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snowvies · 1 year ago

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Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

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ddejavvu · 1 year ago

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would you be up to do bff remus with no boundaries?? i think that would be an interesting dynamic

maybe like after a full moon and she just like fully gives him a shower, or something where he’s just completely naked and the boys are so confused at what’s happening

"Arm up, Rem," You hum, but your fingers pry at his pale, scarred skin before he can even begin moving a muscle.

You lift his bicep away from his side, bringing the lathered loofa in your hand to swipe through the curve of his armpit. Suds slide down his sides and you hear him hiss as they mingle with his still-healing cuts and scrapes, but there's nothing to be done except cleaning them before they can be dressed.

"Easy, easy," You rub a hand over his back in a soothing circle that carefully avoids his injuries, "Just gotta get 'em clean, then we can dress them. You can sleep on your stomach, that'll help the ones on your back. How'd you even get scratches on your back?"

"It's all the ladies I occupy my time with," Remus drawls, but his pain is evident in the weakness of his voice, "Women love werewolves."

When you don't answer, leaving an purposefully awkward silence behind that swirls with the steam from the shower, Remus sighs, "Got all scratched up from the tree branches out there."

You drag the loofa from his side to his back, carefully ghosting over the caked dirt around his wounds. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists, but when he tries drawing one into his mouth to bite at it you take it in your own free hand.

"No biting. That's reserved for your better half."

"Are you talking about Sirius, or the wolf? Sirius bites me," Remus grumbles, and- speak of the devil, there's feet pounding obnoxiously up the stairs and towards the dorms.

"Moony, we've got all the chocolate we could carry," Sirius informs him, and there's the sound of wrapped goods being piled on Remus's comforter before James and Sirius step into the doorway of the bathroom.

James lets out an 'ooh' and turns away with a grimace when he sees you kneeled beside Remus's naked form beneath the spray of water, but Sirius stands stock-still, frozen by some mix of intrigue and horror.

"Uh, are we interrupting something?"

"Just a bath," You smile kindly at them, scrubbing gently at Remus's neck, "He has trouble getting his back sometimes."

"Sometimes- have you two done this before?"

"After every moon." You nod helpfully when Remus merely ducks his head to rest between his knees, "You two are usually either asleep or trying to get grass out of your pelts."

There's something green in Sirius's hair that proves the two were unsuccessful this time around.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't know you had a caregiver," Sirius snickers, "Does she help you put your panties on too?"

"Don't let him get to you, dove," Remus murmurs, his eyes slipping shut as the warm water seeps into his skin and heals an ancient ache in his bones, "He's just mad he'll never get to take yours off. They're a real pretty pattern, y'know," Remus glances up at Sirius with the ghost of a smirk on his face, muffled by pain but persistent all the same, "Shame she's not interested in showing 'em to you."

"You've seen her panties, mate?" James cuts in, peering over Sirius's shoulder, "What are you two?"

"Friends," You shrug, "But it's stuffy in here at night, and my sleeping pants get too warm."

"You're telling me all the times you two have slept over in here all snuggled up in his bed, that you've not had any pants on?"

"Well I don't make it a habit to strip in his bed," You scoff, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn grass stain on the pale plane of his hip, "But I can promise you that my pants are never gonna be on your floor, either one of you."

"Oh please, we wouldn't dream of stealing Moony's girl," Sirius claps James on the shoulder, "But whaddya think about that, mate? Strippin' down to cuddle in bed together? They seem to think it's a friendly endeavor."

"I typically only ditch my pants for Lily, Padfoot," James informs Sirius with a sympathetic smile, "But I'll ask her if I can bring my dog to her dorm tomorrow night. You can sleep at our feet."

Sirius begins valiantly arguing for a spot higher up on the bed, every dog's hardest battle to fight, but you're no longer interested in their antics or the noise they're producing. You reach out your foot to kick at the door, and it swings shut with a satisfying click.

"Thanks, love." Remus groans, his face squished between his knees, "They were givin' me a headache."

"They always give you a headache," You dig your thumbs into a tense spot on his back and he twitches beneath you with a hum of appreciation, "We should get a flat together without them. They can be the feral deer and dog that live outside our cottage."

"We'll have to call animal control" Remus grins wryly against the rounded bend of his knee as you lean forwards to wash beneath his thighs, "How strong are their strongest tranquilizer darts?"

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin one-shot #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin dialogue #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin headcanons #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin hc #remus lupin hcs #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you

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zulashi-the-writer · 4 days ago

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⚠️PSA this is fully consensual, it might seem very dark but I am only trying to be the same level as the song

Underneath Your Skin

Jinu x Reader

Summary: he has you cornered trapped, his body pressed against yours no space left to breathe

2nd person pov

His lips grazed against your neck, his teeth teasing your delicate skin, your heart raced almost beating out of your chest fans screams echoed from outside the changing room but he didn't care, his eyes laid close his hair somewhat tussled and his costume layed down his shoulders barely covering him. His teeth pinched your skin as he sucked slightly leaving trails of red down your neck drawing your blood to the surface.

Your fast breathes just begged for him to take you, his hands tightened their hold on yours bringing them to hang over your head against the wall, he smirked into your skin hearing your little gasps, he was in control over you over your body he owned every single inch, and he was leaving no space unmarked.

His breath was heavy against your skin, his hair tickling your cheek as he moved around your neck, he could feel your fastened pulse through your veins tempting him, his mind was clouded with darkness of all the things he's going to do to you the only difficult thing was where he should start, where should he begin tasting this delectable thing Infront of him.

Pray for me now

One of his hands dropped to hold your body moving to grab whatever he could get his hands on, his hand gripped your hip pressing it firm against his eagerly showing off his need and lust, your cheeks dusts red crying out feeling the tightened nip at your skin, he pulls back a small trail of red moved from his smirking lips but he was quick to catch with his tongue his eyes glowing a dark yellow, it was too late to run.

I'll be your idol

His body caged you in no room for escape, trapped by his hunger and lust, he released your hands, but your body was frozen only your eyes could flicker watching his every move, his hands caught the ends of the fabric keeping your body secret from his gaze. He was quick to tear, your eyes following the sorrowful shreds as they fell to the floor.

Keeping you in check (Uh), keeping you obsessed (Uh)Play me on repeat, 끝없이 in your head Anytime it hurts, play another verse I can be your sanctuary

Your body quivered feeling his hands move along your naked shin leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever his fingertips grazed, his patterns glowed a light shade of purple like a predator's growl it was just the start. His eyes travelled slowly up and down your body and then to meet your gaze as he slowly dropped to his knees his hands dragging across your skin as he went down, his hot breath fanning your thighs as his golden eyes stared up at you filled with lust.

Know I'm the only one right now (Now) I will love you more when it all burns down More than power, more than gold (Yeah) Yeah, you gave me your heart, now I'm here for your soul

His lips parted slightly looking so kissable you longed for them to meet yours, but he had other plans slowly moving his lips to kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thigh leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way up every inch he gets closer sends a ripple of shivers through your body, your breath hitched feeling his hands clasped your thighs his fingers digging into your skin making sure you couldn't move away.

I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic' a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on

His eyes never left yours watching your every movement, every reaction, he wanted to see everything he made you feel, he leaned in close his breathe tickling your delicate skin, you felt as if you were about to faint, your pitiful pleas making him smirk, his lips met your plump folds, his tongue sneaking out to explore the sensitive slit, his tongue worked its way up and down, swirling around your clit, he was enjoying this, watching you try to drown your pleasured moans by covering your mouth and how your body presses against him.

내 황홀의 취해 you can't look away (Hey) Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol Uh, 비치나는 fame, 계속 외쳐, I'm your idol

He worked his mouth against your clit, his hands gripping your thighs tighter with each squeak of pleasure, his tongue tingled with your delicious taste he just needed more, his fingers traced across your skin, his rough skin slid up and down your folds, the wetness coating his skin to make it easier as two of his fingers slid into your slick entrance, pumping in and out in slow motions to drive you insane.

Thank you for the pain 'cause it got me going viral Uh, yeah, 나지 않는 fever, makin' you a believer 나를 왜 넌 존재하는 아이돌 Don't let it show, keep it all insideThe pain and the shame, keep it outta sight

Your head laid back against the wall, eyes shut tightly, your teeth slightly digging into your hand muffling your cries, his fingers increased their speed as his tongue circled your clit making your body trembled, he could feel the pleasure radiate off of your skin begging him to make you finish but he didn't want you to finish on his tongue, he wants to feel your pussy clench around him as he pumps you fill of his seed fully claiming you as his.

Your obsession feeds our connection 이 순간 give me all your attention You know I'm the only one who'll love your sins Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin

His patterns flared at the thought, he pulled back growling at the sounds of your displeasure of the loss of pleasure, he brought his fingers to his lips, his tongue reached out licking up your delicious juices, he caught your gaze watching him intently with flushed cheeks his body shivered at your taste, rolling his shoulders his costume fell leaving him bare infront of you, his cock hardened by pleasure.

Listen 'cause I'm preachin' to the choir Can I get the mic a little higher? Gimme your desire I can be the star you rely on 내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away (Yeah) Don't you know I'm here to save you Now we runnin' wild Yeah, I'm all you need, I'ma be your idol Be your idol

His lips pressed against your in a passionate kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth your faded flavour still present on his lips, one of his hands cradled your face as the other settled on your hip dragging his body closer, his cock pressed up against you throbbing for release, his comments of dominance against your lips made you beg for the same. His hand moved from your hip to hold his dick pressing up against you, slowly entering you inch by inch he stretches you open, your hands reach out to clasp his shoulders for balance.

Living in your mind now Too late 'cause you're mine now I'll make you free When you're all part of me (Listen 'cause I'm) preaching to the choir(Now) Can I get the mic a little higher?

