.

Liam let out a loud laugh as she put it down again, not just because of the uncomfortable crinkle in her eyes, but also the stain it left behind. Hiding his big smile behind his hand, he tried not letting it show.

“What? I can’t help that it tastes bad-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Liam shook his head and cut her off. “It’s not that, you just got-” Leaning across the table, he took the sleeve of his shirt between his fingers and gently removed the moustache she received from the foam.

She had always been an observer, never more than a candle in the back of a chandelier, now she stood under the light. Someone’s attention was only on her, making her insides churn and her heart pick up speed. Her heart aching as she lost his touch from her skin and he leaned back again, smirking at the crimson red colour creeping up on her face. Wide eyes staring back at him.

He had her now.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Sweet? As if.

She scoffed, her insides falling from the pedestal they climbed on to put him there as she recognized the charming way of talking he used on one too many girls in front of her eyes to make it seem genuine and believable.

“Yeah, right.” Laughing right at his face and shaking her head in disbelief with another sip of the beer. It still tasted awful to her.

Silence settled over the table. Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Liam looked around the room, back at his friends who were still gauging at him, waiting for them to walk out together. Waiting for a wink and smirk sent their way. Waiting for him arm over her shoulder.

A slap on the shoulder brought him back to where he was sat, some force shaking him out of his head.

“What’s up, Gallagher?” A guy he knew from his old maths class greeted him, saying a few words he didn’t quite understand but still nodded his head to. Exchanging a few words before he was off again.

“Isn’t that annoying?” she asked, taking another sip from her Guinness, the taste gradually normalizing itself to her taste buds. “Having all those people around you all the time?”

“How can that be fucking annoying?”

“Well, for starters, you never have space for yourself,” she started listing, making him roll his eyes at her posh accent. “People always surround you, which means they talk about you all the time.”

“I don’t care what people think about me,” he answered, leaning back. Acting nonchalant, and maybe he didn’t care, though she doubted it. He didn’t care what strangers thought, surely, he was way too confident for that. It were only those close enough to him that made his head reeling in conflict late at night, she supposed.

“Good and bad?”

“Don’t fucking care.”

“So, you never feel alone in a crowded room?”

It had been a feeling she felt most of her time when her friends weren’t around. Leaving her in a bar at a table, sat alone, while they were off with their boyfriends or some other guy they met, on nights like these.

“Why would I?”

“No reason, I just wondered.”

“Well, you can fuck yourself, as well as your wonderin',” he got more defensive the more she questioned him.

“I’m not the one who started talking to you, pretty boy. Maybe just turn around and go back to those friends of yours if you’re not interested in talking with me, eh?” She said, staring at him and making him understand that she wasn’t joking around with him anymore.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” The smirk crept back on his face, making her roll her eyes in disbelief. How could someone be so unbelievably relevant in his own head? A true joke, that he called her insufferable.

“One or two people have mentioned it before, yeah.”

He laughed quietly, nodding his head. His eyes trailing down her body, eyes peeking past the over-sized leather jacket she wore. Familiar words looking back at him.

“You like The Stone Roses?” he asked, looking back up at her eyes. Surprise lacing his voice.

“Of course, they’re class.” She said it like it was obvious, whereas half his friends found them to be pretentious and dumb.

He nodded, eyes swirling over her face, taking in the nervous look in her eyes and how he could see that she sucked in her cheek, biting on it. A nervous habit that had lead to her having to leave the classroom more than once because it started bleeding a lot.

“I heard you’re in a band?”

“Yeah, we’re mega. You should come see us this weekend.”

It was the best opportunity. He wouldn’t have to leave with her tonight, wouldn’t have to leave her behind in the morning and act like nothing had happened the next day. Inviting her to a gig and telling his mates that was his date made it easier for both of them.

He didn’t mind going home with different girls on different nights, though something about her told him that this wouldn’t just be one night and done if he started with it.

Without giving him an answer, she continued, “How did you get into music anyway. I mean, you never seemed interested in it at school.”

“Got me a hammer thrown on the head and ta-da, I’ve become a Rock star.” Pointing to the place where the scar was still visible when you look close enough.

“Those bellends truly gave you a future the day you could’ve died,” she said, remembering seeing him laying on the grass with his head bleeding. “It looked pretty scary though.”

“You stalking me or summat?”

“My bed is looking out the window, so I see almost everything happening in front of my house. You just happen to be standing there most of the time, so maybe you’re the stalker.”

“Maybe I am.”

#liam gallagher x fem!reader #liam gallagher x y/n #liam gallagher x you #liam gallagher x reader #liam gallagher fic #liam gallagher #oasis x reader #oasis band #oasis x fem!reader #oasis x you #oasis #britpop x you #britpop x reader #britpop fanfic #brtipop x fem!reader #britpop #90s liam gallagher x reader #90s liam gallagher

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aboutcustardcreams · 10 months ago

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Part two

part one

She sees right through me

Can't express how much I loved writing down this chapter. I got carried away, and here's the result. Hope you enjoy it :3

word count: 4000 ish

A pregnant silence fell in the TARDIS right after those simple words slipped from your mouth. A small confession, merely the tip of the iceberg that still was able to cause quite a shock.

