#but she’s fragile and insecure too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

push-the-heartbrake · 2 months ago

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𝙄 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝘽𝙚 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 // 𝙎.𝙍

Second instalment | Series masterlist

Summary: “Tell me what you’d like for us to do together.” — or the one where Spencer finds in himself his first serious relationship and must navigate intimacy for the first time too.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 14.2k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Virgin!Spencer, dry humping, Spencer cums in his pants bc why not, fingering (f! receiving), some insecurities and sex used as a coping mechanism mentioned but otherwise very fluffy.

A/N: Happy (belated) Valentine! Set in the same universe as THIS, so go read that first if you want to know more about how they met and their dynamic. English is not my first language and please tell me what you think? That's all for now ♡

The early morning light seeped through the heavy curtains—thick and dark, softening the edges of the dawn—yet still, the light found its way, spilling in through the gaps, casting pale, golden shadows across the unmade bed. You stirred beneath the weight of the blanket, tangled around your bare legs, drifting in that fragile space between slumber and waking. The air was cold—the kind of raw, unrelenting cold only January could bring—lingering in the room, palpable even beneath the warmth of the sheets.

Sheets. They were Spencer’s dark green sheets.

You stretched, finally waking up. The room was filled with nothing but the low hum of the radiator and the audible breaths from the man beside you. The world outside is still asleep. Soon, car engines would rumble to life, footsteps would slap against wet pavement, and the sky would brighten into daylight. But for now, your tired eyes had nothing else to focus on but his steady breathing.

You shifted onto your side, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. Spencer was lying there, still soundly asleep. His hair was a mess as it fell over his forehead, lips parted with the slow rhythm of his breath. Your heart did a… thing—an erratic, fluttering thing that Spencer would probably have a precise physiological explanation for. To you, it was just nerve-wracking. You wanted to reach out, to brush the hair from his face, to trace the line of his jaw, to simply exist closer. Alas, a small space remained between you, as if you’d drifted apart in the night. Cuddling wasn’t off-limits, but whatever was unfolding between you two was still new.

So new that it was scary for you both.

New in the sense that touches didn’t come instinctively, that words didn’t fall from your lips without second-guessing yourself—that every. single. advance. felt like a make-or-break moment.

Like—whoops—you kissed him too hard, too long, and now he was going to think that all you wanted was to sleep with him.

You didn’t. Or you did, but it wasn’t why you liked him.

You liked that he was smart, that he could ramble on for hours just like you could—except he usually made more sense. You liked that he was sensitive, that it felt like you could tell him anything (even though you never did). You liked that he was observant, that he noticed the small things most people overlooked. Like how he’d bring you dinner from your favorite restaurant during your evening shifts at the library. How he’d carry your bag on the way home because bringing work home with you meant lugging around a fuck-ton of books. How he knew you liked honey in your tea but couldn’t stand when it was substituted with sugar. The little things.

That he was stupidly attractive and that you had raging hormones inside of you truly came second to all of that.

Right on cue, Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, pulling you from your train of thought. With tired movements, he stirred around in bed, finally finding you to look at.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him.

“Your hair is getting long, Spence,” you mumbled, your voice gruff from not having spoken yet today.

Spencer’s lips pressed together in a small, sleepy frown as he blinked at you in slow, uncoordinated intervals. His hand moved from underneath the blanket to softly tug backwards at the hair that hung before his eyes.

He’d gone from being terrified of you seeing him shirtless to almost always sleeping without wearing anything on his upper body. You heard yourself sigh at the view of his exposed neck and collarbones as the covers slipped down. His skin looked so soft. You knew that it was. Yet it wasn’t just yours to touch. You didn’t dare to.

Flipping onto your stomach, you smushed your face into the pillow, breathing in the scent of the laundry detergent he used. A simple, clean, and understated scent that went up your nostrils and clouded your brain like it was a fucking drug.

You saw in your periphery how Spencer rested his hand next to your face on the mattress, casually with his palm flat against it. It almost tickled in your fingers, wanting to reach out and touch him.

A sound slipped from him, something between a sigh and a groan, low and strained. He shifted, but not closer. His hand twitched against the mattress, fingers flexing once before going still. Freezing, almost.

Your brows furrowed. “Why do you look so uncomfortable?”

“No, uhm—”

You pushed up slightly, watching his expression. “Spencer, is something wrong?”

“Stop talking, please,” he muttered, eyes squeezed shut.

You blinked at his sudden plea, concern creeping in just as he bolted upright, sheets falling from his body and landing messily on the bed again.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he announced.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, brows drawing together. “That’s all?”

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand shot out, grabbing his pillow with a clumsy sort of urgency. He held it in front of himself, almost like a shield.

Your gaze flickered between him and the pillow, realization hitting like a slow burn. “You’re taking your pillow to the bathroom—oh!”

Heat flooded your face as the truth settled. A grin threatened to pull at your lips, but you bit down on it, trying to keep your expression neutral. Spencer’s back went impossibly straighter, his grip on the pillow tightening like it had betrayed him. You fought the urge to tease him. His entire body radiated embarrassment, his cheeks a deep shade of red, and for all the things Spencer was—brilliant, logical, analytical—he was also so deeply, painfully shy about certain things.

Morning wood was a normal phenomenon. You knew that Spencer knew that. In a weird way, you felt a sense of pride because of it. It had happened while he was sleeping next to you. Sure, it was an involuntary response many times. But Spencer had also literally asked you to stop talking because you affected him. Didn’t make it any less mortifying for him, though.

“Spencer, you don’t have to be embarrassed,” you said gently.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he all but rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door with a sharp, definitive click.

You exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking your head, falling back onto the mattress. “Did you just lock the door?”

From inside the bathroom, you could hear rattling. His voice came, muffled but unmistakably miserable. “Can we please forget that this ever happened?”

“I mean, yeah we could do that. Or we could talk about it like adults.”

Silence.

Your lips formed into a grin.

“Are you at least taking care of it in there?”

More silence.

Then, finally, a defeated, “I’m—I’m gonna wait it out.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, rolling onto your side to cuddle back into the covers. “Suit yourself.”

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open again. Spencer hesitated in the hallway outside his bedroom, looking both exhausted and like he wanted to disappear. His face was still a little pink, his hair a mess from sleep and, presumably, from pressing his forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. The pillow was no longer needed as a shield. No imprint could be seen through the flannel of his pajama pants, because of course, you looked.

You tilted your head, your smile softening. “Over now?”

“I need to get to work,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “But we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

You sat up fully, resting against the headboard, watching as he moved toward his dresser, already reaching for a change of clothes. “You’ll get a case and be gone for a week,” you pointed out. “I know how this works.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

“So,” you continued, “can I talk while you get ready?”

Spencer hesitated, then gave a slow nod. He kept his focus on his dresser as he changed out his sleepwear for his everyday attire.

You took a breath. “I know that we’ve… experienced different things—”

“I haven’t experienced anything,” Spencer cut you off.

“You made out with Lila Archer in a pool. That’s something.”

He huffed, throwing you a look over his shoulder.

“Okay. Low blow. I’m sorry for that.”

One drunken night out with the team (well, sober for you and Spencer), and you had found out so many things about Spencer that he probably would’ve never told you himself.

You sort of knew to not make fun of him because of his lack of experience, but you also had this thing where your brain just said the first thing it could think of in every goddamned situation. It got you in trouble, but in this case it almost felt necessary to show him how casual a conversation about intimacy could be.

You kicked the covers off of your legs and sat on the edge of the bed before you continued talking. “We’ve lived different lives, done different things, but if we want to figure us out together, then we have to talk about the sexual stuff too—”

“But I don’t know how,” Spencer pointed out, walking around the room to face you, standing so close but not close enough. A few inches forward and his legs would be touching yours.

You sighed. “I’m not saying we do it all right now. I guess I’m more asking how you feel about it. If you can explain it without running off to hide the next time you wake up with a boner?”

Spencer’s face twisted at your direct use of words, and you could easily spot it. All for being casual… when your crude words might actually do more harm than good.

He sat down next to you, still half-dressed with a button-up shirt undone and his tie in a tight grip in his hand.

“I don’t take opportunities,” he simply stated.

You frowned in confusion. “Yeah, you do.”

He hadn’t reached his level of success without recognizing opportunities and pursuing them. His intellect alone wouldn’t have guaranteed anything. He had to view the world as something to learn from, to make something good or at least knowledgeable from it, which he had in your eyes.

“No,” he corrected, turning slightly. “I mean, like social ones. I don’t put myself out there. And now I’m a grown man with no experience. That feels wrong.”

“Wrong in what way?”

Spencer’s jaw clenched as he swallowed, his gaze dropping to where your hands rested in your lap. He exhaled, his fingers curling against his palm. “It feels like I should’ve just gotten drunk in college and gotten it over with.”

A surprised snort came from you before you could stop it. “Spencer, you were a child when you went to college.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted, “the first time.”

You shook your head, smile lingering. “Well, you still shouldn’t have done anything you weren’t comfortable with. And if you aren’t comfortable now either, that’s fine. But please, talk to me about it before you push me away.”

Spencer’s fingers flexed once before he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. You liked when he was the one to initiate contact because that meant you weren’t crossing any of his boundaries.

“I don’t want to push you away. I’ve just never felt this way before,” he murmured, voice hesitant. His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “And it scares me. Honestly. But the idea of never moving past this, of never trying for something more… that scares me even more.”

You squeezed his hand in return.

“Okay. That’s good for me to know. We can work with that.”

You hadn’t realized how tense the mood was until you saw Spencer visibly relax at your words, his shoulders slouching down as he let go of your hand to start buttoning his shirt.

“I guess I should get ready too,” you murmured.

Before your legs could even hit the floor, Spencer’s palm pressed against your bare thigh, his touch gentle but firm, halting you in place.

“You know you don’t have to leave just because I am,” he said. His gaze, soft and lingering, traced over your face. “You’re allowed to stay. Sleep some more. You’re working the night shift, right?”

You hummed in confirmation, only focused on the warmth from his hand spreading through to your skin, creating a ball of fire in your stomach. Your little sleep shorts did nothing to cover the skin he was touching. He probably wasn’t even aware of how he was affecting you, seeing the contact as simply innocent.

“Mhm, so stay,” he urged. “There’s stuff in the fridge to make breakfast.”

Spencer shifted, scanning the dimly lit room until he spotted his bag on the floor. Leaning over the side of the bed, he rummaged through it before pulling out his keys. With a small jingle, he dangled them in front of you.

“I’ll leave you my home keys. Lock when you leave and throw them in my mail slot.”

Your fingers closed around them, the metal cool against your palm. He had a little keychain with the Las Vegas welcome sign. That the sweetest man you’d ever met was from Sin City was still a juxtaposition you almost couldn’t believe.

“Spence?”

He tilted his head, looking at you musingly.

You smiled, your fingers treading to tug lightly on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Kiss me before you go.”

For a second, he just sat there.

Then, slowly, the bed dipped as he braced himself against the mattress, his palm planting next to your waist. His nose brushed yours, and the warmth of his breath ghosted against your lips. There was a pause—a heartbeat—before he closed the space between you.

He kissed you, soft and hesitant at first.

If you asked Spencer, he probably knew the exact amount of kisses you’d shared. Or he could at least calculate some sort of estimated number. You just knew that it was still a new, almost paralyzing feeling for you. You couldn’t even begin to fathom the nerves that he was feeling.

But when you kissed him back with more intent, when your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, you felt it. The way he melted, just a little.

When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, breath unsteady.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he straightened, stepping back to finish getting ready. You crawled back beneath the covers, letting your head hit the pillow once again.

You watched him with quiet amusement as he pulled on a sweater, smoothing it down with precise, almost methodical movements. His hands moved quickly—buttoning his cuffs, slipping on his watch—but there was an unspoken hesitation in the air, something that made him pause every so often.

“You’re staring,” you pointed out.

He huffed a small breath through his nose, shaking his head as he picked up his bag. “I’m… acknowledging.”

You raised a brow. “Acknowledging what?”

Spencer didn’t answer. He simply smiled and swung the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, adjusting it absently before making his way to the front door. Just as his fingers curled around the handle, he hesitated.

And then, slowly, he turned back.

You were still in his bed, tangled in the sheets, looking entirely at home. He almost wanted to laugh at how it made him feel, seeing your bare foot stick out or how your hair was a little messy from sleep.

Spencer wished he understood why his heart did a… thing every time he looked at you. The thing, where it felt like it was doing somersaults around in his ribcage.

He swallowed, forcing himself to speak. “I don’t do this,” he admitted. “I don’t casually wake up with someone and… feel okay about leaving.”

You smiled, smushing your cheek against the pillow. “You’re not leaving. You’re going to work.”

“You don’t mind me rushing out?”

“I love having a big bed all to myself. Go to work, genius. I’m a phone call away.”

Spencer’s grip on his bedroom door tightened before he finally turned to leave. He stepped into the hallway but couldn’t help himself—one last glance. One last look at you in his bed, at the imprint he had left beside you, at the way you had settled into his space so effortlessly.

As he walked to the train station, a pep in his step, he had the time to reflect on what had actually happened this morning and how it was something that he had never actually experienced before.

Someone else seeing him aroused.

And his stupid inability to talk about sex. Well, he’d had to do it for a few different cases. But that was objective facts about the human psyche and sexuality as a concept. This was as subjective as it could be. It was literally about his own… penis.

His inability to have sex was an even worse subject for him to think about. Inability was maybe the wrong word. Was it more about how he hadn’t wanted to?

You were right, though. He hadn’t seen the point in doing it in college, not because he was emotionless and only focused on his studies and career, but because if he had done it, it wouldn’t have been meaningful. He needed sex to be meaningful to serve the purpose he felt like it would have in his life.

It’d be pointless for him to have pointless sex. That was clear, and still true.

But then you’d stormed into his life with your unapologetic way of being—your sharp wit and easy laughter. You had your own layers he had yet to peel back, but it didn’t scare him as much as it did excite him to know you that way. You, with your warmth and your patience, with the way you made him feel wanted without expectation, like he wasn’t some puzzle missing too many pieces to be worth solving.

And you were the furthest thing from pointless to him. Intimacy with you didn’t feel like something to analyze or rationalize. It felt like something to want.

Life felt futile without a sense of contribution, without the feeling that his experiences grew with him rather than passing by like scenery outside the window of a bus. The people around him changed, but he remained the same as he had been at age fifteen—only more rugged, more worn-out, and with a face that now bore the knowledge of what Dilaudid did to the body. He couldn’t let that stay the same anymore. He had to learn to see it differently.

Fuck, he needed to figure this out.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

Spencer turned off the engine as he parked, letting the windshield wipers go one more time to take away the last lingering raindrops. It was late in the evening, and the streetlights reflected gold through the windows. He sent you a quick text that he had arrived before stepping out of his car. The cool February air hit him as he adjusted his scarf, his own breath fogging up his glasses that he had to wear when he drove.

He scanned the street for the house number in the address you had texted him, spotting it quickly. The building itself was a modest townhouse. A little worn down but full of character, with overgrown and leafless rosebushes lining the front of it. The windows of your friend’s apartment glowed warmly against the night, the silhouettes of moving figures behind sheer curtains. He could hear muffled voices, occasional bursts of laughter, and the faint notes of an indie song playing scratchily from a speaker. He recognized it as something you’d listen to, but nothing more distinct than that.

He hesitated near the entrance, slowly walking up the stairs to the front door, taking in the view showing through the curtains.

Girls' night. Spencer was no stranger to the concept. He and Morgan had been turned down plenty of times when they’d tried to tag along with the women of the BAU after work. He’d also seen them the next day—giggly, whispering, exchanging knowing looks about whatever had happened. He wondered if you’d be the same. Would you come back all giggly, or did girls' night mean something different depending on the group? He didn’t know your friends, after all.

A second later, the door swung open, and there you were—stepping out into the night, huddled in your coat. You didn’t notice him right away, busy adjusting your bag over your shoulder as you waved something off behind you, closing the door with a thud.

Something being one of your friends that Spencer could just about see a sliver of.

Turning around, he watched as you almost got scared of his presence, not expecting him to be standing so close. You lifted your hands to your face in mild shock, and Spencer couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Red?” he asked, tilting his head in mild curiosity.

Your nails. Newly painted a bright red color. So painting nails was part of girls’ night. For weeks after you started seeing each other, Spencer had quietly wondered how your nails were always so perfectly done. He now knew that one of your friends was training to be a nail technician and would gladly accept anyone whose fingers she could practice on.

You glanced down at your hands as if just remembering them. “For Valentine’s Day,” you replied matter-of-factly.

Spencer hummed, taking the opportunity to hold one of your hands in his own. Was he supposed to ask you to be his Valentine? Before he could respond with anything more, the muffled sound of laughter and movement from behind the door stopped him in his tracks. And he watched you shift uncomfortably because of it.

“Can we walk to the car, now?” you asked, almost dragging him down the entrance stairs, your eyes flickering between the door and where his car was parked.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he croaked out, almost immediately clocking what he thought was embarrassment from your side. Down the stairs, he gripped your hand stronger, making you unable to walk further. “Do you not want your friends to see me?”

The way you instantly turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief, made something tighten in his chest.

“You really think that?” you asked, voice soft, a little breathless, like the idea alone was absurd. “Spencer, no—it’s the opposite, really.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly, but before he could ask what that meant, you sighed and pointed with your free hand up to the apartment again. “My friends are standing in the window trying to get a look at you.”

Looking up, the sheer curtains betrayed them. All of them huddled close to the window to see… well, what were they supposed to see?

“I’ll get a text in approximately 30 seconds where they will guesstimate the size of your penis and how you are in bed.”

You deadpanned the words. Spencer would never understand how you did it. It didn’t faze you in the slightest, as you moved to get your phone from your coat pocket.

Spencer choked. “What? But we’ve never—”

Sure enough, your phone buzzed with a new text message. He didn’t get another word in before you read it out loud.

“Grower, not a shower. 4 inches soft. Probably kinky in a subtle way, like he’ll tie your hands up while asking about your day.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, adjusting his glasses like that would somehow hide the way his flustered blush was spreading up all the way to his ears. He barely managed to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

Instead, his brain short-circuited, flashing between two equally mortifying thoughts: (1) The fact that your friends—people he had never even spoken to—were speculating about his sex life. And (2), the fact that you were standing here, repeating it all so casually, without any indication that it embarrassed you in the slightest.

Did they really think that? Did you?

And worse—could they be right?

Because, if he was being honest, Spencer had thought about it. A lot. Maybe more than was healthy. He thought about the way it would feel, the sound you would make. The way he imagined your body to look naked was some sort of fictional image burned into his mind like some old TV screen. Would he like to tie you up? Would that hurt your wrists?

He had thought about it so much that the idea of it actually happening made him feel like his entire body would shut down.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

He was scared that you were so special to him, and that he could never be special enough to you. Because you’d done it all before. Even your friends knew that. To the point where they expected it from you—that your sexual endeavors were common enough that they became a casual topic of conversation. Spencer believed that Morgan might faint if he told him that he’d been thinking of having sex with you, like obsessively thinking. If it did happen, you’d always be special to him. Hell, even if it never happened, you were special enough to probably linger in his mind for decades. To you, it was possible for him to just be another number. A notch in your bedpost. Not that you’d ever describe it like that. He knew that. But still, the premise remained.

“See?” you said, nudging him lightly, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts. “We should’ve started walking when I said it because now you’re all embarrassed.”

“I’m not—” he started, but faltered, because clearly, he was. “Could they really guess all that from just looking at me?”

“I don’t know, you’re the profiler,” you pointed out, trying to drag him closer to the car again, but Spencer stayed rooted. “They’re mostly doing it to mess with me because I refused to share any gossip with them tonight.”

“Is that what girls’ night means? You just sit around and gossip?” he wondered out loud.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Oh, like you don’t know the ins and outs of Morgan’s love life?”

“That’s different,” he argued immediately. “I never ask to know anything, but he tells me anyway.”

You shot him a pointed look. “And you listen.”

He opened his mouth to counter, but quickly shut it again because, well… you had a point. Instead, he huffed, looking down at the sidewalk as he let you make your way to the car.

After a beat of silence, he glanced over at you, still holding your hand in his. “But really, do I look like I would… act like that?”

The hesitation in his tone made you pause, turning your head to take him in properly. He wasn’t just flustered anymore—he was genuinely unsure because he had never even considered how people perceived him in a… sexual manner.

You exhaled, tilting your head at him. “I don’t know what you want me to say—that you practically have a sign on your forehead saying virgin? Would that be better?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know how to talk about this.”

Your expression softened. “I know that, which is why I wanted us to go immediately.”

He opened his mouth, grasping for something to say that would make him feel like he had some semblance of control over the situation. “You didn’t have to read that text out loud.”

“It’s impossible to lie to you. You know that.”

By the time you both reached the car, Spencer rushed ahead, opening the passenger door for you. It was instinct, something he did without thinking. But when he turned back to see you watching him, something flickered in your expression.

“I should learn how to talk about it, though.” He cleared his throat. “That’d be useful for when it eventually happens.”

He watched you smile as he said it. He hinted at it actually happening. That it was something he wanted.

“We don’t have to hurry,” you assured as you slid into your seat.

Spencer swallowed hard, moving around to the driver’s side. He slipped into his seat, hands gripping the wheel, eyes stubbornly focused straight ahead as he started driving. He could feel your gaze on him, patient but knowing.

You knew him. Even after quite a short time. He couldn’t exactly remember the date on which he first saw you at the library. But it had been 36 days since your first kiss on New Year’s Eve. And you knew him.

He didn’t have to hide a single part of himself from you. Because you seemed to like them all. Or, at least, understand them all. From the shy little boy who was too smart for his own good, seeing his mother get sick and his father turn absent—to the messy adult version of him who had struggled with addiction and closeness in any sort of relationship. You understood them all, though the layers. And you liked some of them to the point where it made you visibly affected. And you protected him in ways that he protected himself too.

Spencer could only hope to get to know you well enough to understand all versions of you. That you’d let him in, even to your darkest corners. Because he liked you so much it hurt, and felt protective over you in a way that wasn’t even comparable to the most helpless of victims he’d encountered.

“Don’t do that thing with your tongue.”

That startled him enough to glance at you. “What thing?”

“Poking the inside of your cheek with it and looking all smug.”

Spencer blinked, confused. He hadn’t even realized that he was doing anything, completely lost in his own head. “Is it disturbing for you?”

“No, it’s distracting. You look hot.”

“Oh.” He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “S-should I drive to your place or mine?”

Smooth segue, Spencer. Really smooth.

“You’re assuming we’re spending the night together? Awfully presumptuous, Spence,” you said, placing a hand on your chest to mimic being offended.

Spencer tried to keep his face straight, forcing a serious answer from you.

“Drive to your place, it’s bigger.”

“But I’ve never even seen your apartment,” he argued.

“For good reason,” you muttered. “It’s messy.”

“I do not care.”

“Fine, my place it is,” you sighed, telling him where to drive. “But if you’re mean about it, I’m kicking you out.”

Spencer only nodded.

He saw you relax into your seat after that, turning the heat down in the car, humming along quietly to whatever was playing the radio. Spencer thought about how he could easily get used to having you next to him, especially in simple moments like this. Picking you up, or coming home from work and seeing you in his space. Or maybe him being in your space. It almost clouded his brain, the easy domesticity. He had to remind himself that he was driving a couple of times.

