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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

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unboundprompts · 7 months ago

Note

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #story prompt #prompt list #ask box prompts #how to write #how to write a fight scene #fighting prompts #fight scene prompts #fight scene #writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #writing help #writing reference

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crushpunky · 4 months ago

Text

drew and actress!reader attend their first event following their pregnancy announcement

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based off this ask and as a follow up to paparazzi catches actress!reader’s baby bump. warning for pregnancy + nausea

Awards season was always a busy and stressful time, but being nearly eight months pregnant made it so much more hectic. However, with Drew’s performance garnering so much awards buzz, y/n knew she was going to do everything in her power to be there for him through it all… even if she was waddling like a penguin the whole time.

“How you feelin’, baby, y’ alright?” Drew asked, rubbing a hand down the exposed skin of y/n’s lower back. She wore a deep plum dress that draped beautifully along her pregnancy-accentuated curves, the fabric loose and breathable enough to allow her to move comfortably throughout the very long night. Drew wore a simple black suit, excellently tailored over a sheer, unbuttoned, white dress shirt that showed off his tanned skin and muscular torso. The two of them were equally adorned in glittering gold jewelry, y/n’s favorite little detail the gold hoop earring in Drew’s ear she’d picked out for him.

“I’m good.” Y/n grinned, running a hand absentmindedly against the curve of her stomach. “It’s good to finally get to sit down.”

The night was well on its way, the red carpet flying by in a flood of flashing camera bulbs and eager fans before the guests filed into the theatre the ceremony would be held in. Once they were ushered to their table, Drew pulled y/n’s chair out before guiding her into it with a careful hand resting along her back. She sat down, smoothing her dress down as she easily sunk into the chair.

“How about baby, how’re they doing?” Drew asked, crouching down so he was eye level with y/n’s stomach. He gently ran his fingers along her stomach, his wedding ring cool against the fabric of her dress. Y/n ran a hand through Drew’s hair as he admired the curve of her stomach, a wide smile spread across his lips as he felt the baby’s small kicks.

“They’re running a marathon right now is what they’re doing.” Y/n laughed as Drew pressed a quick kiss to her stomach before pressing one to y/n’s cheek. Drew slid into his seat, his hand never leaving y/n’s side as he looked around the room. Stars filled the room, each seemingly dressed more elegantly (and perhaps even more famous) than the last.

Drew’s eyes glittered with excitement as the moment sank in, the room filled with an air of hopefulness. Here he was, being nominated for a major award and sitting here with his beautiful wife, the two of them expecting their first child merely weeks away, and he couldn’t be happier. No matter what the night may or may not bring, he was happy.

“Starkey, my boy!” A voice greeted, pulling y/n and Drew out of their little bubble to see Daniel Craig approaching them. Drew stood, pulling Daniel in for a quick hug and greeting.

“Y/n, it’s good to see you, my dear.” Daniel said, greeting y/n with a kind kiss to her cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good.” Y/n grinned up at him. “Tired, but good.”

“That’s wonderful, love,” Daniel said, patting Drew on the back fondly. “Congratulations to the two of you and best of luck tonight.”

“Thank you, it’s good to see you, man.” Drew said, flashing his friend and mentor a quick smile before Daniel departed the table with a wave. Drew remained on his feet, his hands resting on the back of y/n’s chair as people shuffled around the theatre, chatting and conversing between each commercial break.

The show went on, performances and speeches weaving together until they finally led up to the moment they’d been waiting for: Drew’s award. The two of them sat in their seats, practically vibrating with excitement as the presenters approached the microphone, introducing the nominees one by one. As they read out Drew’s name for his nomination, he smiled and nodded into the camera, his arm resting on the back of y/n’s chair.

“And the winner is…” The presenters opened the envelope, the room collectively holding their breath. “Drew Starkey.”

Drew’s eyes widened, immediately turning to y/n. From a combination of happiness, pride, and pregnancy hormones, y/n had immediately burst into tears as Drew pressed his lips to hers. He pulled away for a moment, looking at her with a grin before pressing another quick kiss to her lips. Then, he knelt down, kissing y/n’s stomach before finally rising to his feet. The other guests applauded, clapping Drew on the back as he made his way to the stage. He greeted the presenters before taking the award from them. He weighed the glittering award in his hand as he blinked quickly, his tone exasperated as he began to speak.

“Wow, um, I… thank you so much.” Drew grinned to himself, looking over the award as he held it in his hand. “I’m really, really honored.”

Y/n laughed, wiping her cheeks as she watched Drew continue his speech on the stage. He talked with his usual genuine graciousness, still humbly surprised by the recognition he’d worked so hard for and deserved so much.

“And lastly,” Drew said, his eyes meeting y/n’s from across the room, “I want to thank the person who has stuck by my side throughout all of this, my beautifully talented wife. Y/n you make me the happiest and luckiest man alive and I truly cannot thank you enough for it. Thank you for always being there for me and being the mother of my child. I love you. Thank you.”

The crowd applauded as Drew found his way back to his seat, his eyes focused just on y/n as he approached her. Y/n rose to her feet, her eyes glistening with tears in a way that matched the tears in Drew’s own eyes. Once he finally met her, he pulled her into a hug. He burrowed his head into her neck, his arms pulling her snugly against his chest (or at least as snugly as he could with her bump between them).

“I’m so proud of you, Drew.” Y/n whispered against Drew’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, baby, thank you.” Drew said, pressing a kiss to y/n’s cheek.

#drew starkey x reader #actress!reader #drew starkey x actress!reader

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izadi234 · 3 months ago

Text

Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English.

Yan! Batfamily x gn!

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 (You're here)

Chapter 7

You were peacefully resting in your bed, dreaming about your celebrity crush when your obnoxious alarm clock rang. You groaned at the sound and normally you would turn it off but, today was an important day, today you were going to apply for your mentor. Without further ado, you got out of your bed, excited and somewhat nervous. It wasn't an exam but, you had to make a kind of resume and depending on that you were going to be assigned a journalism professional or as you would call it a mentor who would guide you in a more professional way. You would be fine with any professional, but you would like to have a mentor who had an excellent professional career and experience.Without thinking you got out of bed so you could start getting ready to go to college. You quickly had some breakfast and left your house like a flash, however, Mr. Johnson, the older man who rented you the apartment where you lived

.“Good morning, (Name)!” The older man who was sweeping the entrance of the building greeted you.

“Good morning, Mr. Johnson!” You greeted him with the same energy

“I see you are very happy today and with a lot of energy” he smiled at you

“That's right! It's a very important day today” you explained

“Oh really? Then I won't stop you anymore” the older man said softly

“Thank you! Have a nice day!” You said to walk again but out of nowhere you remembered something and turned around.

