#but there's still a lot of work to do between now and then

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready��” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

[woso-dreamzzz]

Allergies II

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adeventures Universe

Summary: You have another allergic reaction

In all honesty, you didn't really think it was that serious.

Nutrition meetings at Barcelona were a lot more in depth than what you were used to at Arsenal. They took ages and were full of information that would probably be interesting if you actually cared but, alas, nutrition had never been as interesting to you as other subjects so you tended to just zone out.

You were handed a new smoothie with some kind of new protein powder in or something you would have known if you actually listened.

You drank it.

That's when things start to get weird.

The nutritionist continues to drone on and you frown, scratching at your neck.

You stare down at your bottle for a moment as your throat goes all scratchy and intense.

You force yourself to swallow before glancing around.

Your throat gets a bit tighter.

No one else seems to be having such a reaction so you unscrew the top of your bottle to peer inside. You sniff the mixture before standing up.

You can feel people watch as you make your way over to the first aid kit at the front of the room. Your throat has fully closed up now and you know that you're turning alarmingly red and probably breaking out in hives.

Honestly, you feel a little bit shocked how you're even conscious right now but you grab your epipen and stab it into your leg.

"Banana," You say plainly," I can't eat that."

Even with the adrenaline now pumping through your system, you slide your way down the wall to sit on the floor, breathing in deeply.

The room erupts into chaos the moment you sit down.

The medical staff come in to check your blood pressure and your throat and the expiration date of your epipen. The nutritionist leading the session is going absolutely ballistic yelling at one of her assistants for not checking the allergy sheets before making and handing out the smoothies.

Talia looks close to tears as she forces her way towards you, practically shoving some of the medics away. "Are you okay? Is it bad? Do I need to call your mums?"

"No! Don't call my-"

Talia's already gone out into the hall, phone pressed up against her ear.

You wonder which one of your mothers she has in her contacts.

Surely not Morsa because she's still in that stage where she's pretending to hate your girlfriend but you can't remember your Momma and Talia interacting enough to have swapped numbers and you know for certain that you weren't one to hand out people's numbers without explicit permission.

As the medics fuss and the nutritionist yells, the team also gather around to check that you're alright but you just give them a gallant shrug.

"I'm fine," You say," The epipen did its work."

"I think I'd prefer if you take the day off," The head of the medical team says," Just to be safe. You can come back tomorrow."

You know better than to argue with him so you just nod with a little sigh of annoyance.

"I can take her home," Talia says as she re-enters the room," I've got her."

"I can take a taxi home," You insist.

You and Talia drive in together so only one car is used. If you go home in that car now then she'll have to get a taxi in the middle of rush hour.

"I'll take you home," Talia says," Coach can spare me at training today. Someone's got to make sure you actually follow medical advice."

You roll your eyes. "I swear you've been hanging out with my Momma behind my back." You take the hand she offers to help you stand. "You sound just like her."

You end up back home fairly quickly, curled up on the sofa and practically forced to take a nap.

Prins joins you, curled up in the bend of your knee. Reina settles on the top of the sofa behind your head, completely stretched out and at ease with herself while Kung manages to wiggle himself between your arms to nap there.

You don't know how long you nap for but it must be a while because the sun is setting when you wake up and you can smell Talia cooking up your favourite pasta dish in the world.

You sit up.

You've definitely been sleeping for a while because Reina has migrated to her cat tree, poking her head out of the cave to watch Kung bounce around the floor in outrage at not being allowed up there with her.

Prins has taken Kung's place between your arms and his tongue rolls out of his mouth in a semblance of a dopey smile when he notices you awake, his tail beginning to wag happily.

"Hi, little man," You say, gently scratching between his ears," Did you keep me company?"

Prins' tail wags even more fiercely than before.

"Didn't want to leave your side."

You jolt, shrieking and Prins whines a little.

"Morsa! What are you doing here?!"

"Talia called your Momma," Morsa says, tucking the blanket more firmly around your body," Your allergies acted up."

"I dealt with it," You insist," You didn't have to fly out."

"Yes, we did," Morsa replies," Because if we waited for you to tell us, it would take weeks!"

You puff out your cheeks. "I wouldn't want to worry you over something so silly."

"Are you calling your allergies silly again?" Momma says. She enters with two plates worth of food and you sit up.

Prins leaps down to wander over to his own dog bed. Seeing him lying there, Kung wanders over, jumping up onto Prins' back to finish napping there as Reina ducks her head back into her cave.

"No, Momma," You mumble, accepting your food as Morsa takes a seat on the armchair and Momma to the left of you, leaving an empty space for Talia, who also brings out food for herself and Morsa before taking her own seat.

"Are you feeling better, mi vida?" She asks," You look better."

You nod. "I feel fine. My leg aches a little but that's expected."

"We'll put an icepack on it once we've finished eating. Prins was very worried about you."

Prins raises his head at the mention of his name, tail wagging.

"He's good boy."

Morsa grins from across the room. "I knew getting you a dog was a good idea."

Momma scoffs. "You told me that we should have gotten her a fish."

Morsa coughs to clear her throat and mumbles," Don't lie, Pernille."

"You wanted to get me a fish?" You laugh in disbelief," And you say Rocky is the most disappointing pet in the world."

"Are you really saying your pet rock is more exciting than a fish?"

"Am I?" You pretend to think for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I am."

[wip]

A very very minor thing I have been curious about for a while, and I'm finally asking: why do you calculate queue posting times the way you do? For example, if I set my queue to post 3x a day, naively I would expect it to post every 8 hours. But in reality it posts every 6 hours with a 12 hour gap between days. Why complicate the math like that?

Answer: Hello @circumference-pie!

Buckle up y’all, it’s story time again!

First: nobody who works at Tumblr right now was a part of the work of planning the default queue implementation, which was more than ten years ago. So the full story behind “Why does it work that way?” has unfortunately been lost to the sands of time. All we can do is tell you how it works today and surmise some reasons why. The queue is actually a very clever system and part of how it works explains some of why it works the way it does. Also, there have been attempts to do what you ask—we still have “Queue 2.0” available in your Tumblr Labs settings, which tries to get closer to how you expect things to work.

Anyway! How the queue works today is not actually a queue in the traditional sense. There is no single list of posts that are in “your queue”. Instead, when you “Add to queue” after creating a post, we’re actually scheduling it to post at a future time, as if you had used the “Schedule post” option instead. We’re just calculating that time on your behalf when you use “Add to queue”, based on your settings, and how many other scheduled posts you have already. We use a secondary “index” model, called “ScheduledPost”, to keep track of posts you have scheduled on your blog. We do mark the ones that are a part of “your queue”, but the data model doesn’t keep one list of your “queue” per se.

You can see this in action on your blog, hiding in plain sight. If you add a bunch of posts to your queue, and then schedule a post for a specific future date, you’ll see both in your blog’s “queue” list, side by side. Because technically to us, they’re the same thing: queued posts are really just another kind of scheduled post, relying on the same always-running service to publish scheduled posts across all of Tumblr. Here’s a fun fact: we typically have about ~14.5 million future posts to publish from this list at any given time and are publishing hundreds of these scheduled posts every second.

So when you’re adding a new post to your queue, what we’re doing behind the scenes is starting at the beginning of your “day”, and creating time slots based on your queue settings. If a time slot is already filled, we move on to the next one. That’s why the default queue scheduler works how you describe—we’re trying to fill those “slots” based on the start of the day, rather than trying to divide the calendar day evenly. This just makes it much simpler for us to understand, scale, and predict when our “peaks” will be. At peak times, the publish-scheduled-posts service is publishing tens of thousands of posts in a manner of seconds. We did rewrite that post-publishing part of this architecture a few years ago to improve its efficiency and solve a lot of “lost post” bugs, but we didn’t change how “Add to queue” works.

However, the Queue 2.0 project available in Labs was an attempt to change the queue system to work as you expect—instead of starting at [beginning of day] and creating enough slots to fit [number of slots] every [number of hours], it tries to divide the calendar day into [number of slots] and fit the result back to the original algorithm’s mapping of the day. We never productionized this alternative approach, because it has a few bugs that some blogs hit in extreme cases, and we’ve never had time to fully fix them. It also can cause a bit of weirdness when time zones diverge, like with daylight savings time. Also, a lot of people prefer the default algorithm, and we haven’t thought of a nice way to transition everyone from one to the other. So for now, both options exist, and you can choose which algorithm for queue-slot-generating you want to use. We hope that makes sense! 

While complicated, it is a great example of a system built by engineers to make sense and be scalable and predictable. But sometimes these kinds of systems, while clever, aren’t very intuitive to understand without digging into how they work.

Thanks for your question, and keep ’em coming. 

[chahnniesroom]

to have and to hold

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you don't think there's anything chan can do to make you love him more. chan continues to prove you wrong.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff!!

a/n: sorry it has been so long since i posted! i have been wanting to write this since that ep of return of superman where chan and felix took care of rowoon, it was so so sweet. also i'm so sorry but i did not edit this at all

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

“Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?” 

Your question breaks through the quiet dialogue of the show that you and Chan are watching. Behind you, you feel Chan freeze before he forces himself to relax and continue fiddling with your fingers.

Chan hesitates for a moment longer before answering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I think that I’d want to eventually, but right now? Being an idol- It would be difficult. I mean, for anyone it’s hard, but especially with this career…”

“Do you like children?” you ask, curious even though you can anticipate his answer.

“Yes.” This time he replies immediately, although his voice is still cautious. He releases your hands from his hold and gently nudges your shoulders so that you twist to look at him. “Y/n- Do- Are you-”

“What?” you stare at him, not sure why he suddenly seems so worried.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks gently. “It’s fine if you are! We can totally work things out and I will 100% support you the whole time-”

“Oh!” You smack yourself in the forehead. “No! Definitely not! I was just thinking.” 

“Ah.” Chan slumps against the back of the couch, this time he’s actually relaxed. “Just thinking or- what brought this on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “That must have been out of nowhere for you. No, it’s because my older sister’s wedding anniversary is coming up, the first one since she’s had a kid, so I wanted to let her go out without having to worry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me babysit?”

“I see,” Chan says, sounding relieved. “Your sister. Yes, I haven’t met Doyun yet, right? I’d love to help you take care of him.”

—

Your sister is delighted that you’ve offered to take Doyun for an evening and you quickly coordinate with Chan what day would work best. It’s not possible to babysit on your sister’s actual anniversary due to Chan’s schedules, but your availabilities line up on a Friday night the weekend after.

Chan is nervous leading up to it, which you find absolutely adorable. When you look over his shoulder one night, curious what he’s focusing so intently on, you find him scrolling through articles on interacting with babies as well as tips on baby-proofing an apartment.

Before your sister arrives, you work with Chan for a few hours transforming the open area of your apartment, placing pillows and draping blankets over sharp corners and making sure to keep any small objects out of reach. 

When the doorbell rings, Chan panics, popping his head out of the kitchen from where he’s been trying to figure out a way to prevent Doyun from being able to open the cabinets.

“We're not ready!” he says, eyes wide.

“What do you want to do, keep them waiting outside until you finish?” you joke, then pause when it looks like Chan is actually considering it. “Don't worry, I'll go let my sister in and you keep working on that. We'll be watching Doyunnie the whole time, so even if you can't work that out, it's fine.”

Your sister doesn't stay for very long. She hands Doyun off to you and assures both you and Chan that your place looks safe for a baby. After going through everything that is packed in the massive diaper bag that she’s leaving with you, she heads back home to get ready for her dinner.

Doyun has a short attention span and cycles between playing with a stuffed animal, a ball,

some plastic fruits and vegetables, and toy trains within the first hour. He is so adorable that you and Chan don't mind how much energy is required to keep him occupied. Luckily he's a fairly easygoing baby and hasn't fussed at all, although it did take a while for him to warm up to the two of you.

He's comfortable now, especially since Chan has started to spin the two of them around, hands firmly gripping Doyun’s torso. Doyun absolutely loves it, shrieking in excitement with his eyes crinkling. Even after a few minutes of the same thing, he never grows bored, just as thrilled everytime that Chan lifts him above his head. Although Doyun isn’t very heavy yet, after 15 minutes there’s sweat visible on Chan’s forehead and he’s starting to get out of breath.

“How about we take a bit of a break? Do you want to read?” Chan sits Doyun down against some pillows and rummages through the bag that your sister packed, finding some of the books that she included.

Chan hands the books over and although Doyun accepts both of them, he throws them aside and instead clumsily reaches up towards Chan, clearly asking to be picked up again. Chan pretends to groan and complain as he lifts Doyun back up.

“Aww,” you coo. “He really likes you.”

“And I really like him,” Chan says, spinning Doyun around. “I just wish I hadn’t gone to the gym earlier today, I didn’t realise what a workout this would be!”

Eventually Doyun grows tired, no longer begging Chan to continue. This time when Chan settles him on the ground, he just looks around curiously before crawling up to Chan and grabbing at his curls.

“He’s so small,” Chan marvels. “Look at his little fingers!”

He reaches out towards Doyun, who immediately wraps his hand around Chan’s index finger and pulls it towards his mouth.

 It's comical to see the difference in size between their hands and Chan visibly melts, allowing Doyun to gum at his fingers, quickly covering them in a sheen of saliva.

“Are you hungry Doyunnie?” Chan asks. “It’s almost time for dinner, let’s see what your auntie prepared for us.”

By the time Doyun is set up in a high chair with a bib on, you’ve finished cooking. Dinner for Doyun is simple, consisting of steamed vegetables, tofu, rolled omelette, rice, and a bit of fruit. You’ve also used the same ingredients plus a few additions to make kimchi stew for you and Chan.

Chan is distracted the whole meal, prioritising feeding Doyun and wiping his face clean in between bites over eating his own food. It's a futile effort since Doyun seems more interested in smearing the food around rather than getting it into his mouth.

When you're finished with your food, you switch spots with Chan and coax Doyun into eating the last few bites he has left while Chan scarfs down his own meal. 

After dinner, you carry Doyun into the bathroom and start filling the bathtub with a shallow layer of warm water. He watches with wide eyes as you add bubble bath that changes the colour of the water to a deep blue and creates a thick cover of bubbles. After washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen, Chan joins the both of you just as you’re rinsing suds out of Doyun’s hair.

Cleaned and dressed in a fuzzy onesie with tiny bear ears poking out from the hood, Doyun struggles to stay awake for the rest of the evening. It’s obvious that he’s tired, he’s starting to get cranky and his blinks get longer and longer, but he stubbornly continues to play. After his third time nodding off while slotting plastic shapes into a cube, Chan picks him up and walks him around the room, rocking him slightly while humming a melody that you can’t recognize.

When your sister comes to pick up Doyun, he's sprawled out on Chan’s chest, deeply asleep. A line of drool drops from his open mouth to form a wet spot on Chan’s shirt, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind, staring at Doyun with stars in his eyes.