And then he thought of it. A joke, really. He could do that sometimes—think of something to say in conversations long after they had ended. Usually it was to save himself from remembering something embarrassing or unfitting that he’d actually said, but this time, he just wanted to make you laugh.

“It’s more like 5 inches soft, by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

You squealed, leaning forward while also staring at him with eyes wide open. Your hand gripped the car door, and Spencer was momentarily scared your nails would scratch the interior.

He grinned, acting unbothered. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

You exhaled sharply, your hand still gripping the door, trying (and failing) at holding back a giggle. “I’ll deflower you right in this car if you want to.”

Spencer felt the color drain from his face at the sound of your words. He couldn’t beat you at your own game. That game being dropping the most sexually charged remarks in casual conversation.

“No?” you teased. “Then stop with the dirty talk.”

This was going to be a very long short drive.

.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

On Valentine’s Day, Spencer found himself at the train station after coming home from a difficult case in Detroit. It had been such a long and simultaneously hurried process that he hadn’t even realized that they were coming back home on Valentine’s Day. Garcia’s homemade pink cupcakes waiting for them at the office had refreshed his mind.

So, now he stood at the train station in D.C., unsure of whether to go home, to the library, or to your apartment. Mostly he worried about you picking up his phone call, pacing the platform with his phone pressed against his ear. Or maybe he was worried you wouldn’t pick up at all. Your shift had just ended. You should be able to answer. He really should’ve asked you to be his Valentine instead of waiting until the 14th to even think about it, or what if you found it all to be capitalist bullshit anyway—

“Hi Spence! How’s Michigan?”

Your happy voice coming through the speaker in his phone halted his spiraling thoughts.

“Hi—Uhm, I’m actually home, or at the station. We could wrap up early and not have to spend another night.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess. Successful case?” you wondered, breathing heavily. He could picture you walking around the library with quick steps, which was what you were doing by the sound of it.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Spencer answered. He’d noticed that you were often too curious for your own good. Every time he could tell you details from a case, you regretted it afterwards, not actually wanting to know such gruesome things. “Why does it sound like you’ve just run a marathon?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “We had a bunch of arts and crafts for the kids today, and they made a whole mess. Glue, glitter, paper scraps everywhere. And I swear, once kids figure out how to use scissors, they think they’re unstoppable.”

A faint smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he imagined it. You were so good with the kids coming to the activities organized by the library.

“Sounds chaotic.”

“Oh, it was,” you confirmed. “Somehow, a three-year-old managed to glue his own sleeve to the table, which, honestly, is kind of impressive.”

Spencer chuckled, rubbing at his temple. “Remind me again why you do this voluntarily?”

“Because it’s cute,” you shot back. “And because somebody has to make sure kids don’t leave libraries thinking they’re just boring old book storage units.”

His smile widened, but before he could respond, you hesitated.

“So, uhm…” you started.

Spencer picked up on it immediately. “You’re running late?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

He glanced at the clock. He hadn’t even made it home yet, and he already knew you were going to exhaust yourself staying behind to clean up. “You know, we don’t have to—”

“But I’ll tell you what,” you interrupted, voice decisive. “Since you’re on my side of town, why don’t you go to my place, and then I’ll show up when I’m done cleaning up?”

Spencer hesitated. He still wasn’t entirely used to the casual intimacy of something as simple as waiting for you at your place. But then again, this—the way you made space for him so effortlessly—was exactly why it had never felt overwhelming.

You didn’t press him for an answer, just kept going, voice slightly distracted like you were already multitasking. “I’ll tell my neighbor to leave my extra set of keys under my doormat right now.”

Spencer nodded before realizing you couldn’t see him. “That’d be great,” he said instead. “I’ll see you later.”

There was a pause, just long enough for him to picture you—probably still standing in the middle of the library, hands on your hips, surveying the mess before sighing and getting back to work.

Then, softer, “Mhm. Buh-bye, Spence.”

The call ended with a quiet click, and for a long moment, Spencer just stood there, staring at his phone.

Being in your apartment alone? Yeah, no. That was weird.

* * *

Spencer arrived at your building just as the streetlights flickered on, the city settling into early evening. A bouquet of tulips in his hand, clenched in a tight grip as he made his way up to your level. They were a mixture of red, white, and orange tulips.

He remembered Garcia once going on a rant about how no woman had red roses as her favorite flower and that men only gave them as gifts as custom and because they hadn’t cared enough to get to know the woman’s actual favorite flower.

At his quick stop at a flower shop, Spencer had cursed himself for never asking about your favorite flower. But he at least knew he couldn’t buy roses. If not for you, then for the sake of Garcia not being disappointed in him.

So tulips it was. They were a symbol of affection, after all. He’d read about their symbolism stemming from the Persian tale of Farhad and Shirin. A tragic love story not too far from mirroring Romeo and Juliet. And the colors—red was for love, white was for honesty, and orange was for understanding. Spencer wasn’t sure if he’d tell you all of that. Maybe if you asked. But it was still a nice thought for him to know that his gift had a meaning as is, beyond his intention.

He rounded the corner to your door, only to pause when he spotted an older woman standing by it, hands clasped in front of her as if she had been waiting for him. Her hair was a soft gray, pulled back into a bun, and she wore a thick cardigan. Kind eyes appraised him from behind gold-rimmed glasses, and when her gaze dropped to the flowers, her lips twitched in approval.

“Tulips?” she mused. “Good choice.”

Spencer blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Oh—uh, thank you?”

Her smile deepened knowingly. “You must be Spencer.”

“I am, yes.”

She gave a small nod, then reached into her cardigan pocket, pulling out a keyring. “I’m Edith, the neighbor with her keys,” she explained simply. “She asked me to leave them under the doormat, but I figured I’d wait and hand them off in person.”

“Oh, right! Thank you,” Spencer said, taking them carefully from her outstretched hand.

The woman didn’t step away immediately. Instead, she studied him for a long moment, eyes twinkling with something he couldn’t quite place. And then, in a softer voice, she added, “I know it’s not my place to pry, but be kind to her.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly. “Of course,” he said quickly.

The neighbor hummed, satisfied but not entirely done.

“You’re very welcome to take care of that girl,” she said gently. “Because I don’t think anyone else does.”

It wasn’t pity in her voice. It wasn’t sadness, either. It was just an observation, simple and steady, spoken by someone who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, possibly for a long time.

He swallowed, fingers curling slightly around the keys in his palm, not having the time to overthink what she’d said.

“I will.”

The woman nodded once before turning to walk up the stairs, heading back to her own apartment.

Spencer watched her go, then turned back to your door.

He let himself inside, stepping into your space. Spencer had adored your apartment ever since the first time you had him over, that time he’d picked you up from girls’ night.

It was a small space, crowded with your things. You’d moved in fresh out of high school. It was something about not being able to wait any longer to get out of your mother’s house. Then you’d stayed in the same apartment all through college and when you started working at the library.

And yes, it was messy. But you were a bit of a mess yourself, so it only made sense. It wasn’t unclean in any way, but you placed things around you without any rhyme or reason. You were still able to find everything, though. Spencer had noticed that quite quickly, observing you in your own space. While he’d lounged in the bed after one of your now very casual sleepovers, he’d seen you find your sweater hung on the kitchen door and your favorite tea mug on the bathroom sink.

There wasn’t a pattern. He had a pattern for most things in his own apartment. But this made sense to you.

Spencer dropped your keys in a bowl on a table in your entryway. He didn’t want to feel any responsibility over them. It was weird enough to be alone in your space.

The apartment was eerily quiet as he kicked off his shoes and took a seat on your couch, the tulips placed on your coffee table. He’d wait for you to put them in water, not wanting to go through your kitchen cabinets looking for a vase.

He thought he could read for a while or maybe turn on the TV. But he didn’t end up doing anything. He mostly looked around the room, twiddling with his fingers as his eyes lingered on your bookshelf and on the artwork you had decided to hang on the wall.

The blanket draped over the couch, was it handmade? The coasters on your coffee table, were they souvenirs? The Polaroid pictures blu-tacked to your bedroom door, who were they off?

Spencer could spend hours asking you questions, he thought. He’d find your reasonings interesting even if they weren’t.

If it had gone ten minutes or an hour when you barged in through the door with the loudest sigh he’d ever heard, Spencer couldn’t answer. You didn’t even say hi when you saw him sitting on your couch, you just dropped your coat to the floor and smiled, taking in the sight.

“Tulips?” you exclaimed, dropping your bag on the floor too the second you noticed the bouquet lying on the coffee table. Toeing off your Converse on the way over, you looked at him, eyes wide with excitement. “I freaking love tulips!”

Spencer shifted where he sat, lips curving into a small smile. “I hoped so.”

“But why? For Valentine’s day?”

His face warmed, and he hummed in acknowledgment as you picked up the flowers, inhaling their scent.

Spencer watched as you busied yourself placing them in a vase of water, moving around the kitchen like it was second nature. He was about to tell you to leave them in their wrapping to soak for an hour before cutting the stems, but you seemed to already know that. It was supposed to make them last longer. You loved tulips enough to know that. Spencer saw that as a positive indication.

“I totally didn’t plan anything special for today,” you admitted, walking back into the living room and placing the flowers back on the table. “Did you want us to do something?”

“Not really,” he answered. “I just got home from a case, and you have acrylic paint on your shirt. Safe to assume we’re both too tired to go out?”

You glanced down at your stained crewneck and groaned. “Ugh. Yeah. That tracks.”

Your next move shouldn’t have surprised Spencer as much as it did.

Standing in front of him, you lifted the sweater over your head, the shirt you had on underneath rising with it slightly. The skin of your stomach exposed to him, but what he focused on was how your belt cinched at your waist and how your slacks basically fitted like a second skin before they flared out at the legs.

“How do you get them to fit so well?” he asked before thinking.

With your head peeking out from the sweater as you tugged it off, hair getting messy in the process, you raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Spencer, are you staring at my ass?”

His mouth opened, then closed again. He had definitely been looking.

You only laughed, shaking your head. “I tailor them myself.”

Spencer exhaled, grateful for the shift in conversation. “That makes sense,” he mumbled. “They look nice.”

You walked off to your bedroom, throwing the stained sweatshirt into your hamper of dirty laundry like you were the next big thing in the NBA.

By the sound of it, you were changing out of your clothes completely. If Spencer had stretched his neck, he might’ve been able to see it through the door. But he didn’t. It didn’t feel appropriate even though he suspected that you left the door wide open on purpose.

You tiptoed back into the living room wearing shorts and a big t-shirt, your bare feet barely making a sound across the old wooden floors. Spencer should be used to seeing you look so casual, but he was unsure if he ever would be.

“I got you that book you were looking for, by the way. Someone returned it today,” you started to say as you bent over to rummage through your bag. “And uh… this,” you hesitated, handing him not only the book but also a bright pink slip of paper. “A very insistent little girl told me I had to make my own.”

You’d made a Valentine’s card. For him. You’d made it for him. Holding the pink paper in his hands, Spencer’s heart squeezed at the sight—messy crayon doodles, slightly uneven letters spelling out Happy Valentine’s Day. It was simple, kind of ridiculous, and absolutely perfect.

He couldn’t get a word out, simply staring at it.

You plopped down on the couch beside him, sprawling out with ease, moving pillows and blankets around. At first, you bent your knees to not touch him, but then on instinct you moved them to be in Spencer’s lap as he got the book and card out of the way.

Your toes matched the red nail polish on your fingers. He hadn’t noticed that before.

“Why did you want it, anyway? Didn’t think it was your kind of poetry,” you asked, not bothered by his lack of reaction to the card.

Although, maybe his silence was enough for you to see through him like glass. He’d never gotten a Valentine’s Day gift before. Garcia got everyone cupcakes, sure, but he’d never received one with romantic intentions.

“It isn’t. But you read it and seemed to enjoy it.” Spencer straightened, finally finding something to say. Answering questions was something he could manage. “Also, the poem about being a vacuum cleaner seemed too odd to ignore.”

You’d mentioned it once at the library. The second time you talked to each other. He’d been reading a book on Nobel Prize winners, and you’d approached him, offering him tea and questioning him about his job. A John Cooper Clarke poetry collection in your lap. There was something about a poem and a vacuum cleaner. He remembered thinking that he had to read it, no matter how stupid it sounded.

You snorted. “Yeah, it’s… weirdly moving.”

Spencer placed the card on the coffee table, patting it with his palm like it meant something. He’d have to save it. Put it on his fridge or make a shoebox of memories with you.

He then started going through the book. It was muscle memory for him. If he had a book in his hands, he would read it immediately.

The poetry was so simple, it only would’ve taken him minutes to finish the entire thing. But once he read a line out loud to you, seeing a happy and content smile, he knew he couldn’t hurry through it. So, he read it to you instead.

The couch was just big enough for the two of you—him sitting upright against the armrest, and you sprawled across the cushions with your feet in his lap, half-buried under a blanket. With nervous fingers, he’d started to trace absentminded patterns on your shin.

The air smelled faintly of old books and lavender, your signature candle flickering softly on the coffee table next to the tulips. Every now and then, Spencer would pause between stanzas, glancing over at you like he was gauging your reaction. Most of the time you interrupted him yourself, feeling the need to question something.

“I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust.”

You blinked at the ceiling. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it’s a metaphor.”

“For what? Codependency?”

“Or devotion,” Spencer theorized.

“I wanna be your Ford Cortina, I will never rust.”

You squinted. “Is that a reliable car?”

“Pretty sure they’re not. Must be irony,” he answered.

The next interruption wasn’t your doing. You felt the shift before you saw it—his gaze lingering, the gentle press of his fingers against your shin turning more intentional.

“What?” you asked out of curiosity. “Did I miss a spot when I shaved or something?”

“No, uhm…” He ran his thumb lightly over a faint line near your knee. “Is this a scar or a birthmark?”

“Scar, I think.” You twisted slightly to glance down. “Might be from when I tried to pick up skateboarding.”

Spencer’s lips quirked. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Does it look gross?” you asked.

He couldn’t fathom a scar looking gross. Not when it was healed. Because if he thought that about someone else’s scars, what would they think about his?

“I’m not one to speak when it comes to scars,” he mumbled, hesitant.

“I think yours are kinda badass, from stuff you’ve lived through,” you reassured him, a light sparking in your eyes.

“Skateboarding is cool,” Spencer tried to argue.

“I never even managed to stand on the board,” you muttered, a smile shining through. “I have another scar on my ribs from scratching my entire side on the sidewalk.”

He had momentarily forgotten about the book. His focus was only on the skin his fingertips traced and how the scar made a little indent from where it had been scratched open.

“Can I see it?” Spencer asked without thinking.

“Not without, like, flashing you my boobs,” you answered plainly.

Spencer’s fingers abruptly stopped moving as he first thought he hadn’t heard you right. Then he realized that he had asked to see a scar on your ribs. And your ribs were close to your breasts. That was how the human body was shaped.

“Oh—” His brain seemed to stutter, like a skipping record. “Would that…?”

“You don’t think it’d be a bad idea?” You sat up from your lying position, taking the book in your hands as you bent your legs over his lap. “I could do it. It’s not crossing any boundaries for me. I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” he murmured.

You smiled back, shifting so you could press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. He tensed slightly beneath you—not in rejection, but in that way he always did when he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Good,” you whispered.

For a second, you just looked at him. He could sense that you were trying to read his reaction. He wasn’t sure he had a reaction. Or at least one that was reasonable.

Tucking your lower lip between your teeth, a small sigh escaped you. Spencer only briefly had time to wonder if you were disappointed, but your attention turned back to the book, a finger tracing the page to find the next line of the poem.

“If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot.”

You snorted. “Okay, now he’s just saying words.”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on something other than the fact that you basically wanted to be shirtless in front of him.

“Isn’t that the point of writing? Putting words together?”

“Smartass.” You scrunched your nose at him.

He let his eyes linger on the page for a while before he read the next words. He didn’t realize their meaning until they left his mouth.

“You call the shots, I wanna be yours.”

You were so close to him. He could hear your breaths, feel them if he focused. The bare skin of your legs touching his covered ones, a burning sensation through the fabric. It was like his ears started ringing by how quickly his heart was beating. He could only wonder if yours was beating even half as fast.

Spencer wasn’t avoiding eye contact—not exactly—but he was looking at you like he was working through a puzzle, like he was waiting for the right words to magically fall into place before saying them.

“I have to start thinking rationally about this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You furrowed your brows. “This meaning sex?”

“I guess…” He hesitated, his lips pressing together. “It’s about you, in general.”

“And by that, you mean?”

“It’s biology,” he stated, the beginning of a ramble. “Attraction is a chemical process driven by neurotransmitters. It releases dopamine and oxytocin that are associated with the feelings of reward and attachment. The limbic system is highly active in people experiencing romantic attraction. Essentially, the brain treats attraction like an addiction, reinforcing behavior that leads to emotional and physical closeness.”

You tilted your head. “So… that’s what’s happening here? Biology?”

Spencer let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “It is. That’s why you make me incapable of thinking straight and why I get so nervous. I have to realize that it’s biology even though it feels like fiction to me. Does that even make sense?”

“Nope.”

“Great. Well—”

“Spencer.” You sat up fully this time, your legs folding beneath you as you shifted to face him, placing the book on the table with a thud. “There is nothing rational about love.”

Love. You’d used the word love.

He wanted to continue explaining, but he wasn’t sure he wanted it to make sense. Maybe you were right. Even though there was a scientific explanation for everything he was feeling, there was also a reason as to why people turned to fictional stories when they searched the matters of love. The feelings were allowed to be so irrational that they felt impossible.

“And that’s not me confessing my love for you, by the way. That’s kind of early, but we’re en route to love, right? Neither of us is in this only for sex?” you continued talking, your hand reaching out to hold his.

Spencer heard himself laugh. It would be the shittiest sex-only relationship ever, because, well, you weren’t having sex. But then he nodded, agreeing with you—you were in too deep to call it casual.

“Morgan called you my girlfriend today, and I didn’t even try to correct him. I used to always do that,” he said, something hesitant in the way he admitted it because he was still trying to make sense of it himself.

With an assertive move, you grabbed his hand. “Good. We’re on the same page.”

Spencer looked down at your joined hands before glancing back up at you. He swallowed. “I’m your…”

“You’re my boyfriend,” you confirmed, and the way his lips parted slightly, like he was tasting the word, made you squeeze his hand again.

“I’m your boyfriend.”

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah. And don’t overthink it, okay? We can just… be.”

You said it so simply. Easiest thing in the world. Spencer wanted to believe it was. His mind couldn’t accept it so easily, though. It worked overtime in general, but he wasn’t sure he had ever thought so much about the same thing. Being in a relationship, having a girlfriend, sex. He almost wished he could preoccupy his mind with other things, some difficult chess strategy or some foreign literature. But no. It was all you up there.

And what did you think about it? He didn’t know.

Spencer cleared his throat, saying, “I’m not sure I’ve asked you how you feel about all of this.”

“How do I feel about sex?”

You made a little confused face, and Spencer nodded as an answer, letting the room go quiet as you thought of what to say. You fiddled with the fringe of a blanket with your free hand, the other still holding Spencer’s.

“I think…” you exhaled. “I think you respect me more than I respect myself.”

Spencer found it miraculous that you were able to keep eye contact with him even though the smallest of tears formed on your waterline.

“What’s it been? Over a month? And you haven’t seen me naked,” you continued, almost a surprised tone in your voice.

45 days. It had been 45 days. He had to force himself to not say it out loud.

“You haven’t asked, or just… done. Nothing. I’m not sure I know how to react to that. I feel like I should have to throw myself at you to make you like me, but you’re not like that.”

“I like you just as you are,” Spencer whispered, unsure if it was the right moment for him to speak.

“I know that, but it’s new for me. I haven’t done all this with someone who actually cares before,” you said, voice sounding like you were constricting the words.

Your grip around his fingers tightened, and Spencer found himself rubbing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t dare to reach up and touch your face, but he wanted to.

Your lip noticeably quivered as you continued, “I haven’t always… valued intimacy the way I should have. And I haven’t exactly been with men who saw beauty in being with me instead of just lust.

It was strange, the way those words made his chest ache.

You’d mentioned it before—when he admitted he was a virgin, you’d said something about finding it a little amusing that someone could go so long without sex, especially when it had been a coping mechanism for you. He assumed that meant earlier in your life, but truth be told, he didn’t really know.

Spencer thought back to what Edith had said in the hallway. She’d said that no one had been taking care of you. That didn’t necessarily mean you’d been alone, just that you hadn’t always surrounded yourself with the best people.

And yet, looking at you now, he couldn’t see it. You made it look effortless—being warm, being kind, holding him close like it was second nature. How you were so well put together that no one would ever even notice things you’d been through unless you told them. And you didn’t tell anyone.

He struggled to picture it—the same girl who had made him a handmade Valentine’s card, who curled up against him on the couch like she belonged there, had also been the girl who once used to stumble home drunk or high, clinging to some guy whose name would be forgotten in the morning. The thought alone made his stomach twist. Someone having their way with you and your mind having convinced you that you didn’t have a choice—thinking that you were so desperate to be liked that you didn’t even mind if it was only for a moment.

It didn’t fit. You didn’t fit with that image.

Or maybe you did, and he just didn’t know it yet. There was still so much to learn about you, so much you hadn’t yet shared.

Spencer watched as you almost turned on yourself, his silence becoming too much for you to deal with. It hadn’t been his intention to make you uncomfortable, or to make your words seem even heavier than they were because of his lack of reaction.

“You’re not too good at talking about this either, are you? About what you want?” he wondered, keeping his eyes on you, trying to convey that his silence wasn’t judgment. It was attention.

A soft huff of laughter escaped you. “No, I guess I’m not.” You paused for a moment before adding, “But I like taking it slow. It makes it feel… different. Special, like it never has before.”

His chest tightened. Like it never has before.

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to put into words the way it made him feel—some odd mixture of relief and sadness. He wished he didn’t, but it was relief he felt when he realized that while everything of this was new to him, some aspects were also new to you. The blind leading the blind in a way.

“I’m sort of scared of being too much for you,” you murmured. “Or for everyone, really.”

Spencer inhaled sharply, shaking his head almost instantly. “But you’re not—”

“And you don’t think you’re ever going to be enough, do you?” you interrupted, watching as the words hit him like a direct shot to the chest.

His lips parted, but no sound came out. He blinked at you, caught off guard, his fingers tightening around yours like he needed something to hold onto. It wasn’t a question. Not really. It was an observation. A fact. One he couldn’t even bring himself to deny. He felt inadequate in every sense when it came to intimacy.

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “We make an interesting pair, huh?” you mused.

Spencer exhaled a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Interesting was definitely a synonym for dysfunctional in this case.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We really do.”

You smiled, leaning in until your forehead pressed against his. You were curled in his arms now, your chest touching his, hand resting on his shoulders as you searched his face. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers came up to rest gently against your jaw, his touch featherlight, reverent.

“Tell me what you’d like for us to do together.”

“I—” He swallowed. “I think I’d like to kiss you for a while. If that’s okay.”

You nodded gently. “Can I sit in your lap?”

Spencer couldn’t form a sentence to answer, but he lifted his hands, inviting you to move closer. Not closer than you ever had been before, but it was by far the most intimate position you’d found yourself in.

You straddled him, knees on either side of his hips and your ass pressed against his lap. Your exposed thighs painted before Spencer like a landscape of skin. Before he could look at your face, his eyes were glued to the slight pattern of your skin, with scattered scars and birthmarks.