“Wait, Mr. Johnson!” You called him again and he turned to look at you

“Yes, (Name)?” He asked you

“I'll pay the rent today in the afternoon, it's just that in my rush I forgot the money in my apartment” you said a little embarrassed

“Oh, of course! Don't worry about that, kiddo!” said the older man with a smile

"Thank you very much! See you later, Mr. Johnson!" you said goodbye and then ran back to the university

Fifteen minutes later you arrived at the university faculty where your friends were already waiting for you to enter the classroom and finally be able to fill out those damn forms.

When you had your form in front of you, your mind went blank. What should you start with? Maybe with your grades! Or not, better with your practical performance! You were undecided and that was making you nervous since you only had an hour and a half to answer it.

No... You couldn't have an anxiety attack at that moment... Breathe...

Take a deep breath and close your eyes for a few moments.

You are a good student. A good human being

You can do this

Good. You knew how to start.

That was the fastest hour and a half of your life but you managed to make a decent resume in your opinion. You left the classroom with your friends, satisfied with your writing. With a calm heart you attended your other classes.

The day went by quickly in your opinion and soon you were on your way to your apartment. On the ground floor, there was Mr. Johnson again but now he was sweeping the entrance of his apartment. With a smile on your face you walked towards him.

"Hello Mr. Johnson! I'll give you the rent money right now" you said and he seemed to pale a little when he saw you

"Y-you don't have to worry about that rent thing, (Mr. / Miss) (Name)" he said stuttering a little at first but with a nervous smile on his lips

"What? What do you mean? And you know you don't have to call me that right?" your smile faded a little when you heard the old man calling you

"I know, (Mr. / Miss) (Name)" he said still nervous "But I didn't know that..."

"You didn't know that...?" you asked, wanting to know what he meant

"I didn't know you were Bruce Wayne's kid..."

What the fuck?

"No, Mr. Johnson, he... he's not my father" you said a little confused

"No? He came to pay your rent and..." you interrupted

"He did what?" you said angrily

"Yes, and he also bought this building. He gave me a large sum of money and he's going to let me stay here with my family. He's a good man, your father" the older man smiled gratefully at you

No... He wasn't a good man. He and none of his other children were good to you.

What do they want from you now? Now that you were happy?

"No... I-I... I have to go..." you ran towards the elevators to go to your apartment

There weren't any cars that screamed Bruce Wayne outside the apartment complex and much less fit in the small parking lot. So that meant he was gone, right?

When you got to your apartment, you were going to open the door when you noticed something on the knob. It was a little scratched and turned more easily than in the morning.

Oh no...

Anyway you opened the door with your keys and even though everything was dark you could feel the presence of someone there.

"Okay, what the hell do you want?" you said as you turned on the lights so you could see Bruce better sitting on your couch

He was wearing a suit and had his hair combed, most likely he just left Wayne Enterprises.

"You have a nice apartment although... It's a little small" Bruce commented "I could give you a bigger one"

"Answer the question Wayne" you said with anger evident in your tone of voice

Bruce sighed and couldn't deny that hearing you call him by his last name as his rivals normally called him broke his heart a little more. He stood up and walked towards you to stop in front of you.

"I came to see how you were" Bruce said sincerely

You laughed at his words.

"See me? Me? Please! Don't make me laugh" you said with a smile but Bruce could see you were angry

"And you didn't have to pay my rent. I don't want to owe you more than I owe you"

"Owe me? (Name), you don't owe me anything" he was going to take your shoulder but you moved away from him

“I don’t want to have any relationship with you” you said while looking at him coldly

“As soon as I can I will pay you. Including my rent now” you sighed desperately

“You are my firstborn, my blood, (Name), I will always worry about you. We all worry about you” he said while trying to get closer to you but you just moved

I AM NOT YOUR CHILD!

It was what you wanted to yell at him but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you frustrated with just his presence so you just sighed. You were better than him than all of them.

“How did you find out that I lived here?” You asked him, a little calmer

“I am the best detective in the world” he pointed out

“And yet it took you several months to realize that I no longer lived in the mansion” you attacked back, but before he could answer, you spoke again

“Look, I am going to say this to your face. You aren’t welcome in my home, I don't want your charity, I don't want anything from you so please go away” you asked him in a firm voice

A voice that seemed very familiar to him

“Okay” he nodded after a few moments of silence “I’ll leave but I won’t give up”

After that promise he left your apartment making you let out a shaky sigh

How the hell did he know where you lived? That was your first thought, then you remembered Alfred and Duke but soon you dismissed those thoughts when you remembered that neither of them knew where you lived.

The next few days were quiet, Bruce hadn't shown up at your apartment, much less his children. Everything had been very quiet and that put you on alert because you knew very well that Bruce always kept his promises.

You were in class, focused on the professor when suddenly the director of your course named Mr. Wilson, knocked on the door of your classroom.

"Sorry to bother you professor" apologized Mr. Wilson "But I need Mx. (Last name)"

"Sure, Mx. (Last name), please" the professor pointed to you so you could go to the director

Intimidated, you got up from your place and walked towards Mr. Wilson. Once both of them walked out the door you finally spoke.

"Did something happen, Mr. Wilson?" you asked him

"The rector wants to talk to you" the man answered

That took you by surprise. Did something happen? Why did the rector of the university call you?

The rest of the walk, both remained silent until they reached the principal's office.

"The principal is already waiting for you" your director said without further ado and left you in front of the door

Your hands were shaking and you could feel your heart racing. What had you done wrong? That was the question that was going through your head and without thinking you knocked on the door.

"Come in" could be heard from inside and without further ado you went in

When he saw you, the principal smiled at you and motioned for you to sit in a chair in front of his desk

"Did something happen, principal?" You asked politely as you sat down on the chair

"No, nothing bad happened, Mx. (Last Name)" he assured you "I just wanted to tell you something"

"Sure" you nodded and paid attention to what he was going to say next

"Well, you see Mx. (Last Name), I didn't know your father was Bruce Wayne" he started to say but you interrupted him

What..? Bruce had come...? That left you speechless but you spoke anyway

"Y-yes... H-he's my biological father but what does that have to do with this"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne came and told me that from now on he's going to be paying for your tuition so your scholarship has been completely withdrawn"

You paled at his words.

Did they take away your scholarship?

Your scholarship that you had earned with so much effort?

"And he also made a nice donation to the university" the rector noticed your bad state

"But you don't have to worry, Mx. (Last name)! Or should I call you Mx. Wayne?" Your father will cover all your expenses"

"Please don't call me Wayne" you asked him

"Oh..." he seemed surprised but he nodded "Sure, as you wish"

"T-that would be all?" you asked with a broken voice

"Yes... sure" the principal nodded a little confused with your reaction

Without further ado you got up and ran out of the building.

Why did he even have to get involved in your studies?

You didn't want to go back to class anymore and you were going to ask one of your friends to pick up your things, for now, you had to relax. You ran your hands through your hair pulling it a little, while you sat under a tree. You put your head in your hands, trying to control your breathing.