That night, right when you're about to fall asleep, Chan speaks up. His arms are wrapped around you and you can feel his breath against the back of your neck. 

“I think,” he says quietly. “I think I want kids. Not now, I still have the same concerns as before, but in the future? I want it.”

“You did so well with Doyunnie, it looked so natural,” you agree. “I think you would be a great dad.”

“Only if you’re there by my side,” he corrects.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[polarisjisung]

MOTORBIKES & MELATONIN

synopsis: sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms

wc: 1.1k

pairings: jisung × fem!reader, established relationship

genre: fluff

warnings: insomnia + mentions of using sleeping pills/supplement use of the word drug (literally once), speeding (follow the speed limit 🙏)

notes: emosung brainrot is in full swing (though there's not a lot of emosung mentioned) mostly self indulgent so probably not my best work since I was all up in my head but 🤷‍♀️

you're laying on your bed, aimlessly bouncing the soft tennis ball in your hand against the empty space of the wall just above your headboard. sleep never came easy to you and tonight is no different.

you'd tried it all, counting sheep, drinking warm milk, even meditation but nothing ever worked. instead you spent nights tossing and turning restlessly despite being tucked into the warm covers of your bed, chasing sleep.

just as you reach for the purple bottle that lays next to your bed, ready to pour half the jar of supplements into your hand and gulp them down with a glass of water, you hear it.

your perfect form of melatonin and serotonin mixed in one— your drug, your purpose.

the rumble is distinct. it comes with the soft vibration beneath your feet and the deep reverberation in your ears. the roaring of the v twin engine has you shooting up into a seated position as realisation washes over you

there's a dim red glow cast across your room by the break lights as you grab the loose fit leather jacket that rests over the back of your study chair. the woody oriental cologne still lingers through its material as you place it over your shoulders and run out of the front door.

there he is, helmet gripped loosely in his left hand, his right arm open and ready to welcome you into his embrace.

jisung's black hair flows in the wind, his forehead on show— paired with the soft smile he flashes you, you can't help but think he looks perfect.

"didn't even give me a chance to sneak into your room" he sulks taking you in between his arms, giving you a quick spin as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead

"can't blame a girl for wanting to see her boyfriend" you sigh, taking in his warmth with a smile

"yeah?" he pulls back to get a better view of your face, "miss me that much angel?"

"you know it sung"

his laugh is deep yet gentle, eyes sparkling at the sight of you

"well I'm here now"

jisung takes a quick step around you, his touch feather light as he gathers your open hair into a low ponytail, reaching for the hair tie on his wrist to tie it back

"too tight?" he says, voice full of worry and concern— when you shake your head he smiles, placing his helmet over your head

you wonder how people could ever think jisung was anything but the sweet, kind and warm hearted lover you knew, who wouldn't dare let you move an inch to do something he could do for you, like how he gently takes ahold of you in his arms and places you onto the seat of his bike, eventually taking your arms and wrapping them around his waist

"hold on tight" he whispers in that caring tone of his, that's reserved solely for you, ready to whisk you away for the night and you do just that, gripping his waist securely, but not before lifting his visor and pressing a quick kiss to his temple

jisung drives off, wordlessly but with a smile that speaks volumes

there's a warmth that radiates from jisung's body, the only thing keeping you from freezing as the wind rushes past you, blowing with harsh whistles, tyres screeching against the ground as he takes sharp turns through the streets leading towards the countryside

you'd snuck out before, driven way too far over the speed limit, done countless things that would define your reckless youth and yet nothing had your veins coursing with quite so much adrenaline as this, driving way too far, way too fast, with jisung, the person you loved way too much

like always, you find yourself in jisung's lap, god forbid he let you sit on the grass, wet from the fresh morning dew that rests over it, warm hues of orange and light pinks taking over the sky as you hold one another close, the wind still blowing strong gusts your way, your hair blowing in your face until jisung decides to take it between his fingers and hold it back in his palm

"I like this" you whisper, just loud enough that jisung hears it, his lip rising just enough for his teeth to come on show

"I like you" he responds, watching the warm glow of the sun reaching over the horizon through your eyes

"you do?" you smile, wider than you previously had been, it's a smile that reaches your eyes and jisung's unwavering gaze grows brighter at the realisation

"you're my girl, of course I do"

this time it's his turn to press a quick kiss to your forehead, but jisung's greedy, especially so when it comes to you and he can't help but want more, honey brown eyes resting on your lips

"give me a kiss and I think I'll love you forever" you can't help but giggle at the tickling feeling of jisung's hair against your neck as he pouts up at you

"yeah? didn't know my boyfriend needed kisses to do that" you tease with a roll of your eyes

"didn't know your what?" he asks, and you know exactly what jisung's doing, so you whisper the answer with nothing more than a shy smile straight into his ear

"my boyfriend"

"present" jisungs hand is raised and his voice is confident when he looks at you again, it's like he's begging you to tug at his shirt and crash your lips against his, and who were you to say no to him

"you're so cute" you let out between kisses, the bridge of your nose resting against jisung's, who now wears a look of faux offence

"yeah?" he asks, hoping you'll change your mind, though you don't let up, reaching out to ruffle his black hair "only for you"

somewhere between the late hours of the night and the early hours of dawn, between the quietus of your bedroom and the roar of his engine, between gazing up at the stars and watching the sunrise by the harbour— jisung hears your soft snores replace the quiet whispers of awe you once breathed out.

despite it all, jisung's smile remains all the same, radiant, warm and masked by the matte black helmet resting atop his head

[wosoluver]

Falling asleep in paradise.

TW: Smut, minors DNI

Lena x reader

"I have to go schatz, it's a work get together, and I need to earn some points with my boss."

"You wouldn't have to if you you weren't always late to work."

"Really? And whose fault is that?"

"Not mine! You're the one who is sexy in the mornings. And I don't like him. Always trying to hit on you."

"Well, he can keep trying, he's never going to land anything so."

He flirted with you quite a lot, despite knowing it was inappropriate and that you were in a relationship.

You only ignored him, he was delusional if he thought you would ever give him a chance.

You went to the bathroom after getting dressed, to do your make up and hair. Lena wouldn't leave your side. Standing in the doorway, watching you.

As you were adding the last touches, pouting your lips at the mirror as you retouched you lipstick, she couldn't stop herself.

"Why are you getting so dressed up?" pouting her lips, pulling you close.

You laughed at your girlfriend, her jealousy could get a bit much sometimes, but you didn't mind, actually you found it attractive.

"Baby, I always dress like this."

"Yes, but today I won't be there if you need me. I love you liebling." whispering lovingly this time.

"Love you too, more than anything."

Her hands on your hips as she kissed your neck, trying to convince you to get in bed with her.

"I'm serious. I'll be back before you know it."

You untangled yourself before she succeeded, walking towards the front door, getting your bag and keys, and her trailing behind you.

"Bye love, no need to wait up on me." teasing her. Knowing exactly what you were doing.

"And you. Come straight home. To me." she said in a firm tone that made you instantly wet.

But you didn't give in.

Giving her a kiss you walked out the door.

"Hello, girl you look so good tonight!" - said your friend and coworker as you walked to the table.

"She always looks good." and there he was, before you had even sat down.

"Hey guys. Have you ordered anything yet?"

You greeted them as you sat in between your favorite coworkers.

Some had, some hadn't and trying to rizz you up, your boss had offered to pay for the round. Which annoyed the ones who were already having their drinks.

The night carried on fine, except you couldn't get your mind off her. You had been talking for hours. But by now you only wanted to go home, you wanted Lena.

"So Y/N, do you still have a boyfriend?"

"A girlfriend and yes. Actually I should probably get going, home to her."

He let out an annoyed sight as you got up to say goodbye to everyone.

Getting in the car and taking a deep breath, it wouldn't be long now.

You were probably a little over the speed limit on the road. But you were impatient.

As you came in, you noticed she was still up, sitting on the couch, watching something on the tv.

"Thought you weren't coming home anymore." - once again, talking in that low tone.

You walked over to her, staring down at how good she looked. She aways did. Only wearing a sports bra and shorts. You couldn't tear your eyes away from her thighs. They were almost an obsession of yours.

Getting your shoes off, she had picked up on what was going on.

"Maybe I shouldn't have." - You matched her energy, as she pulled you down to her. Setting you down, on her right thigh. One leg in each side of it.

"So horny and I haven't even said much." - she traced your lips with her thumb.

"You didn't have to, after basically saying 'come straight home so I can fuck you'."

"I was only trying to convince you to stay. I'm not sure if the offer is still up." - she whispered in your ear, as she rocked you against her leg slowly. And a moan escaped your lips.

"Lena, please."

She undressed you little by little. Enjoying the feeling of your wetness on her thigh. Letting out delicious groans.

Putting her hands on your hips as she guided you, back and forth, you made a mess, throwing your head back.

By now you were grinding hard against her. One of her hands was in your hair, her lips going from you neck to your lips, kissing, biting down your lip as you moaned out her name.

"That’s it, love. Fuck-" she says while flexing her muscles under you.

As your pace starts faltering, she moves you to straddle now both of her legs, to give you more support, as she brought her hand down between your legs, rubbing your clit and adding in two fingers, reaching for your g-spot, so she could get you to finish.

"Schatz I-"

"I know, I'm here, you can let go." she whispered softly as she left a kiss on your temple.

Finally cumming on top of her, relaxing your body and nuzzling your head on her neck, as she carried you to bed.

She got up and went to the bathroom, only to come back with a damp towel.

But you pouted, hissing at the contact, you were sensitive and the towel being somewhat cold didn't help.

"I'll be quick liebling."

And not a minute later you were already sound asleep. She pulled the covers over you.

Got changed and laid down on the other side of the bed, gently brushing your hair out of your face. Falling asleep in paradise.

This was supposed to be put out earlier, but I accidentally deleted part of it and had to rewrite it. 🩷 Also first time writing smut?!

[lovelytsunoda]

does he take care of you? // george russell

does he take care of you? or could i easily fill his shoes, but you say 'no'. yeah you said 'no'... and i'm not trying to stop you love, if we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck

summary: they had always been walking a fragile, tender line between friends and lovers. they were bound to cross it at some point.

pairing: george russell x bonnington!reader

warnings: an attempt is made at angst, people can't properly deal with their feelings. minor drug use, insinuations and non detailed sex (but bestie bonnington can’t deal with her feelings properly so she bails when things get serious-) one small little insinuation that someone might jump off a building. loosely inspired by the song 'sex' by the 1975

it was dark outside, nearing ten pm at the track when peter bonnington came to find george. george was in his drivers room, looking over printouts of race data, trying desperately to figure out where he could improve the following weekend.

“I hate to bother you, mate.” peter started, “do you have a moment?”

thankful for the reprieve from straight line speed and throttle graphs, george folded the printouts back into their legal folder and turned to look at the engineer. “what do you need?”

there were lines furrowed on bonnos brow. the man looked stressed, and george had a feeling that it wasn’t due to the cars subpar performance.

“I need you to talk to y/n. she hasn’t been doing well these past few months and I’m starting to get really worried. she won’t talk to me and she won’t talk to her mum. toto tried to ask her about it and she threw her drink in his face. something is wrong with my little girl and she’s shutting me out.”

george frowned (although he had to admit that the mental image of babe bonnington throwing the icy remainder of her pink starbucks refresher onto the great toto wolff made him laugh). “when did all this start?”

“when she came back from wales a few months ago, that big work trip. I think it has something to do with that wanker matthew she was dating, he hasn’t been around the house since before she left.”

“do you know where she is?”

“the roof, I think.”

at the look george gave him, bono sighed, shaking his head. “she’s not gonna jump. she just wants peace and quiet. I think the inside of her head is too loud. besides, the motor home isn’t high enough off the ground for anything serious to happen if she falls.”

“still, why would you let her be on her own right now?”

“she didn’t give me a choice.”

after a bit of floundering (and a trip back down the stairs after he realized he’d forgotten a coat), george found his way to the roof. from here, he couldn’t quite see the track, but he could see the lights and hear the sounds of the paddock, watching the last few stragglers exit their team homes and head for the front gates.

y/n sat at the edge, feet pulled up under her and a halo of smoke around her messy hair. her clothes were baggier than normal, darker than usual. when she turned to face him, the driver could see that her eyeliner was smudged, a single mascara tear running down her cheek. in her hand, she shakily clutched a lit joint, the embers at the end glowing orange in the night.

“I thought you quit that?” george asked, concern evident in his tone as he moved to sit next to her.

“fucking mattys fault.” she grumbled, taking a long drag of the fragrant plant. “he’s set my anxiety issues back about five years, figured it was time to go get my cbd prescription refilled.” she stopped, taking another drag before exhaling the smoke and offering it up to george. “it won’t get you high, but if we share it, it will make this look less sad.”

george frowned, taking the joint from her hand and taking a shaky drag, choking in the smoke as it filed his lungs. “what did he do? did he touch you?”

she laughed sadly, defeat in her eyes as she looked over the paddock. “nope. what he did hurt a whole lot more. when I got back from wales I went over to his apartment to surprise him, since my flight had gotten in a few hours early. he was in bed with another woman. and this wasn’t the first time, either. he’s been seeing her almost as long as he’s been seeing me. apparently she didn’t know I existed, and he was thinking about marrying her. I was fucking humiliated, george.”

“I’m so sorry.” he didn’t know what to say as he passed the joint back. she took a long drag, refusing to meet his eyes until he had reached over to shake her gently by the shoulder. “you did nothing wrong. you are pretty and funny and smart and most of all worthy of love. if matty couldn’t see that, then he didn’t deserve you in the first place, y/n.”

it happened so suddenly it almost knocked the driver on his backside. they were just talking, sitting comfortably in the marijuana smoke and then suddenly the engineers daughter is kissing him. soft, guava lips pressed to his, pillowy from all the tropical lip balms she can’t seem to put down. her hands are hungry, extinguishing the joint against the metal motor home roof before pawing at george’s broad frame.

they had been friends for years, yn considered him one of her closest. it must have been the part of her that needed reassurance that said ‘it’s okay, cross the line’ because soon enough, he was kissing her back, tongue exploring her mouth with reverence, hands gripping her waist through her mom jeans, then slipping into her back pockets to cop a feel.

“is there anyone left inside?” she panted, resting her forehead against george’s, hand splayed against his clothed chest.

the driver shook his head.

“good. I want you.”

and then they were in his drivers room, everything happening so fast that it felt like a fever dream. and then it happened, her jeans and panties on the floor, stripped down the lacy camisole she’d had on under her sweater, back on the massage table as she wrapped her bare legs around george’s hips, his hands gripping thighs hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into her, sweat dripping off the tips of his brown hair.