Close enough, Spencer snuck in a light peck on your lips. The first of many, he hoped.

Your hands lingered by your side before you lifted them to slowly rest around his shoulders, tickling the skin of his neck, diving your fingers in his hair to stroke his scalp with gentle tugs. He liked it so much that a little noise left his mouth as he couldn’t help but feel his body melt against yours.

Spencer’s arms were stiff, palms pressed against the couch cushion. He didn’t know if or where to touch you.

You started to litter his face with little kisses—on his cheeks, jaw, and mouth. He canted forward to meet you halfway, overwhelmed by the feeling of your chest pressed against his.

Pulling back, you cupped his face, simply looking at him for a moment. “Your face should come with a warning sign. You’ve got bone structure like you were carved out of marble by Da Vinci or something,” you said, leaning back in to kiss him.

“You’re thinking of Michelangelo,” he mumbled, although the words got lost against your mouth.

“Huh?” You didn’t stop kissing him.

“Nothing.”

Yeah, it was nothing to bring up compared to what was going on.

He always felt like he had gotten the hang of kissing someone, but with you it was a new sensation every time. And with your tongue slipping inside his mouth, your teeth grazing his lips—an open-mouthed and messy make-out session—he might as well have been fifteen all over again.

You teased him, and he knew it. Panting in his mouth, gnawing his lips raw. And your hands, god your hands that never stopped wandering. It was innocent, fingers through his hair or running along his arms, but still enough for Spencer’s brain to go haywire.

He wasn’t sure it was intentional the first time you did it, but he felt your hips move against him. A slow brush forward that could’ve just been you adjusting your position. Spencer’s response was instant, a sharp breath leaving his mouth, entering yours. He was convinced it wasn’t intentional when you simply continued kissing him. But then you did it again. Not once, but repeatedly.

Spencer was getting harder with every instant your hips ground against his, and surely you noticed it too, because he could feel you smiling through the kisses.

“You’re allowed to touch me, y’know?”

His head snapped up at your words, stopping the kissing.

“But—uhm, where?”

You gave him a look—one of those knowing, amused looks. “Anywhere. Did you want to see the scar?”

His throat went dry. He managed a nod.

“So, touch my waist and take my shirt off.”

He didn’t expect you to be so direct. Maybe he should always expect that from you.

Spencer took his time, gazing at you sat on his lap. Your lips were wet from kissing, and you had mascara smudged under your eyes. He found you breathtaking, sitting there in a frumpy old t-shirt, smiling at him like he was the dumbest thing ever.

Carefully, he let his hand settle on your thigh, fingers barely touching your skin. He saw how your eyes followed the way his hands moved, slowly upward, sinking his fingers into the skin in a way that made it spill out between them.

When he finally reached the fabric of your shirt, he pushed it up, letting his eyes find yours as a way to reassure that it was indeed okay. You did nothing but nod, helping him slowly peel it over your head. Spencer was too busy looking at how cute your face scrunched up when the collar got caught around your head to see that you weren’t wearing a bra. When you carelessly tossed the shirt onto the floor and then let yourself just sit still in his lap, that was when Spencer took in the sight of you, bare aside from your shorts.

Spencer was pretty sure his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.

Taking him out of his trance, you started talking, doing a little shift with your hips and crossing your arms over your chest. “This might be the first time I’m nervous about being naked in front of someone.”

Spencer tilted his head, talking too fast for his own good. “You didn’t mind getting undressed when you had to help me shower after my injury.”

“Wearing a bra and shorts is not the same as being naked,” you stated.

He dared to move his hands again, finding your arms, absently tracing the skin. You relaxed, uncovering your chest again, letting him see your breasts again. Admittedly, he had a hard time focusing on your face, but he tried his best.

“What are you nervous about?”

He watched you hesitate, your lips pressing together before you shrugged. The movement was small, but Spencer saw through it. You were trying to sound casual, but the slight tightness in your voice betrayed you.

“What if you think I’ve got weird nipples or something?”

“T-they’re not weird,” he blurted, far too quickly, and immediately cringed at himself. He scrambled to recover. “Perfectly normal, in fact.”

“Perfectly normal?”

“Well…” He cleared his throat, cheeks still rosy. “They’re kind of pretty.”

You giggled in disbelief. “You think my nipples are pretty, Spence?”

“I think you’re pretty,” he corrected. “And they’re attached to you, so yeah. Pretty.”

“Well, why don’t you touch them, then?”

He couldn’t argue with that. As his hands traveled up the sides of your body, he began to stroke the underside of your breasts, taking in the way you reacted to his touch.

That was when he saw it. The entire reason you were in this position. A puny little scar on the right side of your ribs. Scratched your entire side on the sidewalk. No, it wasn’t longer than an inch.

Spencer could feel the faint ridge of the scar beneath his touch, but he wasn’t thinking about that anymore. He was thinking about how warm you were, how soft. He was thinking about how insanely close you were to him, how his breaths hit your skin as soon as they left his mouth.

He cupped your breasts fully, admiring the way they fit in his palms and how the ample skin felt malleable to the touch. Your nipples pebbled under his touch, and your breathing turned quicker as he twiddled them slightly between his fingers.

“You can kiss them too, y’know.”

Spencer took in the feeling of having some sort of control over his emotions and over the situation. Fuck yeah, could he kiss them. He started at your sternum with a soft peck, then traced down the valley between your breasts. He looked up at you through heavy eyelashes, his warm brown eyes staring you down as his lips explored. Your jaw slackened, nodding at him reassuringly.

When he took your nipple between them, he heard you hiss at how he purposely teased you. He sucked on the tender skin, mouth on one as he cupped the other. Spencer felt so lost in what was happening that he didn’t even realize he was almost biting down on your skin, grazing your nipple with his teeth until a high moan escaped you.

Your hips rutted forward again, his boner now something that couldn’t be ignored. And by the look of it, the friction was enough to cause you pleasure as well. Spencer wasn’t even sure he’d seen that as a possibility before. But your shorts were thin, and the material of his pants was rough enough to rub your heat every time you moved.

Spencer only pulled away when his lungs burned for air, releasing your nipple with a soft, wet pop. For a moment, he stared, mesmerized by the way it glistened with his saliva, a fleeting mark of what he’d done.

You looked at him, grinning.

His hands found a comfortable space in the divots on either side of your waist as he watched your hands fall from his shoulders down between you. You didn’t touch, or take things any further. They just simply rested on him—on the prominent tent in his slacks.

“Was, uhm… was this all that you wanted for us to try?” Spencer whispered.

The air in the room had somehow turned harder to inhale. Humid.

“I thought I’d start with something less explicit before I tell you that I want your dick inside of me.”

Spencer now forgot how to breathe. Completely.

A little giggle escaped you as you took his face in your hands, your palms cold against his skin. Or maybe he was just impossibly warm. He didn’t want to think about how he must have looked—hair a tousled mess, skin pinking, probably blushing all the way down to his toes.

You pushed his hair off his forehead, tilting your head as you asked, “I’ve made you all flustered, haven’t I?”

Spencer groaned, pressing his head back against the couch like he was seeking divine intervention. His boner, the elephant in the room, lodged in the space between your bodies, wasn’t enough for you to notice?

“Do you enjoy torturing me?”

You laughed, hands placed aimlessly on his chest. “I don’t. I just think it’s cute.”

He opened his eyes, peering at you warily. “What’s cute?”

“You.”

Spencer let out a long breath, shaking his head. “You can’t just call me cute after—” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile, leaning in again, your nose brushing his. “I mean it, though.”

His hands, which had remained mostly still against your waist, flexed slightly. “Me being cute?”

“No.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “That I want you.”

Spencer’s breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at you—like he was trying to memorize this moment, like he wanted to capture exactly how it felt to have you in his lap, saying things that he never thought he’d hear from you. Or anyone for that matter.

“We don’t have to be nervous,” you murmured. “I think we’re both allowed to want each other.”

“I do want you,” he admitted. “I just… I want to do this right.”

“You will. Let me take care of you, Spence.”

He didn’t have much else to say when your lips were back on his, tongue slipping into his mouth. Your hips, god your hips, began to move with more intent, practically squeezing his bulge between your crotch and himself. And your tits, moving with every bounce you made.

Every inch of his skin turned to goosebumps as your fingers sneaked under his shirt, ripping it from where it had been tucked in to his pants. You scratched his skin, and he could imagine the contrast between the red polish and his pale complexion.

Spencer no longer hesitated to explore you. His hands were in tight grips on your hips, wandering to the curve of your ass as he helped you move in rhythm. Glancing down between you, he swore he could see a damp spot blooming on the fabric of your shorts—but that wasn’t what captivated him most.

The best part was when you broke the kiss, gasping for air, your lips parted in a breathless moan. He could shamelessly watch how your face twisted in pleasure. You had an innocent delicacy to your facial features despite the raw need in your body’s movements.

Oh, was he really watching an angel…

The both of you quickly got lost in the hazy feeling of not knowing where his hands on you started and where your hands on him ended. Spencer heard how he whined with each of your movements, but he couldn’t have cared less, hips bucking uncontrollably, canting forward to meet your thrusts.

“Does it feel good?” you murmured, grazing your teeth against his lips.

A strangled breath was all he could reply with, his hands roaming endlessly for something to grab, something to ground him.

“Don’t stop, p-please.”

So he could form words, only that they were pathetic.

It didn’t take long between when Spencer realized that the friction alone would be enough for him to orgasm and it actually happening. He’d been too pent up for too long of a time to even think about holding it back. The feeling so rushed that he couldn’t warn you, or even say something to you. All that left his mouth were stuttered moans and curse words. He normally wasn’t one to use rude words, but this was uncontrollable.

“Oh god, oh fuck—”

He felt a warm liquid spreading from where his cock was tucked in pants, soaking through to stain the fabric. His body froze, and he tried his best to stop his panting breaths as ropes of cum continued to leak out. Out of instinct, his hands left your body, flying up to his achingly blushing cheeks.

You abruptly stopped moving at his reaction, taking in the sight for a second before your hands clutched around his wrists, moving his hands from covering his face.

“No, no. I’m not even giving you the right to be embarrassed right now, Spence,” you said sternly, your eyes flickering between him and evidence of his release. “That was like the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He kissed you to shut you up. Soft, gentle kisses that calmed him down and made you rest your weight back down onto his thighs. Lost in the fact that he’d just had his first orgasm in front of someone else, his mind wandered to you, and if you’d enjoyed it as much as he had. But… you hadn’t finished, had you?

Spencer pulled away, distraught at the thought of taking but not giving. “You didn’t—”

“No, but that wasn’t the point of this,” you cut him off, further explaining, “Sex isn’t always about making the other person cum. This time, for instance, I think it was mostly about us getting more comfortable with each other.”

“But we still didn’t have sex.”

“Sex is whatever you want it to be.” You let out a little sigh, not out of annoyance but out of amusement. “If this is all that you’re comfortable with, then this is sex to you.”

That made sense, even to him. But now that he had gotten a little taste, he couldn’t wait to be comfortable for more.

“B-but I do want more,” he argued. “More of you.”

“We’ll get there.”

“You don’t want me to help you out now?”

He wasn’t sure where his sudden confidence came from, and by the look of it, neither did you. Your eyes went a little wide as you struggled to answer. Spencer felt a sense of pride at the fact he could make you nervous.

You shyly looked away, mumbling, “Only if you’re comfortable.”

“I am. I promise you that I am,” he assured you, turning your face by a light grip on your chin.

You could move your hips against him with all intent to make him feel good, but you got visibly flustered at the thought of him doing the same to you. Adorable.

“How—I mean, I could continue getting off on your thigh,” you said quickly, tucking your hair behind your ears in a practiced, nervous manner. “Or you could use your fingers.”

“Fingers. Can I use my fingers?”

You hummed while nodding, agreeing immediately, kissing him quickly.

Making room on the couch, you both tossed some of the decorative pillows on the floor before Spencer laid you down on your back, him halfway spooning your side so that you both would fit.

The kissing continued as Spencer thought of what to do. He’d read a lot about it. He should be able to figure it out. His hands found home, massaging the plush skin of your thighs, thinking that was a simple way to start. Your chest rose as his fingers trailed over your body. You were desperate.

But maybe so would anyone be if they’d essentially been very close to climaxing and then having it all ripped away.

Spencer felt so unconvincing as his fingers fumbled with the elastic waistband of your shorts. You were about to be so naked, and he was still fully dressed. You didn’t seem to mind, though. Actually, you were very quick to untie the shorts yourself, pushing them down your legs and then onto the floor.

Your panties were a simple white with little floral lace details. And he’d been right; you’d soaked right through them. He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the lacy upper hem.

“Keep them on, just—fuck, touch me.”

He looked at you, twisting and turning under his touch, words falling out of your mouth carelessly.

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky skin.

First over your pubic bone and then over a slight thatch of hair.

Spencer brushed what he thought was your clit with featherlight touch, taking in your reaction before delving his fingers between your folds, a surprising feeling with how velvety smooth the pooling wetness he found was. His digits circled down over your entrance before retreating.

You bit your lip to the point where it looked painful, keeping everything on the inside, turning your head into his chest.

Spencer stopped moving his hand, using his free one to tilt your head right back, forcing eye contact. “I wanna hear you. Tell me what to do.”

“Move a little higher,” you said, a whine coming from your throat as soon as he followed suit. With a little calculating, Spencer concluded the little bud he was touching was your clit. “Oh, fuck—right there, Spence.”

He used his pointer and middle finger to slowly explore, moving in gentle circles, touching a place that made your stomach tense and breathing sharpen and separate. Spencer could look at you all day as you enjoyed yourself, letting out a little floating laugh between moans, crinkling your nose as he touched the spot again and again.

“Kiss me,” you asked between breaths, your eyelids getting heavy the faster his fingers moved.

His free hand stroked against your jawbone before he leaned down to kiss you, not knowing if he was doing it right. But apparently he was, by the way you whined under his mouth, eyes rolling back.

“Should I—” He swallowed. “Should I do something more? I read that many women can’t climax from penetration and that clitoral or oral stimulation is easier—”

Your eyes went wide as he spoke, interrupted by his continued movements. “Fuck, Spence—You wanna use your mouth on me?” You shook your head, hiding into his chest again. “No, this is enough. You’re enough.”

His fingers slipped between your folds with more ease, hearing the wet sounds he could bring from your pussy. The more he moved, the more he wanted to turn you into a sweet mess at the touch of his fingertips.

“God, you’re gonna make me—”

You tensed up, and Spencer felt it. And then you let it all go.

It was like you lost all stability in your bones, turning into a fluid source of warmth in Spencer’s embrace, as his fingers slid messily over your clit, losing momentum, your underwear soaked and stretched out over the back of his hand.

Spencer had been unsure of if he could notice if you faked an orgasm or not. He now knew that there was nothing fake about you. You let out a last, long breath, and Spencer slowly circled your clit before he pulled his hand away, letting it linger on your naked stomach.

“Was that okay?” he felt the need to ask.

You looked up at him, breathing still uneven and your eyes slightly dopey, practically collapsing in his arms. “Okay? Spencer, you were fucking amazing.”

As Spencer held you, right there on your couch, and you slid your palm over his his chest, resting it tight above the place where his heart was still erratically beating, he felt himself lose control over basically everything. The world narrowed down to you—your skin, your scent, your breathing. Not that much else mattered to him. He wasn’t sure it ever would again.

“I wish I met you earlier in life.”

The words left him before he could stop them, and maybe it was a little ridiculous—like meeting you earlier would have suddenly made life easier, like it would have changed anything at all. But still. He truly wished that.

You kissed his neck, murmuring, “We’ve got all the time in the world, Spencer.”

His fingers skimmed along your arm before settling at your waist, holding you close. You felt so softagainst him, so warm, but after a moment, he felt the residual stickiness of sweat and everything else clinging to both of you. His nose wrinkled slightly, and he knew you caught it before he even spoke.

“Do you wanna go change? Wash your hands? Can’t imagine it’s comfortable being sticky.”

You probably felt just as sticky as he did, but Spencer could tell—he knew—your suggestion had less to do with yourself and more to do with him, his germaphobia, and his sensory issues. Because you were always thinking about him, about the things that made him uncomfortable, about the ways you could make things easier for him without making a big deal out of it. And wasn’t that just the sweetest thing? Spencer thought so.

“Mhm,” he hummed, helping you stand from the couch, legs looking a bit wobbly. “And you should go pee. Prevents UTIs.”

“I know that,” you muttered.

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched. Sitting up himself, he let you slip away, watching as you padded across the wooded floors. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing your body being so casually naked. But he would love the future time he’d spend trying to get used to it at least.

“You wanna watch a movie?” you asked, voice sounding almost drowsy, as you picked up your shorts and t-shirt that had been thrown on the floor. “I got The Princess Bride on Blu-ray, and we could order Indian food.”

Spencer could do nothing but smile, his mind echoing empty of thoughts. “Sure thing.”

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think ♡ And yes, for those of you who didn't know, the Arctic Monkeys song is originally a JCC poem.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #dr reid

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moonlightwritingf1 · 3 months ago

Text

At Her Mercy | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ For the first time in her relationship with Lando, Y/N takes charge in the bedroom, and Lando becomes submissive.

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 5.9k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), fingering?, submissive Lando, creampie, hand job, strip tease, teasing

💋 author's note ━━━━━━━ I don't really like how this one turned out, but I hope you enjoy it.

Based on this request.

Y/N’s fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted the straps of her dress in the mirror. It was a simple black piece, not too revealing, but enough to make her feel confident—or as confident as she could muster. Her heart raced as she thought about what she was about to do. Tonight, she told herself, I’m taking control. It wasn’t just about the physical act; it was about proving something to herself, about breaking down the walls she had built so meticulously around her emotions.

She had been at Lando’s apartment in Monaco for the better part of the week. Their relationship was still new, fragile, and yet intense. Every touch, every glance, every word exchanged between them carried a weight she wasn’t sure she was ready to bear. But tonight, she was determined to push past her insecurities, to step into a role she had always shied away from.

Lando was in the living room, sprawled lazily on the couch, his attention half on the TV and half on his phone. He looked effortlessly handsome, as he always did, his boyish charm combined with a quiet confidence that both irritated and intrigued her. She took a deep breath, her pulse quickening as she approached him.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.

He looked up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Hey yourself. You look… stunning.”

She ignored the flutter in her chest, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. Stay focused. “I’ve been thinking,” she began, her tone deliberate. “About us. About… tonight.”

His eyebrows lifted, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Oh? What about tonight?”

She stepped closer, her hands resting on her hips in a gesture she hoped looked confident rather than defensive. “I want to change things up. I want to be in control.”

Lando’s smirk widened, but there was a glimmer of something else in his expression—something deeper. “Is that so?” he drawled, leaning back against the couch cushions. “And what does that entail, exactly?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but she refused to back down. She moved to stand in front of him, her knees brushing against his thighs. “It means,” she said slowly, her voice low but firm, “that I’m in charge. And you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

His breath hitched, and for the first time since she’d known him, Lando looked… uncertain. But intrigued. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m all yours.”

She didn’t hesitate. Sinking onto his lap, she straddled him, her dress riding up slightly as she settled against him. His hands instinctively moved to her hips, but she caught his wrists, pinning them to his sides. “No,” she said firmly, her eyes locking with his. “I’m in control now.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing his face before it melted into something darker, more primal. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his tone dripping with submission.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected it to be this easy, for him to surrender so completely. But there was a fire in his eyes, a silent challenge that made her pulse race. She shifted slightly, grinding against him, and a low groan escaped his lips.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that surprised even her. “You’re going to let me take what I want, aren’t you?”

His chest heaved, his hands twitching at his sides as if desperate to touch her. “Yes,” he rasped, his voice strained.

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “And what if I want…” she paused, her breath warm against his skin, “…everything?”

His eyes fluttered shut, a shudder running through him. “Then take it.”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she pulled back slightly, studying his face. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made her chest ache. She had always seen him as the one in control, the one who called the shots. But now, with his hands restrained and his body tense with anticipation, he looked… fragile. And it terrified her.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Do you trust me?”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto hers with an intensity that took her breath away. “Always,” he said without hesitation.

Her resolve wavered for a moment, but she pushed past it, her hands moving to the hem of his shirt. Slowly, she tugged it up and over his head, exposing his toned chest. She traced a finger down the center of his torso, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. “Y/N…” he started, but she cut him off with a touch to his lips.

“Shh,” she whispered, her voice firm but gentle. “I’m in control, remember?”

He swallowed hard, nodding silently. She could see the conflict in his eyes—the need to take over, to reclaim the dominance he was so used to, warring with his desire to submit to her. And it thrilled her.

Sliding off his lap, she knelt in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs. “You’re going to let me take care of you,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lando’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he didn’t move. “Whatever you want,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

She held his gaze as she reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, slowly pulling them down along with his boxers. His breathing quickened, his body tensing as she exposed him fully.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and possessiveness. “All for me.”

His chest heaved, his eyes dark with desire. “Only for you,” he choked out.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his inner thigh, and he let out a strangled moan. “Shh,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

His body trembled beneath her touch, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. She could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding himself back, and it only fueled her determination.

“Relax,” she murmured, her lips trailing higher. “Let go.”

“Y/N,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve got you.”

And with that, she took him into her mouth, her hands gripping his hips to keep him still. His entire body tensed, a guttural moan escaping his lips as his head fell back against the couch.

“Fuck,” he choked out, his voice raw with desperation. “Y/N…”

She didn’t respond, her focus entirely on him, on the way his body responded to her touch, to her control. She could feel him trembling, hear the ragged breaths escaping his lips, and it only spurred her on.

“So good for me,” she murmured against his skin, her fingers tightening on his hips. “Just like that.”

His chest heaved, his hands gripping the couch so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Please,” he begged, his voice strained. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t stop—not yet. Hovering above him, she took her time, savoring every inch of him, every flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Her hand wrapped around his length, torturously slow, her thumb brushing over the sensitive tip before she leaned in, her lips parting to take him into her mouth. His hips jerked instinctively, but her free hand pressed firmly against his stomach, pinning him in place. “Don’t move,” she murmured, her voice low and commanding, the vibration of her words sending a shiver through him. “You’re mine tonight. Every part of you.”

Her tongue swirled around him, a deliberate, teasing motion that drew a ragged moan from his lips. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking him deeper, the warmth of her mouth contrasting with the cool air that brushed against his skin whenever she pulled back. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in her gaze made him gasp. She wasn’t just doing this—she was owning it, owning him. Her lips traced a path along his shaft, her tongue lapping at the veins that throbbed beneath his skin, her every movement calculated to drive him closer to the edge.

Lando’s hands clawed at the couch, his knuckles whitening as he fought to stay still, to not buck into her. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, his chest heaving as he tried to hold himself together. “Y/N,” he choked out, his voice raw and broken, “please, I... I can’t...”

“Shh,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to let the cool air kiss his wet skin. Her fingers tightened around him, her thumb circling the sensitive head. “You’ll take what I give you. When I give it to you.”