(Name)?" a voice near you spoke and you recognized that voice perfectly

You got up and saw Tim kneeled in front of you while he looked at you with concern.

"Tim..." you said as more silent tears fell down your face. cheeks "W-what are you doing here..?"

"I came to see a friend but... Did something happen...?" he asked softly

"No, nothing" you said as you stood up and turned around while wiping your tears

"Hey! Wait" Tim grabbed your wrist but you quickly moved it away from him

"Could you leave me alone, Drake?" you said irritated

"Something happened to you" the young man confirmed

"And how do you know that something happened to me?" you asked him while crossing your arms

"You were crying and you're angry" he pointed out "Besides, you're not like this. You're normally a nice person"

"And what do you know about me, Drake?" you asked coldly "We've lived in the same place for several years but no more and don't pretend that you don't know why I'm like this. You're Bruce's right hand man, he tells you everything and the rest of his lackeys but mostly to you. You don't know even the half of who I am. So now leave me alone"

You turned around and walked away from him towards another direction on campus, leaving Tim surprised by your words.

"You heard them, didn't you?" Tim spoke into the earpiece he was wearing

Tim couldn't deny that your words didn't affect him but you were right, he didn't know you and he never bothered to do so and that makes him feel guilty...

What would have happened if he had given you a chance like Duke did? Would you be just as close?

Yes, Dick was always with him when he arrived at Wayne Manor but normally he was in Bludheaven and he couldn't deny that there were times when he felt alone until he met his friends from the Young Justice League...

If he felt alone then you must have felt more alone... Only for 15 years...

He would have shared his loneliness with you and maybe today he would be in Duke's place and instead of seeing him with that cold look, you would look at him with love and affection... Like an older sibling looks at his younger brother. And yes, he knows he has more brothers but they didn't look at him in a tender way, but as an equal, as someone else, but he wants to feel that soft love that he sees in Conner and Jon and that he knew now you could give him.

"That's right. They didn't seem too happy that Bruce started paying for their tuition" Dick spoke

"To be fair, I would have reacted the same way" Jason said now who was eating what sounded like some chips

"Jason, you react like that to anyone" Tim said as he started walking

"I don't think you should have gone" Duke said who sounded nervous

"It was good to try" Tim said

"But now they seem more distant than before thanks to father and Drake" Damian said an angry

"Come back Tim and we'll talk more here" Bruce ordered

"Yes sir”

"Alfred, I think this is going to get out of hand" Duke said, as he walked around the kitchen

"I know (Name), they are very stubborn" he said panicked

"And I know them too, Master Duke" Alfred said while washing dishes "I know that what they have always wanted is the attention of the family and now they have it"

"And what happens if they find out that we are part of this? They will end up hating us! I-I couldn't stand it" said the young man scared

"Maybe I should send them a message to tell them that we didn't know about this?" he suggested hastily

"Message?" someone asked from the kitchen door Both Alfred and Duke turned to see who it was and opened their eyes wide when they saw Cass.

"Miss Cassandra" Alfred greeted but she only looked at Duke with an intense gaze

"Message?" the girl repeated again

"Y-yes..." said Duke in a small voice

"You have… (Name)'s number?" asked Cass

"Y-yes..." nodded Duke

"Miss Cassandra" the butler spoke again as he stood in front of Duke

"Yes, both Master Duke and I have (Name)'s new number”

"So both you and Duke have kept it from us that you have my child's number?" Bruce asked in a stern voice.

Once Cass found out about this, she quickly called a meeting when Tim returned. They were all in the Batcave with Bruce standing in the middle in front of Alfred and Duke, the buttler being calmer and the boy who was much more nervous.

"That is right, Master Bruce," Alfred nodded.

"Why did you hide this from us, Alfred?" Bruce asked, a little hurt, making Alfred's heart sink.

"First of all, it is worth clarifying that it was my idea, not Master Duke's, so do not get mad at him," Alfred began. "But I knew that if we told them we had their cell phone number, all of you would try to call them nonstop. I do not want to sound rude, but we know (Name) better than anyone, and they are just as cunning as all of you. If you start forcing this thin thread you still have with them, you will only make them break up, and then we would be in serious trouble. You neglected them for years; this new attention from all of you is uncomfortable and overwhelming. You can not force this if you want them to come home again."

Everyone fell silent at Alfred's words, for he was right. They can't expect you to accept them back so quickly, but eventually you would...

No?

"Fine, Alfred, Duke," Bruce nodded. "Tell us what we should do."

Alfred's heart began to beat faster, though no one could notice. Finally, his plan was coming together now that the whole family was on the same page. Some more than others, but soon everyone would see you as he did.

Hello!

How are you all doing? FINALLY I FINISHED THIS CHAPTER! I hope you liked this chapter and If you did any kind of interaction would be appreciated as I would like to ready your opinions or ideas for this story! Anyway, I also wanted to ask you, would you like to see another character interact with (Names) from the DC universe and outside the batfamily? I would love to know your opinions!

Anyway, I hoped you like this chapter and I also hope to ready your opinions!

See you in the next one and I love you all!

-Izadi <3

TAG LIST

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2neaky · 4 months ago

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🎤 Thank U 4 The Dono! 💿 P.2

12k words! 𝑹𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝑶𝒏𝒚! ♡ 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍𝑶𝑪! | 𝑴𝑫𝑵𝑰 -> 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: size k*nk, or*al (m recieving), p in v s*x (use of a condom), tricking/“paying for p*ssy,” power-imbalance (financial), dr*g use (w*ed), heavy drinking, drunk s*x, morally grey ethics concerning modern-day s*x work and “buying” one’s consent, basically pr*stitution, objectification, egotistical Onyankopon, body mods (n*pple piercings), specific descriptions of body types, use of n-word (characters & writer are Black), roughly edited

Part 1

Finally, the last part! Warning, this fic isn’t the most ethically sound and I, as the writer, can recognize that. I don’t necessarily condone all concepts portrayed in this fic, but it’s just for the plot. Sometimes, I like morally grey shit. If you unable to separate this fictional story from real life, I advise against reading this. Enjoy & reblog! <3

“Right this way! Please follow the signs!”

Standing in a dimly lit corridor, the attendant is dressed in a prim suit as they shout directions to the attendees.

Echoes of sound check bounce off of the walls of the large stadium. At times, there are minutes of silence before they’re interjected by brief clips of music or even someone speaking into the mic.

This place is massive, built to house thousands of screaming fans at a time.

All of it piques Bliss’s interest as she’s guided along by security. Some part of her wishes she could stay and watch the onstage preparation up close.

However, she forgets about all of that as she travels up a steep flight of stairs, away from the stadium’s general seating.

Tiny lights, embedded along the sides of each step, light the way through the dark staircase. Kitten heels click softly as she slowly climbs, in line behind another guest. She neglects to hold the railing, preferring instead to latch onto her phone.