The Doctor’s voice is barely above a whisper when she asks, “so you come from Gallifrey?”

Of course you did, but she needed to be sure. From the moment she laid her hand upon your chest, she had known. A sound so very familiar to her echoed to her ears, against her palm. It was slightly accelerated, yet in perfect harmony with her own heartbeats.

Thump Thump Thump

You nodded your head, and glanced at her while her eyes were still fixed upon your chest. She swallowed hard and blinked a couple of times, as if to find the strength to pull away from you and come to terms with this unexpected revelation. All this time she thought she had lost her family, her people, and yet you stood there, very much alive, and like her. Like a bolt from the blue. She didn’t even know what she was feeling: relief, happiness, fear, confusion. Probably all the above.

You give her a glimpse of a smile, and bow your head just a bit so that you can meet her hazel eyes. “Are you alright?”

Your voice kinda worked as a wake up call. She nodded quickly and pulled away. One single step back still felt like she had just put an entire ocean between you two. “Of course. I’m great, me. Over the moon.”

Yaz lightly scoffed at that, clearly having none of it.

She was lying and it was so obvious. You licked your lips and hummed in thought, suddenly having second thoughts. What were you thinking? Why were you doing this? She had her life sorted out now and was content with it. She wasn’t alone, you had to remember. She had Yaz. And they seemed happy. Complete. You couldn’t just burge in and then what? Disrupt her entire existence? Make her remember you?

“Are you?” She later questioned, noticing your state of trance and sudden quietness.

Blinking repeatedly, you waved your hand dismissively, “Sure thing. I’m always fine,” you blurted out.

“You’re both terrible liars,” comes from Yaz in the background. Her tone is serious yet veiled with a layer of fondness. She found herself thinking that perhaps hiding and …lying was a Time Lord’s thing.

You let out a sound between a huff and a chuckle. Brief and bitter. The Doctor stirred her lips in a grimace, “I mean, I’m quite shocked if I’m honest. But I’m happy to know you survived the war…” There was honesty in her voice, but also a veil of awkwardness in her movements. She was telling the truth. On one side, she was eager to get to know you, but on the other, she was terrified.

A lump formed in your throat. “Only because I wasn’t there when it happened,” you stated, somehow a bit ashamed.

The Doctor frowns at the sight of your features dimming. You’re suddenly wishing to have been there too, to help, maybe? To die? To do something that wasn’t lying in a jail’s cell for an insane amount of time. It wasn’t that easy to read what’s going on inside your head, but the Doctor was trying because you intrigued her. The funny thing was, she only needed a brief physical contact to know it all, a connection she could gain by touching your temple. But it wasn’t her place to pry.

“Where were you?” asked Yaz cautiously.

You licked your lips and swayed a bit, shifting your body weight from one foot to another, “Ah– you know,” you looked up at her, voluntarily avoiding meeting the Doctor’s eyes, afraid of what you might find in there. “Prison is not as bad as they think. It’s a tad boring, food isn’t great. It’s slimy, but all in all, it kept me alive.”

The Doctor’s hearts ached for you. “I’ve been in prison,” her voice came out firm, despite the clear emotion in her eyes, “so no, I don’t believe you for a second. Prison is terrible. It’s lonely. Cramped and quite smelly. Days go by and you feel powerless, useless. You lose yourself in places like those.”

You swallow at the firmness of her tone. A tear slides down your cheek. She was right. It had been Hell to you, but you managed, you had no other choice. Her eyes softened; drawing closer she reached out a hand to wipe your cheek. You shivered. Oh- how you had missed this. Was it embarrassing to admit you had been touch starved? That the last time you hugged someone was when the Doctor was still with you? “And you–” she trailed off, “something tells me you didn’t deserve to be locked up.”

You lifted your chin and met her eyes. Your smile didn’t reach your ears as you muttered, “what gives?”

“Can’t explain,” she replied. “It’s a feeling. My gut is telling me there’s good in you.”

You hummed softly. “Is it because I saved you and Yaz?” you mused, eternally grateful for the hint of a smile she was giving you.

She chuckled lightly, “You got ten points for that by the way. Plus, you’re our friend now. Isn’t she, Yaz?”

Yaz smiles so genuinely, the dimples on her cheeks showed up. “Absolutely.”

Friend. That was something, wasn’t it? And it didn’t even take much to get there, having started as a total stranger. This version of the Doctor made her look like a cute and loyal golden retriever. Playful, friendly, a bit of a dummy sometimes and always ready to contribute. You never thought you could love the Doctor more than you already did. Perhaps it was a good idea to start over, build your friendship from scratch. Could you do that? Definitely. For her, you’d open up the galaxies. Staying in the shadow was pure bliss if that meant breathing the same air again.