He whimpered, his head falling back against the couch, his entire body trembling with the effort to keep still. His muscles coiled like springs, his hips twitching under her touch, but he didn’t dare break her rules. Not now, when she was in complete control. Her mouth returned to him with a deliberate slowness, her lips sealing around him as she sucked him deeper, her tongue teasing the underside of his shaft. His breath hitched, his body tightening as she pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

But just as he was about to tip over, she pulled away, her lips leaving him with a soft *pop*. His hips jerked, an involuntary whine escaping his lips as the sudden loss of contact left him aching. “Y/N,” he groaned, his voice strained and desperate. “Please, I need... I’m so close...”

Her hand stilled, her fingers tightening around him just enough to hold him back. She leaned over him, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I’m not done with you yet.” Her voice was low, commanding, sending a shiver down his spine. “You’ll come when I say you can. Not a moment sooner.”

He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his body trembling with need. “You’re killing me,” he rasped, his chest heaving.

Her lips curved into a smirk as she leaned back, her eyes dark with possession. “Good.” Her fingers trailed up his thigh, the light touch a cruel tease. “You’re mine tonight, Lando. Every part of you. And I’ve got plans for you.”

His breath hitched, his eyes locking onto hers, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his gaze. The need to take control, to reclaim his dominance, warred with the desire to surrender completely to her. But when her nails dug into his thigh, just enough to sting, his resistance crumbled. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Anything you want.”

Her smirk widened, her fingers trailing back to his length, her touch featherlight but deliberate. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent a jolt through him. “Now, let’s see how much you can take.”

She rose from her knees, her dress cascading down her thighs as she stood before him. Lando’s eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he watched her. His cock was hard, throbbing, and glistening with pre-cum, straining against his body as if begging for her touch. But she wasn’t going to give in—not yet. She was in control, and she was going to make him feel every second of it.

Her fingers slowly trailed along the hem of her dress, catching the fabric and lifting it inch by inch. She moved with deliberate slowness, her eyes locked onto his, watching the way his jaw tightened, his lips parting as he fought to keep still. The dress rose higher, revealing her thighs, her hips, the curve of her waist, and finally, the swell of her breasts. Lando’s hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling into fists as he resisted the urge to reach for her.

She paused, the dress just barely covering her breasts, and tilted her head. “You’re not going to touch yourself, are you, Lando?” Her voice was soft, almost innocent, but the sharpness in her eyes betrayed her tone.

He shook his head, his breath hitching. “No. No, I won’t.”

“Good,” she purred, letting the dress fall from her fingers and pool at her feet. She stood before him, completely naked, her skin glowing in the dim light of the room. His eyes raked over her hungrily, his gaze lingering on the curve of her hips, the softness of her breasts, the way her body seemed to stretch out before him like a feast.

She stepped closer, her foot nudging his knees apart as she stood between them. His cock twitched, straining toward her, and she felt a surge of power rush through her. She loved this—loved the way he looked at her, loved the way he was completely at her mercy.

Her hands trailed down her body, her fingers brushing over her breasts, teasing the nipples into hard peaks as she watched his reaction. He groaned low in his throat, his hand twitching toward his cock, but she stopped him with a sharp look.

“I said don’t,” she warned, her voice firm. His hand froze mid-air, and he let it fall back to the couch, his fingers digging into the cushions.

She continued her slow descent, her hands sliding down her stomach, over her hips, and finally between her legs. She touched herself lightly, her fingers brushing over her folds, feeling the wetness that had already begun to gather there. His eyes were glued to her, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he watched her.

“You like watching me, don’t you?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Yes. God, yes.”

She smiled, a wicked curve of her lips, and stepped even closer, her knees brushing against his. “Then watch.”

She slid her fingers deeper, exploring herself, feeling the way her body responded to his gaze, to the way he was practically trembling with need. She teased herself, her fingers circling her clit slowly, deliberately, drawing out the sensation until she felt the first sparks of pleasure ripple through her.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “You’re so beautiful.”

She didn’t respond, her focus entirely on herself, on the way her body was responding to her touch, to the way he was watching her. She could feel her wetness coating her fingers, could hear the soft, wet sounds as she moved against herself. She leaned back slightly, arching her back, letting her breasts thrust forward as she continued to touch herself.

“Lando,” she said, her voice breathy, “suck my nipples.”

He didn’t hesitate, his mouth latching onto her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple as he sucked it into his mouth. She moaned softly, her fingers moving faster against herself as he continued to lavish attention on her breasts. His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t move them, his entire focus on her, on the way she was falling apart in his hands, on the way she was completely in control.

She could feel her climax building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in her belly, but she forced herself to slow down, to draw it out. She wasn’t ready to let go yet—not when he was so completely at her mercy.

She pulled back slightly, her fingers stilling as she looked down at him. His eyes were dark with desire, his lips swollen from where he’d been sucking on her breast, and she felt a surge of power rush through her.

“You’re so good for me,” she murmured, her voice soft. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

She stepped back, her fingers trailing down her body, over her stomach, between her legs, and finally to her folds. She touched herself again, her fingers sliding into her wetness, feeling the way her body responded to her touch, to the way he was watching her.

She stepped back slightly, her fingers gliding out from her wetness, leaving a glistening trail. Lando’s eyes followed her hand, his mouth already softening, lips parting instinctively. She smirked, holding her damp fingers inches from his mouth.

“Open,” she commanded, her voice low and firm. He obeyed without hesitation, his tongue flicking out to taste her before she even brought her fingers to his lips. She pressed them into his mouth, and he moaned hungrily, sucking eagerly, his tongue swirling around her fingers as if he could never get enough of her taste. His eyes fluttered closed, lost in the sensation, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“You’re so desperate,” she whispered, pulling her fingers away with a soft pop. His lips chased after them, a whine escaping his throat as she leaned back, leaving him wanting.

She climbed onto his lap in one deliberate motion, her legs straddling him, her knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. Her pussy hovered just above his cock, her wetness already slicking his length as she pressed down lightly, letting him feel the heat of her without letting him inside.

His breath hitched, his hands twitching toward her hips, but she caught his wrists, placing them firmly on the couch cushions. “Don’t,” she growled, her voice firm, and he immediately stilled, his fingers curling into the fabric beneath them.

She began to move, rocking her hips back and forth slowly, the length of his dick sliding against her, the wetness from her pussy coating him entirely. Her movements were deliberate, teasing, each stroke making him harder, more desperate.

His cock twitched beneath her, and she smirked, pressing down a little harder, the friction sending shivers up her spine. “Touch yourself, I dare you,” she taunted, her voice dripping with dominance.

He shook his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I-I won’t. I’ll behave.” "Good boy.” she purred, her hips grinding in a slow circle, her clit brushing against him with every movement.

His eyes were glued to her, his gaze darting from her pussy to her breasts, her neck, her face, as if he couldn’t decide where to look, where to focus. “Y/N...” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Mine,” she said simply, leaning forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. She could see the way he trembled beneath her, the way his hands strained to touch her but stayed put. “You belong to me. Say it.”

“Yours,” he choked out, his voice raw. “Only yours.” She moved faster, her hips rolling against him, the wetness between them creating a soft, obscene sound that only fueled her need. She was close, so close, the coil of pleasure tightening in her belly, her clit throbbing with each stroke against his cock.

“Ah—” she gasped, her movements faltering as she felt her climax building, but she stopped herself, pulling back slightly. His hips jerked upward instinctively, trying to follow her, but she planted a hand on his chest, holding him still.

“Patience,” she scolded, her voice cutting through his desperate whimper. She reached down, wrapping her hand around his cock, holding it steady as she positioned herself above him. He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his hands gripping the cushions like a lifeline. She lowered herself slowly, inch by agonizing inch, the stretch of her pussy around his cock making her shudder. He was thick, filling her completely, the sensation overwhelming as she sank down onto him.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her voice shaky as she paused, adjusting to him. His cock twitched inside her, and she smirked through the haze of pleasure, leaning forward to whisper in his ear, “You’re so big, Lando.”

He moaned, his hands twitching again, but he didn’t dare move them. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please what?” she teased, lifting her hips just enough to let the tip of his cock slide out before sinking down again. “Please... let me touch you.” She shook her head, her movements steadying as she began to ride him, her hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“Not yet. You need to earn it.” He whimpered, his hips bucking slightly, trying to meet her rhythm, but she pressed a hand firmly against his chest, stopping him.

“Behave,” she warned, her voice sharp, and he stilled immediately, his chest heaving with effort. “You’re so good for me,” she cooed, her voice softening as she picked up the pace, her hips grinding against him with every downward stroke.

He felt incredible inside her, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure coursing through her body. She could feel him twitching, hear the way his breath was coming in ragged gasps, and it only fueled her dominance. She leaned back, her hands on his thighs for leverage, her pussy gripping him tightly as she rode him harder, faster. His cock was hitting that perfect spot inside her, the sensation undeniable as she felt her climax building again.

“Lando...” she gasped, her voice breaking as she leaned forward, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Yes,” he whispered, his hands finally moving, but only to cradle her hips gently, not daring to take control. “Please, Y/N, come for me.”

She moaned, her rhythm faltering as she felt herself tipping over the edge, her body tightening around him as the wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her head fell back, her mouth open in a silent cry as she rode out her orgasm, each gasp, each tremor making him shudder beneath her. When she finally stilled, her body still trembling, she looked down at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice raw, and he nodded, his eyes glazed with want.

But she wasn't done yet. Her hips rose and fell with purpose, each movement grinding him deeper into her. His cock pulsed, twitching inside her, and she could feel the tension in his body, the way he was fighting so hard not to thrust upward, to let her keep control. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, her lips hovering just above his ear.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Her voice was low, smug, and she felt him shiver beneath her. He nodded, his chest heaving, his hands gripping the couch cushions like they were his anchor.

“Yes,” he choked out, his voice strangled. “Please, Y/N...”

“Please what?” She lifted herself slightly, letting just the tip of his cock slide out of her before sinking down again, slow and deliberate, watching his face twist in pleasure.

“Please let me cum,” he whispered, his voice trembling, his eyes wide and desperate. His hands twitched, but he didn’t dare move them, didn’t dare try to touch her.

She smirked, her hips rolling in a slow, torturous circle. “Ask properly.” He groaned, his head falling back against the couch, his jaw clenched as he fought for the words.

“Please, Y/N... let me cum. I need it. I’m yours.” His voice broke on the last word, raw and unfiltered.

“Good boy.” She leaned back, her hands resting on his thighs for leverage, and began to ride him harder, faster, her pussy gripping him tightly with every downward stroke.

His cock hit just the right spot, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through her, but she kept her focus on him, on the way his body was trembling beneath her, on the way he was completely at her mercy. His hips jerked upward, unable to stay still any longer, but she stopped him with a sharp look, her hand pressing firmly against his chest.

“Don’t,” she warned, and he froze immediately, his breath hitching as he nodded.

“S-sorry,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “I’m trying, Y/N.”

She smirked, leaning forward again, her lips brushing against his. “You’re doing so good for me,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. “But I think it’s time.”

His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but she swallowed it with a kiss, her tongue sliding against his as she began to move again, her hips grinding against him with purpose. She could feel him unraveling beneath her, his cock twitching, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Let go, Lando,” she murmured against his lips, her voice firm but soft. “Cum inside me.”

His hands finally moved, but only to grip her hips gently, holding her steady as his body shook with the force of his orgasm. He cried out, his head falling back, his eyes squeezing shut as he spilled into her, his release hot and intense, filling her completely. She moaned, her own body trembling with pleasure as she felt his cock pulse inside her, each wave of his orgasm sending shivers through her. She stayed on top of him, her hips still moving slowly, drawing out every last bit of his pleasure until he was completely spent, his body limp beneath her.

“Good boy,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss him softly, her fingers brushing the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.

“You did so well.” He blinked up at her, his eyes glazed but still filled with devotion.

“Yours,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but sure. “Always yours.”

She smiled, her own heart swelling with a strange mix of power and affection. “Always,” she murmured, her lips finding his again. And in that moment, she knew neither of them would have it any other way.

“Always,” he breathed, and she leaned down, capturing his lips in a searing kiss as she began to move again, her pussy still gripping him tightly. She wasn’t done with him, and he knew better than to object.

She stopped moving. Her body stilled on top of his, but the grip of her inner walls around his cock tightened, squeezing him with deliberate force. Lando groaned, his head tilting back against the couch, his hands instinctively gripping her thighs. But she didn’t let him take control—no, she was in charge now, and she would remind him of that.

“Ah—Y/N,” he choked out, his voice strained, his hips twitching beneath her as she held him captive inside her. She smirked, her lips curling into a small, satisfied smile as she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. Her hands slid up his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“Do you like that, Lando?” she purred, her voice low and teasing. Her hips shifted ever so slightly, the pressure of her pussy around his cock increasing just enough to make him gasp. “Do you like feeling me squeeze you? Knowing I could ruin you if I wanted to?”

He nodded frantically, his jaw clenched tight, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Yes, Y/N, I—I love it. I love you.”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face, the way his pupils were blown wide with desire, the way his lips trembled as he struggled to hold himself together. “You’re so desperate,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with dominance. “So eager to please me.”

His hands trembled on her thighs, but he didn’t dare move them, didn’t dare try to take control. “I am,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ll do anything for you, Y/N. Anything.”

She smirked, her hands sliding down to his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “Anything?” she repeated, her tone teasing. “Prove it.”

With that, she lifted herself off him, her pussy sliding off his cock with a soft, wet sound. His cum leaked out of her, trailing down her thighs as she stood before him, her body glistening with sweat and arousal. She stared down at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction, as she brought two fingers to her entrance, sliding them inside herself slowly, deliberately.

“Fuck,” Lando breathed, his eyes glued to her hand, to the way her fingers disappeared into her wetness, the way she moaned softly as she touched herself. His cock twitched, semi hard and aching, desperate for her again.

She pulled her fingers out of her pussy, her arousal mixed with his cum coating her skin. She brought her fingers to her mouth, her eyes locking with his as she sucked them clean, her tongue swirling around the digits with deliberate slowness. Lando moaned, his hips jerking upward instinctively, but she stepped back, just out of reach.

She paused, her lips parting slightly as she tasted the mix of herself and him on her fingers. The salty tang of his cum mingled with the sweetness of her arousal, and she let out a low, throaty hum, savoring it. Her eyes hooded, fiiled with hunger, locked onto his, unrelenting. “You taste so good,” she murmured, her voice dripping with intent, each word deliberate, each syllable laced with control. She slid her fingers back into her pussy, slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of her own slickness coat them once more. The sound was obscenely wet, echoing softly in the room, and his breath hitched at the sight—at the way her body welcomed her touch, at the way her thighs trembled ever so slightly from the effort to keep herself upright.

Her gaze never wavered from his as she brought her fingers to her mouth again. This time, she took her index finger between her lips, sucking it clean with agonizing slowness, her tongue swirling around the digit, her cheeks hollowing as though she were savoring every drop. A soft moan escaped her, muffled by her fingers, but it sent a shiver through him nonetheless. When she finally pulled her finger free, her lips glistened and parted as she exhaled a shaky breath. Then she turned and walked toward the bathroom, her hips swaying with deliberate slowness. “Come on, Lando,” she called over her shoulder, her voice dripping with dominance. “Let’s take a shower.”

He hesitated for a moment, his chest still heaving, his cock semi hard and aching again, but he knew better than to disobey. He stumbled to his feet, his legs shaky as he followed her into the bathroom, where she was already turning on the water, steam beginning to fill the room.

She stepped into the shower, her back to him, and he followed, his eyes tracing the curves of her body as the water cascaded over her skin. She turned to face him, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she reached for the soap, lathering it between her hands before running them over his chest.

“How did it feel, Lando?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with dominance. “How did it feel to be completely at my mercy?”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides as he fought the urge to touch her. “It—it felt amazing, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I—I love it when you take control. When you make me yours.”

She smirked, her hands sliding down his chest, over his abs, and finally to his cock, her fingers wrapping around him with deliberate slowness. “Do you want me to take control again, Lando?” she purred, her eyes locking with his as her hand began to move, stroking him with measured precision.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “Please, Y/N, I need you. I’m yours. Always yours.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his ear, her breath hot and deliberate. “Good boy,” she whispered, her voice low and commanding. Her hand tightened around his cock, her grip firm yet teasing, her fingers sliding up and down his length with a slow, calculated rhythm. Her thumb circled his tip, smearing the bead of precum that had gathered there, her other hand cupping his balls, applying just enough pressure to make him shudder beneath her touch.

He groaned, his hips bucking slightly, but she held him in place with her free hand splayed across his chest, her nails digging lightly into his skin. “You’re doing so well, Lando,” she murmured, her lips trailing down his jaw to his neck, where she pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses, each one a spark of heat that made him tremble. Her hand moved faster now, her fingers twisting slightly at the base, her thumb brushing over his tip with every stroke, her grip on his balls tightening just enough to make him gasp.

“Ah—Y/N,” he choked out, his voice raw, his hands twitching at his sides. “Please,” he whispered, his chest heaving as he fought to hold himself together. She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his, and she saw the desperation there, the raw need that mirrored her own. She smirked, leaning in to capture his lips in a searing kiss, her tongue sliding against his, her hand never slowing its pace on his cock.

Their kiss was messy, hungry, filled with the friction of teeth and lips and tongues. Her free hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her hips grinding against his thigh as she deepened the kiss, her hand stroking him faster, harder, her grip on his balls tightening with each passing second.

"Touch me," she commanded, her lips breaking from his, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down his spine. His hands moved immediately, trembling slightly as they reached for her breasts, his fingers brushing over her nipples, already hardened with arousal. He groaned, his thumbs circling her sensitive peaks, his hands cupping her breasts with a reverence that made her arch into his touch.

She moaned softly, her hand still working his cock, her strokes quick and firm, her other hand still playing with his balls, her nails lightly scraping the sensitive skin. She kissed him again, her lips and tongue demanding, her breath mingling with his as she pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “Cum for me, Lando.”

With a strangled cry, he obeyed, his release spilling over her hand, his body shaking with the force of his climax, his face buried in her neck as he whispered, broken and breathless, “Yours,” he gasped out, his body trembling as the last waves of his climax subsided, his lips pressing weakly against her skin. He pulled back slightly, his chest still heaving, his arms wrapped loosely around her. His eyes were heavy-lidded but gleamed with something new—something mischievous, something utterly him.

“You’re fucking terrifying when you’re like this, you know that?” The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice still rough but laced with teasing. His hands slid up her back, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over her skin, still slick with water from the shower.

Her eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging at her lips as she stepped back slightly, her fingers trailing down his chest until they reached the base of his cock, still hard despite the release she’d just wrung out of him. “Terrifying?” she repeated, her voice low, her fingers tightening ever so slightly. “Is that a complaint, Lando?”

“No,” he breathed, his hips twitching involuntarily, his eyes darkening as she held him in her grasp. “It’s... god, it’s hot. You’re so fucking hot like this.” His voice trailed off, trembling slightly as he leaned into her, his forehead resting against hers. “But it’s not just that,” he whispered, his voice softer, more vulnerable now. “You’re everything. The way you take control, the way you *see* me—it’s like you’re the only one who’s ever really known me, known what I need.” His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “You’re not just hot, Y/N. You’re... you’re my forever.” His lips brushed hers, barely a touch, but it was enough to make her breath catch. “And I’m yours.”

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leaawrites · 6 months ago

Text

I like you, because you're you

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: in which, she likes him for who he is, not because of how he looks.

Warnings: insecurities (Lando), some mocking (?) (unintentional),

Wordcount: 0.7k

Masterlist

She had a type, there was no use in denying that. It looked almost like a pattern when you looked at her exes. It was almost scary how similar some of them looked.

And she may have dated one or two of them because she wasn’t over about the one before them, but those were exceptions. Those were the ones she met in a club a week after a new break up and was in desperate need to replace the heartbreak with something familiar, even when it was only a face filled with nostalgia of another for her.

It was never a serious problem for her when her friends joked about them looking like a family tree when put together, because it wasn’t totally exaggerated. It was never a problem until they started doing it at dinner with her new boyfriend. Saying how he looked like someone they knew, but couldn’t right place who it was he reminded them of. It wasn’t a problem until one said, “oh, yeah, you look like y/n’s last boyfriend. Same hair, same face structure. That must be it.” And all of them hummed in agreement. Laughing afterwards and waving it off as a joke he shouldn’t take too serious.

But Y/n knew Lando, and she knew that he thought about it. More than he should. She could see it in his eyes when they looked in hers - if they even did that evening. She knew by the way he tapped his fingers anxiously against his leg or the table. She knew from the way he chewed on his lip and how he sat in silence for most of the remaining night.

She knew and she didn’t say anything about it until they got to his apartment again, the door slamming behind him and her not even flinching because she saw it coming. Lando didn’t get angry often, he only got frustrated and closed off. Most times it was too late to make him open up when you noticed, but she knew that you just had to ask enough times to make him break.

“Lando,” she approached him, putting her lips on his shoulder and trying to catch his gaze, but Lando was focused on the skyline outside the window.

Monaco at night, a kind of peaceful you didn’t want to disturb but she knew she had to now.

“Lando, please talk to me,” she pushed a bit further, interlacing their fingers and laying her head against his back. Her thumb rubbing over his skin.

“What they said wasn’t appropriate and they shouldn’t have done it. And I know it’s a shitty perspective from you, but please talk to me. Yell or do whatever, just please talk to me,” she continued, almost sounding like she was begging. And if necessary, she would.

“Do you like me because I look like him?” He finally said, his voice shaking and quiet. It broke her heart, seeing her love so fragile. The clouds covering her sunshine. Him.

“I like you, because you’re you,” she quickly said, stepping around him and taking his head in her hands to make him look at her. She could see tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. She could see them threaten to spill over and spill out. “I could never not like you, no matter how you look. You’re so funny and charming and loving, it’s breaking me to see you so down.”

“You promise?” Lando asked, putting his hands on her waist.

“I promise,” she answered. “Forever and always.”

He pulled her closer, closing any remaining space between them. With her head against his chest, she could feel his heart beating against his ribcage. Furiously trying to break free. She kissed the place where it was at, trying to calm it down, trying to not make it worry. Lando put his head on top of hers, kissing her hair and letting his tears fall down on her.