His chest rumbled with a growl how he wished to savour this moment, his hips started to move in slow strokes feeling every shudder and twitch through your sensitive walls, you are his obsession his every desire in one, his teeth nipped at your lips with each thrust, the movements slowly moving faster as your cunt molded around him, his patterns stood vibrant against his pale skin filled by pleasure and passion.

Gimme your desire Watch me set your world on fire 내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away No one is coming to save you Now we runnin' wild

His body pressed you further into the wall with each thrust, his cock pressing further and further into you, your moans filled the room echoing off the walls while his panting breathes fanned your cheeks, he could feel your release nearing the feeling of it driving him insane, his cock throbbed, his seed building up inside him but his thrusts never fultered, your hips red and raw from his hips hitting yours.

You're down on your knees, I'ma be your idol

His breath strung out foul words of excitement, his eyes half lidded in pleasure staring down at your trembling body as you reached the edge of your ecstasy, your walls tightening around him as you squealed out, finger tips digging into his skin, his head fell back groaning out as his dick released inside of you, the warm liquid filling you up, his breath fanned your face, his chest heaving with each breath his voice hoarse as he spoke.

"You are mine"

Taglist

@smiling-laughing-hating

@bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee

#Spotify #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpop demon hunters smut #kpop demon hunters x reader smut #kpop demon hunters jinu #jinu kpdh #jinu kpop demon hunters #jinu kdh #saja boys #saja boys jinu #jinu smut #jinu kpdh smut #jinu x reader #jinu x reader smut

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simpurnatural · 5 months ago

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“Our Little Secret” || Short-Fic

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Okay, but me coming back to Tumblr after binging xo kitty wasn't on my 2025 bingo card. We are so back babe! Enjoy these crumbs whilst I dust off my keyboard ToT"

Warning(s): Spoilers for "XO, Kitty" seasons 1 & 2, Smut, Language, Not Proofread

"I swear, if you get caught one of these days then you're on your own!" Q warned, Dae chuckling lightly as they watched Min Ho slipped on a pair of shoes.

"I won't get caught," Min Ho replied as he turned his head to face them. "When have I ever gotten caught?" he scoffed as he examined himself in the mirror.

"Uhm literally last week when you sprinted around campus in the early morning and only wearing underwear and socks," Q retorted from the couch before realizing, "That was a bit more of a close call if I'm being real here,".

"Exactly, never got caught and never will," Min Ho said with a sly smirk, "Plus, Y/n is in the solo unit dorms," he reminds before walking out the door.

"It'll only be a matter of time," Dae sighed, shaking his head at his best friend's recklessness.

You heard the sound of a knocks on your dorm room door, instantly recognizing the specific pattern to inform you that it was Min Ho waiting to be let in.

Hurriedly yet excitedly, you made your way to the door and swiftly opened it. Min Ho was taken aback by the clothes or rather the lack thereof it on your small frame.

"Why are you here so early?" you whispered, yanking him into the room before shutting the door behind you. "I haven't gotten my nightly dorm inspection yet,".

"Well, I couldn't wait to see you and who said we couldn't have some fun til’ they get here?" Min Ho replied in a hushed yet seductive tone, his eyes taking in the sight before him. "You wouldn't mind a little inspection of our own, would you?" he smirked as his has slithered their way around your waist.

You suddenly felt as though any clever retort you had bubbling in your system faded away. Min Ho pulled you in closely, allowing for you both to be basically sharing the same breath of air. He leaned in, catching your lips against his while tightening his hold on you.

With every kiss, the difficulty to pull away became more intense. You brushed your tongue against Min Ho’s lip as he backed you into the wall adjacent to the front door. His hands began to hike up your silk night gown.

“I could just take you right here,” Min Ho muttered under his breath, his cold hands making contact with your warm, soft skin.

The palm of his hand gently gave your breast a squeeze. You let out a whine as his icy cold touch messaged your chest. This only made the tent in Minh’s trousers tighter.

“But someone might hear us,” you say, an aching feeling beginning between your legs. “They could be here any minute,” you remind as Min Ho effortlessly lifted you off the ground.

“Then you better stay quiet,” he said without a hint of worry in his tone.

With one hand on your ass to keep you in place, he utilized the other to undo his belt and trousers. By this point, you were sure a whole waterfall had made its descent down your leg. Min Ho chuckled as he kicked his pants away from him after they pooled around his ankles.

He felt your clothed cunt throb, with only your panties and his boxers in the way. The notorious playboy has slept with countless girls but you were just so different. He had never been with someone who looked just as good on the outside as she felt when he’s inside

Wasting no time, Min Ho removed all remaining articles of clothing. The tip of his cock teased the lips of your pussy. He loved how your wetness basically coated his manhood like a glazed donut.

“M-Min Ho-“ you whimpered impatiently, just wanting to feel his dick be buried deep inside already. “Fuck,” you gasped as half his length pushed inside your walls.

“So tight for me,” Min Ho groaned before pulling out, just to thrust right back in.

His hips rhythmically jutted up against yours. Your body was in compete ecstasy as Min Ho’s breaths grew heavy. He yanked the thin straps of your night gown down just to watch your tits bounce with no restraint.

Min Ho loved getting you like this, so lost in how good he could take care of you. He smirked as he listened to your minimum efforts to conceal your moans. Your tightly sealed lips didn’t stop any NSWF noises.

Just a not began to form inside of you, a knock at the door and an unaware voice greeted you, “Y/n L/n! It’s time for your nightly dorm room inspection,”.

“Shit!” You mumbled as Min Ho gently placed you on the ground before scurrying off into your bedroom to find a hiding spot. “One moment please!” You replied, kicking your’s and Min Ho’s clothes under your couch.

Hurriedly, you grabbed one of your appropriately sized coats to conceal your naked body. You quickly yanked the door open which startled the more senior student who stood at your door.

“Hello,” you nodded as you raked a hand through your potentially messy hair. “Please come in, sorry about the mess,” you say with an embarrassed smile.

Whenever Min Ho was over while inspections took place, you always held your breath for the worst outcomes. Min Ho usually hid in your closet, behind your suitcases and other articles of clothing that could easily conceal his frame.

As the inspector searched the unit half interestedly, you acted as calm as possible. Your attention slightly wavered as you reminisced how Minho was fucking you just mere moment ago.

What caught your attention was the creaking of your closet door being opened. Your eyes widened as the student stepped inside and left your gaze for a moment just before stepping back out.

“Y/n,” they said, to which your ears perked up anxiously, “Make sure to have the light bulb in your closet changed, it seems to almost be out,” they explained.

“Of course,” you nodded assuringly, the breath you were holding in dissipate as they made their way to the front door.

“Thank you for your time,” they said politely as you unlocked and opened the door for them.

“Anytime,” you waved before the shutting the door again.

You shedded your coat and made your way back into the bedroom, were a naked Min Ho laid. He wordlessly motioned for you to join him.

Right as you crawled onto the bed, Min Ho immediately had you under him. Both of you wearing a smug grin on your lips.

“Where were we?” He said before leaning down to kiss you.

You ran your hands through his perfectly cut hair while his kisses began to trace your jaw, your neck, and started to leave love bites alone your collarbone. He pulled away and watched as your chest rose and fell exaggeratedly. Your completely naked body yearned for his touch.

With your eyes focused heavily on Min Ho, you watched as he stroked his cock. The groans that erupted from his lips were like music to your ears. As he climbed back on top of you, he lifted and spread your legs farther apart. His length inching closer and closer to your pussy.

Your breathing hitched as you felt him slide into your walls with full force, a loud moan escaping your mouth. Min Ho placed his mouth on yours as an attempt to stifle your noises.

But it became harder to remain silent as he continuously rammed his cock into your cunt. The wet sound of you taking his dick so good only made Min Ho fuck you rougher.

“You better stay quiet,” Min Ho muttered, “Or else everyone will find out how damn good I am at fucking you,” he smirked, watching your eyes roll back. “Taking it so easy, huh?”

You could only muster a groan as the pit in your stomach returned. Min Ho loved the feeling of your walls tightening as you got close to climaxing.

“Gonna cum for me?” he asked, knowing full well that any further response from you would be at max volume. “Come on my dick Y/n,” he ordered.

Min Ho spared no space between the two of you began slamming his dick so deep inside your pussy. Your back arched, allowing his dick to repeatedly hit your sweet spot.

“That’s it,” he said, as your body began to quiver and your warm cum covered his length. He slowed down momentarily, allowing you to feel the high. “Was that good?” he asked as you caught your breath.

“Yeah but what about you?” you questioned unknowingly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with your pussy yet,” Min Ho huffed before meeting a proper pace.

You tiredly watched as he used your cunt, telling you how good are for him. He loves showering his affections towards you after making you come, knowing that only he gets you like that.

As the rhythm of his thrusts began to stutter, you felt his cock twitch slightly. Min Ho hesitantly gave a few more thrusts before quickly pulling out.

“Fuck,” he groaned as his cum covered your lower abdomen.

Grabbing a couple tissues from your nightstand, Min Ho gave you a proper wipe down before laying down beside you.

“Our little secret?” You asked, raising your pinky.

JAN 2025

#xo kitty #minho oneshot #minho fanfic #minho moon #minho xo kitty x reader #minho moon smut #Minho moon x reader #tatbilb #to all the boys i've loved before #min ho moon #min ho x reader

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 7 months ago

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Cold Jealousy

I am back once again with more Silco brain rot. Feeding all of you who need the content as well as myself.

Summary: Who knew jealousy was all it took for to have your first kiss with Silco?

He hates the coiling in his stomach that arises whenever you laugh at something a patron says. It sickens him, seeing you lean in so close to another man, your lips moving as you say something and then smile, causing the table to burst into laughter. He knows you're simply close friends with them, after all they are your childhood friends, people who grew up with you, so of course you'd act overly familiar with them but he can't stop his chest from tightening, his fingers twitching.