“But you still have to explain how you know our names,” she adds, arching an eyebrow at you. There’s playfulness in her eyes and in her tone.

You chucked, “I s'pose I have to.”

“The TARDIS let you in. And if she did, it means…”

You looked around you, a nostalgic light brimmed in your eyes. You still remember the day you and the Doctor stole this spaceship. The euphoria of having conquered something only yours to use, had been thrilling. Originally, the TARDIS belonged to the Division, but it was damaged, and for that reason, left in some kind of stock with other rubbish and mechanical supplies. But you and the Doctor fixed it, after a couple of months, or years, it didn’t even matter to you, because you bonded like nobody else. And when you two started traveling with it, nobody noticed the TARDIS’ missing, simply because it wasn’t one of the Division’s official spaceships.

“She knows you,” Yaz continued. The lights of the TARDIS flickered from bright yellow to a warmer hue of orangish. It suited you, that light. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, and hummed softly, feeling the warmth of the TARDIS as a velvety caress on your skin.

“You’re very perceptive, Yaz. I get why the Doctor likes you so much,” you teased, with your eyes still closed. The Doctor’s cheeks turned into a darker shade of pink.

Yaz opened her mouth to reply, but her words died down in her throat before she could even think of what to say. Was it so obvious that the Doctor liked her? And that she liked her back? Even for someone that has just met them? Apparently so.

The Doctor stared at you, all of the sudden a tad bit uncomfortable. To possess such a knowledge meant being exposed and vulnerable. And the Doctor hated to feel that way.

“You talk as if you’d been spying on us.”

You squint your eyes, as if all of the sudden, the Doctor started speaking another language. “Not spying,” you objected. It was frustrating to stand there and be treated like you couldn’t be fully trusted, whereas in the past, you had been the sole trustworthy one. You stiffened and took your hands out of your pockets. “My intention all along was to make sure you were okay. It’s all I ever wanted.”

The Doctor thought for a second. A wave of guilt flashed through her eyes, as those softened, “can you tell us why?”

You hesitated, looking back at her like a lost puppy. “I don’t think it’s right,” you muttered, voice broken. Your eyes mirrored the confusion of the Doctor. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have–” you felt dizzy, frantic. Your voice trembled as much as your form while you spoke.

But the Doctor wasn’t having any of that. “No, hey, it’s okay–” she cooed, her hands coming resting upon your shoulders, in the genuine attempt to reassure you. She mentally scolded herself for having been so pushy, without giving you proper time to collect yourself. Your hearts were beating so fast she feared you were on the verge of a panic attack. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I know I can. You helped us and I can’t simply brush that aside. It’s just…” she paused, briefly glancing at Yaz, whose gaze was encouraging. “Yaz and I have been through so much lately and I can’t help but worry about a new danger lurking in the shadows. Ready to catch us unprepared. But you’re nothing like that. Quite the opposite, I think.”

The TARDIS buzzed softly. Yaz couldn’t understand what she was saying, unlike you and the Doctor. She figured by the small giggle that slipped from your lips, that the TARDIS said something funny or accusing aimed at the Doctor.

“She acts like she knows you well” she later reasoned, “And if she does, it means–”

You inhaled sharply and hesitated, averting your eyes from her to the tip of your boots. How could you sum up everything in a few words? How could you look into her eyes and tell her you had missed her for entire lifetimes.

“Tell me, please…”

Yaz watched you nibbling on your bottom lip. The emotion veiling in your eyes was raw, as if spilling those words out would mean putting salt over a freshly open wound. “Can I tell you something, Sage?” She muttered kindly, reaching up to you. Feeling her standing by you, you turned your head and nodded wordlessly.

“I learned my lesson the hard way. Hiding my feelings from the Doctor thinking it was the best choice,” she muttered, with a tight smile. “And even if we can’t have what we’d like to share, for all kinds of reasons, I don’t regret for one second having told her how I feel,” a tear slipped down her cheek at the confession. You blinked slowly, trying hard to swallow the lump that just formed in your throat. Her pain was very similar to yours; she was in love with the Doctor and even if she couldn’t have her the traditional way, she was willing to stay by her side for as long as time would grant her. And that was enough.

The Doctor’s eyes turned glassy too. She pressed her lips in a thin line, nodding slowly, almost mechanically, “I can’t really tell my hearts what to feel, because they are so full of love for Yaz. I vowed to protect her and to stand by her for as long as I’m allowed to exist in this body, and even in the next if she will have me,” Yaz smiled at that. “I can’t give her what she wants, nor what she deserves in matters of human relationships simply because I’m not a human. Time will catch up on me, eventually. And when that moment comes, it will hurt.”

Bravery is knowing something will hurt and doing it anyway. A wise person once told the Doctor.