#lando norris #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando x reader #f1 fandom #f1 grid #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one

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gojosconsort · 26 days ago

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Saw the requests are open and thought I’d drop something just a tad bit self indulgent🙂. Sukuna, in like a school au, 18 year old. Girl is very timid, and the most sensitive motherfucker ever. Very insecure and anxious. Something that doesn’t really match Sukuna’s personality, his words come out harsh or he seems cold most of the time. He is pushy, he is just how you write him, I guess¿?,. He really loves reader tho. He sometimes gets too frustrated by the reader’s reaction to his needs (ikyk), she’s the type to go home and cry because he said something harsh that he seems to find so normal, but he can figure her out, he knows he made her sad, so how will he react? Things like that.. reader also loves him, but he makes it really hard to stay with him, maybe she decides to break up with him? You write him real good, enjoy your writing so much, I tried being specific with the request but to summarise it angst because Sukuna is an ass but just can’t be away from reader:)))

SUKUNA’S FRAGILE GIRL ♡ // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ CONTENT. you’re the shy, anxious girl who somehow caught sukuna’s eye— he’s the school’s untouchable king but he loves you in his own way. problem is, his harshness keeps breaking you.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x school-tyrant!sukuna (both legal age)

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. angst, emotional distress, toxic relationship, harsh language, bullying tendencies, possessiveness, implied needs, but nothing graphic, kinda breakup, gaslighting vibes, sukuna being an asshole but soft in his own way

♡ AUTHOR’S NOTE. ohhh not typical what i’d write but i tried and hope u like it! ty for being so specific with the request, that helps A LOT <3

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who’s the guy everyone avoids—built like a tank, tattoos creeping up his neck even in this dumb uniform, and a glare that could kill. you’re the opposite—timid, always fidgeting, voice barely above a whisper. he spots you dropping your books in the hall one day and instead of walking by like everyone else, he picks them up, shoving them at you with a gruff, “watch it, brat.” you mumble a thank you, and he smirks—because something about you sticks in his head.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t ask you out—he just decides you’re his girlfriend. corners you after class, leaning against the wall, “you’re with me now, got it? don’t waste my time saying no.” you’re too scared to argue, nodding even though your stomach’s in knots. he’s pushy from the jump—grabs your wrist to drag you to his spot under the bleachers, snaps at you to stop “acting so damn nervous” around him. you love him, though—his rough attention feels like a spotlight, even if it burns.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t get why you’re so sensitive—says shit like, “quit looking so pathetic all the time,” when you flinch at his tone, or “what, you gonna cry over that?” when he ditches you to hang with his boys. you do cry, though—lock yourself in your room after school, sobbing into your pillow because his words cut deep, and he doesn’t even seem to care. he’s cold, harsh, like it’s nothing to him, but you can’t stop replaying it, wondering what you did wrong.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who gets frustrated with your hesitance—leans in close one day behind the gym, voice low, “you’re mine, so fuckin’ act like it—stop freezing up.” he wants more—hands on you, lips crashing into yours, rough and demanding—but you’re a jittery mess, too anxious to keep up. he pulls back, pissed, “what’s your problem? i’m not gonna wait forever.” you stammer an apology, but he storms off, leaving you there, heart pounding, tears prickling your eyes.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who knows he fucked up—he sees it in the way you avoid his gaze the next day, how your hands tremble when he’s near. you go home and cry again, harder this time, because you love him but he makes it so damn hard. he texts you late that night, blunt as ever, “you pissed at me or what?” you don’t reply, and it eats at him—he’s not dumb, he can tell you’re hurting, but he’s shit at saying sorry. instead, he shows up at your window, shouting, “open up, dumbass—i’m not leaving.”

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who climbs in when you let him, scowls and sharp edges, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “you’re too fuckin’ fragile, y’know that?” he mutters, sitting on your bed next to you. you snap—voice shaky but firm—“i can’t keep doing this, ‘kuna. you’re mean.” he freezes, jaw tight, then grabs your wrist, not rough this time, just desperate, “you’re not breaking up with me. i’ll figure this shit out before you’re gone.”

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t apologize outright—he’s too proud—but he tries in his own way. starts sitting closer in class, not saying much, just watching you like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. when he’s horny and pushy again, he catches himself mid-snap, grumbling, “fuck, fine—tell me if it’s too much, alright?” it’s not perfect—he still calls you “weak” or “brat” when you tear up—but he’s learning, and you see it. you stay, because even when he’s an ass, you can’t shake how much he means to you.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who fucks up big one day—yells at you in front of his friends after you flinch at his grip, “stop being such a damn baby!” you don’t cry there—you just turn and walk away, done. that night, you text him, “i can’t anymore. we’re over.” he reads it, doesn’t reply, but an hour later he’s at your door, banging loud enough to wake your parents, “open the fuckin’ door—i’m not losing you over this shit.” you let him in, tears streaming, and he’s pissed but wrecked too, “you’re mine, okay? i’ll fix it—just don’t go.”

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who doesn’t let you leave—not really. he’s still harsh, still sukuna, but he holds you tight that night, muttering into your hair, “i’m an asshole, yeah, i get it—just don’t fuckin’ run.” you’re a mess, sobbing into his chest, but you don’t push him away because you love him too, even if it’s a jagged kind of love. he kisses you rough, needy, and it’s not soft or sweet, but it’s his way of saying he’s not letting go.

BOYFRIEND!SUKUNA who wakes up the next morning after your breakdown next to you in your bed and stays there, staring at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “fuck, i’m such a dick.” when you stir, he’s awkward as hell, brushing your hair back with a clumsy hand, “you good, brat? no more crying, alright?” it’s not poetry, but it’s him and you decide to stay once more, caught between his cruelty and his care, and he’s too hooked to ever walk away.

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

#—amy writes : ryomen sukuna ★#ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #jjk x reader #divider by cafekitsune

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themilfsland · 2 months ago

Text

Can we switch?

Pairing(s): Wanda Maximoff X female!reader

Summary: when you find out your bottom (or maybe not anymore) emo girlfriend was holding back her desires because she was afraid of her powers but you encourage her to let it all go.

Words count: ~ 3.7

tags | content: soft but smutty , bottom!Wanda (until it changes), top!reader (or maybe not this time), fingering, strap-on, magic cock, cum inside, possessiveness.

A/n: I've been thinking a lot about Emo Wanda unraveling her top side.

Time flies, as the elders say. It feels like just yesterday that Wanda joined the Avengers. She took the title of the youngest on the team, which meant you were no longer the spoiled one or the center of attention. In a way, that was a relief — Steve and Tony weren’t breathing down your neck anymore — but it probably also meant the last slice of cake wouldn’t be saved for you anymore. It's a shame, really, since you’d gotten used to the little treats Clint gave you after missions.

You remember the wary look in her eyes during that first week. She was like one of those black cats at midnight, always slipping away, avoiding interactions, and when she was forced to join group activities, she would linger in the corner of the room. "She’s still getting used to things," Steve would say. Besides, it would be hypocritical of you to criticize her behaviour — during your first month with the team, you were just about the most antisocial person possible.

Things were perfectly normal for you until Sam had the brilliant idea of suggesting you help Wanda with her training and power control. Great. Now the newbie who doesn’t even say "good morning" to you was going to be your responsibility. Of course, you tried to argue your way out of it in every possible way — how could the second-youngest — you — member of the group have enough experience to teach someone else? Unfortunately, nothing worked. The team agreed, and not even Natasha had your back this time. The reasoning was simple: you have the ability to control the elements of nature, so you were apparently the best choice to help Wanda learn to manage her powers.

And it was from that tutoring mission that you and Wanda really got to know each other, getting even closer and today marks one year since you made your relationship official. Clint bet it would take you a month to admit you were in love; Nat, knowing you better, gave it a few more months — you were way too stubborn to confess your feelings that easily. And the truth? You were already in love with her by the second week of training. Some people like to ask, "Who felt it first and who felt it deeper?" In this case, you were the first to realize your feelings for Wanda, but she was the one who ended up feeling them more intensely.

Although everyone still teases you about how rocky the beginning was — they used to say you were like a cat and a dog in a fight — now you’re more like two lovebirds. Honestly, you blamed her at first — she never listened to you, said your advice wasn’t helpful, and claimed you were being mean with your words. But over time, you started to realize how fragile Wanda really was — not in terms of strength, but when it came to her emotions and self-esteem. She was scared of herself; her own powers terrified her.

You were certain about her insecurity over her self-control during one of your training sessions. You had asked her to attack you — she hesitated and sent a weak pulse of her red energy. It had been days of you pushing her to really strike, but all you ever got was that same soft red wave. That’s when you decided to provoke her — bad idea. Your not-so-friendly words earned you a flash of her red eyes, and the next thing you knew, her magic had thrown you hard against the training room wall. You were on the floor, hand on your head, trying to process what had just happened when Wanda was suddenly above you, frantically checking for injuries and apologizing over and over. You could hear the panic in her voice.

After that day, you began to see her differently — with an understanding that no one else seemed to have. And Wanda knew it too — that you were the only one who could truly see her without needing to read her mind. It wasn’t something you had to work for; it was effortless — like the gentle pull of ocean waves, a quiet feeling between you both that grew stronger with each passing day.

Wanda didn’t change with everyone else — but she changed with you. The first time she let you take care of her bandage, the first time she asked for your help to practice a specific move, the first time she released her magic to strike without being afraid of hurting you — and the first time she let you kiss her.

You were the one feeling insecure that day. You’d always been confident, sure of your actions — but kissing Wanda? Your whole body was trembling beneath the surface. You were certain about your feelings — you loved her and wanted to be more than just teammates. But when it came to her feelings? That’s where the doubts crept in. Sometimes it felt like she was on the same page, but other times it seemed like she only saw you as a battle partner.

In the end, it was Nat who got tired of watching the two of you dance around each other with no progress. She gave you a push — with a hint of a threat — and gave you the courage to make the first move. Credit where it’s due — she was right. Despite the nerves, it all worked out in the end. Better than just good — way better.

---

"Are you two really going to eat all that?" - Nat asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Mmm, probably not, BUT that doesn’t mean you can have a piece," you said, spreading frosting on the last cupcake you’d baked. - "Maybe tomorrow, if there’s any left — and only because I’m a nice person."

"Hm, okay. Soooo..." - she ran her finger through the bowl of leftover chocolate frosting and licked it before continuing - "Do you think this is going to make it up to Wanda?"

"What do you mean by that?" - You knew exactly what she was referring to, but you decided to play dumb.

"Ah, Y/n. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone saw how Wanda was after that party on Saturday, at Stark's" she said, swiping a bit more frosting. "Oh, and all week long after that. So…? Are you two good?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know about Saturday and yes, everything’s fine," you replied in a cold tone.

"Y/n," —-she stepped closer, taking the spoon and cupcake from your hand. - "I know you. Just spit it out already. Better to say it here than let it blow up later with Wanda and make things even worse," she said, eyebrow raised.

You let out a deep sigh before finally starting to vent.

"Okay, so… I didn’t do anything wrong, did I? I mean, if anything happened that night, it was Carol’s fault, she’s the one who started talking to me and sticking close to me the whole time. Why can’t Wanda see that? She’s the one who started avoiding me and..."

Natasha put a hand over your mouth, cutting you off.

"Hey, slow down. Breathe. Let's see..." - Nat said calmly. - "I don’t think you did anything wrong, but maybe you could have handled it better. Carol was hanging pretty close to you, and maybe Wanda saw more than just that. You know your girl — she’s jealous. Very jealous."

You rolled your eyes, and Nat shot you a disapproving look.

"What? Are you gonna disagree with me?" - she smirked. -"You might have taught her how to control her powers better, but her jealousy? Nope. You can feel how crazy she gets inside when she sees you with someone else. Anyway, that wildcat is yours."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. - "I know you two will work it out and honestly, this is probably the perfect chance. Oh, and happy one year of having to witness you two being disgustingly in love. Also, pleaseee… try to keep quiet tonight. There are nights I can hear her saying your name — and not in a very cool way…"

"Natasha!! Shut up!" - you pushed her hand off your shoulder and gave her a shove. -"Go bother someone else. I need to finish all this before she gets back."

"Ohh yess, I almost forgot about her very important commitment today with my little sestra. They’re probably out shopping for some new toys for you two to play with tonight," - she teased, winking as she walked out of the kitchen, laughing while you cursed at her.

---

Everything was set. Pillows and a blanket neatly arranged on the bed, a side table stocked with snacks and drinks, the TV playing her favourite sitcom, and the wrapped necklace you had bought for her sitting nearby. With the busy mission schedule this week, you knew you wouldn’t be able to plan anything big — but that didn’t mean you were going to let the day go unnoticed. Even if it was a simple night, it was your night to celebrate.

"Hey, baby, I’m back," - Wanda announced as she opened the bedroom door. - "Oh, what do we have here? What’s all this about?" she said, stepping closer and you noticed she was hiding something behind her back.

"Mmm, I don’t know… what could all this possibly mean???" - you teased, playing along with her. - "You first — what are you hiding back there?" - you asked, pulling her by the waist until your bodies were nearly touching.

"Hey, that’s not fair! I asked first," - she said, trying to give you a menacing look — but you knew she always melted when it came to you.

"Uh-huh, let’s see what we’ve got here..." - in a quick move, you snatched the package from her hand. - "Hmm, it says: ‘For my love.’ Well, I guess that’s for me then." -You winked and started opening the package.

It was a photo album — filled with polaroids you had taken together throughout the year, memories that made your heart overflow with happiness.

"I love it. It’s so beautiful and special. You’re special! Thank you, baby!" — you didn’t give her a chance to respond, stealing a kiss from her lips.

"Okay, enough. Now, where’s my present?" - she broke the kiss, raising an eyebrow as she stared at you.

"I see… my girl is so demanding. Happy one year, my darling." - you held out your hand, offering her a small box and an envelope.

She asked for your help to put the necklace on while she read the note inside. It was a surprise trip after the mission season — you figured it’d be a good idea to take a few days off, away from the team. And of course, she loved the surprise.

Gifts exchanged, you both settled into bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms as always, sharing another moment of quality time together.

---

Wanda was restless. Not even half an hour had passed since you started watching the sitcom, and she couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. You had already ruled out the idea that she was just trying to get comfortable — there was definitely something bothering her.

"Wands, what’s wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied curtly.

It was obvious something was wrong. You adjusted your position on the bed and sat up.

"Come on, baby, tell me. What’s going on? I know you're overthinking about something." - you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together and guiding her gaze to meet yours.

"I don’t know, it’s just that… I… you… you’re mine, right?" — there was uncertainty in her voice.

"What? Of course I’m yours — I’m all yours." - you let out a relieved sigh and a soft laugh, but you noticed that Wanda was still a bit tense.- "Hey, my love," - you gently cupped her chin, guiding her gaze back to you. - "There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m all yours — only yours."

Wanda didn’t say anything, her expression unreadable — until she leaned into you, closing the space between your faces, her lips brushing softly against yours.

The kiss intensified, laced with both urgency and desperation which only meant one thing: she was needy. But it wasn’t just that. Beneath the craving to have you close, there was something else — possessiveness.

Before you realized it, she was straddling your lap — one hand slipping beneath your shirt, nails lightly raking down your back, while the other tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. Her lips stayed locked with yours, not even breaking for air.

You knew Wanda's needs all too well. Ever since you both started exploring your sex life together, you began to notice the little details — not just the things she likes and doesn’t like, but also the different kinds of intimacy you two share. It usually starts soft — gentle touches and tender caresses — and eventually, by the end, it might get a little rough, but not that much. Sometimes, after a stressful mission, Wanda likes to use sex as a form of relief — and honestly, you’re not complaining. It’s rougher, faster, and deeper — a pretty damn good way to unwind. And then there’s that kind — when she’s overwhelmed with possessiveness, usually driven by jealousy. Oh, that’s the wildest one. She’s hungry, relentless, and won’t stop until she’s fully satisfied. Either way, whatever type it is, she’s almost always the bottom one — just a detail, since it’s never been a problem for either of you.

Then it clicked — you finally understood why she was acting with such intensity. It was about that party. About Carol. She was still thinking about it. Your thoughts snapped back to the present when you heard a muffled moan from Wanda. That’s when you noticed that she was rubbing against your thigh. You could help her out already, but you’ve always liked watching her need grow. So instead of letting your hand wander down, you slid it under her shirt, dragging your nails across her stomach until you reached her boobs, squeezing it over the bra.

She let out a louder moan at the feel of your hand on her skin, breaking away from the kiss to rest her face against your shoulder. A breathless "please" escaped her lips near your ear — her hips moving faster, desperately seeking more contact. It was hard to deny her when she begged like that — so your hand slipped lower, sliding inside her shorts.

When your fingers touched her wet folds she couldn't hold a pity whimper out loud. She kept her pace, rubbing herself against your fingers that were touching her clit — and you let her have a little fun, keeping your fingers still.

It took less than five minutes for her to start begging again — she needed more, she needed you. So you did what she wanted, you pushed your finger inside her cunt, she was so wet it slipped in at once.

And there she was your neddy girlfriend — right on your lap, desperate as her hips moved, seeking the most contact possible, moaning in your ear.

You thrusted your finger faster and deep but it wasn't enough. Then she placed her hand on your neck, and you felt her nails digging into your skin. She looked into your eyes, and you met that gaze — the red eyes — you knew exactly what it meant, she was reaching her climax. - "I need one more finger, pleasee. Don't stop. One more." - She begged between moans.

You acted right away, thrusting another finger, rougher — trying to sync your movements with her hips. She was close, you could feel and see. Her red eyes glowing, she always keeps those when she's desperate in need, when she's about to lose control — she just needs to release.

"hmm tasty as always" - you said, licking your fingers that were sticky with her cum.

She gave a shy smile, still catching her breath. You brushed a strand of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"Sooo, are we going to talk about this...?"

She stared at you, her expression hard to read, leaving you unsure of what was on her mind. Then, to your surprise, she grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and began to lift it in a gesture to take it off.

"I'm not done, I still need you" - she said while you let her finish taking off your t-shirt.

She gave you a look, and you nodded — you knew she would only talk normally once she was satisfied. She started taking off her clothes, and you stood up to finish taking off yours.

In a second, you were both naked. You reached the nightstand drawer to grab the strap-on and in a hurry, you started wearing, but before you could finish adjusting it, Wanda took your hand, making you look at her in confusion.

"I was thinking...maybe we could switch?"

You were surprised by what she asked, despite hearing the hesitation in her voice when she suggested it.

"Of course we can switch, baby!" - you took off the strap-on and reached out your hand to give it to her. -"Do you wanna help to adjust it?"

She took it from your hand but placed the object on the bed. - “I was thinking about try something different…” - You nodded as a sign that it was okay and she continued - "Soo... I learned how to get an enchanted strap-on but I'll be attached to my body so in theory I could feel everthing..." - she stopped and waited for your comment, you could feel she was a little anxious about it.

"That sounds awesome! What are you waiting for? Let's try it!" - your voice was full of excitement. Wanda returned a smile and cast her spell, and before you realized it, she literally got a magic cock.

"Oh my god, that's so hot." - You couldn’t hold yourself back. And neither could Wanda. She grabbed your arm, guiding you back onto the bed, and with one swift movement, you were beneath her.

She kissed you again, deep and intense, and you felt her desire stirring once more. Her hips started moving, pressing against your body and you could feel her hardness. You were so wet, ready to be filled up by her and her teasing was making you impatient.

"Wands please, I need to feel you inside."

She smiled with her lips still touching yours, getting a better position between your legs, and then you felt her cock pressing your entrance, slipping in slowly. You left a muffled moan.

"You are so wet already, baby" - she pushed all in and you felt your walls being stretched out. - "and you are so tight, you feel so nice."

You love Wanda in every way, but having her like this on top of you?, teasing you like that? It was definitely like paradise. Besides the new magic experience driving your mind crazy. It was so real and good.

She thrusted into you only a few more times at a slow pace but it wasn't enough. She gripped your waist and started pounding her cock faster. You were no longer able to control your moans - you needed her.

You felt her nails in your skin, her thrusts deeply touching your sensitive spot and you could tell she was feeling everything too. She got a rough pace and her eyes started getting red — the red eyes back. But suddenly, she slowed her movements, almost stopping, her hands now lighter on your hips and her thrusts steadier.

Something was wrong. You looked into her eyes — that now were back to normal, and placed your hand over hers resting on your waist. - "Wands? Are you okay? Something is not right I can feel it."

"Nothing is wrong." - She tried to ignore you, but you gave her a disapproving look. - "It's just... I don't want to hurt you." - her voice was low and you couldn't believe what she was saying.

"What? You will never hurt me. I want it all and..."

Wanda didn't let you finish. - "No, you can't be sure about that. You know how I get when my powers get stronger and it takes control of myself. I can't hurt you."

Now it was you who was ignoring Wanda’s words. In one swift movement, you wrapped your legs around her body, pulling her closer.

"I know you won't hurt me. It's okay to be insecure, but I'm with you" - Your hands squeezed hers and you continued - "Honestly baby, right now I need you. I need you to fuck me."

She locked eyes with you for a few seconds — it felt like you could hear every thought racing through her mind. But then her eyes started glowing red again. Oh, she was back — and so were her desires.

You felt her hand burning against your skin. Her movements getting faster, every thrust deep inside your cunt. You heard her moans mixed with your own.

Your walls tightened and she must felt that against her cock because she thrusted rougher — you knew the only thing on her mind this time was to fuck you recklessly. Your moans were desperate getting close to the edge, each stroke sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

"You are mine, all and only mine" - she kept saying those possessives words, by every in and out moviment.

You got the orgasm together, your pussy tighter against her cock and you felt her cum spitting inside. You wouldn’t be lying if you said you felt all of her magic coursing through your veins. You felt full of her.

She rested her body on top of yours, your faces inches apart, and you could feel Wanda’s breath, still uneven. - "You were amazing, my love." - You said stroking her back and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. -"and so so hot."

"Maybe we should do this more often." - she smiled at you and stole a soft lips kiss.

"We definitely should. And without holding your magic back" - You cupped Wanda’s neck, pulling her face closer, and gave her a long, deep kiss.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda fanfic #emo wanda maximoff #wlw #wlw post #lesbian #wanda x y/n #emo wanda switch #switch wanda #wanda mcu

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fear-is-truth · 5 months ago

Note

how do you think patrick will react when you try to break things off with him?

breaking up with patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; mentions of drug use, homicide

a/n: apologies for the word salad.. my brain is kinda fried from my classes. also he’s such a pretty crier

𝜗ϱ ┆ denial & gaslighting

his immediate reaction would likely be disbelief. the idea of someone rejecting him, particularly someone he views as an extension of his life, would be incomprehensible to him. this disbelief would manifest as condescension and dismissal, accompanied by gaslighting.

“you’re leaving me?” he’d say with a strained smile, eyes narrowing to slits. “that’s ridiculous. you don’t mean that.”

patrick wouldn’t process the emotional weight of your decision, instead assuming that you’re acting irrationally or that something external has influenced you. his need to maintain control would drive him to undermine your perspective, likely accusing you of being under the influence of drugs.

“have you been doing too much cocaine? or maybe those diet pills? you’re not thinking clearly, darling.”

this gaslighting would be less about convincing you and more about reinforcing his own denial. patrick lives in a world where his perception is reality, and your decision to leave disrupts that. denial is his first line of defense.

𝜗ϱ ┆ manipulation & desperation

as the conversation continues, patrick would pivot to emotional manipulation. while he lacks true empathy, he is an expert at imitating emotional responses to “fit in”. he’d beg you to reconsider, framing his argument that appeals to your sense of loyalty or guilt.

“think about everything i’ve done for you. everything we’ve had together. you can’t just walk away.”

if manipulation doesn’t work, his desperation would become more overt. while patrick is typically composed, cracks in his facade could begin to show. you might see a flash of raw panic in his eyes.

“you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re making a mistake.”

𝜗ϱ ┆ begging

patrick would eventually resort to begging, and this is where the irony comes in—remember the time he dumped evelyn with an air of theatrical superiority, telling her that she’s “simply not terribly important” to him.

“you can’t do this to me. please, don’t go. we can work this out—whatever this is, we can fix it. i’ll change.”

of course, he is incapable of real change, and his promises would ring hollow. but the desperation in his voice would feel oddly genuine.

𝜗ϱ ┆“i need to return some videotapes.”

when it becomes clear that he can’t sway you, patrick would retreat, unwilling to let you witness the full extent of his unraveling. maintaining appearances is critical, even in moments of personal crisis. with a curt, almost robotic tone, he’d excuse himself with his signature non sequitur:

“i need to return some videotapes.”

this statement, bizarre and out of place, serves two purposes. first, it allows him to escape the confrontation without completely breaking down in front of you. second, it reaffirms his facade of control.