The nib of his pen pierces through the page he was writing on and he scowls angrily at the mess, trying to drown out your voice but it's intoxicating, a melody that snatches his attention away from the numbers in his notebook. Your laughter is like a drug, leaving him wanting more every time he hears it, and the thought that it's someone else eliciting it drives him insane.

"You alright there?" Vander slides him a glass of scotch, worry clear gentle grey eyes.

"I'm fine," Silco spits back, a little harsher than intended. Of course Vander would notice something was off, Vander knew him way too well. He turns back to his notebook, trying to suppress the whispers that begin to cloud his mind and stares at the numbers, willing them into his brain.

"You know they only have eyes for you right? They don't look at anyone the same way they look at you." Vander glances over at the table where you're currently playing a game of cards, and from the looks of it, losing.

"I know," Silco scowls, stabbing the page with his pen. Vander simply huffs and turns to attend to the customer who just pulled up at the counter. Silco rolls his eyes and closes the notebook, he's done for the night. There's no way he can continue concentrating when you laugh like that, when butterflies flutter in his chest and turn to stone as he remembers you're not laughing at something he said or did.

"I'm going to get some air," he grunts, slipping out the back door.

Out of habit, he makes his way to the rooftop, sitting at his usual spot and looks out at the sprawling underground city beneath. Neon lights flash from various stores like stars, illuminating figures as people walk past but the silhouettes disappear just as quickly, fading back into obscurity. It's the same pattern every night, he's memorised some of the figures already, knows the habits of certain individuals, and has noted the important ones. He spots the lady with twin brown hair buns who frequents the brothel opposite, the two enforcers who always sneak into the nearby drug store during their nightly patrol and nearly misses the sound of your footsteps.

"Hey." You take your seat next to him.

"Y/N." He barely spares you a glance before looking back at the city below. The night wind whistles through the air, sending shivers through his body and he curls up, hugging his knees to his chest. Dammit, he forgot his coat. The air here is chillier at this time of the year, being so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city's nightlife, but it brings a sense of peace that he treasures, especially when it's with you. Tonight, it just feels cold, probably from his lack of a coat, but there's a numbness he can't explain.

The clink of glass snaps him out of his thoughts and he glances up to see you produce a bottle of wine as well as two glasses.

"Sorry, I couldn't swipe a bottle of scotch so I grabbed the next best thing before anyone could catch me," you smile at him and pop the bottle open. The red liquid sloshes in the glass as you fill it up and hand it to him, "peace offering?"

He wrinkles his nose but takes the glass anyways, mumbling a thank you before letting the liquid slide down his throat. It doesn't have the same burn as scotch does, but there's still a pool of warmth that sits in his belly, although it does little to alleviate the chill he feels.

You smile and pour a glass for yourself, taking a sip, following the direction of his eyes. Silco swirls the red liquid around in his glass, biting his lip. The silence is awkward, but he won't be the first to break it, his pride won't let him. Fortunately, you shift closer to him and shrug your jacket off, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Don't catch a cold on me."

He snorts in response, tugging your jacket tighter around himself. It smells nice, smells like you with a hint of his cigar's smoke. He can pick out the scent of wine, the smell of the soap you use to wash the jacket, the remnants of Piltover's smell from your afternoon stint and a small smile makes its way onto his face as he remembers the way you threw yourself at him, clutching a bag of freshly baked bread, laughing as you yelled at him to run for his life. The pool of warmth resting in his belly spreads to the rest of his body, sending tingles up his spine as he buries his face into the jacket's fabric. The fabric is worn but still maintains a certain level of softness, and it feels as nice as it smells.

He watches as you finish your glass and exchange it for the bottle, remembering his own unfinished glass and takes another sip. Scotch was still the best drink, a shame you didn't manage to filch a bottle of it. You down half the bottle in one go, sighing in satisfaction and gesture at his glass.

"You don't have to force yourself to finish it, you know?"

He scowls, and finishes the rest of his wine, all the while staring right at you. "As if I'll let you have any of mine."

You laugh, and he finds that your laughter sounds better when it's because of something he said than when it's because of something someone else said, besides, there's the added bonus of giddiness that fills him. He smiles, for the first time tonight and sets the glass down next to yours. The awkwardness has been broken, much to his relief and he feels as though he can breathe easier.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" You gesture towards the myriad of lights. "Piltover's lights can't compare to this."

"That's because most of their lights are the same colour," he snorts, "but yes…it is beautiful."

You beam, taking another swig from the bottle and set the bottle down, leaning back on your hands. The night breeze ruffles through your hair, playing with its strands and Silco watches as a couple of strands fall between your eyes, causing you to huff and puff at it until it falls off your face. The next gust of wind is stronger and you shiver, shifting closer to him. He shakes his head and throws the left half of your jacket over your shoulders so it covers the both of you.

"Don't you catch a cold on me either."

"Thank you for sharing my jacket." You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. He nudges you back, the back and forth going on for a while until the jacket slips off your shoulder and he leans over to pull it back on. Electricity crackles from where his skin brushes against yours and he feels his heart leap into his throat when he looks up at you, realising how close the two of you are.

Sure, the both of you know how the other feels, knows the unspoken truth but continue to dance around each other, fearful of what acknowledging the feeling would bring, but tonight just feels right. He feels your hand intertwine with his and he leans in, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You lean in as well and your lips meet for the first time.

The feeling is addicting, Silco quickly learns. The way your lips lock with his perfectly, the way you lean in as his fingers run through your hair, the way your free arm wraps around his waist, pulling him closer, all of this makes him wish this moment will never end. Unfortunately, the both of you need to breathe and so he reluctantly parts from you, pressing his forehead against yours. It feels natural, to feel your warmth, to hold you underneath your jacket, and from the way you're looking at him with such adoration in your eyes, you feel the same way.

It doesn't need to be said, nothing needs to be said, the only thing he needs to do is close the gap once more and taste the wine on your lips, savouring the sweetness of it all. This is the one time he will admit that wine tastes good, but he still prefers scotch.

Your hand gently cups his cheek and he finds himself leaning into the touch. Your thumb runs over his skin, brushing along his cheekbone and he sighs, surrendering to your warmth. A small smile graces your lips and he can't help but smile back, although his smile is rather lazy.

"We should head back before Vander has to come and haul us away," you murmur and Silco reluctantly extracts himself from your touch.

"And before he closes the bar up so that we don't have to wash the glasses." He picks said glasses up, nudging the empty bottle towards you. "You are still going to throw the bottle away, I'm not touching that."

"Why? You were so eager to touch my saliva just moments ago," you tease, mirth decorating your features.

"I'm not about to deny you your responsibilities." He ducks out of the way as you try to shove the empty bottle into his arms, quickly making his way back into the bar before you can succeed in making your problem his. He hears your annoyed shouts behind him and laughs, sliding into the bar's counter.

Vander raises an eyebrow as Silco places the glasses in the sink and darts off, then shakes his head as you come barreling in, demanding that Silco help you as payment for the wine he drank. He grabs the both of you by your collars and drops you both at the sink. "I believe washing everything in the sink will suffice as payment for the bottle of wine."

You groan when you see the amount of empty cups in the sink and Silco laughs, turning on the water tap. At least you're trapped in this with him, the washing should go by faster.

As the both of you hunch over the sink, you give him a little nudge with your elbow. "Next time, if you're jealous, just step in. I'll leave with you, I promise."

"Jealous?" He splutters. "I wasn't jealous!"

"Sure you weren't, Mr 'angrily stabs an innocent piece of paper with his pen'. Keep trying."

He huffs, turning his attention back to the glass he's currently wiping dry. "I wasn't jealous."

"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I doubt that changes facts though."

"Nobody said that was a fact."

You lightly punch him in the shoulder with your damp fist and he mock glares at you, smacking your arm with the drying cloth but can't stop the smile that's forming on his face.

"Don't ever doubt yourself," you say softly. "You mean everything to me."

And you mean everything to me too.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #young silco x reader #young silco #silco #silco x reader #arcane fluff #silco fluff #jealous young silco #silco is defo the type to hide his jealousy and pretend like he's not #but with enough prodding he will subtly admit his jealousy #i love him sm #both the old and young versions #arcane silco

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bi-writes · 10 months ago

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can we have like a pov of like what MOB would do if something did happen to simon..? luv you!

mail-order bride

your tea is cold when you pick it up to drink it. it burns you, how cold it is, and you cough a little as you set it down, grimacing as you wipe your lips.

maybe it's just one of those days. the rain is hitting a little too hard against the window. the cats have been restless. the dark one shredded your yoga mat by clawing at it under a doorway, and the orange tabby managed to knock over all of simon's plants from the windowsill (which you frantically put back inside their little pots--would plant murder be his last straw?). you left a red shirt in when you washed the whites (you apologized to all of simon's white tees), and when you noticed holes in your favorite sweats in a pattern that matched a cat's claws, you called it a day and decided to make tea (another fail).

you rub your pounding head, taking a deep breath, but you aren't given long to count down from five when your phone begins to ring.

you pick it up, not recognizing the number, but you put it to your ear as you get up to boil more water.

"hello?"

a throat clears on the other end. "do i have mrs. riley 'ere?"

you frown, leaning your hip against the kitchen counter as you turn a burner on and put the kettle over it.

"uhm...yeah. this is she," you say finally. you look at the clock; it's late, much too late. "who is this?"