You thought for a moment. It made sense, in a way. Their relationship didn’t need any label, simply because it existed beyond any of those. That was, in your opinion, the most beautiful confession of love. The truest manifestation of it in its purest form. Yaz wasn’t ready to let go of the Doctor as much as the Doctor wasn’t ready to say goodbye any time soon. Never been good at goodbyes anyway. And Yaz, oh– she was brave. Probably the bravest human you’ve ever met.

Does it still count if you said she is the first one?

“That’s to say…” Yaz continued, placing a hand upon your shoulder. “That whatever you feel you can’t tell the Doctor, in truth you can. Plus you owe it to yourself. There’s nothing worse than living a life filled with regrets and what ifs.”

“I know, I understand–” your lids fall shut for a second and when they reopen, the Doctor is met with a pair of puffy and red eyes. It only took you a second to crumble. But you allowed no tears to wet your cheeks. Not yet. Not ever if you could help with it. It was too soon anyway and if you started tearing up now, then it would be impossible to keep talking and make sense of everything.

“But I think,” you blinked, and forced a tight smile, “I need a cuppa. Don’t you want a cuppa? My throat is dry,” you rambled while the Doctor and Yaz exchanged a curious glance.

When you started moving towards one of the corridors, as if you knew every path like the back of your hand, the other two followed behind, calling out your name. “Do you even know where to go?”

You hummed in thought, “Should be here, right?” The Doctor realized you weren’t talking to any of them, but with the TARDIS. The blue box buzzed and lit up a series of lights to guide you over the kitchen. A grin curled up your lips, “I thought so, thanks,” you continued, “Second door to the left and then right and then– oh,” you come to a halt when instead of the kitchen you find a cozy library, “Is this new?”

A pang of nostalgia hit the Doctor in the stomach at the sight of the room. She leaned against the doorframe and stared at the slouchy couch in the middle of the room. Everything smelled like paper and leather in there.

“The TARDIS made this room for one of my friends, she was a teacher.”

“Clara,” Yaz whispered, and she nodded her head.

“Oh,” you gaped, in awe. “It’s beautiful. Love a good book, me. And there are plenty of them here,” you commented quietly. “The kitchen used to be here, so I presume it moved elsewhere. Maybe next door?”

“Sage, wait, please,” the Doctor grasped you by your wrist, before you could flee away from her again. Her fingers curled around your skin, that felt warm and incredibly smooth underneath her fingertips. You sighed, but listened to her. You didn’t even like tea, to be honest. You were more of a coffee type of person. The Doctor would know if only she remembered you. “The TARDIS knows you, she let you in, and you act like you have known me forever, but I have no memories of you. Only recently I found out what the Division did to me, taking away from me a speck of a life I didn’t even know existed, nor how big that was. And when I look into your eyes, I feel drawn to you in a way that feels both terrifying and right. And I’m not saying that just because you’re a Time Lord. I kind of feel all my past regenerations, those I have no memory of, were there with you. Am I wrong?”

You promptly shake your head. No, she was hardly ever wrong about a thing. It brought a small smile upon your face, that somehow eased the Doctor’s hearts. You sniffed and adhered your palm against the corridor of the TARDIS, “We fixed her together. It was challenging, but so much fun. You were still working for the Division at the time. I wasn’t. Never did. You couldn’t share much of the things you did for them and with them, despite wanting it so much. I think I asked everyday,” a watery chuckle escaped from both yours and her mouth. It felt like a sense of familiarity was coming back to her. You loved it. “You were always so patient with me. No matter how insistently I kept asking you what you were up to with the Division, you never let a single word slip out,” she hummed, still smiling softly at you. It did sound like something she would do. Especially to protect those she cared about. “Eventually I stopped asking and respected your privacy. And now, thinking back to it, I’m so glad you never told me anything” you bowed your head as the Doctor listened to you in reverent silence. Same did Yaz. You couldn’t hold yourself anymore, and tears started spilling down your cheeks at incredible speed. Your breath hitched.

The Doctor’s hands came cupping your face, her fingers getting wet with your tears. “Sage, it’s okay…” She looked at you with a pair of eyes that held nothing but affection and comprehension. You sniffled. “If you had told me, they’d have wiped my memories too. They chose prison, instead. There, I had time to think. So much time. I erroneously used to believe you had been blessed with memory loss because at first I was suffering so much. You can’t miss someone if you don’t even know that they exist, right?”

Yaz’s heart tightened in her chest at your words. She had thought the same thing once. She regretted it later on, but that thought still had crossed her mind once or twice.

“Then it hit me. I couldn’t live a life, believing it was normal to think a person so special like you never existed. The thought of you kept me going. Doc.”

The Doctor’s chin quivered. She gasped helplessly, and blinked repeatedly to ward off the tears clouding her visions that kept streaming on her face.

Her hand slid from your face to your shoulder, then reached out to your hand, hesitantly clasping it in hers. She took in a long breath, “for how long?”

At first you didn’t understand, so you frowned. How long, what?