“god, fuck, george, please!” none of the words leaving her mouth were coherent. it didn’t matter. this was about avoidance, a mere distraction, if you will.

she needed to be fucked so hard she couldn’t think about all the bullshit matty was putting her through.

when all was said and done, her mind blissfully clear as she lay prone on the massage table, feeling the sweat dry on her flushed skin as she watched george tuck his cock back into his jeans, all she could find it in her to say was “god I needed that.”

and from there, it was all too easy to fall into a dangerous pattern that didn’t help anybody. one that tord a line so fragile it might as well have been made of salt, intended to keep the deeper feelings out.

the night in george’s drivers room turned into a quickie the next morning in the airport bathroom, bent over the vanity in front of a mirror, panties around her ankles and a massive hickey tucked into her turtleneck as they sat across from each other on the private jet, sharing a glance and smiling at the secret they shared,

eventuakly, back on home soil, the driver became her coping mechanism. when she wanted to go out but her friends were busy, george was the first person she called, pulling up to his house in her toyota corolla, synth-heavy music that was popular on tumblr in 2014 shaking the frame of the car. she turned it down as george opened the passenger door, giving her an odd look as the guitar solo played quieter in the background.

“how can you think when it’s that loud?”

“that’s the point. I can’t. it keeps the thoughts at bay.”

that night had ended in the back of an empty parking garage, movie theater popcorn and a takeout box left abandoned on the passenger seat, y/n on her knees with george’s rock hard length in her mouth. hearing him moan her name was its own kind of drug, and hearing him call her ‘good girl’ was enough to have her clenching around air.

or when george would come over, and they would make a new recipe together, criminal minds playing in the background. how many nights did the dinner end up burning while george had y/n's legs spread wide on the dining room table?

and while the act itself brought him nothing but pleasure, it was the aftermath that left him feeling like shit. he knew this was never going to go any further, that y/n was just looking for a rebound. something to take her mind off just how fucked her last relationship had been.

george would never be anything more than a friend, someone she could fuck when she needed it and be platonic with when she didn't.

she deserved better, someone who could take care of her in teh way that her heart ached for.

someone like george william russell, he thought.

but who was he to decide what was best for her? maybe he could show her, treat her right and change her mind somehow. but he wasn’t sure how to do it.

it was a night like any other, over a game of uno and a bottle of white wine, reruns of coronation street playing in the background, the smooth jazz of the intro and outro music only adding to the atmosphere.

and of course, as nights like these do, the cards ended up discarded on george’s living room floor, bodies mushed together in a heap in front of the soft blue glow of the tv. he picked her up bridal style, deftly lifting her weight as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to the master bedroom.

the bedroom. a place so intimate and so forbidden. their relationship had subsisted on having sex anywhere but a bed, for a bed would make it too real. there would be too many feelings involved.

and yet here he was, taking a massive leap into the unknown, uncharted waters as he laid her down against the linens, caging her body in with his as he kissed her.

a kiss so different from all the others that they shared, this one soft and tender. no teeth and no tongue, just the soft caress of a man’s chapped lips, done with reverence, as if her body was a treasure.

he trailed his soft, open mouthed kisses down her neck, no words exchanged between the two as his hands began to slide up her black t-shirt, over her belly-button piercing and then coming to rest over the padding of her bra as his lips traced her collarbone. he was in tune to her every movement, every whine and gasp.

he kissed down her stomach, feeling it rise and fall with her every breath. listening to the way that her breath caught as he popped open the button in her skinny jeans, dragging them down her legs and watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“george,” she hummed as he kissed and nibbled at her inner thigh, so close yet so far from what she needed.

“george!” it was a shout this time, paired with her small hands aggressively pushing him away. “I can’t do this. what are we doing here?”

“what?” george was wide eyed an confused “I’m treating you like a decent fucking boyfriend would! I like you yn, and you mean a lot to me. you deserve more than some cheap fuck in the backseat. you deserve to be treated like a treasure.”

she shook her head, standing up from the bed and pulling her jeans back on, refusing to meet georges eyes as she faced the firestorm of thoughts in her head, each one telling her that she had made a horrible mistake.

“we can’t. there was a line, and we crossed it.” her voice was shaky, bottom lip quivering. she was doing the right thing, or so she kept telling herself. putting that boundary back.

because they were friends. nothing more, nothing less.

george laughed. an awful, grating sound in this context. “you weren’t worried about crossing lines when you let me fuck you on my massage table. or when you had my cock down your throat.”

“please don’t take that tone with me!”

“I know matty hurt you. and I know you needed a rebound, but I want all of you, yn. I want your good days and your bad. I want to take care of you.” he was getting desperate. they both knew that there was no such thing as ‘just friends’ after this.

“I can’t be what you need, and I can take care of myself.” she tucked her hair behind her ear before storming last george and back into the living room.

george would always regret letting her leave. somehow, as he watched her grab her purse and her leather jacket and the keys to her fucking toyota, that this would be the last time he saw y/n bonnington.

and he was right.

he didn’t see her start to cry when she got into her car, driving to an empty space of road so she could pull over into the shoulder and let it all out, the radio tuned so loud that she swore it was shaking the frame of the car. and that’s when she decided it was time to reevaluate her life.

george didnt see her again for months. he heard from bonno that she quit her job, moved out to the coast. somewhere on the water. brighton or blackpool or bournemouth. a new group of friends, a new job, a fresh start.

she sold the toyota, bought herself a mini cooper countryman, a car she’d wanted since she was a little girl. she stopped wearing tight, dark clothes and starting seeking out florals, pastels even. flowier clothes that made her feel good.

and she was happy. from time to time, she still thought about that night at george’s. in a way, she was thankful. it had forced her to change, to become a better person. a healthier one. but she hated that she had hurt him. played with his feelings and then stomped on his heart. but deep down, she knew she had done the right thing. she could never have been the girlfriend that george needed. she was too broken.

george saw her again a year later, in the paddock at silverstone. he hardly recognized her: new hair, wide smile. mom jeans and a floral crop top that looked straight out of the seventies. she looked good. happy. healthy.

but there was something else he saw that hit him like a knife to the kidney.

it was the man on her arm. he was conventionally attractive, if you liked surfers. his dark hair flopped around his face the same way hugh grants did in ‘notting hill’ and his sunglasses were hooked into the collar of his striped resort shirt, left open for the top few buttons of course. she looked at him like he’d hung the moon, and he held her like she was the most important thing in his life, always having an arm around her shoulders, tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

his name was colin. of course his name was fucking colin. like he was a character in fucking love actually, and not the man dating the woman george had so vulnerably bared his heart to.

he’d pulled out his phone, open to her number even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d delete it but he never did.

the text was right there in the message box, waiting to be sent.

does he take care of you?

but when he looked over at them again, his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder as she was pointing out different things on her dad computer monitor, george knew the answer.

colin took incredible care of her, and he seemed to be exactly what she needed.

and how could george fault the other man for doing exactly what he would if y/n had been his?

he deleted the message without sending it, quietly slipping out of the garage, with the intention of working out until he couldn’t feel the pain any more.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @userlando @httpiastri @clemswrld @thatsdemko @diorleclerc @cartierre @lorarri @sidcrosbyspuck

[writingroom21]

The Nanny

Pairing: rafe x nanny reader

Summary: Being Wheezie's nanny was great. The only downside is dealing with the oldest Cameron, Rafe. What happens when his fascination with the nanny becomes a reality?

Warnings: 18+, fingering, oral (m and f receiving)

wc: 4.9K

Chapter 2: Let the fun and games begin

The next day was a blur of anxiety as you didn’t know what to do about last night. Rose and Ward had left early this morning taking Wheezie to drop her off at her camp. That just left you, Sarah and Rafe all alone at Tannyhill. This normally wouldn’t have been a problem but considering Sarah is MIA it became one. Every room you enter fills you with anxiety and dread of seeing Rafe. How do you even look at him after what happened? After he caught you watching him fuck his fist. Alright you think as you start to throb just thinking about how his arms flexed everytime he stroked himself. This is getting out of hand, it was one thing for your thoughts to keep you up all night but it can't affect your daily routine.

What’s the worst that can happen right? So what if you stood there and watched him, he would have done the same in your position. Hell he probably would have taken it as an invitation if he walked in on you like that. But no matter how you tried to spin it in your head it all led to the same conclusion. You were utterly fucked. The past year was easy to blow him off, all you had to do was think about all the girls you saw crying over him. But now that you caught a glimpse of that side of him you can’t help wanting to get a closer look. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun, you thought. It really wouldn’t, he’s really handsome and if his reputation is right then he’s also really good in bed.

Then you think about Wheezie and how hurt she would be if something went wrong and you had to leave. The thought of hurting her alone was good enough for the thoughts to finally stop. No matter how attractive Rafe is it isn't worth it, plus his personality would probably ruin it before it even starts. Yeah the two of you are completely different, he grew up rich and thinks the world is his to rule and you grew up in the cut. If it wasn’t for this job you would still be living at home barely making anything to feed yourself. He only tolerates you because he thinks you are hot and you work for his family. Yup that it, right?

The tv plays in the background reruns of Grey’s Anatomy playing as you try to relax. It’s close to five o’clock and no one is in the house. Sarah is probably off with John B and Rafe is well he’s mostly likely off somewhere getting high. Derek’s voice plays in your ear as you focus back onto the screen forcing yourself to think of anything but the older Cameron. Watching as the surgery scene plays out your phone pings. Mom: Hi baby. Just wanted to let you know dad and I are having a cookout tomorrow night. We would like it if you came, we know you’re a busy bee but we miss you. You let out a sigh looking at the message. It wasn’t that your relationship with your parents is bad, they just expected a lot from you. 

It was always about getting good grades so you could get a good job and help them out with bills. They wanted you to take care of them once you had a stable job. So when you decided to take up a job as a nanny they weren’t too pleased.  The displeasure faded away once they found out it was being a nanny for the Camerons. Even though the paycheck was nice, well more than nice, it still wasn’t enough to cover their expenses and your own. It’s been a constant argument between the three of you. You type out a quick response before she starts sending you more. You: Hey! I miss you both. I’ll try to make it, Ward and Rose asked me to watch the house while they are gone. Your phone wasn’t even out of your hand before it went off again with another message. Mom: I’m sure they won’t mind you being away for a few hours. But if you can’t make it we will just see you another time then. Her message seems so understanding but deep down you know she's upset. Fingers go to respond but a voice scares you. The phone drops from your hand as you whip your head to look at who came into the living room. “Still pretending to text that boyfriend of yours?” Rafe says, making his way over to the couch and plopping down near you. Scoffing at him you respond. “No, I'm texting my mother.” “oh so you admit the boyfriend was fake.”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he grins at you, watching to see what your next move will be. “Yeah it was fun watching you get jealous but I decided to give it a rest for tonight.” The two of you just stare at each other for a moment, he’s looking at what you are wearing. You didn’t notice it at the time but it’s one of his old shirts that got mixed with your laundry a while ago. It looks like a dress on you blocking the view of your sleep shorts underneath. Which is a good thing because those shorts leave nothing to the imagination, barely covering you up from the world. Every now and then you wear it but only in your room, not allowing yourself to let him know you have it. 

“Nice shirt.” He comments scooting a bit closer to you on the couch. “You should wear it more often Sunny. Really makes your eyes pop.” Mhm you mumble knowing that he’s not looking anywhere near your eyes. In fact he’s staring at the exposed flesh of your thighs. Skimming up along your legs pausing for a moment at your cunt. Rafe’s eyes on you are making you wiggle in your seat as you try to focus back on the show. It is quiet for a moment as the voices of the characters fill the room. The sky outside starts to darken as the sun finally sets, the room painted in the soft lights of the screen.

Rafe is staring at you, looking at how the light washes of blue dance across your features as you try your best to not stare at him. Movement catches your attention as you see him slide further along the cushions to sit right next to you. “Where’s Sarah?” He whispers by my ear, his right hand brushes against your left thigh. “Um… I don’t know. Maybe she’s with John B or the rest of them.” Clearing your throat, the voice leaving you sounding weak. “Hmm so it’s just us in the house?” The question was met with his hand resting fully on your thigh. Lightly squeezing you as it slowly goes a bit higher right where the shirt ends, fingers quickly skirting underneath before going back to its original position. 

“Rafe.” The rest of the statement was cut off by him. ”Don’t do that. Enough with this game of cat and mouse. I know you want this as badly as I do.” A moan slips from you as his hand goes back under the shirt to tease you through your shorts. Rafe’s middle finger grazing you up and down, noticing the way your eyes screw shut. Creases forming around them as he keeps playing with you. “We shouldn’t do this, I literally work for your family.” You try to reason with him turning to be face to face, whimpering as the heat of his hand leaves as he retracts it. 

“I know.” He whispers as the hand that was touching your caresses your check, knotting into your hair to drag you closer. The other hand worms it way back to your shorts, sliding them to the side to finally feel you. “Fuck no panties? See you’re practically soaking those little shorts of yours.” You moan as he circles your clit with a feather-like touch. “Are you always this wet or do you like me touching you like this?” He chuckles as you move further into his touch. “You’re not special Cameron. I’m always this wet.” The response stops all movement, the grip in her hair tightening for a short second causing your eyes to open. Meeting the blue eyes that haunted you all night, you let go.  “Don’t stop.” 

Your lips crash into his, soft pillowy lips melting together, teeth nipping at each other's lips as Rafe’s fingers continue their assault. “That’s a good girl, Sunny. Fucking perfect.” The words tickle your lips, head thrown back as he makes his way to your entrance. Rafe pushes his middle finger in, dragging it along your walls in a delicious and intoxicating way. Moans keep slipping from your lips and only intensifies as his lips skate across your skin, latching onto your neck. 

A second finger joins his middle one curling just enough to hit your g-spot, tingles spread across your body, legs spreading giving him better access. “Right there.” You moan, your hand landing on his thigh trying to ground yourself when all you can feel is pleasure. Wet squelching fills your eyes only adding to the sensation of his thick fingers fucking you open. “That feel good, baby?” Rafe picks up his speed before taking his fingers out of you and putting them in his mouth. He moans around his fingers, pushing you back to lay down on the couch.  “Come on, pretty girl, lay down for me. Want to have my dinner.” 

Your brain is so hazy from having his fingers inside you that you don’t fight back. Lifting your hips, his hands wrap around your hips to pull the pathetic excuse you call shorts down your legs. The flimsy material being thrown off to the side, shirt pushed up to your waist exposing you to him for the first time. “God your pussy’s perfect. Look at it clenching around nothing. Want me to fill you up.” His lips start to kiss up your thigh, biting into the soft flesh when you don’t respond. “Please.” You whine 

“Please what? Use your words, I know a smart girl like you can do it.” The praise goes straight to your head, hips lifting off the couch trying to chase after his touch. “Please, sir.” The whimper halts Rafe and he stares up at you. After a moment of him not doing anything you look down at him between your legs. If you had a camera in this moment you would take a picture, he was a sight to be seen. Rafe’s lips are puffy and red but his eyes are staring at you with this hunger that makes you go to close your legs but he stops you. Both hands spread your legs as he dives into your cunt.