Her other hand grips the wooden baton handles of her newest purchase: a Goyard Saïgon mini bag.

Truthfully, it was an impulsive purchase made with just a fraction of the money she received from her Halloween Stream—and, speaking of, her bank account has never been healthier.

That stream has upped the quality of her life, undoubtedly. Not that she wasn’t living comfortably before, but her world has been opened to new experiences.

For instance, premium seating at a concert of her favorite artist. She’s in a space where she can afford this experience probably three times over. Yet, she didn’t even have to spend a dime to get it.

She can hardly contain a tiny grin with the flash of a memory—a conversation between her and Onyankopon over messages. Just a casual discussion, going in-depth about this entire arrangement.

Anyway, as the little quirk disappears from her face, a burst of light washes over her. She’s finally reached the top of that long staircase. Just a few feet away is the enclosed balcony, cased off behind glass so clean that she’s sure she would’ve walked right into it.

A “Luxury Box” is what they called it—an exclusive lounge, secluded to a balcony room above the stage. There’s a different attendant at its door, greeting each guest as they enter.

“Good evening, enjoy the show,” the young woman greets with a pleasant smile and gentle nod.

Bliss can’t help but to show teeth, the apples of her cheeks even aching. “Hi, thank you.”

As she spills into the room with the other guests, her eyes are everywhere. The Luxury Box is spacious, considering that there are about thirty people here.

Her first observation is that this place is comfortable. Cushioned chairs positioned before a large glass—it’s the perfect seating arrangement with an excellent view of the stage from its left.

The floor below the seats is glass, too. The sight gives way to a sea of empty chairs, hundreds of feet below. Soon, they’ll be filled with excited fans.

To the right of the viewing area is the bar, decked out in expensive, unopened bottles. There’s already a bartender behind the counter, wiping down the dark marble.

And by the looks of it, they’re fully stocked: wine, champagne, beer, juice, water—anything a patron could desire.

That’ll be the first spot she hits up.

On the room’s opposite side is an array of food spread out amongst a long, cloth-covered table. From hors d'oeuvres to dessert, they have everything. Behind the table, caterers attend to the food, ensuring its presentation is on point.

She needs no more convincing. Whipping out her phone, Bliss is quick to record the sights surrounding her. She slowly pans the camera, trying to catch everything in the video.

She hadn’t known what to expect before coming, however, Bliss had to give herself props. She managed to dress perfectly for the occasion, blending seamlessly with the lounge’s modern chic decor.

Jean Paul Gaultier hugs her body tonight as a black maxi dress with small grey dots that outline the feminine shape. The dramatic curves and slopes of her body stretch it out in a way that elevates the dress.

No doubt, it’s a wonderful look. However, it’s also a rather sheer piece, as its material is comprised of a thin, but tiny netting. Several times throughout her journey here, she’s had to pull her bundles to the front, having them fall over her chest.

It’s her fault she hadn’t tried on the dress before packing it, she realizes. If she had, she would’ve known to buy some pasties beforehand.

Peering around the room one more time, Bliss seems to recognize a few faces—well known influencers, and even a couple of celebrities.

Be calm, she reminds herself. She’s blended in so far.

A nervous tick, she glances at the time on her phone. She exhales with the realization that it’s only about an hour and a half more before the show is scheduled to start.

She’s closer to seeing Onyankopon live. Closer to meeting him in person for the first time. The thought has her queasy and excited all at once. She presses a manicured hand to her stomach.

God, she wishes she knew someone here, just so that they may distract her from the “what-if’s” and “maybe’s” running through her mind.

But, really? Who needs friends when there’s a bar just a few feet away?

Especially when there’s a cute ass nigga behind it?

She just found her newest distraction to take the edge off of things.

•

The stadium’s lights have lowered to pitch-black, darkness, allowing the stage’s to shine. Shades of purple bleeding into white beam brightly.

The DJ, propped farther back on the large stage, plays tracks that only hype up the audience.

Below the balcony, through the glass flooring, Bliss watches fans flood the stadium. They almost perfectly resemble waves of the sea. Even their cheers can be heard from up here.

As it gets closer to that time, they grow louder. They almost compete with the music.

Nursing her second drink of the night (if she doesn’t count the shot she has in between this and her first), Bliss sits plum in her seat. There’s a pleasant buzz running throughout her, and obviously it’s the liquor.

Just a little bit tipsy, more and more things seem to catch her attention as her body and mind ease up. So many distractions around her, she almost didn’t realize that someone’s come onstage if it weren’t for the screams of the fans beneath them: the show’s opener—Connie Springer.

She makes a quiet gasp around her straw, eyes wide as she leans forward in her chair.

Bliss has a couple of his songs in her rap playlist. He’s not nearly played as much as Onyankopon is in her household. Still though, the support is there.

She actually found Connie through him. Seeing as they’re closely affiliated and under the same label, his music was recommended after Ony’s.

Even in a couple of Ony’s Instagram posts, she can spot the other man in the background. She must admit, the rapper keeps a couple of fine ass niggas around him—hence why she follows Connie, too.

She only hopes Ony doesn’t look too deeply into that.

But, coming back to reality, Bliss can see why Ony had picked the man to be his opener.

He’s getting the crowd hype, and they’re rapping the lyrics right along with him. By the time his set ends—an unforgettable forty minutes—the audience is even livelier than before.

It’s astounding, really. She didn’t think they could get any louder. And the energy is coming off of the crowd in waves. She can’t be the only one in the lounge affected by it, her skin covered in goosebumps.

“I appreciate y’all tonight!”

The crowd cheers after Connie. His image is blown up on the Jumbotrons, giving every onlooker a view of his gemmed smile.

“I know y’all loud for me, but I’ma need y’all to be even louder for my brother, Onyankopon!”

Deafening shrieks fill the stadium. And Bliss is sure that if she were on the ground, her eardrums would’ve been ruptured.

Even the other guests in the lounge cheer loudly. And she’s thankful, knowing that she won’t have to hide her excitement when the time comes.

As Connie leaves the stage, the crowd chants: “Ony! Ony! Ony!”

With the stage now empty, its lights dim and the music almost completely fades. For a moment, everything seems to still.

The fans grow quieter—even if it’s just by a fraction. But, it’s safe to say that everyone in the stadium is watching the stage closely with bated breath. Waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, music strikes with volume that reignites the crowd.

Almost everyone around her shows their enthusiasm, tempting her to do the same. So, Bliss cups a hand near her mouth, letting out a resounding “wooh” from her seat.

“ATL, you ready?”

The voice, deep and amplified by the mic, sends a chill through her. For about ten seconds, the music is completely drowned out by the fans’ screams.

Her eyes scour the stage, not finding a single soul on it. It’s still dark, too.

Then, there’s another sound: a low chuckle.

Her stomach drops. She never thought she’d be so attracted to the sound of someone’s laughter. She’s sure that there are at least a thousand other fans that are sharing the very same experience. She can’t be the only one.