Anguish dimmed her features. She started to question her own decisions of keeping her past in the past and you being there was one of those reasons. You suffered her absence, while she kept on living her life like you never existed, never mattered, never touched her hearts. And that was wrong. Cruel. Because you did. She could feel it. Maybe you had another face back then, surely she had too. But that didn’t matter. You were still you in your hearts. And so was she. It was exactly why you never stopped looking for her.

“How long have you been in prison? How long have you missed me? How long have you suffered because of me? How long have you been searching for me? How long have we known each other? How–” The Doctor was frantic. And you were taken aback by her outburst. So was Yaz. She couldn’t stop talking. Rambling. Panicking.

Perplexed and rather shocked, you opened your mouth to say something, but you couldn’t master a single word out of you. The Doctor kept asking you questions over questions. She was mad, not at you, but at herself, at the Division, at whoever did this to her and to you. It always ended up like this. In the end a life with her meant only pain and suffering.

You stumbled backwards, a wave of dizziness at you. Yaz caught you, “Doctor, calm down…”

“Calm down?” She almost laughed. “How can I calm down, Yaz?”

You cleared your throat, and then advanced towards her again. “It doesn't matter anymore. I’m here now,” you lifted your hand, allowing it to cling to her coat.

“Except that it does, Sage,” she insisted, eyes wide open. You held your breath. “Just tell me, how long have you been in prison because of me.”

You inhaled sharply. “Not because of you,” you argued, the determination in your eyes didn’t falter, despite your voice coming quite faint. “Never because of you, you hear me? I’ll not let you take the blame.”

“Please,” the Doctor wasn’t one to beg, yet here she was now.

You dropped your hands over your hips. “About seventy years.”

Yaz’s face turned white, “Oh God-” she muttered under her breath.

The Doctor’s mouth twisted into a painful grimace. It felt like she had been run over and over by a train. You didn’t come here for that. You didn’t mean to add to her sense of responsibility.

“Doctor, that’s nothing for a Time Lord and you know it. We are immortal.”

She snapped, “doesn’t mean we can or should endure everything!”

It had been unbearable for her to spend about thirty years in prison, but unlike you she had hope. If it hadn’t been for Jack rescuing her at some point, she would have lost her mind. The thought of her fam waiting for her, remembering her, kept her hoping. What hope did you have, instead? What kind of foothold did you have for yourself?

“Doctor, it’s okay,” you insisted.

“No, it’s not okay! Don’t tell me it’s okay when it’s not!”

You gulped and moved your hand from her coat, up to her cheek, where another tear was slipping down, thick and warm. “Fine, it’s not. It was not. It was pure Hell. But I resisted. I never gave up because I knew sooner or later I’d have found you again. And I did. That’s the only hope I ever needed. It was enough for me.”

Reluctantly, almost fearful, the Doctor eyed you through her wet lashes. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you,” she pursed her lips and you smiled at her sympathetically. You took a step closer to her. It was your turn to be strong, your turn to reassure her, to tell her that it was okay, because truth be told, it really was.

“Hey,” you lifted her chin by placing your finger underneath. She sniffled and closed her eyelids to get rid of those itchy tears that kept welling up in her eyes. “I said, hey,” you playfully nudged her arm, and she chuckled. Yaz was chuckling too.

“Hey,” she said back, smiling with her eyes.

“I’m here now, am I not? If you’ll have me, I can help you remember who we were. No pressure at all. Or,” you rolled your tongue behind your teeth, “we can start over, I’ll become your friend from scratch. New me, new you.” The Doctor was considering it, motionless. It’s not that she didn’t want to be your friend, because she wanted to. more than anything she wanted to know you, but at the same time, she couldn’t deny the fact that you knew her deeper, and better than she would ever know herself.

Maybe that’s what she wanted too. All in due time. You saw her silent request in her eyes, as a free pass to do your next move. Stretching out your arm, you smiled politely at her, still adding a hint of silliness in your tone, because that’s who you were, “Hiya. Nice to meet ya. I’m the Sage. And you are?”

The Doctor couldn’t help but chuckle heartily at that. She could accept that for now. Like Yaz had accepted traveling with her despite knowing it wouldn’t be forever. That’s what love was. Effort, sacrifice, every single day.

“I’m the Doctor, and that over there is my friend, Yaz,” she smiled and squeezed your hand.

You nodded your head, happily, “Nice to meet you too, Yaz.”

“Likewise, Sage” she chuckled, wiping her tears with the back of her sleeve.

“Can we have that cuppa now?” The Doctor asked, her voice still thick with emotion. “Isn’t it how we welcome the Fam?”

“It is,” she agreed, walking past you. In the moment, she brushed your hand with your fingers.

You grinned, and before she could disappear in the kitchen, you scrunched up your nose, “I actually hate tea. Can I have coffee instead?”

The Doctor draped an arm over your shoulder, while Yaz nodded her head, wordlessly.

The Time Lady scooped you a bit closer, her smile widening, as you let out a surprised giggle, “I’m glad you found me.”