“Fuck that wasn’t what I was looking for but I’ll be damned if you don’t call me that.” His voice vibrates against you sending chills down your body. “Say it again.” His middle and ring finger push into you once again, pumping in a cruel slow pace. “Please, sir. It feels so good.” Your walls flutter around the fingers inside you, his tongue kitty licking your clit. “Such a good little slut. Begging me to keep finger fucking you like some depraved whore.” His words cause you to squeeze his finger and throw your head back with a moan. 

“Yeah you like being degraded?” A chuckle leaves him “Should’ve known you would like it. Prancing around the house in those little skirts. Just asking for me to bend you over some surface to fuck you. Bet you want me to fuck that attitude right out of you. Huh would that finally shut up that little mouth of yours?” With his fingers curling into you deeper and his mouth suctioning against your clit no words come out. Your mouth hangs open and all you can do is place your hand behind his head, keeping him as close as possible to you. 

A choked moan is lodged in your throat, eyes peeking at him through your lashes. His eyes are closed as he keeps devouring you, his hips thrusting into the couch to relieve the growing pain in his pants. Rafe wanted nothing more than to rip his pants off and shove his dick into your tight pussy. If you were squeezing him so nicely now, he can only imagine how good you would feel wrapped around his cock. He wanted to watch as you crumble into a mess of pleasure, taking his dick like a cock drunk slut. The thought of that alone causes his hips to stutter, the feeling making him moan into your pussy.

At this rate you can feel your peak creeping up fast. “Oh god Rafe. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Hips thrusting up to match the brutal pace his fingers have set. If you thought his arms looked good jerking himself off, nothing compares to watching it flex as he fucks you. “I’m not stopping, baby. I’m never going to stop. But that’s not my name.” Rafe means it too. Just the little taste of you has ruined him, no one will be able to compare to the sweet taste of you. “Sir!” you squeal. He's drunk off the feeling and taste of you, every clench of your pussy making him grind harder into the cushion. “I can feel you squeezing me. You want to be my good girl right? Cum for me Sunny.”

With a graze of his teeth on your clit, you were sent to ecstasy. Hips thrashing all around as he kept sucking on your clit, fingers pushing deeper into you riding out your orgasim. Once you come down he removes his fingers, quickly cleaning them with his tongue before diving back into you. Licking you clean and holding you down by the waist as you try to escape him. When he’s finally done he lets you go, leaning back, chest heaving looking down at you.

You were the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. So fucked out catching your breath with a peaceful look on your face. Eyes still closed you don’t notice him leaning back down, encasing your body with his. His thumb lightly dances along your cheek, waiting for you to open your eyes to look at him. “Thank you.” You whisper suddenly shy as if he wasn’t just eating you out like you were his last meal. Rafe laughs, kissing you deeply before moving off of you. “Such good manners.” He walks over to your shorts, throwing them back at you, making his way out of the room. “I have to go deal with something. I’ll be back later okay.”

Silence wraps around you, the tv displaying Are you still watching? Getting up you pull your shorts back on looking around the couch for your phone and the remote. Finding your phone you also notice something on the couch. A huge wet spot from where you were laying, heat rushes to your checks knowing you just soiled an expensive couch.

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The rest of the night was uneventful, Sarah never came back home so you were left all alone. Usually you and Wheezie would spend the summer nights outside swimming in the pool or staying up late chatting about god knows what. Without her there really wasn’t anything to do besides lay around or go to a party. After much consideration the only one that seemed right was staying at home. You knew Rafe would most likely be at the party, the something he had to deal with being selling coke. After last night and tonight you don’t even know how to face him again.

So staying at home was the best option in your books. A few hours were spent reading whatever romance book was on your bookshelf and making dinner for yourself. By midnight you were fast asleep in your room. Sleeping so peacefully, the sounds of the bedroom door opening weren't noticed. It was the door closing that stirred you from your slumber, looking at the bedside clock you noticed it was past two in the morning. Soft footsteps echo in the dark room, the person fumbling their way around knocking down whatever they made contact with. “Fuck” they curse the sound barely reachign you.

Scared and not knowing what to do you lay there slowly reaching for the bat by your bed. Even though this is a good neighborhood and people would have to have the gate code to get in you can never be too safe. The bat is now next to you in the bed, the side behind you dipping with the weight of the person sitting on it. “Sunny.” They whisper. Are you fucking kiddin’t me? “Rafe?” His hand wraps around you to turn you around, the bat coming along with you. “Jesus. Is that a fucking bat?”

Rafe slips it out of your hand placing it under your bed before going back to you. “Do you always keep a bat on you?” “Depends. Do you always sneak into girls' beds at two in the morning?” The moon shining through the windows dimly lit the room, contouring his face. “Only the pretty ones.” He whispers in the space between you two, telling you a secret he normally wouldn’t say. “I’m sure you say that to all of them.” You tease trying to put distance between you both. It’s weird having him laying in your bed, sure the two of you were friendly, things only changing the previous day. But this is different, he’s in your room, he’s laying in your bed next to you.

“Nah none of them need the sweet words to sleep with me.” Cocky tone matching the grin growing on his face. “Oh of course. Forgot that the kook king was also a king in the bedroom.” Rolling your eyes and lying on your back, you stare at the ceiling. Of course he would only say nice things to get into your pants, you don’t know why you could even think differently. Rafe’s face invades your eye line as he rests all his weight onto one arm to get a better look at you. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated scanning your face hoping it can tell him what you are thinking. 

“Penny for your thoughts.” Your eyes shut trying to form words with all the things you want to say. That he made you feel something no one else has been able to do, how you want to keep chasing that feeling, but more importantly that it was a mistake. It doesn’t matter that it felt amazing, that whatever it was would only lead to heartbreak. You’ve seen this film before with all the girls he flaunted around the house. “This.” You clear your throat, averting your eyes to the window. “This can’t keep happening.” 

Rafe takes a hold of your chin turning you to look at him. “Do you want it to keep happening?” The loaded question fizzling in the air was replaced by a quick “No.” leaving your lips. “But it doesn’t matter what I want.” “It does matter.” Blue eyes burning into your own pleading for you not to take away these moments. Communicating with you that he needs this as much as you need him. “It can be our little secret. I promise I won’t tell.” You giggle, his head burying into the crook of your neck, kissing the junction where your shoulder and neck meets. 

You try to push him by his shoulder but he won’t budge, kissing up your neck until he meets your ear. “Stop letting life pass you by. You stay cooped up in this house with Wheeze all day, she’s not a kid you know. When was the last time you let yourself go?” His breath tickles your ear before biting it and continuing to kiss your skin. Rafe’s right, you don’t do anything fun anymore. Before you took this job you would go out constantly, always with friends running around the island. Wheezie shouldn’t even need a nanny, the only reason you have this job is because Ward was scared. Sarah running away and Rafe doing drugs all the time made him paranoid, he doesn’t want the same to happen to her.

“I don’t know, I would say what we did on the couch would count.” His kisses travel to your jaw, then check, and finally meet your lips. “Yeah I would say it counts. Fucking soaked the couch from how wet you were.” You tense for a moment, embarrassed that he noticed the mess you made. “Nah nah don’t get shy on me pretty girl. You’re just as dirty and depraved as I am.” Pretty girl, that's the second time he’s called you pretty since he sneaked into your room. “You’re high, you should go to sleep.”

“Not high, that shit is practically out of my system at this point.” Kissing your lips he weasels his way on top of you. Your legs widening allowing him to slot his hips between yours, his dick rubbing you in the right way. You are still wearing the shorts from earlier, his dick making the fabric  stick to your folds. “Just want to feel you.” Rafe’s words punctuated with his hips slowly thrusting against you, lips kissing any exposed skin he can get to. “I’m not letting you fuck me after you’ve been taking drugs all night.”

You can feel him smile against your skin, giving you a peck and moving his head to meet your gaze. “So what I’m hearing is you would let me fuck you any other time.” scoffing you roll your eyes flicking his forehead. “Yeah dumbass that’s what I’m saying. It's too bad. I guess we’ll have to find another way.” “Another way?” There’s that smirk again, a fluttering feeling starts in your stomach. Shaking the feeling away you pull him up by his face to kiss you, using all of your body weight to get him on his back. Throwing your leg over his hip you straddle him. 

Rafe is the first to break the kiss, watching you from below as you start to grind against him. “Tell me princess exactly what is this other way?” The hand that was resting on your neck makes its way down the valley of your breast, teasing you nipples through the shirt with a pinch before finding its home on your hip. Viewing him from this angle is breathtaking, the moon painting him in a light blue. “Let me suck your dick.” His hips thrust up into your after hearing how you want to suck him off. “Yeah? Want to put the little mouth of yours to good use.” You grind a little harder leaning down to kiss his neck.

There’s a slight taste of sweat on his skin, probably from partying too hard, it doesn’t stop you from sucking on his pulse point. Pecking up to his ear and placing kisses right behind it, gaining moans from him. Bingo. Sucking on his sweat spot he uses his grip on your hips to move you back and forth. “Yeah. I want to feel you in my mouth, want to taste you.” This causes him to groan bucking into you. “Fuck! Yeah, yeah you can have whatever you want baby.” The words are like a reward, smiling as you look down at him, your hair covering the two of you from the outside world.

“Good boy.” Two simple words, two words that had him wrapped around your finger. The grip on your hip tightens as you kiss down his body, pulling his shirt over his head so you can nip at his skin. Your hands reach between your bodies undoing the belt and pants button easing the pain the zipper was giving him. He’s so painfully hard he can’t even remember the last time he wanted someone this much. “You like being my good boy just as much as I like being your good girl. If you admit it I’ll suck you so good.” You whisper, eyes flickering up to look at him. 

If his ego wasn’t so big he would admit it, he would tell you just how fucking bad he wanted to be good for you. But that’s not who he is, admitting something like that would just show you how weak he truly is, he can’t do that. “Oh you begging for me to fill that mouth up of yours and fuck that tone out of you.” He taunts from above, grasping at anything to give him the upper hand. “You’ll definitely be filling up my mouth. It’s just going to be under my rules.” Pushes his shorts and boxers down his cock springs free bobbing in front of your face. Reaching up you grab him and give him a little squeeze, electing a groan out of the boy laid out on your bed.

You kiss his left thigh before licking him from the base up to the mushroom tip that was red, begging for attention. The taste of pre-cum invades your tongue as you wrap your lips around him, sucking just the tip. He’s heavy in your mouth and you only have the tip in but based off of the quick glance you got you knew he was big. Like huge, he’s also wide, stretching your lips as you take more of him in. If he’s stretching you out like this then you can only imagine what fucking him would do. As if Rafe was a mind reader he calms your nerves. “Don’t worry baby, we’ll make it fit. Just…just keep sucking like that.” 

Humming around him, you start to move your head up and down, making sure to hollow your cheeks and give him a nice long suck on the way up. Repeating the motion you get into a rhythm, right hand wrapped around what you can’t fit helping you along. “Fuck that feels good. Who knew that mouth was good for something else other than talking back.” The vibrations of your chuckle send pleasure through Rafe’s body. He doesn’t know whether to watch you or to shut his eyes and enjoy the moment. But looking at the way your eyes are closed, worshiping his dick has him throwing his head back. His eyes closing, moans escaping him as he wraps your hair in a ponytail in his hands. Guiding your pace he pulls your hair this causes you to moan around the sensation making you wet. 

“Touch yourself.” The command takes you by surprise, following it, your unoccupied hand makes its way into your shorts. You're wet, wet is an understatement, you were soaked. You would never admit this but you liked the feeling of him in your mouth, the feeling of him rutting into you. “You get off on this shit don’t you?” Your fingers rub faster on your clit, already so close to cumming just by sucking him off. “Knew you were a cock slut. Damn baby.” He huffs between breaths. 

All you can do is moan and keep sucking, picking up the pace of your bobbing, moving your arm to slip a finger inside yourself. Rafe lifts his head at your movements, entranced by just watching you. His beautiful little Sunny being perfect, your eyes flutter open and his breath hitches. He’s going to remember this moment forever, it’s going to play on repeat in his head every minute of every day. Whatever happens after this is worth it in his eyes, this right here made it worth it. “If you keep going I’m gonna cum.” He moans, head falling back onto your pillow. 

Disconnecting from him a string of saliva and pre-cum kept the two of you tethered. “That’s kinda the point, pretty boy.” You continue your previous movements, on the verge of cumming yourself. You can feel him throbbing ready to explode in your mouth so you squeeze his base tighter, letting him know it's okay and you want it. “Can you be a good boy and come for me sir?” Not even a second later he lets go, white ropes of cum filling your mouth as you cum right after him. Swallowing around him, you let him go, releasing him from your mouth, the hand in your pants laying motionless. 

Rafe lets go of your hair, grabbing your arms to pull you up his body. The motion was so fast that you had to catch yourself as your body tumbles on top of him. He reaches for your hand, still glistening from your sum to pop them into his mouth. Rafe’s tongue swirls around the digest, licking them clean and releasing them to kiss you. “Taste just as sweet like before.” He kisses you, turning your bodies so you are both laying on your sides.

He has a soft smile on his lips, hands rubbing up and down your arm as he regulates his breathing. “Did so good, sunny.” His eyes are barely open, fighting off the sleep threatening to overcome him. “Yeah?” You whisper resting your head on his shoulder, feeling a sense of comfort with his arms wrapped around you. Snoring mets your ears as sleep takes you along with it. For the second night in a row, you go to bed with the taste of him still lingering on your taste buds.

[ch-4-eri]

Use Me — Jill Valentine.

jill X fem! reader.

warnings: smut, p in v, strap use, strap referred to as ‘cock’. verbal abuse, very mean jill (oops), overstimulation, spitting, crying, swearing (lots of it) let me know if i miss anything i wrote this at 6am sorry if there’s any mistakes (it is proofread ish).

word count: 2.6k

you tossed and turned in bed as the clock read 12am, typical.

jill’s light snoring is all you could hear as your thoughts wandered and wandered for probably an hour now, steaming glances at jill every now and then.

she came back from her job, ate something, had a little conversation with you, then she quickly went to bed, which you couldn’t even blame her for, jill worked for so long and she does this for the both of you, she deserves her rest.

but your ovulation week had other ideas.

you were an aching horny mess.

tossing and turning made it worse because any movement you’ve made involving your legs would drive you crazier, staying still wasn’t helping either, you were a cat in heat.

as your mind kept you awake, your eyes went to your sleeping girlfriend, jill’s arms hugged the pillow as she was breathing slowly and steadily, she looked so peaceful and here you were, an inappropriate film was going off in your head.

your fingers went to her arm, nudging her slightly. “jill?”

jill groaned in response, her brows furrowed. “jill…” you repeated, wishing she’d register it sooner.

she groaned once more, her eyes fluttering.

“jill… i’m.. horny.” you dropped it, like she wasn’t even half asleep.