"this is john. ah...captain john price, ma'am."

you clench your jaw, closing your eyes. "um...i'm sorry, i...what can i do for you? simon's not--"

"we had to call for medevac," john says lowly. "ahh...should be headin' into surgery soon. i--"

"wait--what?" you cough a little, shutting the stove off, and you're scrambling as you make your way to the bedroom. he's talking again, you realize, but you can't hear what he's saying. your eyes are moving around the room, and you frantically start to pull drawers open, grabbing a sweater, jeans, actual clothes to put on. you shed your pajamas, hopping as you slide your jeans on, and he's still talking, but you still hear nothing.

you run into the dresser, the furniture rattling, and you let the phone go, realizing you can't see because there's tears blurring your vision. you wipe them away, looking around for your purse, and when you realize what this is, an emergency--right?--you head for the bookcase in simon's study.

you toss a few books down onto the floor, your hands shaking as your fingers curl around the spine of a leather bible. you set the book down on simon's desk, flipping through the pages before you find your prized paper nestled between the pages of the book of john.

you head back to the bedroom, picking up the phone again, and you shakily dial the number that's on the back of the card. you take a seat on the bed (because where would you go anyways?), and you close your eyes as you wait for someone to pick up.

it rings for too long. you gasp a little, clutching the phone tight, and you beg for someone to pick up, please, please, please--

"'ello?"

"johnny--" you hiccup, standing up. "johnny, he...he told me--"

"wha--who--" on the other end, johnny shouts at someone to get a move on, "--bleedin' christ, who is this?"

"it's me," you whisper. "i'm...simon's--"

"ach...fuckin' hell..." there's a long, deep sigh on the other end. "oi, lass, listen, he's alright--"

"he's...b-but someone said surgery."

"right, i..." he sighs again, and you hear a door shut on the other end. "ye sit tight, luv. i'll come get ye, okay?"

you sniffle, wiping your face, "just tell me he's gonna be okay. tell me i'm worrying for nothing."

johnny chuckles a bit, and the sound soothes you just enough. "gonna be alright. lad's fuckin' dramatic, i'll tell ye tha', big brick fuckin' stepped in front of--"

"okay, johnny, please don't tell me how simon almost killed himself and get your ass over here, okay?" you snap, and johnny halts his laughing.

"right, yeah, forgive me." you hear the rattle of keys. "'m coming."

"mrs. riley?"

your head lifts up. you blink the sleep out of your eyes, rubbing them gently, and there's a petite woman in scrubs smiling at you with her mask hanging around her neck. you have two sergeants at either side of you, captain price settled leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. you have a blanket around your shoulders, and when you slip it off, johnny takes it from you gently.

"you can see him now."

you get to your feet, and when you pass simon's captain, he tips his hat at you respectfully. you hurry and follow the doctor down the hall, and when you see simon's name scribbled on a makeshift sigh on the wall, you eagerly pick up the pace until the door is opened for you.

he looks peaceful laying there. the monitors beep quietly around him, little wires and tubes falling around him, and you let out a breath when you see him blink those dark eyes awake blearily.

"tha' an angel?"

you start to cry. "you're such an asshole."

you come close to the side of the bed, taking his outstretched hand, and you clutch his big hand to your chest. you curl his hand into a fist, pressing your face against the back of his hand, kissing his knuckles there gently. he uncurls his fingers and wipes at your tears gently, shaking his head.

"gave ya a right scare, didn't i?"

"yes, you dickhead," you sniffle, and simon chuckles lowly, wincing a little as he clutches his lower stomach. you use your foot to bring the chair behind you closer, taking a seat in it as you look up at him. he turns his head to face you, giving you a pained smile, and you let out the breath you've been holding since johnny came to get you. "what's the matter with you, simon?"

"shit happens."

you try not to roll your eyes, but the anger is not lost on simon. he squeezes your hand gently, his eyes flicking up to the clock, and he grimaces when he realizes it's nearly six in the morning. you must have been here all night, waiting for him.

"is this how it's gonna be?" you ask in a whisper. when he meets your eyes again, it's more difficult this time. what you're asking isn't predictable. it isn't a straight answer. and if he gives you anything that isn't the truth, it feels like a lie, and he can't do that to you. "w-waking up in the middle of the night? hoping that the call isn't...that...hoping that--"

"not that simple," simon interrupts gently.

"well, make it simple, simon," you say firmly. even through your tears, your voice doesn't shake this time. "make it very simple for me, then."

simon purses his lips, and for the first time since you've met your husband, he hesitates. he doesn't have an answer, at least a good one.

"don't wanna lie to ya, swee'eart," simon murmurs, and you stare right back at him.

"then don't."

he sucks on his teeth, looking away, and you tug on his hand, pulling his eyes back to you.

"look at me, simon," you say, and he looks sad. he's going to tell you something that you won't want to hear. he's going to tell you something that's been the truth since he enlisted, a reality that never bothered him until he realized he had a responsibility to keep a roof over your head. there's someone waiting inside of his house. there's a place that's waiting for him on one side of the bed he shares with you. there's someone else's shoes always next to his, and someone else's name that will always be beside his own.

family.

he has a family.

"i'll try and keep ya outta here," is all simon murmurs. you smile at that. it's a promise, but he won't lie to you. always honest, your husband. he tells you things as they are. he doesn't pretend. everything with simon is the truth as he presents it, and it's eerily comforting, even if the truth isn't one that you like.

"i love you, simon," you whisper, and when you touch his face finally, the sting of the gold of your wedding is a welcome distraction.

he vows to make this the last time you see him this way. nothing is worth seeing that face of yours like this--tired, disheveled, the angry crease in your brow. you're not meant for these things. for the waiting, the crying, the worry, it's not a life he meant to give you.

for a moment, he wonders if you'd ever ask him.

will you hang it up for me? will you leave for me?

the most terrifying part, he realizes, is that he isn't sure of what his answer would be. and he isn't sure of what you would do if he told you no.

#oof angst #it betrays me #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #order up

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chococolte · 2 months ago

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WAIT! ONE MORE REQUEST AND I'M DONE I PROMISE-

So how about Sagau Zhongli, Venti, and Childe be like when their god, who has been known to be a single pringle ever since they came into existence, is suddenly announcing they are finding a consort among their acolytes?

word count. 2k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i had to go back and reread my childe fic to remember how i characterized him fuck my baka chungus life. anyway im sorry it's been a while but as it turns out if you sit down to write something you'll actually write, so here's this!!

zhongli

Despite himself, Zhongli is unable to quell the dim light of hope that swells in his chest.

It's one he's instantly ashamed of. Zhongli is, as one so aged and so familiar with you, intrinsically aware of how little he compares. Where you step, he follows; his mind beckons even if his body resists. To think of himself as somehow worthy of you would be his greatest folly.

Yet he does so anyway, no matter how desperately he tries to kill his arrogance.

The fear is overwhelming, but the acerbic aftertaste at the thought of you with anyone else is worse.

The shame at his own hubris gnaws away at him, but Zhongli can't find it in himself to entirely let it go, to better himself as he should. If bettering himself comes at the cost of losing the opportunity to be entirely yours, he would rather be consumed by his pride.

He knows he should be disgusted by himself. To want is a terrible sin. It's one thing to worship you, and another to see himself kissing your skin every time he closes his eyes.

When Zhongli is beside himself, alone with only his thoughts to keep him company, he wonders what it would be like to be yours. His mind supplies every possibility with no incentive. He aches, and wants, and feels so vividly and impudently that he thinks his thoughts must be some kind of punishment.

You're everything, he thinks. There is nothing in this world that is comparable to you.

What would it be like, to feel you? Would you give him that honor? Has he done enough to deserve it? Or do you torture him so, filling his mind with images— things he should never think, things he should never imagine— because he dares to think himself worthy of calling himself yours, in a manner no one else has before?

Zhongli's greatest failure is that he's unable to stop himself from wanting.

He's ached before. He ached for the thousands of years he spent without you. He ached when he saw you for the first time, enraptured, unable to understand how a form could be so perfect. He ached when he let his fingers linger on your skin for longer than he should at every opportunity, he ached when he wondered if you found his achievements worthy of praise, and he aches every time he has to leave your side.

This hurts more, somehow. To want for something he knows he could never receive. To want for something he knows he isn’t worthy of. But knowing doesn’t ease it, when he follows after you every day like an old, obedient dog; when your back is as familiar as the sky overhead, as commonplace a view; when he imagines what it must feel like to have your fingers run along his skin, touching and prodding, pressing long enough against his skin to leave imprints in their wake.

He wonders how heavenly it would be, to be yours. He imagines it so frequently it begins to become difficult to differentiate reality and fantasy. Your skin, his skin. His warmth, your warmth. Your touch, your touch, your touch.

You.

Zhongli doesn’t realize that he’s said anything at all until you’re staring at him, a certain look on your face that makes him stammer. It’s only the two of you, and suddenly the room feels much smaller than it is; every uniform pattern underfoot suddenly holding him still, the air suddenly dry, and his body suddenly tense and taut.

Zhongli wonders if this is fear. He wonders why it feels so cold. Why suddenly all he can see is you— why suddenly, nothing else matters.

His heart is tumultuous in his chest, aching and creaking and so, so loud. He can feel it in a way he’s never felt it before, and he wonders if this is how every mortal who’s ever knelt before him felt. Did they, too, feel their throat tighten by a phantasmal hand? Did they, too, feel so tiny and insignificant; like their lives were in the center of another’s palm, to be lauded or ignored?

Did they, too, wonder if they were enough?

You’re smiling, he realizes, but he doesn’t know if you’re smiling because you find it all amusing, or because you wish to comfort him.

Your smile is a thing of wonder. He finds it doesn’t matter if you’re doing so because you find him funny or pathetic; his fingers tremble either way.

“I was waiting for you,” you say, and you speak the words so softly he wonders if he misheard.

venti

Venti is aware he's too selfish for his own good.

He knows he shouldn't be as needy as he is. Ideally, he would rise at your call and simper at your demand; and he does, except he does it even when you haven't spoken a word.

Watching you with others feels like a brand on his skin. A strange, terrible emotion that he knows must be some sort of blasphemy. Venti washes it down with whiskey and wine and tries his best to mask it with mirth. You wouldn't like him if he was anything but the blithe bard who worships you.

He worships you. That's the problem, he thinks.

You don't even have to do anything specific for his skin to feel like it's not his own. You glanced away from him. You smiled at someone else. You laughed at something that wasn't him. You exchanged this look with someone else and it almost felt like there was something there in your eyes, something he could never have—

Venti stops the thoughts there. It's always been like this. He's demanding when he shouldn't be.