“Me too” your cheeks flushed with the colors of hope, the exact same colors she was proudly showing off on her tee.

Hope, what a beautiful thing to hold on to.

#doctor who imagines #thirteenth doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor x yasmin khan #thirteenth doctor x yasmin khan x reader #yasmin khan x reader #wlw #romantic #time lord reader #emotional #romantic kind of #thirteenth doctor #13th Doctor #13th doctor x reader #jodie whittaker

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ihavethedreamiesx · 1 year ago

Text

In the Middle | Easy to Expert (3 v3) [NSFW]

Lee Yongbok (Felix) & Hwang Hyunjin - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~2.7k

Felix/AFAB!Reader/Hyunjin

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Fluff

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Lingerie, Multiple Partners, Oral (M! and F! Receiving/Anal), Deepthroating/Face-Fucking, Threesome, Double Penetration, Anal Play, Sex Toys - Butt Plugs, Anal Sex, Unprotected Sex (Bad Idea, Don't Do It)

Author's Note: I was supposed to just do a part two for Felix's Easy but now I have these as well…

-> Part 1 <-

-> Part 2 <-

-> Ver. I.N. <-

-> Ver. Seungmin <-

-> Ver. Han <-

-> Ver. Lee Know <-

-> Ver. Changbin <-

-> Ver. Bang Chan <-

Revised (1/30/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"A threesome?" Hyunjin looks up from his phone. Felix suggested it so casually. Hyunjin would be lying if he said he hadn’t ever thought about fucking his best friend's girlfriend. Even before they were dating…

"You in?"

"Are you asking me because she wants one, or…"

"No, she requested you by name." Felix has a pillow on his lap so he can rest his chin on it as he plays on his own phone.

"Here?" Hyunjin asks, looking around your apartment. You had scurried back into your room earlier, claiming to need the bathroom.

"Yeah."

"Now?"

"If you want." Felix shrugs. Hyunjin cast his eyes toward the hall that leads to your bedroom.

"If she's sure." The taller man nods and he sees Felix smirk.

"Get ready, love!" He shouts over his shoulder, and he hears you call out a giddy, "Okay!"

You had been flitting about your bedroom to waste time as Felix makes the suggestion. When he brought Hyunjin over, you knew it was time. Felix and you have been dating for a few months, and despite you choosing Hyunjin a while ago, your boyfriend insisted on waiting for the actual event. He originally wanted to dress you up like the animal Hyunjin is associated with, but… There was a cat set of lingerie, fox, dog, even a horse, but not ferret or weasel. You two decided on just getting a frilly, mostly vanilla, set. It consisted of a babydoll with a black bra and hem, the sheer frills are white. Your crotchless panties are also black and allow the plug Felix picked out to easily sit inside your ass without restriction. You also have thigh-high, black and white striped socks on. The butt-plug Felix had originally gotten has different tails to be attached, but without an animal cosplay you weren’t sure which one to use. He ended up picking a generic black tail reminiscent of a cat's and simple black headband with rounded ears on it. While not exact, it’ll work. The final touch is a black choker with a silver heart-shaped tag, Felix's name etched into it. When you and Felix had gone over the ground rules, you were kind of surprised by what he’s willing to let Hyunjin do to you. Even talking about it excited you.

You pick up your phone when you’re ready, having prepared entirely and is just waiting for them to come in. You send your boyfriend a thumb's up and then wait patiently near your bed. Felix comes in first and his lips pull into a smug grin.

"You look perfect, love. Doesn't she?" Your boyfriend steps in fully, allowing his friend to follow. You shuffle under the taller man's gaze, the intense stare makes your skin tingle.

"Absolutely." His beautiful lips pull into their own smirk. How the hell are you lucky enough that your ethereally gorgeous boyfriend has an equally as attractive best friend?

"Go help him, love." Felix prompts, moving further into your bedroom to get the stuff he prepared from the nightstand drawer. You scamper forward, stopping in front of Hyunjin. Even though Felix is short compared to other men, he’s still taller than you. But Hyunjin is even taller, and you feel incredibly small so close to him. You love it.

"Help me with what, darling?" He flashes your boyfriend a look to make sure the pet-name is okay, but he doesn’t even react. Your small hands go to the strings of his hoodie, your nails are painted black as well. The whole ensemble is incredibly appealing, but what he loves most is the tail hanging from your butt. It sways with your hips as you move, and he wonders what it feels like to you. Hyunjin smirks down at you as he helps you remove his clothes. The large sweatshirt hits the floor, and you eagerly take his t-shirt off as well. Your mouth nearly waters seeing him bare. He’s been working out more recently and the new definition is just right. He shivers a bit when your fingers brushes over his stomach and you step even closer. Hyunjin wants to kiss you so badly, but he don’t know if he’s allowed.

"Are there any rules?" He’s more asking Felix, but he’s looking into your wide eyes the whole time.