“what the fuck..” she mumbled tiredly, her tone groggy but all it did was send your pussy pulsating, you felt so pathetic.

you nudged her arm again. “just wake up..”

“touch yourself in the bathroom or something!” she says, blowing you off with a dismissive hand.

“of course not.. it doesn’t feel as good as when you do it.”

“i’m sleeping.”

“you’re awake now.”

as soon as you said that, jill rose up from the bedsheets with a groan, she was fuming.

one thing about jill is that you knew she hated being woken up for no reason, especially when she needed the sleep so badly, she worked her ass off early in the day and she can’t rest from your whiny little voice and your hormones.

you knew you were testing her but it wasn’t on purpose, the ache inside of you hurt the whole day and you can’t ignore it anymore, even when jill rubbed the sleep out of her angry eyes, sipped some water off the bedside table bottle she keeps on her when she’s dehydrated from her deep slumber.

“i’m getting so fucking tired of you.” jill spat, closing the bottle aside and runs her thick fingers through her short brown hair, you frowned slightly at her words but you deserved it, lowkey, yet all of this was making you even more horny, the ache between your legs was unbearable.

“so fucking sick of you, i can’t fucking sleep in this goddamn house.” jill says again, standing up from the bed, still trying to get herself more awake to deal with you, you were a little happy about the fact that you got her to wake up but she was so moody, not that you deserved to complain about her mood, maybe she’d fuck you but she wouldn’t be nice about it.

she turned to face you as she tucked her hair behind her ears, her blue eyes sit on yours.

“take off your clothes… off. now.” she demands, her tone pissy and controlling.

“w-what?” was all you managed which somehow made jill even more angry, you could swore she would hit you or something, she never did, but she was too patient with you before, you wondered when she’d snap like that? it was sick of you to imagine jill hitting you for asking her for sex like that, jill would never lay a hand on you, not for the purpose of seriously hurting you, she always watches out with the way she deals with you, she knows you can’t handle her full strength.

“you seriously fucking woke me up just to ‘what’ me? take off your fucking clothes! you know what—“ she says her eyes wide open in anger, her face red as her veins popped out of her neck.

jill climed up the bed and grabbed your shorts, pulling them down your legs forcefully as you let out a yelp. “shut the fuck up! i’m so sick of you!” she argued, her fingers found your thin shirt and took that off as well.

you weren’t fighting it, but as much as it was turning you on, you wondered if she was truly this mad at you and it made you anxious, your heart dropped to your stomach at the idea, her tone and the way she handled you clothes, yet you were getting so wet anyway, your mind and cunt had two different opinions about this.

her fingers dragged down your panties, throwing them off the floor. pushing you down onto the mattress, opening your legs with a strong palm separating your knees, you could seriously salivate from this moment alone.

but before she did anything else, she unclasped your bra, she didn’t look impressed in the slightest, yes jill was used to your body, knew you every inch, every freckle, but now that she wasn’t even complimenting you, made your heart drop even more, horny and anxious all at once.

jill threw your bra on the floor with a force, grabbing your face in her palm.

“which part of i’m sleeping did you not understand?!” she shouts, her fingers ghosting your sticky area, it was pulsating, calling her name.

“jill…” you breathed, hoping she’d go easy on you, you were terrified but oh so excited your pussy was tightening around nothing. “are you really that much of a needy whore?” she spats, her eyes narrowed like she was truly shaming you for it, like she was a total prude and would throw rocks at you for behaving this way.

“every other day.. every other week you need me to fuck you, or else you wouldn’t fucking let me sleep!” she slams her fists onto the mattress, making you jump, your eyes watering at her behavior, but so was your dripping wet hole.

“you know what? i will fuck you..” jill heaved, grabbing your face into her fist. “i’ll fuck you so hard, so hard you won’t be able to walk, or even talk. fuck you dumb enough you’ll stop talking altogether and let me have my own fucking peace for once, that’s what pretty sluts like you deserve, should be grateful i even give you the light of day, you’re a brat, and i’m so sick of you taking and sucking the life out of me.” jill spoke, letting go of your face with a force as you shed a tear, her words hurt so bad but you needed her just as badly.

she got out of bed then, the sound of her feet as she went to look for her strap were too loud, putting all her energy in the stomping, you sat up a bit; rubbing your thighs together, wiping the tear off your cheek.

the sound of the drawers opening and closing was all you could hear echoing in the bedroom, jill wouldn’t look at you either, as she finally took out her strap, she walked closer to you in bed, she usually always slid a condom over it as you requested so, saying the feeling of it inside you was a bit uncomfortable, but now that you’re too wet for that she decided to just smear her spit over it.

jill spat on her palm, rubbing it across the rubbery tip so she can slide it in easier, yes she was mad at you, but she hated to think she’d wanna hurt you on purpose.

she climbed on the bed, strap perfectly wrapped around her hips, wet enough to slide inside of you as she parted your legs once again with her hands, positioning herself between your legs, brows furrowed, gaze averted.

you bit down your lip as you watched her get on top of you, her necklace dangling over your head, her tits peeking out of her loose gray tank top, no bra underneath.

she rubs the tip against your hole, teasingly so. “shh.” jill demands as soon as you started making noise.

“fuck you’re so tight..” jill cussed, sliding her cock in as you let out a gasp. “all this fucking and stretching you out didn’t loosen you up? damn girl.” she grunts, surprised at her change of tone, she was fully bottomed out as she started thrusting inside of you, your hands were shaking as they placed themselves on her hips, fucking yourself into her, the tip kissing your cervix with every thrust.

“is that good, slut?” jill says, forcing your chin between her fingers. “i’m not a slut.” you argued, your voice strained as you were fucked out. sweat already breaking out from your forehead.

“sure you’re not… look at you swallowing that cock whole… always begging me to fuck you, always demanding and whining for it.” she fucks into you deeper, making you see stars as it shut you up completely.

“good girl, i like it when you keep that pretty mouth shut.” jill continues thrusting, the sound of your squelching was like music to her ears. “you belong to me don’t you?” she whispered to herself, going faster just to see how you’d react, seeing the way you pulsate against her cock, the way you rock your hips to match her pace with your moans strained and your legs aching.

“hhhhnnn… jill i’m so close.” you managed, your finger nails digging into her waist from underneath her shirt, then your hands grabbed at her breasts, which drove jill crazy to just get you to cum, her pace went faster and faster, her girlfriend’s mouth open, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you squeeze at her tits, your thumb circling her sensitive buds, making jill squirm inside of you as she forced your wrists away with her hands, pinning you down on the bed with one hand, the other taking each one of your ankles and throws it over her shoulders, making the strap go in so much deeper as you let out a choked gasp.

jill had to take a second and look at you like that, sweaty forehead, red cheeks, lips so red and pretty, the position was a little different from every other one you’ve both been in before by her.

but she took a mental note to do this again, legs on her shoulders, your eyes closed and your breathing uneven as she refuses to move inside of you. watching the way your breasts moved as you squirmed and whined underneath her, jill can’t resist you and she knows it, no matter how angry she became, how fucking stubborn she gets especially after a terrible day at work which is every other day, she has a beautiful girlfriend she can use however she pleases, you’re her pretty little thing, her whole world, she’d probably crumble if she came back home and didn’t find you there.

“look at me..” jill softly says, a drastic change from her tone earlier as your eyes fluttered open, staring into her blue ones.

“i love you.” jill whispers as she begins to move her hips forward and continues to thrust inside of you, the tip abusing your cervix as her words made this even more intense and overwhelming.

you eyes watered, recalling her words from just a few minutes ago, compared to this. you couldn’t focus as you got even more stretched out, crying out loud from how good it felt then from how much you feared like you were losing her and this was her last straw.

“shh..” jill whispered once more, her tongue flicking against her bottom lip as she let go of your hands, holding them in hers as she fucked into you so much faster than before, sending the bed rattling against the wall, creeking against the floor while your lips met in a hungry kiss, tongue and teeth clashed as you were chasing your high, sensation so overwhelming you whined into her mouth, jill’s hands grabbed yours as she led you through such an intense orgasm, you were terrified.

you screamed, moaned, writhed, unsure of the noise that came out of you when you gushed all that you have against jill’s cock.

jill noticed.. and she slowly pulled out, mumbling sweet words and kissing your forehead, cheeks, lips, she overstepped a line and she was willing to make it up to you.

“shh.. you did so good, such a good girl.” she mumbled, rubbing her thumb against your cheek as you were trying to get a hold of yourself.

“it’s alright sweetheart… you did good.” she whispers into your ear. “i’ll be back.. okay?” was all jill said as she climbed off the bed, taking off the strap that needed cleaning now, not that you’d notice from how much you were vibrating and overwhelmed.

jill came back a few moments later, a cloth to clean you up and some water to hydrate you.

she carefully sat next to you and helped you sit up with a kiss to your forehead. “i’ve got you.” she mumbled, grabbing the cloth in her rough hand, slowly holding it up your thighs as you were too sensitive, you closed your legs in on her.

“can’t..” you shook your head, keeping your knees together. “i have to clean you up baby..” jill murmured, taking a hold of your thigh once again, cleaning up the cum off it. wiping it all the way up to your sensitive core as you squirmed. “jill.. careful.”

“i’ve got you..” jill repeated, cleaning you gently, watching the way you were limb on the bed, you were breathtaking.

as soon as she finishes cleaning you up and putting you into new panties and clothes, giving you some water as you drank the whole bottle. “easy… it’s not going anywhere.” jill mumbled, climbing on the bed next to you, recalling how mean and disrespectful she was to you early on, making her heart twist into her chest.

she took you in her arms, your smaller frame fit so perfectly into her, you wrapped your arms around her as she kissed your forehead.

“i’m sorry… i didn’t mean what i said.” jill finally said, she can’t let you go on thinking this is how she thought of your relationship, she loves you so much.

“there’s no excuse for me to talk to you like that, not when you needed me. i’m sorry baby..” jill added while wrapping her arms around you tighter, securing you into her grip gently.

“it’s okay..” you sighed, she noticed how non verbal you get after such a loud and messy orgasm, she’s glad it’s not because you were mad at her or resentful of what she said. “it’s not.. i don’t want you to be mad at me though, i can’t take it.” jill whispered into your hair, brushing a hand over your belly.

“i’m not mad.” you finally said after a moment of silence. “no?” “no.”

jill sighed in relief and kissed the tip of your nose, making your eyes close as she pulled the blanket over both of you, hoping you’d get a good night's sleep. she still needed to do so much to make it up to you, you’re her angel.

you snuggled up to her, eyes closed and heavy with sleep. jill brushing your hair with her fingers, her face so close to yours as she watched every flutter of your lashes, every time you opened your mouth and closed it. she leaned in and kissed your lips, unable to get enough of you as you kissed her back, barely, you were probably half asleep.

“i’m not mad.” you reassured her softly, which was enough to make jill go through the night without some exaggerated grand gesture, both of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

[kteezy997]

Daddy's Boy-Part Eight

warnings: smut, brief handjob, unprotected sex, needy sex, dirty talk, cursing, reader getting overheated during sex, tit sucking

You were placed down onto the plush cushion of the expensive couch; Timmy was on top of you. His lips brushed over yours, needy and fiery. You wanted to be sure that this was real, and not another dream. You touched him all over, feeling his back, his shoulders, his arms, and weaving your fingers into his hair. You knew the texture of his curls well.

Softly, he would push his hips against you, between your legs where he nestled himself. He kneaded your hips and the outside of your thighs. He moaned into the crook of your neck. He kissed your collarbone and left little pecks across your chest. You uttered out a soft moan. You felt him smile against your skin.

"I'm sorry to just drop by like this..." you said with Timmy sucking on your neck, "I just wanted to be with you. I need you. I don't care about anything else right now."

"No," he answered, "don't be sorry. I'm so fucking happy you're here." He took ahold of your jaw, kissing you with a hunger you had never known before. "I need you too." he said in a breathy whisper.

You felt him rubbing himself against you. It was like he was fucking you already. He moved his hips desperately, as if you weren't burdened by clothing.

"We need these off." he declared, unbuttoning your pants, hurriedly.

You took it upon yourself to help him take his jacket off in between him pulling your pants off each of your legs. You tossed his jacket aside, then made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt. You put your hands on his bare abdomen, and Timmy freed himself from the shirt sleeves.

His skin was as soft as it ever was, but he was a little thicker now, and more muscular. It had been over three years since you'd been intimate with him, and he was bound to change as he got older. He'd also filmed Dune: Part Two, which required a lot of strength and athleticism on his part. He looked incredible. Looking at his body made your mouth water.

You heard his shirt hit the floor, and his lips were on you again. He ran his hands down your body, skimming over your legs. He parted your thighs, and you shuddered as you heard his fly open. He shifted a tiny bit, to push his pants down further. You looked down and saw him. His cock was hard, and you so badly wanted it inside of you.

You caught his cock in your grasp, Timmy moaned softly. He looked into your eyes; his curls tried hiding his own. You pumped his length for a few seconds, making him say, "Yeah just like that, baby." under his breath. You removed your hand only to moisten it with your tongue. You grabbed his cock again, but this time giving it a gentle tug, enough to pull Timmy on top of you.

He chuckled, "Damn, you're as desperate as I am." He leaned down to kiss you again, letting his cock rest between your folds. In a devilish attempt to tease you, he rocked his hips, making his tip glide of your clit. He moaned in your mouth as your body tensed against him. He knew what he was doing.

You took a hold of his hair, pulling and making him groan in pain, but pleasure took over as his cock entered you. You moaned together in unison. He slid in slowly, sinking all the way to his balls, deep inside you. You loved feeling so full. You imprisoned him, tucking your legs around his waist.

Timmy hissed between his teeth as he felt your walls clenching him. Sinful wet sounds filled the air. You put your arms around his neck. The two of made out, moaning like animals in heat.

His thighs slapped against you, and he held your arms down to fuck you hard. The pleasure was overwhelming, you were hot and couldn’t catch your breath.

“Timmy, stop, please stop for second.”

He stilled himself, looking in your eyes, “Do you need me to pull out? Are you okay?” he petted your hair.

“No, no. Keep it in. Feels good. I just need a minute to breathe.”

“Okay.” he whispered, keeping still, not getting too close so you could get air. He gently pushed your hair out of your face, brushing it away.

You inhaled, filling your lungs with air and regaining your breath. “Okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” Timmy asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Yes, I’m sure.” You grabbed his face, kissing him hard.

……..

His noises were intoxicating to you. You nearly came by just watching him hold you down and buck into you. His chest and ab muscles flexing as his cock pumped in and out. He looked down between you, moaning, “Ughh-ha.”

You felt his cock leave your pussy, you moaned in anticipation of its return.

He watched his cock plop onto your folds, like he was amazed, "Fuck, you're so wet, you turn me on so much."

You pulled him by the waist, forcing his cock back in you.