He's not ungrateful. He chokes on how intensely he loves you. It's so suffocating it hurts.

Venti wishes he could worship you properly.

He wishes he could have you all to himself. He wishes you'd never look at anyone else. He wishes he could have some sort of assurance that you love him past your words. He wishes he could stay by your side always, that he could stick himself to you, that he could intertwine your nerves and bodies until everything he is becomes all of you.

Selfish.

What you give him should be enough. But it's not.

You say you're looking for a consort. Venti's heart twists with a sickening flutter.

He imagines it so sweetly it's painful. He dreams of loving you purely. He writhes with restless agony every night. He wants to hold your hand and feel your warm palm against his. He wants to rest his head on your shoulder. He wants to touch you, delicately and softly, until he knows every part of you. He wants to know you, enough that it's a semblance of how much you know him.

That sort of intimacy is something he doesn't deserve. He wants it anyway.

Venti knows his thoughts are some sort of sacrilege. He doesn't care. All he wants is for you to hold him closer than you have before.

You'd be warm, he thinks, and his fingers twitch imagining it. He'd be safe with you.

He would be yours.

Selfish to want and arrogant to believe he has any place so close to you. Neither matter.

Venti lies his head on your lap, trying to appear as small as possible. Love me, he wants to whisper. Love me.

He doesn't. Instead, he says: "choose me."

Venti doesn't look at you. He tries to project confidence in his voice, but all that comes out is a weak tremble. It's still a plea, after all. He's still only begging you, even if he tries to paint it as something else.

You card your fingers through his hair, pinning his hair behind his ear. The softness hurts. It hurts more than the fact you haven't said anything yet.

He braces himself, hugging his arms to his chest.

"Okay," you say, voice warm and so, so soft.

Venti's chest heaves.

childe

Childe knows his thoughts are wrong.

His desires aren't what they should be. He should be happy you glanced at him at all, and for the brief, blissful moment where everything is you and you're all he knows, he is.

You look at him, and the world is right. The euphoria feels like it might break him each time, but he somehow manages to stay standing. A testament to his worship, he thinks, that he can hold on just long enough for you to look at him some more.

Then you look away, and suddenly it feels like you've just gouged out his heart and gutted him.

It's not your fault. You breathed life into his body, but you can't shoulder each of his mistakes.

A mistake, he tells himself. Something he needs to fix. You wouldn't like him if he showed you that part of himself.

It becomes harder to fix when you announce you're looking for a consort.

Suddenly, everyone looks more disgusting than they did before. They're not just people who are demented enough to believe they have any right to your time or attention. They're people who now believe they're worthy of you, and it's that thought that makes him sick.

There is nothing in this world that comes close to you. There is nobody in this world that could hope to be truly worthy of sitting by your side.

He feels his stomach twist because of the hope that dwells within it.

Childe remembers when you were all he had. Your whispers were his only company in the abyss. When he's with you, he's reminded of it, and every time you look away from him, he's reminded of how many times he called for you and was met with dead air.

People think he was saved when he was ripped from the abyss. Childe thinks anyone who believes that are fools. The day he was ripped from you felt more like a death than a miracle.

He doesn't blame you. You saved him and that should be enough. You look at him and that should be enough. You breathe in his presence and he should be euphoric to share your air. And he is, but so neatly tucked along the inseams of his soul are thoughts of how much better it would be if he didn't have to share you at all.

Childe tells himself the thoughts aren't his. The dreams aren't his. The will to make them into reality isn't his own. The urge and the turmoil aren't of his own making.

You're not his. Your gaze isn't his. Your attention doesn't belong to him. Your love is not uniquely his own. It can't be, he tells himself, but then you smile so sweetly in his direction, and he wonders if it could.

He knows he's pathetic and needy and sick. He knows the burning in the back of his eyelids every time he sees you with another is far from holy and far from what you deserve.

Childe's disgusted by the fervor and desperation of those around him. He's disgusted far more by his own desires. He's disgusted that he begins to lean into them as time goes on.

You smile, and he buzzes. You laugh, and his world tips. You look at him and he wonders if the affection he sees in your gaze could be anything more.

"Ajax," you murmur, petting his hair.

Childe kneels before you like a loyal hound. He doesn't move, hunching his shoulders. He wishes he could make himself smaller. Maybe he'd be more palatable. Maybe you'd like him more like that.

"Pick me," he says.

He doesn't realize he's spoken until your fingers stop threading through his hair.

Childe freezes, an apology on his lips, but he can't bring himself to speak. He can't bring himself to look up at you, either, his copper lashes trembling.

"I have," you say, your fingers resuming their ministrations as if you'd said the most obvious thing in the world.

Childe shivers, nestling closer, hiding his face so you don't see him break. You rub his trembling back despite it, shushing him gently as his tears wet your clothes.

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milkteabinniechan · 8 months ago

Text

♡Sweet Like Honey - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: husband! Chan x fem! reader

summary: As if meeting your husband for the first time at the altar wasn't nerve-wracking enough, now you two are on your tropical island honeymoon and you still haven't told him you're a virgin!

warnings: fluff, virgin reader, heavy kissing, cunnilingus, beach sex, insecure reader, soft Chan

Chan sleeps peacefully for a while longer before finally stirring, his eyelids fluttering open. As he sits up, he rubs his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of his nap. His gaze falls upon his new wife, sitting nervously in a beach chair. “Hmm, you're still here.”

You turn your attention from the ocean waves to Chan’s face, giving him a curious look. “Did you think I'd run away?”

“I was half expecting you to.” He chuckles, his voice gruff from sleep. “Considering we barely know each other, and the fact that this was all arranged.” He shrugs. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

You let out a long sigh of relief. “That's good.” You whisper as you turn your attention back to the sand, mindlessly drawing different shapes and patterns with your finger.

Chan watches you for a moment, studying your profile. He finds himself intrigued by your quiet demeanor and the way your fingers move absently in the sand. After a while, he speaks up again, his voice softer this time. “You know, we should probably talk about some things.”

Your shoulders tense as he speaks but you keep your face turned away from him. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He grimaces. “And I snore when I sleep on my back.” He ticks off his fingers as he lists his quirks. “And I’m a bit of a clean freak.”

You chuckle softly, your shoulders already falling a bit as you begin to relax more and more by the second. “Well, I can be a tad messy at times,” you confess, “and I don't eat very well.”

Chan smiles at your response. “Okay, fair enough.” He pauses for a moment before broaching the subject he’s most nervous about. “And how about...physical matters?” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Have you ever...?” his voice trails off but his honest eyes tell you what he's thinking without saying it.

You shake your head slowly. Something squeezing your heart as you try to get the words out. “I've never had sex.”

His eyes widen slightly at your confession, a flicker of surprise and something else - perhaps understanding or even a touch of nervousness - crossing his face. He takes a deep breath before responding. “I see. Well, that's...okay. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I'm not ashamed.” You respond quickly. And that was true. You had never been ashamed of waiting until your wedding day. But now that the day has finally arrived… “I'm just nervous.”

He nods, his expression gentle. “I understand. It's natural to be nervous about something so...intimate.” He sits up a bit straighter, his arms wrapping around his knees as he looks out at the ocean. “We can take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

You turn your body towards Chan. You were desperate to look into his eyes and search for any hint of malice or deception. “You mean that?” You whispered.

He turns to look at you again, his dark brown eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I absolutely mean that.” He reaches out to gently take one of your hands in his. “This marriage may be arranged, but that doesn't mean we can't build something real together.”

Your heart swells at Chan's words. The honesty within them coats you like a warmth you had never felt before. Before you could catch yourself, you start to move towards him, your mouths just inches from one another. His breath hitches as you lean in, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between the two of you seems to still, the only sound is the distant rhythm of the ocean waves. Gently, he closes the distance, your lips meeting in a soft, exploratory kiss.

The first kiss you shared was at the altar when you said “I do.” It was so formal and uniform. But this kiss was different, more intimate. Like it was leading somewhere new. Chan deepens the kiss slowly, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle yet firm, coaxing you to open up to him. As the kiss becomes more passionate, he pulls you closer, so that you're sitting on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck. Soon your hands move from his neck to his hair, letting your fingers tangle and comb through the dark locks. Your hips start to grind and move involuntarily against his lap. He breaks the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His arms tighten around your waist, stilling your hips with a low chuckle. "Easy there, sweetheart," he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. He nips gently at your neck, soothing the sting with another soft kiss. His hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine through the light fabric of your nightgown. His voice is low and gruff as he speaks against your skin. “We should…”

“Yeah…?” You mumble against his neck.

“Go inside...” He trails off as your hips move against him once more, his body instinctively reacting to the innocent gesture. He groans, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. “Before this goes too far on the beach.” He pulls back to look at you, his pupils dilated with desire.

You turn your head to either side, scanning the now deserted beach. The moon is now the only source of light for miles around. “Well, there isn't anyone else here.” You smirk. Your eyes were full and hopeful that Chan would get the hint. The sight of your king sized bed in that luxury suite was almost too much to bear. The thought of “performing” for the first time in a bed felt like too much pressure. But the beach…

He lets out a low laugh, his body shaking slightly beneath yours. He captures your lips in another deep kiss, his hands slipping down to your backside, squeezing gently. As the kiss deepens, he lays you back against the sand, covering your body with his own. You let out a soft whimper as your still shaking hands move across Chan’s broad chest. He captures your wandering hands in one of his own, bringing them up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. His other hand trails down your side, fingertips grazing the edge of your nightgown. "We can stop at any time," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours.

You take a deep breath. Your eyes flicker from his lips to his eyes as the two of you breathe in unison for a moment. “I trust you.” You murmur.

Chan smiles softly at your words, a genuine warmth in his eyes. Slowly, he tugs at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head. He takes a moment to admire your form in the moonlight, his hands skimming reverently over your dips and curves. “Beautiful.”