"Hm…Only I can use her ass, and you can't come inside her. She doesn't like a condom, but she likes getting creampied too much, that I'm not willing to share." Felix smirks at his friend, holding a few bottles.

"I can kiss her?" Hyunjin is a little shocked by this and so are you, but not upset. Hyunjin is your boyfriend's best friend, and he showed his favor for him by letting him have access to you in a way no one else can. He does gatekeep some, but not much. Since he gets permission, his large hand cupped the back of your head and hauls you close, sealing his plush lips over yours. You whine and he smiles through the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. As he pulls away, he nibbles on your bottom lip and your lips hover close to his as you undo his pants. The black jeans falls to the floor, and you palm his hard on through his underwear and he leans down to lay searing kisses on your neck.

"What color, love?" Felix calls out and your head is swimming a bit, but you manage to answer.

"Red." You reply and he puts the others away.

"'Lix?" You call and he hums.

"Can I?" You ask simply and he hums again. At this you sink to your knees, hands quickly going to Hyunjin's waist band. He’s shocked at your speed, but he simply chuckles as you remove his boxers. As his hard cock bobs in the air before you, you let out a small whimper. He’s… Not overly thick, you can manage at least to get your hand around him, but you aren’t sure his whole length will fit in you. It’s long and pretty like the rest of him.

"Fuck (Y/N)." He whines as your mouth eagerly wraps around the head of his cock, and you begin to descend on his length. You moan softly at his taste and the vibration makes him shiver. You yelp suddenly, gagging a bit as Hyunjin hears a buzzing noise begin. Felix has turned the vibration of the plug on, a feature you did not know it had. Breathing harshly through your nose, you get used to the buzz.

"(Y/N)?" He’s shocked when the tip hits the back of your throat, and you keep going. Your eyes rolls back as you bury Hyunjin's dick in your throat, gagging a bit. He’s definitely longer than Felix. Poor thing already has a sweat break out on his forehead and chest and if he wasn’t balls deep in your mouth, you’d be licking up the drops.

"Shit." The slightly older male groans as your head begins to move. You love when your boyfriend fucks your face as you just sit there and take it, but that’s Felix's privilege. You’re a little surprised yourself though that he’s going to allow Hyunjin to come down your throat. They really are best friends. He exhales as you pull off his cock completely, holding him at the base and running your tongue up the underside. You then kiss down his length and to his groin. A drop of sweat rolls down his lower stomach and you catch it with your tongue, licking up to his belly button. His large hand comes to your head, and he leads you back to swallowing him. You hum in delight as you deepthroat him more and you can taste his precum on the back of your tongue.

"Felix, can I come inside?" Hyunjin's request is nearly breathless as he tries to holds his hips back from fucking his cock into your mouth more.

"Just in her mouth," Felix specifies and Hyunjin looks down to see your eyebrows furrow in frustration, but you follow his rules. Pulling the length of Hyunjin's dick that goes deeper than your mouth out, you pump your hand and look up at him. Seeing your wide eyes pleadingly looking at him, Hyunjin swears and comes in your mouth. You eagerly swallow what he gives you, the sensation still wonderful despite not flowing straight down your throat. Once he’s done, you pull off him, licking the few drops that spurted out. He hadn’t softened completely, and he lets your head go so you can scramble back over to Felix at the foot of the bed. You kneel before your boyfriend and he runs his finger over the side of your mouth, catching a stray drop of Hyunjin's cum, and you suck it off his finger.

"What do you say, love?"

"Thanks, Felix."

"And?" You turn to look at the other man.

"Thanks, Jinnie."

"Of course, darling."

"On your back, love." Felix prompts and you get up, getting on the bed and relaxing into an obviously practiced place.

"Come here." He motions to Hyunjin who comes over. You’re on your back, butt right at the edge of the bed, the tail of the plug dangling down. Your legs are bent and spread so he has a perfect view of your soaking cunt.

"Fill her up." Felix prompts, continuing to undress till he’s just in his boxers.

"Now?" Hyunjin is a little shocked. He expected to go at the same time as your boyfriend.

"Yeah." Felix shrugs and he watches as he goes to kneel by your head, and he understands what’s going on. He comes to the foot of the bed, his knees hitting the mattress and you whine as he rubs the head of his cock through the lips of your cunt. He watches intensely as Felix places the head of his dick at your lips and you whine again. Right as Felix starts to fuck his cock into your mouth, Hyunjin presses into your pussy. Your eyes rolls back as you adjust your head, your boyfriend's delicious cock filling your mouth easily, then into your throat. He smirks, seeing your throat bulge around his cock and Hyunjin groans at the sight as well, finally bottoming out inside you. Hyunjin’s deep inside you, pressing up against your cervix as you swallow Felix's length. You’re in heaven as they begin to thrust at the same time, Felix knowing just how to do it to not cut your air off too bad. At this angle he doesn’t go as deep as he can, your boyfriend knows you don’t love when his balls brush over your face. Hyunjin marvels as you just lay there and take it, though, your painted nails are digging into the bedding.