𝜗ϱ ┆ private despair

once alone, patrick would no longer be able to hold himself together. the breakup would be a complete fracturing of his identity. while he outwardly projects confidence, his inner world is fragile and deeply insecure. your rejection would strip away the validation he relies on to maintain his ego. he’d cry—silent, bitter tears of frustration and humiliation.

𝜗ϱ ┆ homicide as a coping mechanism

but patrick is incapable of processing emotions in a healthy way, so the tears wouldn’t lead to introspection or change. instead, they’d fuel a darker spiral—he’d channel his feelings of loss into compulsive, destructive behaviour. violence is often an outlet for him, and your departure could serve as a catalyst for a spree of homicidal acts. (e.g killing homeless people)

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x you #patrick bateman fanfic #slasher x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o #slasher fanfic #slasher fanfiction #christian bale x reader

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quarterlifekitty · 5 months ago

Note

So! I love your headcanons they give me life! What do you think the men would react to a reader they have only been dating like 3 months to pop the question? They wanna lock it down yesterday.

I’m choosing to have them match your freak because I want to spread positivity and let’s be real. They don’t have no time for dating if they wanna get married at all they gotta lock it down fast

Gaz- He’s so mad. This man literally spends so much of his time when he’s falling asleep thinking about what his proposal to you will look like. Where you’ll be. The gemstone you want. Public or private. Should he hide the ring somewhere for you to find, or would that be tacky? Should he sing? No, that would be embarassing. But would it be so embarrassing that it loops back around to being the most romantic gesture you’ve ever witnessed? Well now he’ll never know cause you proposed first!

Soap- this man is so impulsive when it comes to this shit. He would’ve married you on the day you met as long as the vibes were right. And the my very much were, to him.

Ghost- he does think it’s soon, but that’s mostly because he’s too aware of how fragile a human life is, so he really doesn’t do a lot of long term planning. He’s cool with it— as long as you’re not angling for a big, crowded ceremony. Go get that military discount, girl.

Price is in the same boat as Gaz. Like father like son. He wanted a story that would fluster you when he told it to your kids and grandkids!!!

König, as I’ve said— very insecure. He believes he’s punching above his weight with you, and deep down he thinks one day you’ll figure that out and leave him. So yeah, he’ll accept any way to secure you for longer.

Nikolai thinks it’s very cute. You love him? You wanna be owned forever by this man that, to be honest, you barely know in the grand scheme of things? He’ll own you, malýshka. He can’t say no to that cute face.

Nikto is not in a place where he’ll tell you he loves you, but his claws are barbed— trying to remove him will end in you tearing out your own flesh. He is a jealous man. So anything that will be a deterrent to the pissant men that approach you when he’s not around is acceptable to him.

And for those of you who like seeing my silly notes:

The blots are because I use a fountain pen and she has been misbehaving

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mistyorchid · 6 months ago

Text

‧₊˚♱ Logan Howlett Archive ♱˚₊‧

An archive of my fave Logan Howlett fics on Tumblr, with a special section just for Old Man Logan! <3 If you guys love these works as much as I do, interact with the author's post! Reblog, like, comment, the works. Will update! Don't like it, don't read! Fluff/no smut is tagged with ✿. mdni!

Old Man! Logan

one-shots

✦ Double Dicked Down on a Tuesday / @wolvieispunk

You're casual with Joel and Logan. Tonight, you want a threesome you (literally) couldn't walk away from.

✦ from eden / @eupheme

Logan timeline, sorta divergent/fix-it fic, angst, hurt/comfort, everyone is going through it, wound tending, dark thoughts/references to violence/death (aligning with themes in the movie), neurodegenerative disorders (Charles), multiple pov, established relationship, shower sex, oral sex, PiV, feelings

✦ GLORY BOX / @rqnarok

calling old man!logan daddy for the first time ever…

✦ never is a promise / @joelsgoldrush

You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

✦ Silk and Submission / @tteotlma

sexual content (18+ MDNI), age gap (25-53), degradation, virginity, consent dynamics, intense emotional experiences, body image, possible manipulation, emotional intimacy, potential objectification, light BDSM themes, physical intimacy, power dynamics, explicit language, feelings of nervousness or anxiety related to sexual experiences, and exploration of personal insecurities.

✦ speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life / @moonlight-prose

he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

✦ SUGAR ON THE RIM / @ovaryacted

When Logan comes home after finishing his driving rounds for the night, you help him wind down and enjoy a drink.

✦ taxi driver / @eloquentlytired

tags: taxi driver logan - build up - eventual smut - large age gap ( reader in/over mid 20s and logan in his 50s ) - singular mention of thr0wing up and dr*gging - savior logan - some surface wounds - logan loves calling u sweet girl and sweetheart

✦ the way you want to / @eupheme

situationship, possessive!soft dom logan, daddy kink, teasing/begging, logan taking an educated wish, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mutual unspoken pining, vaginal sex, creampie

✦ untitled / @inkedells

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

drabbles

✦ Ain’t as Good as I Once Was / @lovelybucky1

old man!logan x AFAB!reader, riding, bratting, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, age gap, punishment, degradation, 18+ minors dni

✦ Good girl / @i5uckersblog

request for old man! Logan please: he calls the reader his good girl for the first time in bed & he sees the instant affect it has on her

✦ old man!logan obsessing over his pregnant wifey / @rqnarok

smut! mdni. breeding kink. lactation kink. pregnant sex. dom/sub dynamics.

✦ ✿ Something For Himself / @sassypossum

I love this man. He genuinely deserves the softest life…

✦ untitled / @eupheme

logan comes first, so he fucks you with his fingers

✦ ✿ untitled / @flowersforbucky

some angst, touching and sensuality, suggestiveness, insecurity and doubt from logan, comfort and fluff

✦ untitled / @murdrdocs

normal, not insane thoughts being had about fucking old man logan.

Worst! Logan

one-shots

✦ forty five minutes in the closet / @moonlight-prose

an alternative scene to what really happened in that closet.

✦ room for rent / @hauntedhowlett-writes

logan finds a new roomate.

✦ sniff / @seventeenpins

You catch Logan with your stolen panties.

✦ Til The Sun Turns Black / @lubdubology

Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

✦ i'll love you forever (a momma, you'll be) / @elflutter

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t been waiting for this day: Logan at his most fertile; you at yours. Even though you’ve talked about it, stopped your birth control for it, an an unspoken question still lingers in his gaze. You’re sure about this? You really want a baby with an old man like me?

Logan & Wade x Reader

one-shots

✦ untitled / @dollfacefantasy

tags: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation

✦ untitled / @avocado-writing

vaguely sub!Logan (he deserves to be taken care of); handjob (logan receiving); p in v sex (Logan giving, reader receiving); p in a sex (Wade giving, Logan receiving); knotting; fluff

✦ woo, my baby's got me all mixed up! / @sceletaflores

t18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering…kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

Everything else! *Origins, X1-3, dofp, etc.

one-shots

✦ dirty little secret / @silverskyeline

logan finds that you've left him a little gift behind, and he just can't help himself.

✦ ✿ Dumb & Poetic / @mcrdvcks

You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

✦ Halloween / @selfcarecap

You dress up as Wolverine for Wade’s Halloween party and it unleashes something in Logan. Him wearing a Ghostface mask also unleashes something in you. Or: Logan fucks you wearing a Ghostface mask.

✦ moanin' & groanin' / @shellshocklove

working for your father's timber business isn't what you saw yourself doing, but when the wolverine comes looking for work it's suddenly not so bad – especially when he can teach you a thing or two.

✦ MUSE [L.H.] / @selfcarecap

Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them.

✦ Practice / @selfcarecap

Your roommate Logan lets you practise giving a blowjob on him for your date with another guy.

✦ PRETTY AS A PRINCESS ♡ / @dollfacefantasy

you and logan have to work on halloween, but on the bright side, that means you get to dress up. and even better, you get to give him a little preview of the costume you've chosen.

✦ ✿ The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony / @gothgoblinbabe

You can’t stand each other, so it’s a mystery to you and Logan why you’re sent out together on an assignment. To make it worse, you’d have to act much closer than you really were.

✦ The Wolverine and His Bunny / @rosenclaws

You and Logan have always butted heads and his constant, condescending reminders of your mutation don't help. It's not until your forced to train together and well, the tension is undeniable

✦ Two's Company / @jen-with-a-pen

obligatory MDNI, written on my phone, everyone's an adult and 21+, no smut, open ended, use your imagination, secret relationship/crush vibes, alcohol (wine), sexual tension, again use your imagination

✦ untitled / @selfcarecap

Manipulative best friend!Logan with a corruption kink

✦ Where is the beast now? / @fungateshortcakes

english is not my first language, porn without plot, submissive Logan, dominant reader, orgasm denial, cockrings, handjobs, dirty talk, slight humiliation, slight praise kink, penis in vagina sex, penetrative sex, unsafe sex, cumming inside, creampie, mommy kink, Logan gets called a good boy/baby/pretty prince, copious amounts of cum, short but filthy

drabbles

✦ Hands Free / @ddejavvu

tsmut, minors dni, mean!logan, drinking, don't like don't read.

✦ thinking about older!boyfriend logan howlett and his sweet little live-in girlfriend… / @cavillscurls

MDNI, dom/sub dynamics, pet names, daddy!kink, dd/lg undertones

✦ untitled / @murdrdocs

80s pornstar logan; age gap; pornstar reader x pornstar logan; doggy; brat!reader MDNI 18+

✦ untitled / @mcrdvcks

fem!reader, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, insecurities

✦ untitled / @superhoeva

older bf!logan is the kinda guy that wants to treat you to a special night of an oiled massage but gets distracted halfway through with how pretty you glisten in the candlelight.

✦ untitled / @robo-writing

Kinktober Day Six: 70's! Logan - Cock Worship

#logan fic rec #fic recs #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #old man logan x reader #logan howlett smut #old man logan smut

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utterlyotterlyx · 1 year ago

Text

Another Love

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Based on this ask

Summary - Azriel knows you'd never leave his side, no matter what, but when his new situationship with Elain takes over his every living moment and he takes advantage of your feelings, you make the only decision you can to save yourself only for him to hurt you in a way you never thought he could.

Warnings - ANGST, mega fluff, swearing, neglect, abuse of feelings, mentions of death, slight grovelling (I’m more of an epic admissions girlie you all know this), lots of sadness.

Word Count - 4.9k oops

The clock ticked away, idly counting the seconds by, seconds that turned to minutes, and minutes that turned to hours, hours that Azriel had seemingly forgotten about the promise he had made to take you to the theatre.

The cobalt blue bow in your hair, that you had chosen to perfectly match him, swayed sadly as you moved about your room with a heavy heart, hanging up the dress you had bought especially for the occasion and changing into something more comfortable to wallow in self-pity.

It had become normal, his lateness, his nightly visits became later and shorter until they had stopped all together, well, that is until he needed something from you, and you would give him whatever he asked for, no matter how much it hurt you.

You had been a part of the Inner Circle for over 500 years, you were one of the originals, growing up in the camps with Rhys, Cassian and Azriel, Rhys' mother protected you fiercely, and you were very close to Selene, your chosen sister. You were the one they turned to for everything, you were wise and brutal, an incredible warrior and tactician, but also soft and kind; you were the blue break in a sky of storm clouds, you were the spring breeze that cut through the edge of winter, you were everything.

A thing Azriel knew all too well.

It didn't surprise you when Azriel had become fond of Elain, like it didn't surprise you when he had pined after Mor for all those years, completely looking over you in the process. Elain was a soft and fragile thing, she was quiet and graceful, and Azriel was completely besotted by her. A fact that made your heart curse your stupidity, cursing the hope you had willed into it that maybe he would finally see you.

It was no secret that you and Azriel were the closest out of all of the members of your growing family, you had shared 500 years of respect and adoration for one another.

Azriel was by your side when Selene had so brutally lost her life, he had held your hand through the depression and brought you back to life. Azriel knew every single thing that you loved and hated, he knew what every facial expression meant, he knew every tick of your body language which silently conveyed how you were feeling. Azriel knew you better than anyone, even better than he knew himself. The map of you laid etched bare on the back of his hand, a map he used to scour daily, but now barely even glanced at.

It wasn't so one sided.

You knew Azriel better than anything, and you knew a lot. 500 years of life pointed to a rich knowledge. You were the one who cleaned him up after a mission, you're the one who mended his broken bones and washed his turmoil away. You were the one who helped him overcome his insecurities with his hands. You were the one his shadows shot to at family dinners. You were the one who sang him to sleep when his demons had become to much. There was nothing you wouldn't do for Azriel, even if it meant standing on the side-lines until he wanted you.

Moonlight streaked along the floor of your bedroom, cascading across the pale blue of your comforter and drifting along the edges of your antique furniture. The dress you had wanted to wear to the theatre hung off the frame of your mirror, rippling softly in the gentle breeze that entered through the slightly ajar window.

It was silly to feel upset, you knew Azriel didn't owe you any of his time, but you had really thought he would pull through, especially after you had told him how much you missed spending time with him.

Interrupting your damaging thoughts, your door opened to reveal Azriel, who looked annoyed and not at all in knowing of his lateness or the promise that now lay in tatters in your chest. From the look on his face, you knew instantly that Elain was the one who plagued his mind, she was the cause of it every time he had come to see you recently.

Huffing, Azriel trudged to your cream living area, propping his feet up on the antique table you had asked him to be careful with far too many times and sinking into the cushions. He hadn't spared you a glance as he entered, he didn't note his colour in the form of a bow in your perfectly styled hair, he didn't see the sadness in your eyes laced with that naïve hope that he may have turned up to apologise for being late. He didn't see you.

"What happened this time?" You inquired, wrapping yourself tighter into your robe and sliding into the seat beside him, tucking your legs underneath you and propping your head in your palm as you stared at him.

Azriel was beautiful, scars and demons and all, the height of his cheekbones, those hazel oceans of a thousand emotions, the golden skin and arched brows, the curve of his muscles under his second skin, everything about him was intoxicating.

"Lucien," Azriel through his head back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose, "I was so close to kissing her, so close, Y/N. And then Lucien walked in, he ruined it."

The revelation had stung, he'd never admitted to you to being close to kissing Elain before, it was always a myriad of stolen glances and ghosting touches, of hushed words laced with a million differing meanings. But never a kiss.

Azriel paid no mind to the hurt that radiated from you, he knew it was there, he always knew it was there but he couldn't focus on it.

Only an idiot could be blind to the clear feelings you had toward Azriel, the way you looked at him was not the way a friend looked at another friend, no matter how close they were. Azriel knew that he could never truly push you away, no matter how much you were hurting you'd never leave, he knew that, he knew you'd always be there for him to fall into.

It was so awfully wrong, but he lapped in serenity you gave him, in that unwavering loyalty, and he had no intention to stop drinking from your fountain of love.

"Lucien is her mate, Az. He's bound to not like whatever it is that's going on between you," your voice was gentle and full of understanding, your hand rested on his shoulder and he felt any anger disappear almost immediately. That's what your touch alone could do to him, bring him immeasurable peace.

"I know," he sighed, opening his eyes and turning his head to the side to look at you, a small smile tugged at his lips when he noticed how pretty you looked, with your hair parted just how he liked it, and with a bow tied neatly at the back, "I still think that the cauldron was wrong," your face faltered when he immediately continued on his weekly rant, "It gets it wrong sometimes, we know that. It's wrong, it has to be."

All you wanted was for Azriel to be happy, he deserved it more than anyone you knew. Rhys had found Feyre, who you adored tremendously. Cassian had found Nesta, who had become a very good friend of yours. So, you couldn't blame Azriel for believing that Elain was fated to be his, three brothers for three sisters. Even you had to admit that it made sense, The Mother moved in mysterious ways.

You plastered a smile on your face, you vision catching the satin of your new dress moving softly against the breeze, "Maybe it is," Azriel hummed at your words before continuing on, listing everything he adored about Elain.

"I wish sometimes that she was you, you know? That her and I could be like this, with no one watching over us, to be able to spend time alone and do whatever we wanted to do and talk about anything," it was like he didn't realise what he exactly he was wishing for.

Azriel wanted you to be Elain, so that he could have the life he dreamed of. Elain. Not you. Elain.

You weren't good enough for him.

"I hope you get to that point one day, Az," your voice was strained from holding in your strangled sobs, "I'm tired, can we talk about this more tomorrow?"

"Sure," Azriel smiled at you, rising from his seat and heading to the door, standing in the doorway and looking back at your form still glued to your spot, "I like your bow, Y/N. Blue suits you, always has," and then he closed the door behind him, you waited a few moments before letting your sobs flow through your lips and ripping that damned bow from your hair.

Azriel would never see you the way you begged to be seen, and you couldn't sit around and be the one he fell back to when life wasn't going his way.

More days had passed, more days of Azriel complaining to you, more days of Azriel wishing that Elain and you had switched paths so that he could finally get what he was owed.

Azriel didn't care for your tear stained skin, he didn't care for your weary eyes whenever you spoke of Elain to you.

It was awful that he knew exactly what he was doing, he was abusing your relationship with him, he knew you'd never walk away from him, he knew you'd never be able to put your foot down and tell him to cut it out.

The idea of a mate had him completely obsessed, obsessed to the point that he became blind to what was right in front of him, what had always been in front of him. That blind faith in your loyalty crumbled in his fingers once Rhys had told him that you had decided to purchase your own home in the city, a home away from them all.

"What?" Azriel had asked from his place at the dinner table, bewildered by the news given to them once he had asked where you were.

Nesta knew the exact reason why you had decided you separate yourself from them, you couldn't handle the rejection anymore, and you couldn't begin to heal from the decades worth of heartbreak under the same roof as Azriel and Elain. Nesta knew you held no ill feeling toward her youngest sister, you were too kind for that, you knew it wasn't her fault that Azriel came to you each time something went wrong in their situationship, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"She left, Az," Mor had cried when Rhys had pulled her to one side that afternoon to tell her that you had decided to move into the home that Rhys had bought you after you had made it clear that you needed your own space, and Rhys had spent an hour trying to convince his cousin that your decision was not impacted by anything any of them did.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Azriel asked his brother who frowned, Feyre grabbed Rhys' hand and squeezed it in hers, "She can't just leave, Rhys."

"She has every right to after everything she's done for all of us, she deserves some peace," Rhys spoke calmly, snapping his fingers and allowing the sentient home to rid the plates and serving dishes from the table.

Azriel was speechless, he felt a frantic pull in his body, one that was poisoned with desperation at the thought of you being anywhere else than under the roof of the River House, the home you had spent a century redecorating and perfecting, paying special attention to each room to make it feel as homely as possible.

He didn't believe it as his chair groaned against the floor and he took off up the stairs toward your room, pushing his way through the doors to find it completely empty. No pictures hanging on the walls, no lines of hooks containing an array of ribbons in different hues, no dresses draped over your mirror, no antique furniture. It was all gone, and the scent of you that was usually so strong that it drowned him was a whisper in the atmosphere.

You had left.

Anger bubbled within him, how could you leave without saying anything? How could you move out of your shared home without a single word? How could you leave him after 500 years at his side?

Azriel flung open the doors to your balcony, a balcony plush with fresh flowers and greenery, he flexed his wings and hurtled himself into the starlit sky, allowing his shadows to peel from his body and search every inch of Velaris until they returned to him reeking of your scent and pulled him down to a small townhouse along the bank of the Sidra.

It was a charming home, pale brickwork, large bay windows, golden light emitting from them, and a large garden full of rich wildlife and botanicals. Your scent flowed from the closed oak door, lavender and honey with a hint of firewood and he found himself following that smell up the winding path until he was knocking on your door.

Golden light flowed from the home as you opened the door. You were dressed in denim overalls that were spatted with cream paint, you hair was loosely bound on the top of your head, and your face was full of uneasy surprise as you looked at him, "Az, what are you doing here?"

Azriel pushed past you and stood in the centre of your hallway, listening to your deep exhale as you closed the door. The space was pretty, it was very you, the walls were half painted cream from their original sage colour that you were obviously painting over, the coving was white and saturated with intricate little sketches of leaves, the carpet was a rich brown and had clearly been laid that day from how interrupted it looked, the only pattern on it being the imprints of your bare feet. Azriel didn't stop his shadows as they extended from him and scoured each part of your new home, nodding with approval and curling around your fingers in understanding adoration.

White sheets were draped over your perfectly placed furniture, to protect it from the paint no doubt, and the same tarp lay at the foot of the walls to protect the carpet. Music drifted softly about the room, and boxes upon boxes of books lay open, with some of them idly placed on shelves to get them out of the way to be sorted properly at a later date.

"It's true? You've really left," he noted the intricately presented kitchen, white cabinets and exposed wooden beams, just like you always wanted.

You rounded him, walking into your new living space, bending down to pick up one of your plant pots before placing it on the window ledge, your back faced him but he could see the pain in your features through the reflection in the window, "Yes, I live here now."

"No. No. You're coming home with me, this is ridiculous," his heart was beating a mile a minute, he couldn't think straight, all that was consuming him was the reality that his fear had come to fruition, that the one person he believed would never leave him had actually walked away.

"I'm not coming back, Azriel," you told him softly, and he saw your shoulders rise and fall with each deep inhale of breath you forced your lungs to take.

Then you turned to him, in the middle of the home that you were trying to make yours, a home away from him, "I thought you'd never leave me. You can't leave me. You're my best friend, I need you."

"No, you don't. You need someone to fall back onto when life isn't going your way, that's all I am to you now," you felt your heart breaking, you felt it shattering in your chest, "I can't be the one you turn to when something becomes between you and Elain. I can't be the one you wish was her. I can't do it anymore, Az. You've taken advantage of me for too long. You promise me the world and show up empty handed. You don't realise I even exist until you need someone to complain to and I just can't do it anymore."

Azriel knew every word you were saying was the truth, he knew he had been using you, but he never expected you to actually walk away from him, you were supposed to love him too much to leave.

Your heart was in the palm of his hands and he knew it, he knew you'd spent hundreds of years falling deeper in love with him each passing day whilst he pined for someone else. The fact of your departure made a bitter monster appear in his mind, he allowed it to tug on the venom in his heart, he allowed it to control him, "Aren't you supposed to be in love with me?"

Azriel watched your eyes widen and a breathless gasp fall from your lips, "You know?"

The Shadowsinger scoffed, "Of course I know. Only a fool wouldn't be able to see it," he saw your face contort into painful sorrow but did nothing to stop himself from saying, "I've known for years. I've known that you'd never leave, you've always been the one that I come to for anything I need and you never complain or tell me to leave. You made it easy to take advantage of you."

A tear slid down your cheek but Azriel made no move to wipe it away, "I want you to leave."

"I'm not leaving without you."

Fire roared in your eyes, "You have no right to command me after what you've knowingly done. I honestly thought that you didn't know, that it was innocent and that you just needed my advice. Now I know that you've willingly abused my kindness, Azriel, you can rot in hell," the tears didn't stop flowing from your eyes, your voice was strained and sore, your chest was so tight that you thought it may stop beating all together, "Get. Out!"

Azriel had left you then, he had left your door wide open and soared into the skies, leaving you in the home that was now tainted by his deceit.

It had been months since Azriel had seen you, Nesta and Feyre had practically forbid him from going anywhere near your home, that being from the land or sky. But that didn't stop him from allowing his shadows to slither under your front door or linger in the streets, he was desperate to know how you were.