Timmy was in sync with you, moving his hips as soon as he was in your pussy again. He bit his lip, "I've been thinking about you a lot." he whispered, hovering just above your face.

You caressed his face with your hand. You were ready to admit everything, “Me too. I had a dream about you the night you stayed over."

His eyes widened, "Really? You should have told me." He paused, now it was him caressing your cheek, "I would have made it come true." he shook his head, softly thrusting his cock in and out, "Fuck, I should have just gone to your room."

You placed your hands on his ass, "Yes." then you pushed him deeper inside your pussy, grunting, you added, "Maybe you should have."

He made an animalistic noise, his entire face scrunched up intensely. He understood what you needed in that moment, and he thrusted faster and harder, holding you tighter.

"Oh my- Yes! Yes! Timmy...fuck." you cried, running our hands through his hair, feeling the dampness on his scalp as he had been coated in sweat.

"Fuck." he breathed out, not stopping, but he pulled your shirt up over your breasts. You weren't wearing a bra, as you were just relaxing at home before this. You felt the cool air on your breasts, your nipples got hard instantly. He leaned down, taking a tit in his mouth as if you had milk in there and he was dying of thirst.

"Ahhh." you moaned. You muttered his name over and over.

Timmy held your breasts in his hands, sucking each one, licking around the bud, flicking his tongue over your nipples, making you writhe with pleasure, and buck your own hips against him.

You took the Lord's name in vain once more, and added, "I'm gonna come." you were panting like a whore.

Timmy moved back kneeling and sitting back on his knees, know he could still see your face, but also watch his cock wreck your pussy. He was hot, sweaty, he winced, "I think about this every night. I've fucking missed this. Come for me, love."

With a loud moan, you whined, "I wanna come on your cock, Timmy!” and your body convulsed, you felt your cum spirting out on his cock, probably getting everywhere, but you were too in a daze to notice.

Timmy let out a deep, guttural moan, pulled his cock out, dripping in your arousal and cum mixed together. With just a couple of pumps of his hand, ropes of his sperm were sprayed onto your stomach, creating several puddles. He leaned against the back of the couch draining his cock of every drop, slowly jerking it.

You both stayed in place, catching your breaths.

Timmy got on top of you, obviously not caring about the cum he was smearing between your bodies. "I'll make love to you in bed properly the next time, I promise." He almost sounded sorry about the hasty fuck on the couch. He gave you a chaste kiss and intertwined his fingers into yours.

"Hmm." you cooed, smiling at him. "That's fine. Or maybe I'll just break the couch while I'm riding you."

He shook his head, hardly believing the words coming out of your mouth, but he was loving it. "Fuck, yes please." he replied, pulling you into a more passionate kiss.

……

He made good on his promise, and you made love in his cozy, King-sized bed; naked and totally vulnerable to one another under his luxurious bedsheets. Slow movements, with sweet kisses and soft whispers into your ear. “I’m so happy to be with you.” he’d say, or “My baby momma is so beautiful.” along with, “Your pussy feels like heaven, just like I remember."

You didn't know you could feel this happy. Not since being apart from him. Timmy made everything so much brighter and warmer, just like his son did. You felt so loved and desired, which was a feeling you didn't know if you'd ever get to indulge in again.

You slept so soundly, not waking during the night at all. You were all wrapped up in his arms, you felt safe and comfy as you fell asleep to the sound of him breathing.

The morning after when you woke up, fresh dark roasted coffee was the first thing that came to your senses. You saw the sun shining and the birds chirping outside Timmy's bedroom window, and you felt so peaceful as you woke. He brought a mug with steam coming out of the top and sat it on the bedside table next to your head. It smelled absolutely divine.

Divine was also the way you would describe him at that moment. Shirtless with gray sweats on his bottom half that left nothing to the imagination, and his hair was still messy from last night. You made a mental note to comb your fingers through his curls to refresh them and make them look a little better. But then again, Timmy always looked great, even disheveled.

You made no attempt to hide the smirk on your face as you checked him out, sitting up and grabbing your coffee from the nightstand.

"Don't look at me like that." he said. He was leaning slightly with his hand on the top of the table.

"I'm not looking at you in any special way. That's how I always look when someone brings me coffee." you teased, grinning at him before bringing the warm mug up to your lips, careful not to burn yourself as you took a sip.

"If I catch you looking at a barista that way, you're in trouble." Timmy replied, standing straight then bending to kiss you on the forehead. "I laid out some pajamas for you to put on, so get to it, and bring your coffee. I wanna show you something."

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @mel-vaz @thatoneweirdgirl17 @iwishchalamet @jindongdongie @elloise0 @rennyd26 @briefkittenearthquake @that-one-fangirl69 @sammy-halpert

[clairedaring]

watching ep 1 of my stand in, my impression was that the series emphasized quite a lot on joe's bottom virginity...

gif of the wonderful @supanuts

... yet they forgot to include my two most favorite little tidbits regarding this is (1) joe explaining why he's always been top his entire life and (2) joe forewarning ming before they fuck that if his sex skills is mid, he better tell him first. so here are the two excerpts from chapter 10 and chapter 11 respectively.

1. joe explaining why he's been top all his life (this happens during their meal at the restaurant together)

Yan Ming Xiu looked at him. Zhou Xiang’s attraction and desire for him is so obvious that it can’t even be concealed. Actually, there is no reason to conceal it. Between men, it’s better to be direct. Each takes what one needs. Zhou Xiang leaned close to him and softly asked, “So, have you really forgotten me?” Yan Ming Xiu gripped his chin and gently touched his lips, “Maybe I’ve only just remembered you.” Zhou Xiang burst out in laughter, “It’s quite timely.” He bit YanMingXiu’s lips, gently tugging it, “But I’ve been thinking of you every day.” Yan Ming Xiu asked softly, “Think of me? Thinking of me topping you?” “Actually, of me topping you but if you’re not willing, I can only suffer this time.” “You’ve really never been a 0?” Zhou Xiang jokingly responded, “Nope. I wanted to be (a zero) when I was young, but people wouldn’t even look at me because they thought I looked too mature. When I got older, it was even more unlikely. There are more 0’s than 1’s in the circle…so many fresh meats waiting for me; you think I’d go looking for people to top me?” Yan Ming Xiu gently reached his hand into Zhou Xiang’s clothes and pinched his slender waist, then says coarsely, “So then, if you’re going to do it with me, it’ll be your first time (being a zero)?” Zhou Xiang laughed, “Exactly. Don’t you have to be responsible?” “Haven’t topped you yet, what’s there to be responsible for?”

2. joe forewarning ming before having sex

Zhou Xiang smiled at him, “Let’s agree on something first. I still have to work the day after tomorrow. If your skills are not up to par, you better say so ahead of time, don’t dupe me.” He’s heard of people having to go to the hospital from their first time (being a 0). He just wants to have sex. That’s all. He didn’t want to be embarrassed. Although his words sound quite conservative, Zhou Xiang’s eyes have already nakedly swept at Yan Ming Xiu’s abs. His muscles are too beautiful and his skin so exquisite that it’s reflective. Yan Ming Xiu looks very thin when he’s wearing clothes but that’s probably because he’s so tall. Zhou Xiang didn’t expect that once Yan Ming Xiu remove his clothes, his body would be so firm, paired with his long legs and his face, click-click (clicking his tongue sound), his mood right now is just like a straight male having sex with an exceptional beauty.

so yea these are my two favorite bits that didn't really make the cut even though they were definitely hinting at it already. the other is probably joe was invited to a threesome (to which he declined) before getting the call from ming for that meal.

but in general, i think the series is really fast paced as opposed to the novel and i can see them being able to go through most major plot points of the novel. incredibly excited for ep 2 as everyone could probably tell from my spamming of my stand-in gifs these past two days.

[beatrixstonehill2]

"I'm ready for my injections," Holly told her boyfriend, Ryan.

"Good, you're becoming so obedient. I told you you'd come around eventually. You almost look eager."

Holly blushed, feeling the weight of her breasts hanging off her chest, already about twenty-five pounds each. Fifty whole pounds of pure breast. It felt absurd to her, so wrong, and yet inescapable. It was her new reality. "I'm excited to see them grow for you....."

"That's a good girl," he said, inserting IV needles into her breasts at various points.

Holly winced as her boyfriend injected her breasts with over a gallon of saline each. She remembered when she first met Ryan barely a year ago. He was so charming, they met at the gym and were both very passionate about being fit and healthy. She worked as a gymnastics instructor. Now she couldn't imagine trying to work her old job. The mothers would be horrified at such a huge-breasted cow of a woman trying to teach their daughters.

Soon into their relationship, Ryan mentioned having a big tit fetish. She thought nothing of it, what guy doesn't? Before long, she noticed her breasts were getting bigger and started lactating. He fessed up that he was drugging her water bottles, and apologized, but said he wanted her EE-Cup breasts much bigger. She was angry but as her girlfriend was still excited to please him and get bigger for him, despite not wanting large breasts.

Her breasts got bigger and bigger, impeding her ability to do gymnastics. Women began recommending she get a reduction or chop them off outright. Holly had to reluctantly admit her boyfriend was making her grow them out like this. His fetish consumed her life, made her lose her job, getting so bad she found herself becoming a living embodiment of his kinks. No longer Holly at all, just an object he acted on and molded into his perfect toy.

She gasped as the gallons of saline flooded her breasts, his new favorite means of torturing her. When they were done, her breasts ballooned to double their size, red and swollen, round and very taut like fake tits. He took out the needles and placed heart-shaped bandages over them to help keep her tits from springing leaks. This new way of increasing her breast size would ensure once the saline is absorbed her breasts would stretch, getting saggier, longer, emptier. Instead of being beautiful and full from the breast growth drugs, like a woman who's pumped out a dozen or so kids, her breasts would switch between extremely saggy, floppy and empty, and enormously round and heavy, filled to the point of popping with saline, heavy as two water coolers strapped to her chest.

Holly winced as Ryan tightened her leather straps and added the rest of her corrective harness, which looked a bit like bdsm gear, to help keep her back upright, pushing out her giant saline-filled boulder tits. Ryan smiled, smacking Holly's breasts, which made her recoil in pain. "It feels incredible when I hit them, doesn't it?"

Holly nodded, barely able to catch her breath. "Y-Yes.... Smack them all you want. They're yours."

"Good girl, but they're about to be all of Lower Manhattan's. I want you bringing in lots of money tonight, OK? Smile a lot, eagerly service any man, even the homeless ones or violent looking ones. I can't have you saying no to any clients. Don't worry, I'm taking my anti-STD pills every day so I won't contract all the bugs you're collecting. Oh, and if you don't mind, I want you whoring on the corner by your old dance studio, hopefully some of the moms and other women you worked with might get to see your new occupation. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Holly was blushing beat red. "B-But....."

"None of that. You don't have 'no' in your vocabulary. Now off you go!" he said, smacking one of her breasts again.

"OK.... I won't disappoint you."

"Good, otherwise I might have to paddle all that saline out of your tits when you get home"

Holly yelped as he spanked her, sending her out wearing only her harness and nothing else, to go enjoy her new occupation as a whore with giant saline-filled breasts. Which she slowly started to feel was exactly who she was always meant to be.

[callsign-rogueone]

thank you - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x reader Garrick shows you how grateful he is that you saved his life, and how much he missed you while you were apart. Or, what caused all those sunflowers to sprout in the hallway. part of Garrick and Angel’s story (fits into what was I made for?) words: 4.0k 🏷 NSFW. set during IF, but no spoilers in this one. this is 4k of straight up sex. afab reader who is referred to as a girl a few times (I cannot write smut without at least one "attagirl" in there, I'm sorry) makeout, groping, fingering, unprotected piv (don’t do that), a lot of swearing from Garrick lmao, fluffy lovey future talk, several I-love-you’s and a casual marriage proposal in there somewhere, aftercare and cuddles 🥰 still working on my smut skills, so pls be gentle with me hsfdj

As soon as the door closes, Garrick’s hands are all over you; pulling you close and kneading the plush of your hips, smoothing over your sides. He’s just groping you, for lack of a better word, but it feels good and you don’t want him to stop. 

“Gare, what are you— oh,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his lips trailing over your jaw.

“M’ reminding you,” he says, placing a kiss behind your ear, “that I am very much alive,” another kiss to your neck, “and showing you how thankful I am that you saved my life. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you manage, already out of breath. “That's okay.”

“Good. Now just relax for me, angel. Let me do the work, hm?”

You stutter out an uh-huh, already feeling yourself start to slip into that familiar soft and fuzzy headspace, ready to be taken care of.

He settles into your desk chair like he owns the place, parting his legs and tapping the space between them. “Foot up.”

You rest your boot on the edge of the seat, letting him pull at the laces and slide the shoe off, dropping it onto the floor with a soft thud. You start to move your leg down, but strong hands close around your calf, his fingertips pressing into the tight muscle through the fabric of your pants, silently working out the knots. You sigh softly, feeling the tension slip away. 

He taps the back of your leg twice, and you switch, setting your other boot on the seat. He takes his time with the laces, loosening each row carefully before removing it, continuing to massage away the soreness from the morning’s workout.

Another two taps, and you lower your socked foot to the floor. 

He guides you forward with a strong hand on each of your hips, until you’re standing directly in front of him. 

You’re mesmerized by the soft look on his face as he slowly starts to remove your arsenal, setting the few small blades behind him on your desk in a neat row — Failsafe last, and the most gently. You didn’t realize he knew where they all were, but then again, he knows everything about you.

He starts to peel away your uniform, slipping off your flight jacket, which now bears the proper Lieutenant’s insignia to match his, dropping it next to your boots.

You’re hit with a wave of self-consciousness as he helps you out of your shirt. The last time he undressed you like this, you were in his room at Basgiath, nearly five months ago, and in that time you’ve no longer been forced to overexert yourself every day, no longer in a constant state of fight-or-flight… you don’t look exactly how you used to.

Your worries face quickly, brushed away by his soft words and the gentle brush of his hands over your skin.

“Missed this perfect body so much,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his hands settling on your waist. “So soft, so nice to hold, to kiss…” 

He unbuttons your pants with ease, guiding them down your legs and smoothing his hands over your hips, letting you step out the rest of the way and kick them aside along with your socks. He presses a few soft kisses to your tummy before he pulls back. 

“C’mere,” he coaxes, patting his thigh.

You climb into his lap without hesitation, the chair creaking under your combined weight, but that’s the least of your worries — he’s still wearing far too much clothing.

He’d said that he wanted to do all the work, but he doesn’t protest as you tug at his shirt, untucking it from his pants; he just gives you that smug grin you adore, slipping it over his head easily and tossing it aside.