“Nah, I’on think y’all heard me—“

Purple streaks of light shoot down onto the stage. Flames, rigged at the perimeters of the platform, burst out as the man of the hour runs out onto the stage.

Any music is drowned out by the fans.

The stage’s backdrop illuminates the entire platform as a spinning graphic of the letter “O,” wrapped in barbed wire, displays on the screen.

“Y’all niggas ready?”

She finally sees him as his image is blown up on the Jumbotrons. It’s not the clearest resolution, but she can tell just how fine he is.

Mic held to his lips, the lower half of his face is hidden. A baggy, black zip up covers his upper half. He’s even got his hoodie up, sadly, obscuring the rest of his face.

But, as she stares at his image, she notices the flashes of light catching on the cloth. Squinting just a little, she catches sight of the tiny crystals dotting the dark fabric.

As Onyankopon moves about, he glitters underneath the stage lights. Tiny, rain-bowed streaks of light are caught by the cameras, projecting his image.

But that isn’t the only thing on him that shines. Coming around his neck and resting on his chest, is a tangle of thick, heavy looking chains.

His microphone picks up every clank they make. They don’t even need light to shine, his diamonds still dance in the dark. It’s almost blinding.

Large, baggy black cargoes cover his strong legs. However, it’s only the base for the shiny, silver and purple, jeweled buckles strapped all down the length of the fabric.

“Y’all turnt up in here, tonight!”

There’s a slight breathlessness to his voice, and it makes her body clench. If she could bottle up the sound and keep it to herself, she would.

Or is that the liquor talking?

As Onyankopon pulls the purple mic away from his face, a camera picks up on him. The closeup of his face is blown up all over the Jumbotrons.

As the crowd cries out for him, he shows them a perfect smile. His bottom row of teeth covered in VVS diamond lined, opal grillz.

It’s almost too much, the sight threatening to turn Bliss into a puddle right in her seat.

He lifts the mic to his mouth again, just as laughter tumbles out past his lips. “Y’all right up there with Chicago! Think you could do better than ‘em tonight?”

Fans are going ballistic, jumping and cheering even louder. They begin to chant again, repeating his name over and over.

All of these people, screaming his name, are here to see him. She can’t fathom how he does it.

But watching him, seeing how his smile stretches wider and the apples of his cheeks swell, she sees that he’s in his element.

“Yeah … y’all niggas some real competition!”

More screams. She almost wishes she was amongst the crowd, free to go as crazy as the other fans.

“Do me a favor: keep this energy the whole night! Nothing less—only up from here!”

Those were his last words as the beat to one of his songs begins, and the stadium dissolves into madness. The heavy base punches through every body filling it.

Bliss can feel it in her chest. Even the luxury box’s glass has the faintest tremor to it.

Ony runs down the middle of the stage, where it stretches out into the crowd. Mic to mouth, he’s on it, rapping over the track with passion.

A nasty mug contorts his face as he performs, clearly feeling the lyrics. And the fans are rapping right along with him.

One in particular, a young, scrawny man with big glasses, is caught on camera. His body is pressed to the metal barrier, he’s leaning over, gazing up at the rapper as his mouth moves along to every word.

Stepping closer to the area, Ony points a gloved hand at the young fan, making sure everyone—even the cameras—are paying him close attention.

Bliss’s heart swells at the sight of the endearing moment.

Running back to the main stage’s middle, Ony jumps up and down with the song’s beat. The pyrotechnics go off once again as the song’s hook comes up.

The energy consuming this stadium is too powerful to ignore. Bliss loses herself to it. After the first two songs, she can’t even find it in herself to care how crazy she looks—losing herself to the energy of the performance.

Halfway through the show, Onyankopon loses his hoodie.

She remembers it so clearly, when he had unzipped it. The dark fabric parted and gave way to shiny, deep brown abs, littered with tattoos of all sizes.

Her fingers itched to run down the rigid surface of abs.

Free from the heavy material, his head is fully visible. His typical inky black waves are sheathed by an equally black, velvet durag. And she’s almost 100% sure that it’s real velvet—none of that suede shit.

What catches her eyes the most is his nickname, “Ony,” spelled with beaded gems in Old English font on the back of the fabric.

One of the cameras, currently projecting his image onto the Jumbotrons, shows the audience the glistening skin of his back as he walks back to the main stage. His tattoos only continue to bleed into the expanse of the dark skin. Strong muscles ripple beneath the smooth skin.

She pulls out her phone, recording yet another clip of the shirtless man as he performs on the stage below. Without a second thought, she posts it to her Instagram story.

He just looked too fucking good for her not to capture. Without a doubt, Onyankopon is putting on a show.

Bliss can die happy right now…

Except, she can’t.

Not when the starting melody of her favorite song, catches her ears. She gasps, freezing in her seat.

At the center of the stage, Ony’s pacing slows to a stop. He stares out at the jumping crowd, a smile slowly climbing onto his face. The crowd is in a frenzy.

“What y’all know ‘bout this one?”

They roar louder as he continues to search the stadium, not looking for anyone in particular. Not yet.

“Wasn’t even gon’ perform this one, I ain’t gon’ hold you,” he chuckles.

He begins to pace again, thinking with amusement of just how much shit he makes his DJ put up with—what with him prolonging this track just to speak to the fans.

Bringing the mic to his lips, Onyankopon finally looks up at the large luxury box to the left of the stage.

“But, I know you like it.”

A camera catches a closeup of him just as he shoots a quick wink. It’s all over the Jumbotrons, and the crowd goes wild.

As the song finally begins, Bliss’ body catches a chill. She has no choice but to get up for this one, it is her favorite song after all.

It’s definitely a turn up song, and she does just that. Rapping along, she earns the attention of others around her. So entranced by the music, she doesn’t even realize how they begin to hype her up. And she doesn’t miss a word.

Without a thought, Bliss kicks off her short heels. Holding onto the back of her chair, she bends over and throws her ass in a circle.

Hoots and hollers from a few of the women around her goad her on, she sticks her tongue out. One or two of them even give her a couple of taps.

There’s lights shining on her, and she’ll have to remember to ask them for the videos. The dress is doing absolutely nothing to constrict the way her body moves, despite how tight it is.

Standing up straight, she does a full body whine, mouthing her favorite part of the song. Without a doubt, this is a highlight of her concert experience.

Sadly, just as quickly as the song had started, it ends. But, Bliss is only smiling, laughing too hard with the other guests.

Now she can die happy.

•

Three hours of performing—it was a dream to witness. And to think, that after all of that, she’s going to meet the artist.

How this can possibly go, she’s can’t imagine. Well—realistically, it can go one of two ways.

He flew her out for tonight’s show, put her up in one of the best hotels in the city, and even assigned a personal driver to her for the time being that she was here—a big bodied, black truck, of course.