Azriel hated himself for what he had said to you, he hated himself for taking advantage of you. In some way he tried to justify it, you were too good for him, he didn't want to ruin you, but it was clear that he already had.

Your absence had left a void that no one could fill, not even Elain despite her efforts, even the thought of her made his stomach drop and sickness swirl to the point where he couldn't bring himself to be around her. All Elain did was remind him of how he failed you.

Azriel had tried writing to you since you wouldn't see him, he gave the letters to Feyre and Nesta, the latter of which still saw your daily, and grew colder toward him with each passing moment. Even Cassian did nothing to hide his disappointment in him, and Rhys had some very telling words to express once Feyre had told him the truth of what had happened in your home that night.

Nothing was working, things with Elain were strained and difficult, the problems between them so raw and everyone's opinions so disapproving that it created a distance between them that was unmanageable.

Then it dawned on him that nothing was working with Elain because it wasn't meant to. The person who was meant to be his had been under his nose for 500 years, and now wanted nothing to do with him.

Cassian had pulled Azriel from his thoughts by stepping through the threshold of his room, "Are you coming to training?"

"Tell me how to fix it," Azriel lifted his head from his hands and turned his head toward Cassian who sighed in reply, moving to the bed to sit beside Azriel, "I need to know how to fix it."

"Only you can figure that out, Az," Cassian spoke to him, throwing his arm over Azriel's shoulder before continuing, "Y/N loves you Az, she has for 500 years. A few months apart won't change that. You're really fucking stupid for this though, she's the only one of us who knew the exact right thing to do and say every time. Y/N deserves more than the basic requirements of respect, she deserves the world in the palm of her hand and a person who loves her more than he loves himself. Don't bother her unless you can do that."

It was the anniversary of Selene's death, and the day hadn't gotten any easier for you to deal with.

Rhys and you had made a habit of doing something together each year, though, Azriel was the one to accompany you when Rhys had gone Under the Mountain. The location was sacred to you, you and Rhys would bundle yourselves up in blankets and watch the sun set over the Sidra, you'd rehash old memories and stories, ones that you both knew the script to by heart, but that never got old.

Your High Lord had tried to convince you to come home, but didn't push you when you had told him no. Your life had began to feel rather empty without the family antics that consumed your day-to-day life.

"I miss her," you had told him sadly, your head rested on his shoulder as the sun tipped her toes into the water in the distance, the sky grew darker each passing minute.

Rhys hummed, holding you closer to his side, "So do I," he replied with equal sadness, you had all grown up together, you basically were his sister by blood, and when you both had lost her, it only made him clutch to you more, "She'd nail Az's balls to the wall for sure."

A laugh passed through your lips before it died in your throat, you had done your best to not think about Azriel despite him owning your soul, you had done your best to heal from what he had done, but even then, you missed him more than anything, "How is he?"

It was the first time you had asked about him since before you had moved to your new home which was now fully decorated and yours, thanks to Rhys, Feyre and Nesta who made it their priority to help you settle, "He's-" Rhys couldn't lie to you, he was never able to even when you were younger, "-Not great. He misses you, he hates himself for what he said to you that night."

"I'd hate myself too," you had hummed, shifting to stand on the stone ledge where you and Rhys had sat, wanting a better view of the sun as it began to disappear against the horizon.

A familiar cold kiss pecked at your ankles and you looked down to see those shadows you had missed so dearly meandering around where you stood. Cedar entered your lungs and you shivered in painful delight as his warmth curled around your back.

"Y/N," his voice was deep and rough, it was pleading, you looked to your side and found that Rhys had vanished. That damn meddler. "Please look at me."

Not able to say no to that voice, you indulged the Shadowsinger and turned on the balls of your feet to peer upward at him. Azriel had his wings neatly tucked behind his back, his hands dangled at his sides, and his head was hung low. He looked terrible.

"Why are you here?"

Azriel clenched his jaw, he didn't expect you to be happy to see him, but it didn't stop the self hatred from growing in every single cell of his body, "I know how hard today is for you, I just wanted to see if you were alright."

"Well I'm fine, so you can go now," you made a move to walk away, to take the path down the edge of the Sidra to your home which had become your haven away from reality.

Though, you didn't get very far, perhaps two steps before Azriel's fingers curled around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks and pulling you back to him, "Y/N, I don't even know how to apologise in the way that you deserve. I don't know how to say sorry and make you feel like I see and hear you."

"What I did was disgusting, I hate myself for it. I never should have taken advantage of you like that, you've done everything to help me the entire time that I've known you and I ruined everything for someone I don't even want. I've always wanted a mate, you know that, and I got so carried away with wanting it that I completely ignored the only person who's ever truly loved me for me despite all of the horrid things I have done. Elain isn't you, Y/N. No one compares to you. No one makes me feel safe like you do, no one makes me feel alive like you do, and no one can make me hope for death by their void like you do."

"I am yours, Y/N. I always have been. I couldn't be the reason you ever got hurt, I couldn't be the one to risk extinguishing that glorious fire in your soul. You are the only one I cannot bear to lose, the thought of losing you terrifies me, it always has, and instead of protecting you, I took advantage of you and pushed you away because I would rather hurt someone else with everything that I am than hurt you with just a a part of it."

"I'm so stupid for ignoring you, I'm a prick for using you as my security blanket rather than let you in, you know me better than I know myself, you love me more than I could ever imagine, and it terrified me because I couldn't let myself love you. I couldn't let myself taint you."

Azriel lifted his hands, cupping your face in his palms and you could see every inch of despair within him, that conflicted flame dancing within his soul, "I'm not asking you to forgive me, I don't think I will ever be able to forgive myself after what I've done to you. I'm not asking for anything from you. I just need you to know that no matter how severe your storm, I promise I won't leave your side, I'll stay with you through the howling winds that whip my cheeks raw and red. I will stay and hold you when the night leaves you shivering and give you space when when your searing heat pushes you into a fiery rage. I will stay and love you in whatever way you crave, whether that be from next to you or from wherever you cast me to."

"Azriel-" tears flowed freely from his eyes and you knew he meant every word he was saying. Every single word was being plucked from the core of his essence.

"I know that you're scared, and that you don't trust me. I'm scared too. But you're the only one I can face love with because I only want to feel it with you. At the end of the day I want it to be you and me, I want your early mornings and late nights, I want you on your good days and bad. I will never stop wanting you. I will never stop needing you filling my lungs like oxygen and giving me life."

Azriel dropped his forehead onto yours, and you felt your own cheeks dampening from your own tears at his words, "I love you, Y/N. I will always love you, even if you don't want me to, even if you decide to walk away from me I will not stop loving you. I am so thankful for you, and I know I haven't shown that, but if you give me one more chance, I will show you exactly the man you have made me into. I will give you the world you have always dreamed of. My soul is yours until you stop loving me. Please. Please."

"I can't stop loving you, Az. I've tried but I can't and I don't want to," his thumbs wiped your tears away and you found yourself reaching to rest your fingers on the marred flesh around his wrists, "One more chance. Don't fuck it up."

Azriel pressed his lips to your forehead, relishing in your warmth as you bundled into his chest, "You're mine."

"Take me home, Az."

"Yours or mine?"

You grinned against his chest, "How about ours?"

Authors Note

I really hope this does the ask justice x

Alternate ending incoming 👀👀

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nabipumpum · 1 month ago

Text

━ You confuse meᴷᵃʳⁱⁿᵃˣᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

You say that you love me, but you don’t really act like you do.

Pairing - Yu Jimin(Karina) X Fem!Reader

Genre - angst, fluff if you squeeze your eyes

Warnings! situationship!, Reader can’t let Karina go, Karina is toxic, non reviewed W.C.: 650

aespa masterlist

You never knew exactly where you stood with Karina.

Sometimes, she was a calm sea, holding your face in her warm hands, her eyes shining like you were the most precious thing she had ever touched. Other times, she was a storm, distant and cold, her sharp words tearing apart any certainty you thought you had about what they were.

Today, it was a storm.

You knew it from the moment you met her at the coffee shop, sitting at the table, her eyes lost in her phone, her fingers drumming against the porcelain of her coffee cup. She barely looked up when you arrived, just a short wave and a dry murmur.

“Hi.”

It was a cruel contrast to the night before, when she had hugged you on the couch, her fingers drawing slow circles on your back, whispering between kisses: “I’ve never loved anyone like this.”

Now, it was like you were a stranger.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, trying not to sound fragile, trying to ignore the tight knot in your stomach.

Karina sighs, finally looking at you, but her gaze doesn’t carry the same warmth as before.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her indifferent tone hits you harder than any scream. You force a small smile, looking away at the untouched coffee on the table.

“I don’t know… you seem different.”

She laughs, but it’s not a laugh that warms you. It’s short, emotionless.

“You always think that.”

And that’s when you realize: it’s going to be another one of those days.

The coffee goes cold between you, the silence drags on like an unbearable weight. You try to make conversation, try to reach her, but Karina answers with monosyllables or distracted murmurs. The same pattern as always. You reach out across the table, hoping to intertwine your fingers with hers, but she steps back, grabbing her phone before you can touch her.

Your chest tightens.

You wanted to understand. I wanted to know what makes Karina sometimes seem like the sweetest, most caring person you’ve ever met, and other times, like she wants to push you away.

And the worst part of all? You never know which version of her you’ll find.

“Do you want to go home?” you ask, swallowing the insecurity that threatens to spill over into your voice.

Karina finally looks up from her phone, staring at you for a moment too long. Then, she sighs.

“Whatever.”

That hurts more than a “no.”

The walk to her apartment is silent. You walk next to Karina, but it feels like you’re miles away. The cold of the night makes your skin shiver, but what really bothers you is her distance, the way her hands remain in her coat pockets instead of holding yours.

When you enter the apartment, Karina throws her keys on the table and sits on the couch, grabbing the remote.

“Are you just going to stand there?” she asks without even looking at you.

You hesitate before sitting down next to her, trying to ignore the feeling of stepping on broken glass. For a while, the only sound in the room is the TV. You force yourself to lean a little closer to her, looking for any sign of reciprocity. But Karina remains still, as if her presence means nothing.

You feel like asking: why are you like this with me? But you swallow the question, because you know the answer would be vague or some excuse.

So, you just stay there, next to her, trying to ignore the tightness in your chest, trying not to think about how, a few nights ago, Karina looked at you with loving eyes, murmuring against your skin: “I’m yours.”

You wonder if she really was. If she ever will be.

And, as always, you decide to wait. Even if it hurts.

#aespa x reader #aespa x fem reader #aespa karina #aespa #karina x reader #karina #karina x fem reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin #yu jimin x fem reader

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batboysanonymous · 16 days ago

Text

Where Shadows Lie

Azriel x Reader

Summary: He was the one place she thought she’d never be broken again, until the truth shattered the fragile hope she’d just begun to believe in.

There was a time when Y/N thought she could live inside the way Azriel looked at her.

It wasn’t just the intensity of his gaze or the way the corners of his mouth curled when she entered a room—it was quieter than that. More intimate. Like every time his eyes found hers, they whispered you’re safe.

Their story had begun in silence.

In the shared pauses between missions. The comfortable rhythm of two souls who didn’t need words to understand each other. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no declarations, no desperate confessions under the stars. Just stolen glances, warm touches, soft brushes of knuckles against arms, until one night, he kissed her.

And when he did, it felt like her whole life had been leading to it.

That first kiss had been slow. Almost reverent. His calloused hand cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of her mouth before leaning in like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“I want this,” he’d whispered against her lips. “I want you.”

Y/n had fallen for him in pieces.

The way he read beside her, silently handing her books he thought she’d like. How he remembered her favorite tea and left it steaming on the counter every morning without being asked. The way his shadows curled protectively around her when she slept, never touching her skin but always near.

It wasn’t just the physical connection—it was the care. The sense that Azriel, for all his brooding silence and brutal strength, handled her like something precious.

It was only natural, then, that when they found each other’s beds, it felt like more than a fling. More than physical.

More.

And even though they’d never said what they were, she thought it was clear in the way he held her. In how he whispered her name like a promise against her skin. In the soft, rare smiles he only gave to her.

So when the curiosity began to creep in—the gentle suspicion, the insecurity born from something buried deep—she’d ignored it. At first.

But one morning, while lying tangled in his sheets, her head on his bare chest and his fingers idly tracing her spine, she found herself asking it anyway.

“Have you… been with anyone else? Since us?”

He went still.

For one sharp moment, her heart climbed into her throat.

“No,” he said, after a pause that was just a little too long. “I haven’t.”

Relief had flooded her chest. She didn’t question it. Didn’t want to question it.

Because she believed him.

Because he was Azriel.

She should’ve known.

The truth came not with thunder, but casually. Offhanded.

She had stopped by the River House one afternoon to drop off documents for Rhys, and Elain had been in the garden with Mor, chatting under the sun. Y/N had lingered with them, smiling, laughing, sipping wine.

It was Mor who said it.

“Do you remember that night Azriel came back late from Adriata?” she mused, plucking a grape from the bowl beside them. “He was with that healer—what was her name? Lira? Liana?”

Y/N stilled.

Elain nodded. “Liana, yes. She was sweet. They weren’t serious, I don’t think. It ended quickly.”

“When was that?” Y/N asked, before she could stop herself.

Mor tilted her head. “I don’t know… two months ago? Right after that mission with Cassian. Az was brooding for days after they ended things.”

Two months ago.

Right after that mission.

Right before she asked him if there had been anyone else, and he’d looked her in the eyes and lied.

The air vanished from her lungs.

Her hands went numb.

“I—sorry,” she mumbled, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I just remembered something I need to take care of.”

And she left. Fast. Before they could ask what was wrong. Before the nausea in her gut turned into something visible.

Back in her room, she stood in front of the mirror for a long time, staring at herself like she might find a version of Y/N who didn’t hurt.

The lie echoed in her head.

“No. I haven’t.”

The pause.

The way he kissed her afterward, like he was trying to bury the truth between her lips.

Coward, she thought. You could’ve told me. I would’ve forgiven you if you’d just told me.

She sat on the floor, numb. A slow, icy sort of pain creeping in—not from the fact that there had been someone else.

But from the fact that he hadn’t trusted her with the truth.

He had chosen her. Chosen to keep sleeping beside her, whispering into her skin, letting her fall deeper and deeper, all while knowing the truth could gut her.

And gods, it had.

She didn’t remember falling asleep that night. Only waking in a cold bed with his scent still clinging to the pillow, and a storm of heartbreak pressing against her chest like a scream.

The balcony overlooking Velaris used to feel like a safe place.

It was the kind of spot where the stars felt close enough to touch, where the wind was gentler, wrapping around her like a lullaby. The City of Starlight was quiet tonight, its heartbeat steady and unaware of the chaos that pulsed through Y/N’s chest. Her fingers were clenched around the railing, cold biting into her skin, but the pain was grounding. Real.

Unlike him.

The door opened behind her, soft footsteps padding across the stone. She didn’t need to look to know it was Azriel. She could feel him, like she always could, like her soul had memorized the rhythm of his.

“Y/N.”

Just her name.

But gods, the way he said it—like it hurt him to say it. Like it was the only thing that tethered him to this world.

She didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. The anger in her chest warred with something softer, something weaker—love. She hated that it hadn’t died the moment she learned the truth.

A lie. One carefully chosen omission that burned brighter than any betrayal could.

She turned, arms wrapped tightly around herself as she faced him.

Azriel looked wrecked. His dark hair was wind-tossed, his jaw tense, his eyes shadowed with something she couldn’t name. Regret, maybe. Guilt, absolutely. His siphons flickered dimly, as if even they were unsure of their welcome.

“I asked you,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I asked you if there was anyone else. And you looked me in the eye and said no.”

His throat bobbed with the effort it took to speak. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

“I know.”

A pause. Silence. The kind that stretched painfully between two people who once shared everything—breath, skin, hope.

“We weren’t even official,” she whispered, turning her gaze back to the stars. “That’s what I keep telling myself. That I don’t have a right to be mad. That you didn’t owe me anything.”

“I did owe you the truth,” he said immediately, stepping forward. “Whether we were official or not. I owed you honesty.”

She closed her eyes, pain blooming beneath her ribs. “Then why did you lie?”

There it was. The question that sat in her throat for days, weeks, the question that gnawed at her like rot.

He exhaled slowly. “Because I was afraid.”

She scoffed, stepping away from him. “You keep saying that. Afraid. Of what, Azriel? Of me?”

“Of losing you,” he said, voice shaking. “Of telling you something that would make you look at me differently. That would make you leave.”

“I’m leaving anyway,” she whispered. “Because I don’t know how to trust you anymore.”

His shadows writhed at his feet, agitated and restless.

“I didn’t love her,” he said, his voice breaking. “There was no love there. No meaning. It was before I knew—before I felt the bond. I swear to the Mother, I didn’t understand what you were to me until it was already too late.”

“That doesn’t make the lie better,” she said, her voice cracking.

Azriel flinched.

“I told you about my ex,” she continued, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. “I told you how he smiled and promised me things while sleeping with someone else. How I kept loving him even as he made me question my sanity. How he lied until I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

“I’m not him,” Azriel whispered.

“No,” she said. “You’re worse.”

The words sliced through him, and she saw it. Saw the way his shoulders sagged, how his eyes closed, how his wings dipped like they bore more than just his weight.

Because Azriel wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t careless.

He had lied out of fear, not malice. But that was the thing that broke her.

Because she had loved him so much, and he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her the truth.

She left that night without another word. Flew until her wings ached. Until the wind stole her breath. Until the tears on her cheeks dried from the speed of her escape.

She didn’t go far. She couldn’t. Their bond tethered her to him like a golden thread she wanted to cut but couldn’t bring herself to destroy.

He sent notes. Small, quiet things tucked into her books, her satchel, left at the edge of her bed.

I miss you.

You don’t have to forgive me. But I will spend the rest of my life wishing you could.

I never knew what it was like to need someone until you. And now I don’t know how to stop.

Even if this is the end of us, I will still love you. Always.

She didn’t respond.

Not because she didn’t feel it. But because she felt it too much.

She’d built walls to survive what came before him. And Azriel had scaled them with patience and gentleness and midnight smiles. Only to tear it all down with a single lie.

It was two months before they spoke again.

He found her in the training ring, panting and covered in sweat, the air around her pulsing with rage she hadn’t been able to bleed out.

“You’re angry,” he said from the doorway.

She didn’t turn. Just kept throwing punch after punch at the worn training dummy. “Sharp observation.”

“Y/N—”

She turned then, breath ragged, fury burning in her eyes. “Do you think I wanted this? To still want you? To ache for you even when I hate what you did?”

Azriel stepped forward. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t.”

He swallowed, the pain clear on his face.

“But I never stopped loving you,” she said, voice breaking. “That’s the problem.”

His expression crumbled. “Then let me fix it.”

She stared at him for a long moment, chest heaving. “You can’t fix what you broke. But you can try to rebuild it.”

He nodded, slowly, like he didn’t quite believe she meant it.

“But it has to be different this time,” she continued. “No lies. No shadows. Just truth. Even when it’s hard.”

“I can do that,” he whispered.

“Then show me.”

The rebuild was slow.

Painfully slow.

Azriel didn’t push. He showed up. Quietly. Consistently. He brought her tea in the mornings, lingered in the corners of her world like a shadow with a heartbeat. When nightmares found her, he didn’t ask to hold her—but he sat outside her door until dawn.

And little by little, the walls started to crack again.

Not because she was weak, but because he was earning it.

One evening, as the sun dipped low over Velaris, she sat beside him on the same balcony where they’d once shattered.

The air between them hummed with unspoken things.

“I still think about it,” she said quietly. “About what it felt like when I realized you lied.”

Azriel didn’t flinch. “So do I.”

“I still hurt.”

“So do I.”

She looked at him then, and for the first time in weeks, she let herself really see him. The haunted look in his eyes. The exhaustion. The silent ache.

“I forgive you,” she said softly.

He blinked, like he hadn’t heard her.

“I’m not saying I’ll forget,” she clarified. “Or that I’m not still scared. But I forgive you.”

His throat worked around a word that wouldn’t come. His eyes shone.

“I don’t deserve it,” he rasped.

“No,” she said, touching his face. “But you’ve earned it.”

He kissed her then, gently, like a man trying not to break the very thing he loved.

And this time, when she kissed him back, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was home.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff, @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch, @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld

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#acotarxreader #angst #batboys x reader #x reader #acotar #slow burn #azriel x reader #tension #night court #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #pro azriel #fem reader #reader insert #female reader #imagine #x you #one shot

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riesread · 7 months ago

Text

Shattered Trust, Mended Hearts

— REQUESTED by ANON / REQUEST status: OPEN

— pairing • jude bellingham x soft!reader

— summary • Jude Bellingham, consumed by jealousy and fueled by rumors, believes his girlfriend is cheating on him. In a moment of anger, he refuses to let her explain, kicking her out of their shared apartment. Tragedy strikes when she gets into a life-threatening accident, leaving Jude overwhelmed by guilt and regret. With her in the hospital, he reflects on his mistakes and learns that love and trust are fragile but worth fighting for. Realizing that she never betrayed him, Jude is forced to confront his own insecurities. Together, they find a way to rebuild their broken relationship, restoring what was lost in a sea of misunderstanding and pain.

— warnings • Heavy angst, miscommunication, car accident, hospital scenes, mention of injuries, emotional turmoil.

"Jude, please, just listen to me—"

"I’ve already heard enough!" Jude's voice roared through the apartment, his anger palpable, bouncing off the walls like daggers. He stood in the kitchen, fists clenched, chest heaving, trying to contain the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. His dark eyes, usually so warm when they looked at you, were cold and distant, as if he couldn’t even recognize you.

You stood frozen near the door, the keys you had just placed on the entry table trembling under your fingers. You had no idea what you were walking into. Coming home after a long day at work, all you wanted was to relax with Jude, maybe watch a movie, talk about your day—but instead, you were met with fury.

"Jude," you whispered, your voice shaking, tears already welling in your eyes. "Please. Just tell me what’s going on."

He scoffed bitterly, turning away from you as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Don’t act like you don’t know," he muttered, his back to you now as he stared out the window into the rainy night.

You blinked, confused. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jude whipped around, his expression dark. "Oh, don’t play innocent, Y/N. I know about you and Ryan."

The mention of Ryan's name hit you like a punch to the gut. Ryan was a colleague from work—someone you'd had to collaborate with closely for the last few weeks due to a project, but it had never been anything more than that. He was friendly, sure, but you never saw him in that way. You never even thought Jude would be suspicious. "Ryan? Jude, he's just a co-worker, we—"

"A co-worker? That’s funny, because that’s not what everyone else seems to think!" Jude's voice was dripping with bitterness, a tone you had never heard from him before. "Do you think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see the way you’ve been acting? Coming home late, spending more time with him than with me—"

You shook your head frantically, trying to approach him, but he stepped back, his face twisted in hurt and disbelief. "Jude, no, it's not like that! I swear, it’s just work! There’s nothing going on between me and Ryan, you have to believe me!"

But Jude wasn’t listening. He wasn’t hearing you. All he could see, all he could feel, was the poison that had been festering in his mind for days, the doubts and insecurities that had been fueled by whispers and rumors. He was blinded by his pain.

"You think I’m an idiot? You think I haven’t heard the rumors? Everyone’s been talking about it, Y/N. About how you and him have been seen together, laughing, having lunch, all those 'late nights' at the office. I bet they weren’t all about work, were they?"