You will never tire of the sight of him shirtless, all that thick muscle on full display, his relic contrasting with his pale skin so beautifully, curling up his arm and onto his shoulder… 

He has a few new scars on his sides, ones you know weren’t there before you were sent to Resson — a long, shallow slice on his left and what you really hope wasn’t a stab wound on the right. Both are fully healed, and likely too old for you to do anything about them, but you still reach out to trace them with gentle fingertips; a soft, loving touch, an acknowledgment of his pain and a silent apology that you weren’t there to heal them for him.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he begins quietly, anticipating the soft lecture you always give him whenever he comes home injured.

You lean forward to give him a soft kiss. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

You rub your hands over his sides for a moment, admiring the planes of muscle, the definition and strength under your palms. You dip your fingertips into his waistband, intending to undress him further, but he stops you, a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist.

“This is supposed to be about you,” he says playfully, nudging your nose with his. 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just let me love you.”

“Always.”

You sigh happily as his lips connect to yours again, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you upright. You’d missed being this close to him, missed the hours you would spend just like this, sitting in his lap, giving each other lazy kisses.

His fingers hook into the leather cord around your neck, tugging on it gently, and you move back to let him pull it up over your head. He holds it carefully, setting it on the desk with your knives.

In the few days that you’ve had it back, you’ve gotten used to the weight of the runestone hanging there, and you feel a little anxious in its absence despite it being only a few feet away. You touch your fingertips to your chest subconsciously, feeling only warm skin and the beat of your heart.

He realizes what’s wrong, reaching behind him to take it off the desk and put it back where it belongs, but you shake your head no, putting your hand down.

“I’m okay,” you reassure. “Just feels a little weird being without it.” 

You know he understands — he was the one who had the idea to make it into a necklace for you after you’d refused to put it down for days, nearly spraining your hand from constantly gripping it so tightly. He’d been enraged when he realized Varrish had taken it from you. 

“Just let me know if you want it back, okay?”

You nod, your noses brushing with the movement. “Okay.”

“Attagirl.”

His hands settle back on your hips, his head dipping down to kiss over your heart where the cold stone would normally rest, just above the tight binding you wear every day. He hooks his fingers into the hem, pulling it down slowly until your breasts spill out over it. 

“Missed this,” he murmurs, sliding his hands up your ribs to knead at your chest. “So soft, so nice to play with…”

Your breath catches as he starts to rub his thumbs over your nipples, soft brushes back and forth that send a pleasant, tingly feeling through you. 

“Sit up a little for me?”

You straighten up quickly, adjusting your position in his lap with a few more concerning creaks from the chair that you choose to ignore.

He leans down, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple, and you clap a hand to your mouth, trying to keep quiet — your friends are in their rooms across the hall, and you’d be mortified if they heard you.

He pulls back, brushing his hands over your ribs soothingly. “I put up a sound shield, angel. You can just let it out. Wanna hear all those pretty noises you make.”

With that, he leans in again, licking at you the same way he does when he goes down on you, alternating between soft laps of his tongue and sucking gently, right where you’re most sensitive.

You whine softly, rocking your hips against his in search of friction.

He hums in acknowledgment, but doesn’t stop, just switches sides, continuing to suck and lick and squeeze, keeping one hand on your back to hold you steady while you squirm in his lap.

If patience is a virtue, then Garrick Tavis should be sanctified for all eternity.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this needy in your life, this desperate for something, anything, to lessen the ache between your thighs. You know that he needs this as badly as you do, you can feel how hard he is through the thick fabric of his uniform, throbbing underneath you, but he isn’t going to let up any time soon -- you haven’t had the chance to do anything like this for months, being clear across the country from each other; he’s going to take his sweet time with you.

You’re about to ask if you can speed this up a little when he finally pulls back, kissing his way back up your chest before he stands up, walking you toward the bed. You squeak, clinging to him tightly, but he keeps you in place, strong arms hooked under your legs as he crosses the room.

“I’d never drop you, angel,” he murmurs, laying you back against the pillows and sitting by your side. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know,” you whisper, gazing up at him.

“Good,” he says softly, giving you a sweet, chaste kiss. “Comfy?”

You hum in affirmation.

He rests a hand on your thigh, and you part your legs on instinct, knowing where this is headed. He gives you a smug smile. “Eager, are we?”

Your cheeks warm in embarrassment, but you don’t deny it — you’re very eager for him to touch you where you need it most.

“Relax for me,” he soothes, slipping his hand beneath the hem of your underwear and starting to circle your clit with gentle fingertips.

You sigh softly, settling a little deeper into the cushions and letting your eyes fall shut. 

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and you don’t doubt that — you’ve never felt more overwhelmed with love for Garrick in your life than you did today — but it also makes every touch, every kiss, that much more intense. You haven’t felt this good since the last time you were with him like this, in his room at Basgiath, but this is even better. 

There’s something about his touch that feels so much better than your own, no matter how many times you’d tried to recreate it yourself while he was away.

Maybe it’s the feeling of his fingertips, the skin a little rougher than yours from all his extra training, or the thickness and length of his fingers, filling you so nicely and reaching that special little spot so easily, pressing up against it and sending gentle waves of pure pleasure through your body. Or maybe it’s the tenderness with which he holds you, the gentle hand cradling your cheek and the taste of his lips as he kisses you slow and sweet, or the warmth of his body against yours, all that soft muscle to rest on, and the smell of his cologne…

Whatever it is, there’s no comparing it to just your hand and your imagination — you had stopped trying entirely after two very disappointing attempts, unable to get yourself there on your own no matter how long you tried. But now, after less than two minutes, you can feel your muscles tightening, feel that pressure building between your hips, your heart racing… 

You’re nearly there, and Garrick knows it. He reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers to ground you, and resting his forehead against yours. “It’s okay, angel. I’ve got you.”

You make an effort to deepen your breaths, shutting your eyes and focusing on Garrick; the feeling of his hand holding yours, the softness of his touch and the warm glow of his presence beside you.

You gasp, a rush of energy flowing through you a split second before you tighten around his fingers, crying out his name.

He feels it too, hears the soft rustle of leaves around you as all of the small potted plants you’d taken inside to save from the winter cold start to grow, leafing and blooming across every available surface.

He looks over his shoulder, amused. “That’s new.”

Your cheeks heat with embarrassment, your heart still racing as you come down from your first orgasm in four months. “Sorry,” you stammer reflexively, stunned. “I had no idea that would happen.”

“Don’t apologize, angel. It’s cute. And I like seeing you feel good. Like hearing it, too.” He strokes his hand over the curve of your hip soothingly. 

“Anything hurting?” he asks, gentle concern in his eyes. Since you told him about the pain your signet had caused you, he’s been checking in with you multiple times a day, especially after any form of physical exertion.

You shake your head no. “Never better,” you say with a lazy smile, still catching your breath. 

You fight the sleepy feeling that’s already settling into your bones- it’s been a long day, and he’s succeeded in wringing all the tension from your body, but you still want to please him, dote on him the way he did for you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been able to please him, after all your time apart and how tired you’d been your entire third year with all those long shifts at the infirmary. Getting on your knees for him is the least you can do after that earth-shattering orgasm he gave you, and he’s always so gentle with you when you do, holding your hair back and praising you all the while… the thought has you pressing your thighs together with need.

You sit up, reaching for the waistband of his pants, but he takes your hand in his, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “If you’re up for it, I’d really like to make love to you right now instead.”

You flush at the words, nodding your permission a little too eagerly, and he laughs, giving you another soft kiss before he pulls back to take off the rest of his clothes.

No matter how many times you’ve seen him like this, you still can’t help but stare. All the hours he spends in the gym with the boys and all those crack-of-dawn leadership runs have seriously paid off — his entire body is coated with plush muscle, and it’s undeniably attractive. 

You take the opportunity to pull off your underwear, tossing them to the floor before he climbs back up, settling between your legs. His body covers yours completely, broad shoulders taking up most of your vision, but you don’t feel caged in or trapped; you feel safe, protected, loved.

“Hi,” you whisper, blinking up at him.

He smiles, your nose brushing his as he leans down to give you a soft kiss. “Hi, my love.”

He braces himself on a strong forearm by your head, one hand smoothing over your thigh and hooking under your knee to raise your leg over his hip. 

You can feel how close he is to you, the slick glide of his cock through your wetness, stroking up and down and sliding over your clit.

“Please, Gare,” you whimper, shifting your hips in an effort to get him to stop teasing. “Need you.”

“You have me,” he replies, resting his forehead against yours. “You’ll always have me.”

Your breath hitches at the feeling of your bodies finally connecting. He’s worked you up so well that he could just sink right in, but he still takes it slowly, inching deeper and deeper until every little bit of space you have to offer is taken up. You fit together perfectly, like you were made for one another.

“I mean it, angel. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to give you the life you deserve,” he continues. “You do so much for everyone. I just want to take care of you, take that weight off your shoulders and give you a place to rest, protect you from all the hurt in the world, keep you safe and warm, show you how much I love you… That’s all I’ve wanted for years.” 

He draws back ever so slightly, moving forward, and your jaw drops in a soft gasp. You can feel his heart beating against yours, feel just how genuine every word is. It’s almost overwhelming, feeling the whole room teeming with life and love, that warm energy that’s enveloped the both of you.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” you whisper, as if you’re afraid that saying it aloud will make it come true. “When I saw you like that… it felt like the world stopped turning. I don’t know if I could live without you.”

“You’ll never have to,” he promises. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be with you for the rest of our days. It doesn’t matter where we are — here, or that godsforsaken school, or anywhere on the continent; you’re home to me. You’re my safe place, where I can let my guard down and relax, where I can feel what I need to feel.”

You reach up to hold his jaw, guiding him down into a kiss; wet and messy, broken up by your soft gasps, but loving, grounding.

He’s starting to slip, to lose his composure — he needed this just as badly as you did, and it feels like heaven for both of you. “Gods, angel, you feel so good,” he pants, picking up the pace. “Needed this so badly, missed this so much…”

You’ve very rarely seen Garrick out of breath; not during his workouts, nor flight training or anything else — only when he’s so deep inside you like this, chasing the release you both need so desperately. 

He reaches down to stroke your clit, gentle little circles that make the pressure build faster, intensifying everything.

“Gare,” you whimper in response, not presently capable of saying much else — not when your mind is this hazed with pleasure and all the sweet words he’s whispering to you, all the promises he’s making.

“I know, angel, I know,” he pants. He does know, knows that those soft little pleas and the way you’re tightening your grip on him means you’re right there, that if he keeps doing what he’s doing, it’ll make you cum again, and that’s exactly what he plans to do.

There’s nothing he loves more than watching you like this, so close to the edge, all soft and wet and brainless under him, looking up at him so fucking prettily, pure adoration in your eyes; completely at his mercy, but trusting that he’ll take care of you, that he’ll be gentle and loving— and he always is. 

That’s why you chose him.

“I love you,” you pant, finally forming words. 

“I love you too, angel. I love you so much,” he breathes.

You hear it again, those rustling leaves and blooming flowers, but this time there’s the sound of breaking pottery and falling books along with it.

Neither of you let that distract you, your eyes still locked on each other’s, hands still clasped together tightly as he continues to rock his hips against yours, continues those soft little circles on your clit until you shatter, your eyes rolling back and sweet little whimpers pouring from your lips.

Cumming on his fingers was nice, but this is so much better -- feeling so whole, your heart and your lungs and the deepest parts of you filled with Garrick’s presence, feeling him pressed against you after so many nights apart…

It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. You hold him impossibly closer, your fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders and your legs wrapping around his hips, wanting him to stay like this, nice and deep, rocking into you so deliciously, his entire body pressed up against yours.

You can tell he’s right there with you -- his grip on your waist has tightened, his rhythm faltering and his breaths shaking. 

“That’s it, angel, just like that,” he rasps. “Feel so fucking good wrapped around me like this, taking me so well… missed you so much, my perfect girl, my soulmate… I can’t wait to marry you, to call you my wife, settle down with you… oh, fuck,”

You tangle a hand into the dark curls at the back of his neck and yank him down for a kiss.

He struggles to kiss back, gasping and panting against your lips as he nears the edge. It doesn’t take long before he stiffens, his eyes rolling back with a gorgeous little moan as he spills into you.

With a few slow rocks of his hips to ride it out, he collapses onto the mattress beside you, winded. “Gods,” he pants, his arms shaking from the prolonged effort of holding himself up. “that was…”

You laugh, tilting your head up to give him a soft kiss. “Yeah. It was.”

He slips an arm underneath your back and rolls you both over so you’re laying on his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist. You rest your knees on either side of his hips, keeping him tucked inside your warmth a little while longer.

You can feel your combined sweat and arousal dripping down your thighs, but you don't have it in you to care about that right now — he’s tired you out, but not in the way that the school had; no, he’s relaxed you so deeply that it’s bordering on hypnosis. A soft, fuzzy kind of tired, sweet and sleepy and safe. You focus on the warmth of his body and the slowing rise and fall of his chest underneath you, trying to match your breathing to his, to synchronize your heartbeats.

He strokes a hand over your back, from your shoulders to the base of your spine, up and down, up and down.  “You okay, angel?” he asks softly, sounding a little worried.

You nod your head yes against his shoulder, cuddling into him further and closing your eyes. “M’ perfect.”

He laughs softly. “Damn right you are.”

Your cheeks warm at the praise, as if he hadn’t spent the last hour telling you just that.

“We made a bit of a mess, huh?”

You turn your head to see the state of your floor and the desk — overgrown with tangled vines and flowers, many of the clay pots having shattered from the rapid growth of the roots inside. The wall to your left is covered in ivy, wrapping over your bookshelf, many of the volumes having been knocked to the floor. 

A physical testament to your love, of the growth and life you’re capable of when you have each other -- and a giant mess that you are absolutely not going to deal with tonight.

“I’ll clean it up in the morning,” you mumble, your cheek still pressed into his shoulder. “jus’ wanna be with you right now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“Gare?” you ask quietly.

“Yes, my angel?” he answers, fighting a yawn.

“I want all of that, too,” you say softly. “The settling-down stuff.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you answer, closing your eyes and picturing it. “A house of our own, with a giant garden where I can grow every kind of flower on the continent. And an apple tree, so I can make pie every year for your birthday.”

“Two kids,” he adds sleepily. “A boy and a girl. And a couple of dragons.”

“Someday,” you sigh. “But until then, I’m happy staying right here.” You nuzzle your cheek against his chest, over his heart. 

“Someday,” he murmurs in agreement.

You both hope that day can come soon.

[kitorin]

misalignment (n).

/ˌmɪsəˈlʌɪnm(ə)nt/

the incorrect arrangement or position of something in relation to something else. "in which, mikage reo finds himself both asphyxiated and confined within the unfortunate circumstances of his first love."

contents. mikage reo x gn!reader, unrequited feelings, no happy ending, right person wrong time (i think), reader and reo borderline drunk / wasted, unproofread misery, tiny implication at gaslighting but nothing like that happens, never written unrequited love nor experienced it (can't get rejected if i never confess !!)

Despite the intelligence and academic prowess he had maintained throughout his entire lifetime, Mikage Reo is fundamentally a fool; one who unwisely but desperately deludes himself as a means to remain blind to the truth.