So, there’s only one thing he wants. Bliss knew that coming into this. And she agreed, didn’t she?

The attendants assigned to this luxury box had made the announcement minutes ago to follow the signage for a swift exit, seeing as the show’s over.

Of course, there were a few stragglers—her included. Head buried in her phone, she swipes through the videos she was able to get from the other guests of her “mini performance.”

She’ll definitely have to post these later.

With a ring-dressed middle finger, she’s trimming one of the videos, far too focused to notice the two men approaching her.

“Ms. Bliss?”

Blinking, her head shoots up as her inky black inches fall over her face. She pushes the strands out of the way.

“Yes?”

“Onyankopon’s ready for you.”

Her face blanks as she looks back and forth between the two. Her tongue fumbles in her mouth. So, she remains wordless as she nods.

Coming to her feet, she pulls down her dress and smooths out any wrinkles. Swiping up her mini Saïgon, she follows after the men as they take her to the performer.

•

“Another city finished,” Connie smirks, dapping him up.

Slumped in a chair of his own, Ony laughs. “Yeah, and I’m ‘bout tired as Hell.”

Connie plops down on the futon pushed against the wall of Ony’s dressing room—just a few feet across from the man himself.

“You definitely gonna crash after this,” he laughs, pulling out one of his phones from his pants pocket.

“Nah,” Ony shakes his head. Licking his bottom lip, he tries to conceal a smile as Connie glances at him. “Actually … I got shit to do after.”

Raising a brow, Connie looks at him fully this time. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They both share a knowing look, which only makes this all the more funnier.

“How you meet her?”

Glancing away, Ony bats him off as he sucks his teeth. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“Nah, it better not be ole’ girl—“

“Chill,” Ony quickly looks his way. “Told you I was done with that. This a new vibe. Trust.”

Connie looks him up and down, ultimately deciding to trust his friend. “Alright…”

“Yeah, and speaking of—you gotta get the fuck up outta here.”

Connie makes a face. The question “why” is on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall from his lips, when a knock sounds at the door.

“Shit,” Ony mumbles, slowly getting up on sore feet.

Connie chooses to laugh this time. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, twisting the doorknob just before pulling it open.

“Ony,” Mitch, one of the security guards on his team greets.

“Wassup, man,” he nods.

Quietly, Mitch shifts to the side to allow him to see the short woman behind him: Bliss.

Ony’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Like he’s just been served the tastiest looking platter in the world; The finest piece of steak from STK Steakhouse.

“Hey.” The corner of his lips upturn.

“Hi.” Bliss had seemed to breathe the word out.

Without thinking, Ony outstretches an arm to pull her in for a side hug.

“‘Preciate it, y’all,” he says to the guards.

The two men turn away, returning to their stations at the end of the hallway.

Ony opens the door wider, allowing Bliss to slip past him and into the comfortably sized room. As she makes her way past him, he doesn’t stop his eyes from falling below her waist to check out her body.

Her ass moves like water in that dress. And the perfume wafting off of her, mingled with her body’s natural scent, is rich and warm. Luxurious, even. An expensive one for sure.

“Hey,” Bliss waves shyly, meeting Connie’s eyes.

The man with the bleached, shaved head makes a strong effort to keep eye contact. And if Onyankopon weren’t watching him closely from behind her, he would’ve broken it. If only to admire how her body stretches the fabric out—and how terribly it hides her nipples.

“Wassup, how you doing?” Connie smiles kindly. Standing up, he pockets his phone while outstretching a hand to her.

Politely, Bliss gives him a gentle shake before letting her hand fall back to the wooden handle of her purse.

“Ony,” Connie moves over to the man, dapping him up.

“We talk soon,” he nods.

As soon as the door shuts, with Connie’s departure, it’s like all of the air in the room has been sucked out.

Slowly, Bliss turns to face him. He’s already staring her down.

“It’s good seeing you in person.”

His voice is low, but soft.

Her body is covered in goosebumps within seconds. She gives a shaky smile, showing off that cute gap between her two front teeth.

“You, too,” she says.

“You nervous?” He smiles as he heads over to the room’s large vanity.

It allows her the space needed to breathe as she watches him retie the loosened strings of his durag.

“I am,” she giggles, wanting to cover her mouth. “The show was really good, though. I had fun.”

“I’m glad.” He turns back around, leaning against the vanity to stare at her. “Hope you appreciated the song.”

Her smile only grows. “I did, thank you. You don’t even know, I was dancing and everything.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises his brows, watching her beam.

“Yes, it’s my favorite!” She remembers telling him in their DMs that it was her favorite song of his.

However, that definitely isn’t how he learned that fact.

Almost bowing her head, Bliss looks up at him through her thick lash set. “Thank you for performing it.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He looks her up and down.

He might be exhausted, but he can definitely squeeze out one more performance for the night.

After all, his body is still running off of the adrenaline from the show.

“How was everything? The hotel good?”

She perks up at that. “Hm? Oh—yes!” She nods.

He thinks it’s cute.

“The hotel is very nice, and thanks for the driver.”

“Anything to make you comfortable.” He licks his lips. His eyes flick down for half of a second, catching a peak of her pierced nipples through the dress.

Of course, she notices.

“I’ma ride with you back to the hotel, take a quick shower, then we out for dinner. That’s cool with you?”

Her matte lips roll into her mouth and she nods. It’s a weak attempt at hiding an excited smile. They discussed this before—spending the night out together. Yet, Bliss still finds herself unable to really believe it.

His well-groomed brows lift just an inch. “That’s not a answer.”

She breaks into laughter, feeling silly. “Yes, Ony.”

“Aight. Lemme grab my shit and we could leave together.”

She nods, heading over to the vanity on her own accord as Ony moves about to gather his items.

As he packs his black, Margiela backpack, she tweaks her appearance in the brightly lit mirror. Smoothing down flyaways, fixing her lip combo—she does it all.

Being the great multitasker he is, Onyakopon sneaks glances at her from behind.

This view is everything: The only thing “covering” her ass in that dress is a tiny, black G-string that disappears between the globes of her cheeks anyway. Her honey-brown skin is dimpled but mark-free. And her narrow waist tempts him to grab it from behind.

If tonight goes as planned, backshots are definitely going to be on the agenda. Now, he’ll eventually flip her over on her back, because that face and those titties are too pretty for that position alone.

The mental imagine is enough to make his dick twitch. If he didn’t have any sense, he’d fuck her raw. Just to make her feel every inch and vein, and for him to feel the wet heat of her walls.

But before he gets too carried away with his own thoughts, Onyankopon blinks them away. Slipping into his jacket, he throws his backpack over a shoulder.

“Aight, let’s go.”

Nodding, Bliss returns to his side. Ony is quick to hold out a hand, which she takes.

“When we leave, it might be some fans and paps outside. I can’t control that, I’m sorry. But, I got my people with us, so you should be good.”