Your face turns a deep shade of red as Chan’s eyes roam over your naked form. Your hands move to cover your face almost reflexively.

"Don't," he says softly, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t hide from me, my love. You’re absolutely beautiful.” He leans down to capture one of your rosy peaks in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud. Your back lifts up and off the sand at the new sensation. Your legs already begin to spread apart from the heat that is growing. He lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between soft suckles and gentle nips. His hand trails down your stomach, fingers splaying across your lower abdomen. He kisses a path down your body, his destination clear as he settles between your thighs. "I want to taste you,”

You bite your lip and nod your head softly. “No one has ever…”

Chan looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and tenderness. "Then let me be the first, and the last." He dips his head, his tongue parting your folds in a slow, deliberate lick. He groans at your taste, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh. He takes his time exploring you with his mouth, learning every inch of you, committing your responses to memory. He focuses on your clit, circling the bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling gently. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he pleasures you.

Your head falls back and presses into the sand beneath you. Your moans mix and mingle with the sounds of the waves crashing. He continues his sensual assault, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue. He can feel you tensing, your thighs beginning to quake around his head. He doubles his efforts, determined to bring you to your peak. “That's it, my love…”

Your hips move in a new and unexplored rhythm against Chan's face as you work to ride out your orgasm. He holds you steady as you ride out your high, his tongue lapping up your release. He gentles his touch as you come down, placing soft kisses on your inner thighs. He crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He lets out a low groan as your heat presses against the hard ridge of his arousal still confined in his pants. He reaches between your bodies to unfasten his pants, shoving them down his hips. He lifts your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. He captures your gaze, his eyes seeking yours.

Everything stopped for a moment. Even the waves seemed to silence. Like the entire world was waiting to see what you would do next. The sand still felt warm beneath your head and the towel brushed against your skin as you opened your legs wider. An open invitation for Chan to take you to that new place. For him to be your first and your last. With a gentle yet firm thrust, he buries himself inside you, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely inside you. Then he begins to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Mine.”

You lie still at first, your entire body unsure of what was going to happen next. But the familiar sensation of pleasure washed over you again. The waves crashed against the sand again. Chan kisses you tenderly, his touch becoming slow and languid. He takes his time, his hands caressing your body as he moves inside of you with slow, deep thrusts. Two souls once separate we're becoming one. The cool air danced around you as the two of you, bathed in moonlight, found a new home within each other.

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jayrockin · 10 months ago

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Do you have any examples of traditional centaur clothing? I love the way Talita's clothes are adapted to her anatomy, but in the end they are styles made for a very different body plan that she's trying to make work for her. I'm just curious to see how centaurs think of clothing when they are supposed to fit their body plan from the beginning.

There's more than a few examples banging around the centaur tag on my blog but I hadn't really committed to specifics because I wanted to know more about the cultures and the land they inhabited first. Here's some developmental stuff. The capelet plus lower body pants/skirt combo is pretty common for the Southern Shess peninsula, the large coastal cities also use a lot of reed-weaving motifs and geometric loom patterns. Weddings and festival events often involve elaborate headgear. They also burn and/or dye their antlers with ring patterns. This dude is wearing Shess garb, albiet workwear. Tadder and Relaghul from this comic are wearing fancy formal Pahk-style garb, which is like the opposite side of the northern hemisphere. Nomads tend to overall wear less frilly non-functional clothing, and consider woven fabric to be more of a luxury than leather. Nightchasers do bar piercings on the upper half of their trunk, which is a marker of authority in a clan, so like it's like a stuffy old person thing to have a lot of piercings. Sunchasers will shave and dye patterns into the short feathers on their body for festival events.

#jayart #runaway to the stars #rtts centaurs

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cerisereids · 2 months ago

Text

𝗖𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝗜 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗔𝘁 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁?- 𝗦.𝗥. [𝗽𝘁.𝟮]

Pairing- PostPrison!Spencer x Bombshell!Reader

WC- 5.6k somebody sedate me

Summary- The BAU receives an invitation to the annual FBI gala. Spencer can't seem to handle the amount of attention you get.

Contains- the fallout from part 1, brief Spencer POV, reader gets sad and tipsy, a little proofread but not fully, Spencer is hot and insecure, Penelope is the best always

A/N- part one here! Thank you to everyone who is enjoying this <3

Spencer's eyes never leave the sparkle and shine of that godforsaken gold dress. The dress that'll give him an aneurysm eventually, a fate he's already accepted. He can't help but take in her beauty, but the longer he looks at her, the stronger the guilt creeping up his spine. He rubs the back of his neck with his palm, his heart constricting even tighter at the sight of her. She's all the way across the room, resting against the bar while he resides in the corner. Her back arches as she adjusts her weight to the other foot. It's just as she had done earlier in the night with him right next to her. This time, she's solo. It won't be for long.

He knows that's not fair, but he can't help it. The way nearly every man has sized her up like a piece of prime beef is enough to make him sick and self conscious all at once. He glances briefly at his stomach, poking out slightly from his suit jacket. He's still not used to the way his body changed in prison. It's a despicable combination wrapped up neatly in a bowtie. He studies her, the way her brows furrow, the small downward tilt of her lips as she waits for her drink. There's that guilt again. He wants to kiss off the pout. Knowing he's the cause of it, though, he stays put.

It takes nearly everything in him to stay that way, especially when yet another Ken doll in a professionally tailored suit finds his way to her. Heat burrows deep in his belly as he watches her swing her hair over one shoulder, plastering her best smile. He's the only one who should be on the receiving end of such a flirtatious smile. But, once again, he's the one who put himself in this situation- ruminating alone in the corner. He knows he can't complain, though seeing the man fiddle with her dress strap renders that point moot. Fire burns within him anyway.

He's white knuckling his glass so tightly, he's surprised it hasn't shattered. His free hand is curled into a ball at his side, his fingernails leaving crescent moons in his palm. He leans his head back, hitting, the floral wallpaper behind him, sinking into self pity like quicksand. His eyes aim toward the ceiling, studying the intricate pattern adorning it. All night, he hadn't realized there was an entire mural up there. Probably because he had his own work of art, up until 20 minutes and 17 seconds ago.

He smells Rossi before he sees him, his expensive, smokey cologne announcing his presence. Spencer tilts his head down, meeting Rossi's eyes. His brow is quirked, a knowing look lacing his gaze. It's pitying, a stare that indicates just how badly he's fucked up tonight.

"I'm not going to tell you anything you don't already know," he begins, and it takes everything within Spencer not to roll his eyes. He knows it's petulant, sue him. "What I will say, is if you are not going to make things right with a sweet, intelligent, beautiful woman that looks at you as if you've hung the moon and stars..." he trails off, shaking his head and chuckling in disbelief. "Then you're not that much of a genius, after all." He claps a hand on Spencer's shoulder before walking off, as if he'd never been there at all.

Spencer's standing straight now, his own brows nearly at his hairline. His face is white, as if he'd just seen a ghost. He hadn't realized how much of the team had picked up on his relationship with her. Now, as he watches Rossi walk back to the team's table, he realizes all of them know. He's right, Spencer isn't that much of a genius.

You're approached by a man at the bar. Again. Each time is like a crack to your chest. You smile anyway. If nothing else, out of pure politeness. You know none of these men deserve it, though it turns out the one man you thought did, doesn't either. Who are you to judge who's worthy of your time?

You face the newest man who's decided to take on the challenge of flirting with you. He's not bad, when you look at him. He's tall and lean, muscular, but not too buff. You almost forget about Spencer. Almost. You turn to face him, leaning your elbow against the bar.

"Hi," you bat your lashes at him, a movement so perfected, it's near robotic. Not that any of these men would care regardless.

"Hello," he croons, eyes scanning your frame in a way that twists your stomach. "How's tonight been treatin' ya so far?" He takes a sip of his beer, his lips ghost over the bottle in a desperate act of nonchalance.

You chuckle, imagining giving him a truthful answer. "I'm awful. My workplace situationship basically called me a slut and told me he doesn't want me even though I'm practically in love with him. You?"

"Fine," you say instead.

"Just fine?" he responds, and his sinister smile makes you regret giving him the time of day. "With a dress like that, I thought you'd be doing more than fine." He inches closer to you, the sleeve of his suit jacket now brushing up against your arm.

In a moment of divine intervention, the bartender cuts through the two of you with your drink. You accept gleefully, chugging the contents of the glass in record time. The man's eyes widen the more you drink, your neck flexing as you gulp down the remains. The empty glass hits the bar with a delicate clink. Your gaze meets the stranger's, his one of horror. You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, eyebrows raising in an expression that says 'try me'.

"I'm just fine. Have a nice night!" You chirp, patting his shoulder with your hand before walking off.

You're lightheaded now, each step like you're walking on cotton candy clouds. You whisk a champagne flute from a server's tray on your way back to the table, dramatically falling in the seat. You throw your head back, finishing your drink in time to snag another. Each sip rids any thought of professionalism. If the bureau wants to provide an open bar, they should expect such results.

A profound sadness washes over you once you finish the drinks. A pout laces your lips as your eyes find the floor, your matching pumps sparkling in the light. You wiggle your foot back and forth, happy to concentrate on something, anything other than Spencer. A pink stiletto comes into view, opposite your shoe. You whip your head up to find Penelope, the movement causing your vision to blur.

"Ooh!" You softly squeal, bringing two fingers to your temple in order to steady the spinning room.

"You're okay, my dear," Penelope says, her own hand resting on the back of yours. It steadies you in a way you didn't expect. Leave it to Penelope to know. "Want to take a stroll with me, sweetheart?" You swoon at the pet name, instantly full of adoration for your friend. So much, adoration, that you don't even care that she wants to talk about Spencer. You can tell from the pitying look in her eye. You suppose a change of scenery can't hurt.