The 'wanna hang out tonight?' text was the flame to his moth, effortlessly attracting him whilst having the full capability to incinerate his very existence, to destroy every part of him.

If years of friendship accompanied by unreciprocated feelings could teach him anything, it was that, to spend time with you, lining up was a prerequisite for Reo.

Free time for you was defined by work's leniency (which seldom seems to happen, but at least you enjoyed it), and the occasional period where you weren't obsessing over a drama or book series.

After that section of the queue, was quite literally everyone else. An invitation from you meant that Yukimiya was too preoccupied with modelling, Rin's overseas, Nagi was too lazy to respond and left you on read, Isagi's busy training, Kunigami's at the gym, and Hiori didn't have the time to travel that far.

Finally there was Reo, back up plan Reo, the friend that you could go to when no one was available; the friend you liked enough to spend time with but not enough to prioritise.

He steals a glance at you as you keenly sip from your glass. Self-hatred chews at his conscience, but the livid, and tired part of him shoos it away.

It's not a very nice thing to accuse one of thinking of another so lowly, especially a close friend, however the explicit signs of him holding little significance in comparison to others seemed to validate it. You and he have been drinking for a while now, without much word other than the 'hello's and quiet greetings when you first saw each other.

It's normal, the silence. It's just how things worked between you and Reo. Neither of you were particularly social, words weren't necessary to enjoy time together, that was one of Reo's favourite things about you.

He's always tired of speaking, having to maintain flawless image, that included appearing as someone sociable and eager to speak with others.

But with you, that expectation was nowhere to be seen.

You're now adults, but this is nothing different from the quiet walks to the bus stop back in high school. The ones where he'd do his best to steal a glance of how you look, soaked within the sunlight while smiling.

Chatter permeates the bar's atmosphere gently a few clinks of glasses can be heard which followed hearty laughter and the occasional cheer.

You're first to talk. "How's university been?"

"Good." Was the workload horrendous? Yes, and so was adulthood in general. Reo knows he has it easy; he can afford it easily and could still live comfortably without working a day in his life. But he still yearns for the same feeling high school had. "Hakuho was fun though."

You place your drink down, swallowing. "I know right? Never thought I'd say this, but I miss high school. It sucked most of the time. But you and the others made it so much better.”

Reo nods, as he gulps down more alcohol. “I miss it too. How has studying been for you?”

You huff. “It’s a lot. I feel like I spend more time studying than doing anything else. But it’s good. I don’t mind since I’m actually studying something I’m passionate about, you know?”

“I’m glad, then.” Reo stares at his whisky, swirling the amber in his glass. “Proud of you. I really am. You’ve come so far, and I just know you’re going to do well.”

Growing from a clueless high schooler to a driven, impassioned, medical student. A lot has changed, years pass yet he remains unloved by you.

God there he goes again, lamenting on his paltriness. It must be a relative of masochism; he could be safe and secure at home with a good book and cup of tea, yet he’s here drinking with the source of his pain, while tethering on the border of being intoxicated with alcohol instead of heartbreak.

With each drink, a wave of euphoria swallows him up, licking up his misery as if it were sand on the shore. Rationality and emotion bicker like seagulls quarrelling over food.

You laugh at his sweet words. “You drunk? Thanks though.”

“Drunk or not, I mean it. Seriously.” Reo knows his limits, but doesn’t bother correcting you. His face feels hot, not because of the soju, but because of you.

You’ve always been pretty, to a ridiculous extent. But absurd how a few years changes you so much. Reo can’t even identify the changes, he just knows you’ve gotten prettier; that his heart races faster whenever he sees you.

“Seriously.” You echo, and nod, and smile. “I miss seeing you every day. School was so much fun with you around.”

Another hasty gulp of soju. Reo can’t stand hearing those words.

I hate you.

Is it directed to you, or himself? Not even Reo’s quite sure. He does his best to ignore your kindness, if it were true then he would’ve been addressed you with a smile in the same way you’d speak to anyone else; he would know how his name sounds off your tongue. He would mean more than a last option, and all those texts wouldn’t be left on read, viewed out of genuine care rather than basic manners.

Even though he can go on about unfair this feels, it’s ultimately his fault for still spending so much time with you. You’re supposed to cut off the people who don’t value you. You’re supposed to only care for the ones who’d do the same for you. Reo should’ve cut ties with you long ago, yet he clings onto your relationship as if it meant more than anything else.

I miss seeing you at school everyday. Your words echo, and he does his best not to choke on his drink.

Formalities, not affection. It's not love, it's your way of manners. If you truly did care you'd be spewing those sorts of words out constantly, like when you're with Chigiri, or Anri.

"Reo? You good?"

"Yeah. 'm fine." It's a reflex, he barely had time to register the words leaving his mouth. "Are you?"

"Yah. I'm not the drunk one here am I?" You chuckle to yourself, bringing the glass back to your lips, averting your gaze elsewhere. "Were you always a lightweight? Your face is so red."

"And yours is so pretty."

There he goes, ruining your night with something stupid.

"Yup. Definitely drunk. You're saying weird things now."

And with that, Reo commands, requests, pleads himself not to cry.

"You know." Another shot of soju is swallowed down by you, punctuated with a refreshed gasp. "The me a couple of years ago would've been overjoyed to hear that."

It feels as though every interaction with you accentuates his one-sided love and it stings; time with you is mere salt to the wound.

Neither of you say anything for a bit.

Reo can recall your confession, an awkward text sent after a couple of months the two of you actually spoke. There's an unspoken boundary between you two, to not being up the topic of each other's crushes or of your confession.

A fair rule, but it's harboured questions. Reo hasn't got a clue on your love life and crushes. He knows of your obsession with romantic dramas, always binging whatever's trending, screaming on social media about having to wait a full seven days for the next episode.

If only the two of you were a part of one. But even fiction would probably destine him for solitude woven of heartbreak.

"I think you're the drunk one. Why bring that up now?"

You've finally halted on drinking. "Dunno. That was my first confession."

And you're my first love—he wants to say it, it's at the tip of his tongue yet he can't muster it to say it aloud to himself or even to Nagi; let alone you.

"Well, it was an honour."

It wasn't. Because the thought always intrudes into his mind. What if you had confessed a couple of years later, or even at least two?

Or what if Reo hadn't taken his sweet time to fall in love with you, if he had told you he wanted to get to know you first instead of a simple rejection, would you be in his arms?

"Shut up. I was a stupid kid back then. I promise you, I have absolutely no feelings for you. Not anymore."

Reo scoffs, he can't even fantasise of the potential between you two. You liked Mikage you'd see in the hallways; rich and top of the school; not clingy old Reo who feels ever so slightly too much for everyone he cares for.

Whereas Reo couldn't care less about l/n that just transferred to his class, but would die for the y/n he discovered throughout the years.

"Yeah yeah, I know. Never thought you did." He knew you didn't.

It wouldn't've saved him from his doom of unrequited love, but the timing was terrible. The heavens should've made your infatuation and his adoration align, at the very least. Even if it meant Reo remaining unloved.

A hiccup follows a breathless giggle. "Who did you like in highschool? There had to be someone. Why didn't you ever tell me though? You had so many fans, you must've liked one of them."

Because it's you. "Because you never asked." Reo shrugs, almost impressed at his own feigned composure.

"Now I ammm." Now your words are beginning to slur. "Whooo?"

It's you. And still you. Reo could say it right here and now. You're essentially wasted and probably won't remember it. And if you did, he wouldn't mind crossing an ethical line and fibbing if it meant concealing his pathetic vulnerabilities.

Perhaps one day he'll tell you, if the uninterrupted storm ends, and the skies clear, if Mikage Reo's heart will one day stop aching for you.

"I'll tell ya some day. When I feel like it."

"What?! You're not allowed to add that much suspense—and not tell me in the end."

And perhaps in another universe, he and you can be of the same constellation, instead of being galaxies apart.

taglist (send ask to be added) : @yuzurins , @pokkomi , @chigirizzz

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

On the language debate, I personally headcanon that the main language spoken at NRC is a common one. (?) (Like how English is the business language, or like how generally Native Americans had a common language that they spoke when trading with other tribes.) And Crowley or the Mirror used magic so that You was temporary fluent in that language.

After the ceremony, Yuu has to learn the common language and picks it up really fast (as one would in such a situation). Therefore, Yuu can still speak it when away from NRC.

(I also headcanon English as an ancient language akin to Latin, because I heard that Arabic was canonically an ancient language.)

[Referencing this post!]

I’d buy that everyone at NRC speaks the common language to some level of proficiency; it’s like how international students typically need to speak the language of whichever country they hope to study in and need to prove their fluency in an exam beforehand. As I said in the original post, the light novel does mention a translation spell over the school, so maybe that’s part of the “magic” that helps Yuu to understand what the others are saying.

Now, it’s theoretically possible for Yuu to learn the common language of Twisted Wonderland in a year, but I don’t think immersion alone would cut it (especially since the main story is only up to like 2/4 to 3/4 of a year so far) . They’d probably have to put in significant effort outside of everyday conversations to pick up its rules (because remember that language isn’t just vocabulary but also grammar, syntax, and social conventions). Yuu would also need consistent feedback from people since that’s how one usually “fixes” their incorrect language use. It’s similar to how adults would correct a child learning their first language; ie a kid says “wadur” instead of “water”.)

One site I looked at suggested that, depending on the language categorization (I, II, III, of IV), it can take 24-92 weeks’ worth of time to become an “advanced” speaker. Realistically, just getting to the basic conversational level could be hundreds or thousands (700-2500+) of hours on its own—and Yuu has to do this on their own time between homework, going to classes, and managing all the issues that Crowley doesn’t 💀 To me, that doesn’t sound like a lot of free time. Counterpoint to my own point though, we also have to consider that Yuu is... well, technically Yuu can be any age you want, but most Yuus are implied or portrayed to be 16-18. The critical window for language acquisition is theorized to be anywhere from the first three years of life up to as late as 17-18 years. After this critical window, the ability for language development tapers off. So, thinking about that, Yuu's brain could still be very pliable and able to absorb new language (though they'd have to work quite intensely to pack in as much as they can before this ability starts to decline).

Something that I feel would be difficult for Yuu is that the characters often use slang (Cater, Floyd, Idia, etc.) and/or uncommon words (like Vil’s “pulchritude”). The former may not follow the standardized rules of a language or may be idioms (other non-literal meanings for common words), which could make it hard for a non-native speaker to understand. The latter would not be used that often, so Yuu would be forced to guesstimate what the word means. I’d imagine this would make fluency challenging, because as immersed as Yuu is in Twisted Wonderland, less frequently used words are harder to grasp.

Maybe Crowley cast a translation spell ON Yuu so that they can still converse with people in the common tongue whenever they leave NRC? Or, since the events basically occur in an AU, more than a year has passed so it has allowed Yuu more time to absorb the language. Language in TWST and how it works… It’s really interesting to think about!

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Just remembered the fallen god reader thingy- what if reader just one day regains their power ;)) and then just leaves them, I'm like super offended ;(( I dont wanna be mistreated by them

ahaha this ask made me chuckle a little! unfortunately my version of yandere archons aren't sweet in every scenario, i do still hope you enjoy though! :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including mentions of being held against ones will, mentions of manipulation, mentions of violence, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Venti:

Well, he certainly can’t just let you leave, not after all that hard work he put into nursing you back to health. No no, don’t you see, you owe him. You could try and claim he was doing it out of the goodness of his heart, I mean he’s an Archon, a god just like you, doesn’t he see how unjust it is to demand payment?

You could beg and plead all you want, but unless your powers are enough to break the elemental barriers he’s set up, then I’m afraid you’re trapped. He won’t mistreat you, he’ll be nice and sweet to you so long as you behave, but your freedom will forever be removed.

“It’s not fair you say? A lot of things in this world aren’t fair, it’s just how it is.” His bright smile and humorous laugh do little to settle your unrest. No matter how hard you begged, how fast the tears poured from your eyes, or how strained your voice became from constant pleading, nothing worked. Perhaps if you learned to behave he’d let you see the sun again, until then, think long and well about all he had done for you. Remember exactly just how much you owe him for the things he’s done for you.

Zhongli:

He finds it curious that your powers have suddenly returned, but it does little to change his authority over you. Regardless of the strength you show or possess, Zhongli has ingrained into your mind just how weak and pathetic you are. You are nothing without him, your silly little powers mean nothing if you aren’t here with him. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that you need him?

There’s little that would change about the dynamic between the two of you, if anything it just gives Zhongli an excuse to be around you more. His eyes seem to always be observing you now, watching keenly to ensure you don’t dare step out of line. There will be consequences if you should try.

“Dinner is done, come eat.” His tone is warm, but there’s a familiar sense of sternness in the undertone. Since the resurgence of your powers, Zhongli had made sure to remind you of your place below him. It didn’t matter how hard you fought, the elder god showed little remorse when overpowering you. It was astounding to think that even after the loss of his gnosis he could still hold such power over you, but then again, Morax wasn’t known as the God of War for nothing.

Raiden:

She doesn’t believe you at first, those who lose their divinity are not simply granted it back. It would take a long while and many displays of your capabilities to convince her. It doesn’t much change her opinion of you though. Raiden still thinks you are foolish and weak to have lost your powers to begin with. And for that, you should suffer the consequences.

Every escape attempt or effort put in to fight back is quickly shut down. She doesn’t even let you build up the hope that you’ll be able to land a hit before she’s got you disarmed, pinned, and once more shown your place beneath her. It gets a bit frustrating, having to always correct your silly outburst.

“When will you learn that you are nothing compared to me? You should be grateful I have enough decency to put up with this behavior, if you were anyone else I’d have tossed you to the streets like the pathetic waste you seem keen on acting like.” Her words are as rough and painful as her hold on you is. She has you under her, pinned to the floor in the living room of her home. It’s an embarrassing sight, your face held down to the hardwood as she scolds you like a child. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, but Raiden had hoped that by now you’d have learned your lesson. She is getting incredibly fed up with you.

Furina:

Your return of power puts her in a tough position because before when you were powerless, she had something to hold over your head. Now, you hold the power and she’s left to flounder.

There isn’t much she can do to keep you from leaving, sobbing on her knees as you walk towards the front door. It wasn’t fair, it wasn't fair that you got to get back what you lost, it wasn’t fair that you got to still be connected to divinity when she was cut entirely from it. 

“Please, please don’t leave me…” Furina kneels on the ground, hands balled into fists as she begs and sobs. She can just barely see the sides of your shoes as you walk past, disregarding her as you head for the front door. When she’s sure you’re not looking she ceases her crying, the tears were fake from the start. Reaching for the pipe she hid under the couch, she silently grabs it before standing. It was easier to hit you, having stopped in the doorway to admire your freedom, you had been too caught up to hear the soft patter of her footsteps behind you.