Bliss nods, only able to quietly take it all in. She’s never been in the spotlight before. She only hopes that they aren’t too crazy.

“Oh, wait—“

Quickly, she drops his hand to search through her purse. A couple of seconds later, she’s pulling out a pair of designer shades. They’re huge with blacked out lenses, perfect for hiding her face.

Ony laughs. “You got it.”

•

As they’re just a few feet from the exit, body guards at all of their sides, Bliss anticipates Ony dropping her hand, just to keep anymore rumors at bay.

However, as they pass through the threshold of the stadium and the cool, outside air hits them, her hand is still heavy with his.

“Ony!”

“Onyankopon, look this way!”

“Who’s this that you brought out tonight?”

“Is that your girlfriend, Ony?”

Using her purse, Bliss blocks the other side of her face, hoping the cameras don’t catch anything. Her lips tremble as she tries to keep from laughing at the obscene and invasive questions.

Their driver plucks the back door of their car open—a Rolls Royce. Ony lets go of her hand to let her in first.

Just as he climbs in, the driver shuts the door behind them. The second his security backs away from the car, paparazzi and a few fans close-in on the vehicle, trying to snap pictures through the tinted windows.

“Wow,” Bliss laughs, breathlessly. She pulls the large shades off of her face, allowing him to seeing her beautiful face.

“My bad ‘bout that. Should’ve prepared you more.”

“It was actually tamer than I thought,” she smiles.

“Shit, my bad. Ain’t know you had it like that.”

She only laughs at his joke, and he can only think about how much he likes the sound.

As the driver pulls off, heading towards Onyankopon’s hotel, Bliss opens up her camera. She records a couple of clips here and there of herself in the car, careful to keep Ony out of it.

It’s cute, he thinks, how she doesn’t try to take advantage of such a moment. Even more, it allows him to worry less about putting a guard up; He pulls out his phone.

On Twitter and TikTok, he catches posts of his concert, liking and reposting his favorite ones. All of the love from his fans makes his chest swell with pride.

ATL definitely showed out tonight. A contender with Chicago, for sure.

Shutting his phone off, Ony drops it into his lap and leans back in his seat. His gaze is attracted to the woman beside him.

In the low lighting, she’s gorgeous. As the driver narrowly avoids the greater part of a pothole in the street, the car is unstable for a second or two.

In that time, his eyes fall to her chest, seeing how it bounces even under the confines of her dress.

It triggers multiple images in his brain—memories of her past streams.

Finally shutting off her phone, Bliss does a quiet sigh as she pushes her hair over one shoulder, exposing more of her upper half.

Blinking, she finally takes a look at him, and they make eye contact. Off of instinct, she laughs nervously.

“Hi.”

He smiles, showing off his grills. “Hey.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head lazily. So oblivious to just how impatient he is for her.

A date with Onyankopon.

She, Bliss, is on a date with The Onyankopon. Never did she think that would be her reality.

Before they arrived, he did just as promised—stopping by his hotel to get ready. He had her stay in the car, yet he definitely didn’t make her wait too long.

When he got back into the car, keeping his backpack at his feet, he smelled heavenly. His cologne was arousing—something about a good smelling man really just does it for her.

His outfit seemed to match the vibe she had went for: a brown Miu Miu leather and sheepskin jacket with snakeskin and flowers over the shoulders. His pants are a basic black, baggy fit jean with chains dangling from a pocket. His jewelry, of course, is silver.

And without a durag, his shiny waves were out for all to see.

There’s no doubt, he’d chosen the fanciest restaurant out here. It was a two-level establishment, and they have the entire second floor to themselves.

Just three of Ony’s security personnel guard the entrance and exit to the staircase. It’s quiet up here, yet peaceful. However, Bliss feels quite awkward, as all of the attention is on her.

They had gotten through appetizers before the real conversation began. Well, really Ony had gone through it. After a show like that, it’s no wonder that he’s worked up an appetite.

Bliss picked at the food here and there, careful not to get full too fast. She also is still nervous.

“What you do earlier today? Before my show.”

Swallowing her sip of the mixed drink she had ordered, Bliss presses a hand to her chest.

“Just some shopping. This is my first time in Atlanta, so I wanted to take advantage of the malls.” She laughs quietly. “I hope your driver didn’t mind.”

Rubbing at his chin hairs, he glances at her purse set off to the side of the table. It’s crisp and the color is well saturated. There’s not an inch of the bag frayed or faded.

“You got this today?”

She follows his gaze. “Yeah,” she says nervously.

He hums. “How much you pay for it?”

She shrugs. “About 6k.”

He smirks to himself, still eyeing the bag. “That’s light … you want it in cash?”

Her eyes almost bulge out of her head. “What? I don’t—“

“If you don’t take the cash, I’ma find a way to get it to you. So quit all’at stuttering, humble shit.”

His voice is calm, quiet too. Which only astounds her, because there’s nothing calm about someone offering her six grand.

But, she’s not slick. Even as her mouth hangs open, he spots the hint of a smile on her stretched lips.

“It’s … I don’t need it, Ony.”

“Shit, I know.” Huffing out a breath of amusement, he smirks down at her. “But you want it, so just take it.”

She looks off to the side, her hair falling in her face before she pushes it over her shoulder for the umpteenth time tonight.

“Y’know, I knew ‘bout you for a minute.”

That stops her in her tracks.

Her Instagram profile is that of the typical IG model—sponsorships, the occasional risky photo, but overall, pretty moderate.

How long had he known about her page? Was he stalking her profile like she’d done his? Why only now say something?

Her heart races. All of these questions she wants to ask—she opens her mouth to do so.

“Yeah, you cute on ‘em live streams.” He continues rubbing at his chin, still eyeing her.

And as those words left his mouth, her own closes.

Her career as a cam-girl isn’t in the spotlight. It’s no well-kept secret, nor is her page really even hard to find. Still, it’s always jarring when she has to come face-to-face with that in reality.

“W-what?“

Her voice is quiet. The shock on her face is quite apparent, too.

“I catch ‘em when I can.” He sits back in his chair and shrugs.

She knows it’s greedy, but if that’s how she gets her money, then so be it: her streams are only accessible to those subbed to her highest tier on her cam-girl page.

“Oh … my God,” she whispers, putting a hand over her mouth.

He cracks a smile, a small chuckle falling out past his lips.

“How long did you—“ She stops herself, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Couple months,” he says, like it’s no big deal.

Her stomach drops to her ass. And as a new thought emerges in her head, her stomach threatens to fall out of her body.

“What’s your username?”

She almost didn’t even want to ask. Onyankopon can only laugh.

“C’mon, now. Y’know who I am.”

She fears she does. He doesn’t need to say it:

onLyONE1

Falling back in her chair, Bliss covers her face as she groans into her hands.

“Shit was obvious, too—“

“Stop, please!” She laughs, shyly. Pulling her hands away from her face, she reveals a soft pout on her lips. “I can’t believe you saw that,” she whines.