"Do her harder." Felix prompts and Hyunjin grabs your thighs and hitched your legs up to his hips and snaps his hips. You yelp around Felix's dick, your throat clenching perfectly around his head. Felix's low chuckle rumbles through you and Hyunjin grunts as your cunt clenches around him. Little does the other man know, the reason you’re close to cumming is because of your boyfriend fucking your face. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen apart just because he pumps cum down your gullet.

"I'm gonna cum, darling." Hyunjin grunts out, and almost forgets the rule. It’s good enough that he gets to fuck you raw though, he’ll be content painting your stomach and tits white instead. He pulls out, strokes himself twice then comes over you. It’s hot and Hyunjin watches your cunt flutter and drip as Felix holds your throat softly, grunting as he too comes. You swallow over and over, your vision swimming from the lack of air, and you gasp to catch your breath when Felix withdraws. They both groan at the sight of you, your torso and face covered in cum, drool still slipping out of the side of your mouth. Your muscles clench around the still vibrating plug in your ass and Felix nods at his friend.

"Take it out of her." He instructs, so Hyunjin kneels down so he can watch better, and slowly pulls the plug out. You mewl at the feeling and the buzzing stops when Felix tapped his phone.

"Throw it on the floor." He motions to the side and so Hyunjin does just that. Felix originally wasn’t going to allow the next move, but he wants to spoil his love some. He tosses the red bottle to Hyunjin who catches it and looks over the label. Cherry flavored.

"She's clean…" Your boyfriend's tone is implicative. Hyunjin meets his gaze, remembering earlier but his friend shrugs.

"You can taste." Hyunjin is more than willing to comply, so he opens the tube and squeezes a dollop onto two of his fingers. He circles your pucker and sticks his fingers in to coat your insides and groans at the tight feeling. You shiver as he takes his fingers back out and grabs your thighs. Your cunt is dripping down the cleft of your ass, so Hyunjin leans forward and licks a long path from your ass up to your clit. Your hips flinch and he smirks, descending again. His tongue swirls the entrance of your cunt, but he keeps going. His tongue runs over the rim of your ass, and you mewl when his tongue fucks in. Luckily, the artificial cherry taste is more like candy than cough syrup, and he loves feeling your muscles spasm around his tongue.

"Jinnie~" You moan when his thumb rubs over your clit, circling it. Felix watches intently, making note of every little move you make. You’re shivering some, but that alone will not be enough to get you over the edge.

"Okay, help her up here." Felix snaps to gets Hyunjin to stop when he doesn’t right away. He pulls back, licking the cherry off his lips and does as he’s told. Scooping your limp body up into his arms, Hyunjin places you at the head of the bed between him and Felix. Your back is to your boyfriend as you all lay on your sides.

"Kay, fill her pussy again." Felix holds your leg up for his friend as his cock fills your cunt again. You moan lightly and Hyunjin holds your leg over his hip then, allowing your boyfriend to place the tip of his own dick at your lubed up pucker.

"Felix~" You cry out, your nails digging into the flesh of Hyunjin's shoulders. Both men groan at the tight clench of you with both of them inside, you have to breathe purposefully to get used to the full stretch. You already feared getting addicted to the feeling. Without warning, Felix begins to pump his hips, hard and shallow, Hyunjin falling into rhythm with him. When one is pulling out, the other thrusts in, not leaving you empty. Your breath hitches, you mewl and whimper, then nearly squeal when their thrusts sync up and strengthen. Hyunjin's brow furrows, his eyes closed and his sweaty skin brushes against yours. You scoot forward some so your tongue can run over his jaw, and he huffs a laugh.

"She's such a good little slut, huh?" Felix smirks, licking over the ridge of your ear. His hands runs over your waist under the babydoll, your breasts jiggling with the force in the black cups of the bra.

"Shit, yes, so good~" Hyunjin groans, reveling in your tongue tracing his collar bone.

"Get as deep as you can." Felix leads, and you yipe as they both do so, just grinding into you. Immediately, Hyunjin feels the change, your cunt flutters around him, squeezing even harder.

"Cum, love." Felix orders and you fall over the edge. Hyunjin gasps, your cunt squirting onto his groin.

"Go ahead." Your boyfriend makes eye contact with Hyunjin, and he lets out a long moan and cums inside. Felix fills your ass with his own hot cum and your fading orgasm restarts and you nearly black out. As you slip in and out of conscious reality, you revel in being in between them. You feel small, and safe, and content. At the same time Hyunjin and Felix both silently agree that you belong there, nestled in the middle of their embrace.

-> Part 1 <-

-> Part 2 <-

-> Ver. I.N. <-

-> Ver. Seungmin <-

-> Ver. Han <-

-> Ver. Lee Know <-

-> Ver. Changbin <-

-> Ver. Bang Chan <-

Master-List

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