You were shaking now, tears streaming down your face as you tried to reach out to him. "Jude, please. I would never—"

"I don’t want to hear it!" His voice cracked, loud and raw, and it silenced you. His anger was too much, too overwhelming. You had never seen him like this before—this angry, this distant. And it broke your heart to see the doubt in his eyes, the mistrust.

"I thought I knew you," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, almost more painful than his shouts. "I thought we had something real. But maybe I was wrong."

Your chest constricted painfully, your breath hitching as you reached for him one last time, desperate to hold on to something that was slipping away. "Jude, please," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Don’t do this. I love you."

But Jude’s gaze hardened. "If you loved me, you wouldn’t have lied to me."

The silence that followed was deafening, your heart shattering into a million pieces as he turned his back to you again, his next words sealing your fate.

"Get out."

You stood there, frozen, your mind racing as you tried to comprehend what he had just said. "What?"

"Get. Out," he repeated, his voice quiet but firm, as if he couldn’t even bear to look at you anymore. "I don’t want to see you right now."

Your world came crashing down in that moment, the weight of his words too much to bear. You opened your mouth to say something, to beg him to listen to you, but no words came out. You felt numb, completely broken.

With trembling hands, you grabbed your bag and stumbled toward the door, your vision blurry from the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. As you reached for the doorknob, you turned back one last time, hoping—praying—that Jude would stop you, that he would realize how wrong he was and call you back.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, rigid and unmoving, his eyes focused on the floor, his expression unreadable.

And so, you left.

The rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes as you stepped out onto the dark street. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering both from the cold and the overwhelming despair that consumed you. You couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t breathe. All you could do was walk, your feet moving without direction, aimlessly wandering the city streets, your mind still reeling from everything that had just happened.

How had things gone so wrong? How had the love you shared with Jude turned into this nightmare?

You pulled out your phone, trying to dial your friend’s number, but your hands were trembling too much to type properly. You managed to hit send, but as you crossed the street, you didn’t hear the roar of the car coming toward you until it was too late.

The blinding lights flashed before your eyes, and then— Nothing.

Jude sat on the couch, his hands covering his face as he let out a shaky breath. He had kicked you out. The realization sank in slowly, the weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

I kicked her out.

The anger that had burned so fiercely in him just moments ago was gone, replaced by a sickening sense of guilt and dread. The apartment felt too quiet, too empty without you there. And now, sitting there alone in the dark, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was terribly wrong.

His phone buzzed in his lap, dragging him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t a number he recognized.

"Hello?" His voice was hoarse, tired.

"Is this Jude Bellingham?" a woman’s voice asked, calm but urgent.

"Yes," he answered slowly, his heart beginning to race. "Who is this?"

"This is St. Mary’s Hospital. I’m calling about your partner. She’s been in an accident."

Jude felt the floor drop out from beneath him. "An accident? What—how bad is it?"

"She’s in critical condition. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

Jude’s legs felt like lead as he sprinted through the hospital’s sterile halls, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he reached the emergency ward. His heart pounded violently in his chest, panic rising with each step.

A nurse led him to your room, where the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines, left him frozen in place.

His world shattered in that moment.

You were so pale, so still, and the beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. Jude sank into the chair by your bedside, his hands shaking as he reached out to take yours.

"I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking as tears filled his eyes. "God, I’m so sorry, *Y/N*. I didn’t mean any of it. I should’ve believed you."

He squeezed your hand gently, bringing it to his lips as his tears fell freely now. "Please wake up," he begged. "Please. I need you. I—I love you. I was so stupid. I should have trusted you."

The guilt gnawed at him, tearing him apart as he watched your chest rise and fall weakly with each breath. How had he let things spiral this far? Why hadn’t he listened? Why hadn’t he let you explain?

For three days, Jude didn’t leave your side. He barely slept, barely ate. He couldn’t think of anything else but you and how wrong he had been.

When your fingers twitched on the fourth day, Jude’s heart leapt in his chest.

Your eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented, the bright lights of the hospital room making you wince. Everything felt heavy, your body aching, and it took you a moment to remember what had happened.

"Y/N?" Jude’s voice was soft, but urgent, pulling you back to reality. You turned your head slowly, finding him sitting beside you, his face pale, eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying.

"Jude…" you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Jude reached for your hand, his fingers trembling as he held yours tightly. "I’m so sorry," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I was so wrong, *Y/N*. I was so stupid. I—I didn’t trust you, and I should have. I should have believed you. None of this—none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t been such an idiot."

You blinked, trying to process everything, your heart aching at the sight of him so broken. "Jude…" you whispered again, trying to find the right words. "It’s okay."

"No, it’s not." He shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks as he pressed your hand to his lips. "It’s not okay. I almost lost you because I was too caught up in my own insecurities to trust you. I should’ve known you would never… I should’ve known better."

You looked into his eyes, the raw pain and regret there clear as day, and despite everything—despite the accident, the pain, the heartache—you still loved him. You had always loved him. "Jude, I love you," you whispered, managing a small smile despite the tears in your own eyes. "I never wanted to hurt you. I would never cheat on you."

He let out a shuddering breath, leaning down to rest his forehead against your hand. "I know," he whispered. "I know now. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I swear. If you’ll have me."

You squeezed his hand weakly, your voice soft but filled with emotion. "Of course I will. I’m not going anywhere."

Jude let out a soft, broken laugh through his tears, leaning in to gently press his lips to your forehead. "I love you so much," he whispered against your skin. "And I’m never letting you go again."

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham gif #jude bellingham x y/n #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham fluff

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itneverendshere · 8 months ago

Note

Could you maybe do a one shot of insecure reader x rafe? Reader doesn't believe Rafe finds her actually sexually attractive and her insecurities/bad self esteem are putting a strain on their relationship. And there is that whole ''her having a problem with him liking her, because she does not like herself so she is uncomfortable and pushes him away'' type of deal. Maybe he shots himself in the foot when she asks if he finds her attractive, and because he knows her self esteem is so low, he is trying to comfort her by answering ''Looks aren't important in life '' and she feels heartbroken. She from then is short in texts, doesn't answer his calls etc.

get to the bottom of you - r.c (+18)

pairing: insecure!reader x lover boy!rafe warnings: angst; low self-esteem; smut

His room should have been a place of comfort—a place where you felt safe—it wasn’t tonight.

You could hear him moving around in the bathroom, the sound of the faucet running, the clinking of his toothbrush against the sink. You should have been inside with him, brushing your teeth side by side, playfully jostling him with your elbow like you usually did.

His laughter had echoed through the door just a few minutes ago as he’d told some joke you didn’t catch.

Normally, you’d laugh too, even if you didn’t understand the punchline, but tonight you couldn't muster a smile.

You’d been feeling off for days now.

You loved him.

That wasn’t in question.

But the doubts mocking you—the insecurity, the voice in your head that whispered, why would he want someone like you?—were getting louder. They had been there since the start, this ever-present thought that you were out of place, that a guy like Rafe couldn’t possibly be interested in someone like you.

You loved him with everything you had, but how could you let him love you when you couldn’t even like yourself?

He had been nothing but patient with you since the beginning, but no matter how many times he reassured you, the voice in your head—the one that whispered that you weren’t good enough, that you weren’t what he wanted—never seemed to quiet down.

You couldn’t see yourself the way Rafe did.

The compliments he gave you felt empty, he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. Earlier tonight, he'd had been busy texting on his phone, and the longer you sat there, the more the voices in your head snapped at you.

He hadn’t looked at you in what felt like hours, hadn’t noticed the way you’d been shifting awkwardly in your seat.

He was the guy who turned heads when he walked into a room, you on the other hand were a far cry from the girls you’d seen him with before.

They were stunning, sharp cheekbones, perfect hair, the kind of women that could stop someone in their tracks. You, on the other hand, had always been self-conscious—your appearance, your body, the way you looked in clothes. It wasn’t that you hated yourself exactly; you just… never felt enough for someone like him.

That’s what kept you up at night.

The door opened, and Rafe stepped out, smiling at you, toothbrush still in hand. His blue eyes sparkled as he walked over to you, leaning against the wall casually. His hair was damp from washing his face, and he had that easy, relaxed look on his face that usually made your heart flutter.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice warm as always.

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile.

“Yeah, just tired,” you murmured, pushing your phone aside and getting up from the bed. You crossed the room to the window, feeling the cool breeze against your skin.

You hated this—hated that you couldn’t just let things be, hated that your mind was always spinning in circles, convincing you that something was wrong.

It was so hard to shake the feeling that you didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve him. He, always so perceptive, frowned slightly and walked over to you, placing his hands on your waist, pulling you back against him. His warmth should’ve been reassuring, but instead, it only made you feel more fragile.

“You sure?” Rafe pressed, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you lied again, this time a little more firmly, hoping he wouldn’t push.

“You’ve been quiet all night.” His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Normally, you’d melt into him.

You stared out at the darkened horizon, biting your lip.

Maybe this was your moment to ask the question that had been eating at you for the past weeks, but every time you shoved it back down, afraid of the answer. You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to find the right words. You didn’t want to sound ridiculous, didn’t want to admit how insecure you felt.

“Rafe..”

“Yeah?” he whispered, his breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your shirt, his shirt, and you turned around in his arms, meeting his focused gaze.

“Do you… do you find me attractive?”

His brows furrowed at your question. It was such a simple question, but to you, it felt like everything, the entire foundation of your relationship was resting on his answer.

Your heart was pounding now, and you could feel the burn of tears threatening to spill over.

“What?” he asked, “Why would you even ask that?”

You felt a lump in your throat, and you swallowed hard. “I just… I need to know.”

Rafe’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, trying to find the right words. You watched his eyes flicker with uncertainty, and that hesitation made your heart sink.

“Looks aren’t everything, y'know,” he said quietly, his tone careful, as if he was walking on eggshells.

You froze.

His words echoed again in your head, and your worst fear—the one that had been brewing inside you for so long—solidified in front of you.

Looks aren’t everything.

He wasn’t saying yes. He wasn’t reassuring you, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you, how much you meant to him. Instead, he was saying that it didn’t matter, it was irrelevant.

Your chest tightened, it was hard to breathe, let alone think past the heartbreak that was building in your veins. You pushed him away gently, stepping back out of his embrace.

“Right."

You couldn’t look at him now, not with your vision swimming and your throat closing up.

“Wait, that’s not—” Rafe began, stepping forward, his hand reaching for you. “That’s not what I meant. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“C-Can you please let me go?”

He didn’t want you, not in the way you needed him to.

He must have seen the change in your expression, because his eyes widened, and he immediately backpedaled.

“No, no, you know hat’s not what I meant,” he added quickly, his voice tinged with panic. “I didn’t mean—”

You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head as the tears welled up in your eyes.

“It’s fine,” you whispered, even though it wasn’t. Your voice cracked, and you hated that you couldn’t keep it together. Rafe reached for you again, but you walked away before he could grab your hand.

“Hey, wait,” he said, moving as well, his voice pleading now. “That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant!"

You couldn’t listen to him, every insecurity you had about yourself had just been confirmed. You didn’t want to hear him explain whatever excuse he was going to give you.

You needed space.

Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your hands trembling as you reached for the handle.

"Please don’t go," Rafe's voice was quiet, a vulnerability in it that you weren’t used to hearing. He sounded scared, and that hurt even more because you knew this wasn’t his fault.

It was yours—your insecurities, your doubts, your inability to believe that someone like him could truly want someone like you.

"I just need a minute.”

The hallway felt cold compared to the warmth of his room.

You pressed your back against the wall, sinking to the floor, your knees pulled to your chest. You could still hear him moving around inside, pacing maybe, and it made your stomach twist in knots.

How had things gone so wrong so quickly?

You buried your face in your hands, trying to calm yourself but it was no use. The tears came, burning your cheeks as you sobbed quietly.

You hated this, feeling so unsure of yourself, so small, so unworthy.

And you hated that Rafe, the one person who made you feel safe, had unknowingly thrown all of that into question.

Looks aren’t everything.

It wasn't about whether you thought he was shallow—Rafe had never been that type of guy with you—but the way he hesitated, tiptoed around your question made you sick.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you pulled it out, your vision still blurry from the tears. It was a group chat notification from the friends you had been out with earlier that week.

A picture had been sent, one of the group photos taken during the event. You scanned through it, your attention landing on a figure that made your heart sink further—her. Rafe’s ex, standing tall and confident beside him, her radiant smile lighting up the frame. Her beauty was undeniable—perfectly coiffed hair, a jawline that could cut glass, and an effortless poise that seemed to draw everyone in.

And next to her? You.

The contrast between you two felt overwhelming. How could you, with your insecurities and imperfections, ever hope to measure up to someone like her? The thought that Rafe had once been with someone like that, flawless in every way... it killed you.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even hers, it was all you.

You needed to leave.

Without another glance back, you pushed yourself off the floor and slipped out his house, the hallway eerily quiet as you hurried toward the stairs, wiping at your tear-streaked face. As the door slid shut, you could hear the faint sound of his footsteps, but by then it was too late. You got in your car speeding off before he could open the door.

After that night, things only got worse.

You’d pulled back, distancing yourself from him in every way possible. You didn’t answer his texts for hours, and when you did, they were short, clipped replies. You stopped calling him back, ignored the missed calls that filled your phone—everything.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him; you just couldn’t.

You despised yourself for pushing him away, but more than that, you hated the way you couldn’t stop spiraling. You avoided places where you might run into him. No coffee shops, no mutual friends’ gatherings. You threw yourself into work, into anything that could distract you from thinking about him, about the look on his face when you’d left him there.

You missed him—his laugh, the way he’d make you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

On the third night, you were lying in bed, staring blankly at your phone screen. Rafe had sent a text earlier, and though you’d ignored it, you couldn’t bring yourself to delete it like the others.

Rafe: i miss you. please talk to me. just want to know you’re okay.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching the phone tighter in your hand. You wanted to answer, tell him that you missed him too, that you were okay—but the truth was, you weren’t. You hadn’t been okay for a long time, and you didn’t know how to explain that to him. Every little insecurity, how you'd always feel like you weren’t enough.

You wished you could be different, stronger, more secure in yourself.

You wished you could believe him, that you could trust his words.

Your phone buzzed again, and this time you hesitated before picking it up.

Rafe: i get that you need space, but please don’t shut me out. i don’t know what else to say except i love you. i just wanna talk. I love you.

You stared at the words on the screen. He loved you, that should have been enough, it was enough, but somehow, you still felt hollow, like you were standing on the outside of your own life.

You locked your phone without responding, tossing it onto the bed next to you as you buried your face in your hands. You were terrified that if finally told him how you felt, it would break something between you two.

But hadn’t something already broken?

The next two weeks seemed never-ending, the hours blurring together as you went through your internship, half-heartedly responding to emails, nodding through conversations, and generally just existing. By the time you returned home, you felt like you’d been run over by a truck.

As you kicked off your shoes, there was a soft knock on your door.

Your heart sank.

You knew it was him before you even opened it.

Rafe stood there, his hands in his pockets.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, pleading, searching your face for any sign that you might pull away again.

You stepped back, letting him in, and closed the door behind him.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you gestured for him to sit, though neither of you moved right away. Rafe stayed standing, studying your face, and you could tell that he was trying to figure out how to begin.

“I—" he started, but then stopped, running a hand through his hair, like he’d been rehearsing those words over and over in his head. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I said wrong. But I don’t think it’s just about what I said that night, is it?”

He wasn’t mad or frustrated—he was just… sad. Sad that you hadn’t let him in.

You felt a lump form in your throat, this time from knowing you’d done this to him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “It’s not you. It’s me. I know that’s such a cliché, but—I don’t know how to fix this.”

Rafe took a cautious step closer, his hands still in his pockets, he didn’t want to crowd you but couldn’t stay away either.

“I don’t need you to fix anything. Just need you to talk to me, okay? To tell me what’s going on in your pretty head, even if it’s hard.”

Okay.

“I don’t understand why you’d want to be with someone like me.”

His brows knitted together in concern.

“Someone like you?” he repeated, the concept being absurd. He stepped closer, reaching for your hand, and this time you didn’t pull away, “You mean the love of my life?”

The love of his life.

It sounded so easy when he said it, genuine, the most natural thing in the world. But how could he be so sure when you weren’t?

“What if you get tired of me?” your voice was so meek it nearly killed him, the fear in your voice so vulnerable. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you could be with someone better? Someone like—”

“Stop,” he interrupted his voice firm. “There is no someone else, baby. There is no one better. M' here because I want to be here. With you. I chose you. I’ll keep choosing you. I love you and I need you to believe that, okay?”

You swallowed hard, lungs still burning from the emotion bubbling up inside you.

“But what if I can’t stop doubting?”

Rafe stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze.

“We’ll work through it together. I'm not going anywhere. Doubt all you want. Question it if you have to. But don’t ever shut me out again, you hear me?"

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed across your cheek, atenderness that nearly broke you.

There he was, standing in front of you, willing to wait, to love you through every insecurity you tried to hide.

“Okay,” you muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he brushed a tear away with his thumb.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice hopeful, waiting for a sign that you were ready to let him in again.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice not to break. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to be held by him.

“Lemme prove it to you.”

His eyes flickered to your lips, and then his hand was on the back of your neck, tugging you to him.

All the I’m sorries and I love yous and don’t ever leave mes lived in that kiss, in the way his mouth moved against yours like he was starved of you.

He gripped your waist, moving you aroundlike you weighed nothing.

His warmth was seeping into your skin, and for the first time in days, your insecurities started to lift. His lips never left yours, deepening the kiss.

Rafe backed you up until your knees hit the edge of the couch, and you sank down, pulling him with you. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, blunt fingernails digging into your skin.

He broke the kiss for a moment, breathless, his lips shiny with your spit, “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured, fingers tracing your lips. “You don’t know how badly I want you."

His hands moved lower, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your waist, reassuring you that he meant every word.

“Fuck, I missed touching you,” he breathed against your skin, dragging his mouth down to your throat. “You have no idea what it’s been like—going to sleep without you, waking up and reaching for you and you’re not there.”

His mouth found your collarbone, then lower, dragging your shirt up and over your head as he worshiped every inch of newly revealed skin. His big hands moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh so hard, you were sure it would bruise.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he groaned against your lips, feeling every inch of bare skin. “Your skin—so soft. I can’t get enough of you.”

Your back arched, hips lifting into his touch, a fervent moan slipped past your lips when his hard cock pressed against your thighs. You could feel his breath against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.

“I need you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough with want. "I need you to believe me."

You let yourself sink into him, his strength, his words—all of it. You let yourself believe that he could love you the way you needed him to.

His hands squeeze the flesh of your ass, a sharp slap echoing through the room as you whimpered, and he chuckled before taking a nipple into his mouth and working it with his tongue.

“You’re my girl. My only. No one makes me feel like you do. No one ever has.”

You tugged at his shirt, and he stripped it off, pulling off your chest with a pop, without breaking eye contact. His body was familiar, perfect in a way only he could be. You reached for him, pulled him down to you, bare skin meeting bare skin.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging before your nails pressed into his neck, eliciting a groan against your chest. He then moved to the other side, his tongue flickering rapidly against the hardening peak. The feel of his mouth on your skin made your head spin.

You gasped as his mouth worked its magic, alternating between teasing bites and soft licks.

"Rafe..." you breathed, your voice shaky as his lips trailed back up, capturing yours again in a sloppy kiss.

His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin of your hips before he tugged them down in one motion. You kicked them off, your breath quickening as he pressed himself against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Do you believe me now?” he groaned against your lips, voice hoarse from how long he’d been kissing every part of you.

You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him.

Rafe wanted to hear you say it.

His gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"I believe you.”

His hands roamed over your body, he was worshipping you.

He lifted you easily, dragging you over to the edge of the couch, his eyes never leaving yours as he pushed you down. You watched as he stood, pulling off his boxers before climbing over you, his body hovering just above yours.

His skin was warm, his muscles tense as he waited for your permission. You reached up, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, his chest, his abs.

He settled between your legs, pressing against your heat so perfectly. Rafe rolled his hips once, dragging a moan from your throat that he swallowed with a kiss.

“Look at you,” he hummed against your mouth, one hand moving between you, teasing you with the backs of his fingers. “So fucking wet for me. You missed this too, didn’t you? Missed me?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip as your eyes fluttered shut—but he didn’t let you.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolded. “Eyes on me. Want you to watch what I do to you. Want you to remember who you belong to.”

Your hips jerked, a strangled cry slipping past your lips.

“God, I need you,” he groaned, hips rolling against yours in a torturous rhythm, his head nudging your clit, "Tell me you need me too."

“I do,” Your nails dug into his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “I need you, Rafe.”

You reached for him, wrapping your hand around him, stroking once—twice—and he hissed, head dropping against your shoulder.

He pushed your thighs apart, lining himself up, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock. “Tell me again,” he growled, dragging the tip up your slick folds, making you shiver. “Say it.”

“I believe you,” you whimpered. “I believe you, I’m yours—please, Rafe.”

That was all he needed to hear.

He pushed inside you, filling you completely in seconds. You gasped, back arching off the couch as he stretched you, the feeling of him inside you so intense it made your head spin.

He panted against your cheek, his hips still as he let you adjust.

“Fuckin’��You were made for me, weren’t you?” He murmured against your ear, nipping at your earlobe as he gripped your hips.

You felt your breath stutter as you clamped down around him and he grinned against your ear, using the grip on your hair to tug your head back and look into your eyes.

You nodded, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes, f-fuck—”

His smile widened, thrusting into you now.

“Atta girl. That’s my baby.”

Rafe adjusted his angle, bracing a hand beside your head and rolling his hips with a deliberate snap—so beautifully angled that you saw stars burst behind your eyes every time he bottomed out.

His name tore from your lips, high and breathless.

His hips picked up speed, pounding into you with a roughness that bordered on desperate. The couch creaked, all you could do was feel—take it.

"Say it again," he urged, his voice a rasp against your ear as his teeth grazed your neck. "Say my name."

You complied, fingers digging into his back as you moaned his name again and again, each time more broken, more desperate. He groaned in response, movements becoming more frantic as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your heels dug into the small of his back, urging him faster.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praised as your nails dug into his shoulders. “That’s my girl. Take it, baby. Let me give you everything.”

His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing, your back arching off the couch as the pleasure built.

"I-I love you," he said again, the words spilling out between ragged breaths as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, "God, I love you so much. You're everything to me."

You were babbling now, hips jerking, trying to squirm away and press closer at the same time. He chased you, didn’t let you go. Fucked you deeper. Fucked you harder. Your fingers lost themselves in his hair, pulling him down so that your lips met again.

“I got you,” He soothed you even as his fingers worked you closer to the brink. “Come for me, baby. I need t’feel you.”

And you did.

Rafe groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts becoming erratic while his grip on your waist was bruising, pushing himself deep inside you one last time, moaning your name as he came.

He stayed there, hovering above you, his face buried in your neck, leaving kisses against your damp skin.

You didn’t speak right away, but when he finally pulled back to look at you, his thumb brushed your cheek as he gazed down at you with a look that made your heart swell.

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face.

“You okay?”

You nodded sleepily, pressing your face into his chest. “I think I am.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed it.

You weren’t perfect, and maybe you never would be. But in this moment, wrapped in his arms, you felt like you were enough.

And that was more than enough for him.

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