You hold your hand out for her to take, and she pulls you to stand. It takes a moment for you to find your bearings, swaying slightly as you rise. Penelope's hands clutch your elbows, once again steadying you.

"My hero," you coo, batting your eyelashes at the most deserving person in the whole room.

"You're drunk," she assesses. "Let's go."

"Wow! Look at those analytical skills! It's like you're in the FBI or something!" Your comment is playful, not a bit of malice as you let Penelope lead you outside.

Fresh air hits your lungs, clearing them of the ailments of tonight. You take as many deep breaths as you can, savoring the floral smell of the gardens you walk past. Roses, lilies, and tulips align the shrubbery. It provides a beautiful view as you walk through the complex pathway. You walk in silence for the first few minutes. The only sound accompanying you are the splashes of water coming from the large fountain in the middle of the garden.

It’s large, so much so that you have to crane your neck up to see its entirety. It’s a stone carving of a woman, catching a falling man in her arms. Their faces are those of despair, though they’re united. Your heart squeezes at the sight, your eyes glossing over until the view is blurry. Your focus pulls back to Penelope, thanks to the soft tug she gave your bicep. You continue walking.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, sweet girl?” She asks, and it’s so gentle that you just break.

Tears flow over your lash line, your pouting lip wobbling as the droplets fall. Penelope immediately pulls you into a hug, shuffling the two of you towards a stone bench tucked away in the garden. You never leave her arms, blubbery words spilling from your lips

“I’m in love with him,” you wail. Penelope rests her head atop yours.

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” She inquires. Another sob wracks your chest.

“He called it off,” it’s meek as it leaves your lips, a direct contradiction of the sob that came before.

“He did what?” She holds you out in front of her, taking a good, long look at you.

“He called it off. Said there’s a part of him that thinks we won’t work, I said I thought the same, because it is true…you remember what I told you earlier tonight, right?” Penelope nods her head, and you can only be thankful for her understanding as you blabber. “The second things get hard, he calls it. I mean, is that a sign?” Your elbows rest on your thighs as you look toward Penelope, eyes glistened with tears.

She takes in the crushed look on your face before pulling out her phone and sending a text. “I’m calling in reinforcement. This is a job for all the ladies.”

You rest your head on her shoulder as you shake with more sobs. You’re so grateful for Penelope Garcia.

You haven’t been this anxious to step into the BAU since your first day on the job. Your spine tingles in anticipation, clammy palms rolled together in little fists as you make your way to the bullpen. Spencer’s already here. You spotted the mop of brown curls the moment you walked through the door. You keep your head down, praying he doesn’t see you, hear you.

The ruffly sleeves bunch around your bicep as you juggle your coffee and purse. You set them down at your desk, dread pooling in your stomach at the stack of case files on your desk. You thank whatever deity above convinced you to get a cold coffee this morning, given the air conditioning had blown out the night before. It was great news to wake up to- a mass text sent by Emily in warning. A paperwork day, on one of the hottest days of the year, with no AC. Perfect.

You fan yourself with a manila folder as you settle in at your desk, kitty-corner from Spencer’s. You used to celebrate the fact that you had a direct view of him from your seat. You never imagined you’d one day resent it the way you do now, every sight of him a flash of lightning in your heart.

You see his head pick up ever so slightly as you set your items down on your desk. It’s a subtle lift, unnoticeable to an untrained eye. Unfortunately for you, your eyes are trained specialists in all things Spencer Reid. You see his head swivel ever so slightly, his chin resting on his shoulder. He stops it before his gaze meets yours. The air is stolen from your lungs. If you could zoom in, you would. He has dark circles under his eye, his pink lips pouty and droopy. You shake the thought of kissing them from your head.

You hear footsteps approaching and you dart your gaze back to your desk, an infinitely less attractive view awaiting you. You open a manila folder, grabbing your coffee and favorite pen- a light pink one with a fuzzy top, like Cher’s. You begin to sift through your first file, seemingly needing a sip of coffee every time you read a new sentence. By the time you’re on your third case, you’re already standing to go make a new cup. Hot or cold, you need some more caffeine.

You’re not the only one needing more coffee, it seems. You stop, cold in your tracks seeing Spencer in the kitchen, resting against the counter by the percolating coffee pot. The way he leans on his elbows mirror Saturday night, and a chill unzips your spine at the deja vu. You take slow steps into the kitchen, realizing it’d look worse to turn around and leave than to just stay. Plus, you really needed more coffee. Your stomach sinks when you realize Spencer is immediately below the cupboard residing your favorite mug.

You straighten your spine, puffing your chest in a show of faux-confidence before walking over there. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon your approach, an unintentional flinch reverberating between the two of you. You briefly pause, momentarily shocked at his reaction to seeing you for the first time since Saturday. Since he called things off. You don’t say anything, can’t say anything. Not now. If you say something now, you’re sure you’ll get fired for workplace misconduct. Though, the fact that Spencer Reid kissed you like he’s starved and you’re his only life source, and now is treating you like a complete stranger should be considered workplace misconduct in and of itself.

“Excuse me, I need my mug,” your voice is soft, raspy, almost a whisper. As if too much noise would shatter the glass wall built between you two. It takes him a minute to react, like he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him. He nods, almost dumbly, before moving away.

Your dress swishes past him, the chiffon lightly grazing his forearm as you wiggle your way in the space. You reach up for on your tip toes for your pink, sparkly mug that reads ‘Being Kind Is Free, Unless I Don’t Like You.’ A gag gift from Penelope that makes the whole office laugh every time. You stick it under the Keurig machine, popping in a French vanilla pod before clicking start.

The rumble of the coffee makers is the only noise taking up the dense air. Your eyes flit everywhere but to Spencer. His do the same.

His coffee is done before yours, and he’s speedy with his cream and sugar, frantically stirring them in before leaving the room. You didn’t even notice Emily was in there until he squeezed past her to get out the door. Your cheeks heat up, your heart racing not knowing what she saw, what she heard. Though it was virtually nothing, to you, any moment with him was everything. After this weekend, that couldn’t feel more pathetic.

“Jesus, it’s like the Treaty of Versailles is happening in here,” her sarcasm rings through the room like a bell.

Your cheeks heat at the comment, now fully aware of how awkward this interaction might look to outsiders. You turn from her, grabbing your mug in a weak attempt to get out of the conversation. You even consider foregoing cream and sugar just to get out of there. That’s how you know something is really wrong. It would only look worse to Emily.

“You don’t think everyone sees the way he looks at you?” Emily’s voice is quiet, gentle but firm. You close your eyes, a shuddering breath raking through your lungs. You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a deep exhale.

“He didn’t look at me at all. I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you mutter, preparing your coffee the way you like it- cream and sugar in abundance.

Your voice is clipped, and you feel bad for speaking to her this way. You know she’s only trying to help, but you can’t have this conversation at work. You simply can’t. This conversation needs to happen where tears and bottles of wine can flow freely. Mostly, it needs to happen somewhere that Spencer Reid isn’t. When you’re done making your coffee, you turn to face Emily, plastering a smile on your lips that doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl, ‘m tough. I can handle it. Promise,” the last word is breathy as it escapes your lips. Your heart sinks, knowing that Emily will likely call you on that.

Mercifully, she spares you, probably noticing how badly you want to talk about any other possible topic. She nods, it’s curt and disbelieving, almost like she doesn’t want to do it at all. You nod back in the same manner before your kitten heels click back to your desk. You stop once again when you find Spencer standing at your desk. His brow is furrowed, annoyance lacing his gaze. He taps a case file on your desk, as if waiting for you is the most tedious task he’s ever been put through. You roll your eyes before approaching.

“Can I help you?” You don’t mean for it to sound so snarky, but it seems you simply can’t help yourself when it comes to him. What right does he have to look so irritated? Especially when he knows where you were, and why you’re not talking.

“Yeah.” His answer is short, gruff. He avoids eye contact with you again. You roll your eyes, since he can’t see them anyways. You pop a hand on your hip, a brow raised in question.

He looks over at you then, your silence prompting the movement. It’s electric, the way your stomach sparks when he looks at you. It’s like being electrocuted, now, nothing akin to the fireworks you felt before. You stand there for a minute, a silent standoff while you fully take each other in for the first time since Saturday night. His eyes eventually find your collarbone, moving down slightly towards your chest. He takes in your dress, the airy fabric flowing around your hips in a way that has him ticking his jaw. Your heart can’t help but pick up speed as you clock the movement, a clear tell that he’s still thinking about you the same way you’re still thinking about him.

“What do you want?” You snap, and he flinches back to reality. He clears his throat before talking.

“You have a case file I need.”

You wave your hand around in a gesture that says ‘...and?’ He continues without further prompting.

“The 2013 Carrigan family case,” he mutters. You brush past him to get to the other side of your desk, and you’re not prepared for the proximity. Twice now, you’ve felt the soft linen of his button down shirt, the tickle of his tie against your arm. Twice now, Spencer’s felt the light graze of your dress, caught the scent of your perfume as you passed. You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to search.

Your fingers clutch onto the file named ‘2013 C. Family’, desperate to give it to him so he can finally go. You hand it out to him, and when he reaches to take it, your fingers brush. It’s another electrocution, the hair on your arms standing, goosebumps rising to the skin. His hand lingers there for a moment, long, deft fingers briefly squeezing tighter around yours before he pulls away. Once he does, the case file finds his other hand, the one that was touching yours flexing ever so slightly. It makes your heart boil.

“Thanks,” he nods. You nod back. Then, he’s gone.

You’re taking a much needed break for lunch, holed up in Penelope’s cave while you eat Chinese takeout. You grasp a noodle with your chopsticks, lifting it to your mouth in a way you’d only do in front of your closest friend. You watch her momentarily as she finishes filling out a document on one of her many screens. She punctuates her last letter with a perfunctory click, then promptly turns to you.

“So. What is going on with The Good Doctor?” Penelope asks, picking up her own container of noodles. You adjust in your seat. Alright, getting right to the point. You see how it is. You avoid looking at her while you think of how to respond. You purse your lips, which quickly turns into a wobble as tears well in your eyes. She sets her food down, moving to hug you in record speed.

“Oh, honey, c’mere,” she coos, stroking your hair.

“I-it’s been awful!” You confess, small little cries racking your body. “It’s like he’s a stranger, like I’ve never met him before in my entire life. It sucks.”

“I know, I know,” she rocks you back and forth slightly, the gesture bringing a smile to your face. “Have you thought about maybe talking to him? You both seem out of sorts today.”

You pull your head from her arms almost immediately, a bewildered look on your face. Penelope holds her hands up in surrender, plopping back on her chair and resuming her meal.

“I’m just saying,” she begins, around a mouth full of noodles. “You both seem kind of miserable, and have since Saturday night. Think of the common denominator here.” She raises her brow, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“I don’t want to talk to him. He called things off. If anything, he should be the one talking to me!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. Not at Penelope, but the mere thought of groveling to Spencer. It’s enough to make your skin crawl.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that…” she trails off, a knowing tone in her voice.

You sit up straighter. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire, albeit a bit defensively. Penelope just shrugs.

“I’m just saying, I love you both very much, but you’re both very stubborn. I just don’t want either of you to walk away from something out of stubbornness, especially before giving it a real shot. That’s all.”

It’s so profound, you want to scream. You look at Penelope, really look at her. She really looks back. It momentarily shifts your world on its axis, until you remember the way he spoke to you out in the bullpen. Your walls dart back up, and your eyes find occupancy on her desk.

“Fine,” she shrugs, all too nonchalantly for your liking. “If you want to be stubborn, I do have one more answer for you.”

Your eyes dart back to hers, your lips swirling around your last noodle. “What is it?” At this point, you’re desperate for anything that will get you away from him.

“Maybe work in the conference room for a little bit?” She suggests. You tilt your head to the side, thinking, almost like a curious dog. “A change of scenery might be helpful, y’know, so you’re not forced to stare at that gorgeous mop of curls all day.”

You roll your eyes at that, but ultimately agree. Once you wrap up your lunch, you make your way to the conference room with a box of files. As you walk through the bullpen, you notice an alarming lack of Spencer. His bag is gone, the files from his desk absent as well. You stop for a moment, eyes flitting to the conference room window. The table is empty, so you continue your journey there.

Once you’re in, you spot Spencer, working on the couch, finishing up a conversation with Emily, who’s standing in the doorway. Her eyes immediately find you, and she makes quick work of shutting the door, the click of the lock following soon after.

“Emily!” Spencer exclaims, frustration lacing his tone.

You whip around, attempting to exit from the other way, but Penelope comes out from the other side of it, repeating Emily’s actions.

“Penelope!” You squeal, utter betrayal in every syllable.

“I know! I’m sorry I tricked you! But you two are so stubborn it’s actually ridiculous! You’re not allowed out until you’re made up!” She punctuates her sentence by shoving a chair under the door.

You roll your eyes, a huff of frustration falling from your lips. You turn to see Spencer not far behind you, staring at you as if you were the last woman on earth. You set the case files on the table, ignoring him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, annoyance in his tone as he watches you get started on the file you’d been working on before this abhorrent interruption.

“I’m working, what does it look like?” Your tone is cold, short. It’s especially hot in the conference room, the lack of airflow on either side nearly suffocating. You tug at the neckline of your dress in a weak attempt of cooling yourself off.

“That’s not going to do anything,” Spencer huffs, rolling up his shirt sleeves to the forearm.

“It’s better than just sitting here,” you nearly bark back.

“Yeah, well maybe if you dressed appropriately for work you wouldn’t be so uncomfortable,” he quips. His words are like a powder keg, shooting you out of your seat in record speed.

You face him, so close you can smell the musk of his cologne, and it makes you dizzy. It doesn’t drown out the anger, the frustration, the hurt.

“Spencer, you have so much nerve making a comment on the way I’m dressed. If I recall correctly, you don’t want me anymore. So what’s the problem?” You exclaim, finally at your limit. Your heart burns as you watch the emotion shift on his face, frustration, heartbreak, longing.

He flinches at your words, and it only aggravates the flame to your heart.

“Spencer, you-” you stop yourself, looking away from him before you spill everything.

“What? I’m what?” He asks. “An asshole? A coward? Believe me, I know.”

The pitying tone in his voice sends heat rushing to your face, anger pulsing through your veins.

“You were the one who called it, Spencer! You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself!” You’re shouting now. You can’t seem to care. Rage and adrenaline seeps through your every pore, drowning you until there’s nothing left but red, hot lava.

He plows ten fingers through his hair, pacing before you. “You think I don’t know that?” His hushed volume doesn’t match yours, but his tone carries the same amount of venom. You’re both aiming for the kill.

“Do you really think I haven’t spent every waking moment since Saturday night wishing I could redo it all?” He blurts. Your eyes go wide.

“Then why did you do it?” You space out each word like he’s a toddler. You’re beginning to think he might be.

“Dammit,” he breathes, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting. He rests his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He runs his fingers through his hair again, before looking up. You study his blank stare out of the conference room window. His gaze is aimless, soulless.

“I don’t measure up,” he utters. It’s like a whisper, barely audible as he says it.

You move closer ever so slightly. “You don’t m- what?” You’re bewildered, unsure what he even means. He turns to face you then, a look in his eye one you’ve never seen before. One of insecurity, doubt.

“I don’t measure up,” he repeats, more audibly this time. You throw up your arms in exasperation.

“Spencer, am I supposed to know what that means?” You still have an attitude, and you can tell it’s pushing him further and further.

“How do you think I’m supposed to feel when all I see, all night, is men gawking at you, speaking to you like I’m not even there?” He says, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re not sure whether you’re angry, sad, or confused. You decide on some sort of fucked up venn diagram of all three.

“Spencer, if that was the problem, then why are you punishing me for it? Men flirt with me. They have my entire life. You’re one of them!” He flinches at your accusation. You keep going, sweat forming on your brow. “If you can’t handle that, if it makes you this upset with me, then maybe we made the right choice.”

A silence falls between you at that, tension so thick it’s as suffocating as the heat swamping the room. He stares at you. It’s long, loaded- full of everything he wants to say. After long, gruesome minutes, Spencer breaks the silence.

“It’s not that I’m upset with you,” is all that comes from him. It’s hushed, frustrated as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Then what?” Your voice is venomous, dripping from your tongue.

“It was just too much. Too much for me to see these men with you, men who skate through life without a care in the world. Men who aren’t carrying the baggage of a wrongful prison sentence. Men who aren’t a completely different person now because of it,” Spencer confesses, and it’s like a wrecking ball swung through the room.

You battle the intensity of your emotions- the pity, the anger, the longing. They swirl within you like a tornado, your insides a flurry of emotion. You sympathize with him, you really do, but why couldn’t he have just spoken with you about it? You tell him such.

“Spencer, do you really think I want to be with any of the bottle blondes that were approaching me Saturday night?” You inquire, a hand on your hip. “I turned them all down. You saw it, in fact.”

“I know I did,” Spencer grits out, frustration lacing his tone.

“Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it? Why was your first instinct to run? I guess that’s just what scares me the most, that whenever something serious happens, you’ll call it,” your words start to become choked in your throat, tears springing to your eyes.

“I didn’t want to call it,” he breathes, fists tugging at his hairline.

“So then why did you?” Your voice rises in frustration. You feel like you’re on a carousel with him, dizzy and nauseous, unable to get off.

“Because I’m-” he stops, as if he’s not sure he wants to continue. You raise a brow, and he does. “Because I’m so pathetically in love with you. I have been the second I saw you. And I know, deep down, that I’ll never be enough for someone like you. So I ran.”

It rocks you to your core, knocking the wind straight out of you. You gape at him a moment, watching the panic rise in his face. You place a tentative hand on his arm, stopping him from the self conscious thoughts in his head.

“I never wanted to call it either,” you whisper, as if the air around you would shatter if you spoke too loudly. “I love you, too.” He deflates at this, relief washing over him. He pulls you to him, but you stop before his lips can touch yours.

“I want you to know though, if you ever try that again, you won’t get me back,” you raise a pointed brow at him and he nods. You grab onto his collar and continue. “You need to talk to me when you’re feeling this way, m’kay?” He nods again, as if he’s a dog and you’re his owner, wielding a bone.

His forehead rests against yours, his eyes falling shut as he breathes a potent, “I’m sorry.” You relent, touching your lips to his in the sweetest kiss. He grips onto you like you’re his lifeline, deft fingers gripping the chiffon of your dress. He pulls away from the kiss, only slightly. His lips ghost over your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, kissing your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, fingers gripping the hair on the nape of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips trailing down your neck.

You tilt your head to give him more access, his hand splaying against the small of your back to pull you closer. “Spencer,” you murmur, half in a daze at the soft touch of his lips.

“Hm?” he murmurs, the vibrations tickling your collar bone as he leaves feather light kisses across them.

“We’re still at work,” you giggle, giving his hair the softest tug. That was a mistake, you realize, as it emanates a moan from him that has your knees buckling.

“Don’t care,” he mutters, lips finding their way to your ear, biting the lobe.

“You probably should,” you giggle, even more so when you hear the door creak open ever so slightly, a pair of bespectacled eyes peering in the small open space. “We have an audience.”

This gets his attention, his head whipping around to find the door now wide open, Penelope filling the space with a cheshire smile.

“You two need to get back to work!” She scolds, and you roll your eyes at the irony.

“We’ll talk more later?” You ask. He nods, walking you out of the room, his hand still resting on your back as he guides you. You grab his tie, just before you part. Giving it a light tug, you say, “Swing by my place around 6. I’ll get us a pizza. You’re buying.” You punctuate it with one last kiss to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathes, unbelieving. You could get used to that title.

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