Is it crazy that his eyes seem to sparkle as he smiles? “What? Your body?”

“No! Well—kinda. I mean me crushing over you!”

Now, he’s practically cackling. And Bliss’ face burns with embarrassment.

Calming himself down, Ony sighs. “Relax, I thought it was cute.”

She gives him a weak glance, immediately looking away.

“I can’t believe this.” She groans. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shakes his head. “That’s federal. I wasn’t even gon’ say nothing, ‘til I found out you was a fan—“

“Ugh,” she looks away, a scowl on her lips. “Don’t do that.”

“You right, my fault,” he chuckles. “A supporter,” he corrects.

“Thank you.”

He hums. “But, that shit was sexy, though.” He shrugs. “So, I had to fly you out here, see you in person.”

When she regains the courage to look him in the eyes, she feels small in her seat. His eye contact is unwavering.

“And get you all to myself.” He scoffs as he runs his eyes over her upper body. “Couldn’t stand you paying attention to all them broke ass niggas.”

His lips frown with thinly veiled disgust. It almost makes her laugh. On the other hand, the statement as a whole makes her tummy flutter.

She hates to admit it, but a possessive man will always be her weakness.

“I’ll double what I gave you, just to get you for tonight.”

“I … Ony…“

The offer is tempting, real tempting. But, can she really do this? The whole 'pay-for-pussy' thing?

He senses her apprehension. Wordlessly, he reaches down by his foot.

The low whine of a zipper catches her ears. Before she can question it, three, fat stacks of rubber-banded hundreds are dropped onto the table. Right before her widened eyes.

He pockets his hands, leaning back in his chair once more. “I matched you for the bag, too.” He nods to the stack.

She’s breathless. All of this money, it’s making her head spin. “O-Ony—“

Her resolve is cracking, he can tell. And this has got to be his favorite part about having money—the power it gives him. He widens his legs underneath the table, feeling himself grow stiff already.

“I’ma selfish ass nigga. I know that. And if I see something I want, I’ma get it. All I really need is one night … but, if you fucking with me, I’ll keep you put up.”

Her brain attempts to formulate a coherent thought, yet nothing comes up. This sounds too good to be true.

But, her mind can’t deny what’s in front of her. And, the idea of him spending so much just to have her—even for a night—only gets her wetter by the second.

He stares at her, patiently awaiting an answer he already knows he’ll get.

But, just to get it out of her faster, he turns up the heat: reaching back into his bag, Onyankopon pulls out another fat stack, placing it on top of the others.

Like magic, Bliss finds her mouth moving before she can even really think twice about it.

She’s giggly off the drinks, but she isn’t the only one. As Onyankopon continues ordering more and more alcohol to the table, she can see that he, too, is loosening up.

He’s talking more, a tad bit more touchy, and even bolder in his flirtatiousness.

She likes it.

Another thing about her and alcohol; She gets talkative. Part of her brain is screaming at her to put a sock in it, judging by Ony’s demeanor:

He’s sat back with an arm thrown over the back of the chair, slowly chewing as he stares at her with low eyes. In his hand, his fingers slowly twist a balled up napkin.

But, she just can’t stop talking. Her mouth is running a mile a minute—she doesn’t even remember what she’s talking about.

However, all of her spouting comes to a stop when Ony finally sits up. Looking elsewhere, he throws the napkin down on the table.

Her eyes dart around. “What happened?”

Pulling out a crisp, black card from his wallet, he snaps it down on the cloth-table. “Ready to go.”

“Oh…”

Oh shit.

It takes almost no time at all for the waiter to take Ony’s card. In the blink of an eye, they’re standing on their feet, ready to leave.

“Don’t forget your cash.”

For a split second, Bliss is confused. But, when she follows the direction of where he points to, she’s quickly reminded.

Those large stacks of cash he’d pulled out for her earlier were sitting so casually to the side of the table, next to her purse. Like it wasn’t money itself. And a lot of it.

She slips her purse over her wrist before scooping them up in her arms.

“Yeah, there you go,” Ony nods, smiling at her.

They follow his security team to the elevator. All the while, he’s got an arm thrown over her slender shoulders.

Only two of his staff follow them into the moderately sized shaft. As the two, burly men stand in front of them, hands clasped before them in similar fashion, Ony’s arm remains around her neck, keeping her back pressed against his front.

And, boy, does it make her dizzy. Not only that, but her body buzzes with a renewed sense of energy.

Everything about him, physically, is all encompassing. His cologne is so strong that it’s all she smells. The weight of his body isn’t stifling, but grounding. Even keeping her warm.

And as her body practically melts into his, the fat of her ass is smushed against his front.

The press of his print, which happens to lie perfectly between both cheeks, is impossible to ignore. She won’t even bother shifting around to get comfortable. Instead, she succumbs to his hold—too easily—and releases a shaky sigh.

Turns out her guess was right, he is big.

When they step out of the restaurant, yet again do they have to shield their faces from the barrage of cameras and flashes surrounding them.

This time, they run to the car, hopping in as silly laughter pours from them. God, they’re so drunk.

“C’mere … so fuckin’ far.” Ony seems to breathe out the words.

Even in the darkness, the look of lust is written all over him. It’s even swimming around in the air. Her eyes do a full sweep of his body, noting how wide his thick legs are spread.

Like a minx, she slinks over from her seat and right onto the one he presents to her.

“Mmh,” he hums, immediately snaking his arms around her small waist and dragging her up higher into his lap.

She giggles, feeling all of him beneath her.

“You smell good.” He mumbles the words into the warm skin of her neck.

Bliss bends her head down and even sweeps all of her hair over the other shoulder to give him more access to her.

The kisses he lays there are hot and wet, pressed into her warm and soft skin. She shivers. One of his hands press into her lower stomach, keeping her from moving too much.

The pulse between her legs has grown into an ache. Every clench her pussy does is almost painful with how strong it is, even worse now that he’s hard beneath her.

God, why did she pick such a long dress?

Without thinking, she grounds down onto him, weakly. Onyankopon’s other hand travels upwards the middle of her abdomen.

She doesn’t focus on his lingering touch. She can’t. Not when he’s sucking a pretty bruise into the side of her neck. Her breathing quickens, and slow, tiny pants leave through her parted lips.

His traveling hand slides up between the valley of her boobs and anchors around her neck just as he lifts his mouth off of her. She bites down on her bottom lip, yet another giggle slips through her teeth.

“Thin-ass dress.” He tightens his grip around her neck. “Might as well have not worn anything.”

His deep voice and his rough hand has her pussy leaking into her panties. He lifts his hips by a fraction, and it pushes a small moan from her.

“Freaky ass lil’ bitch. Got ya titties all out—who’s it for?”

Her eyes flutter shut and she swallows thickly.

He squeezes another moan out of her. “Hm?”

“Y-you.”

He chuckles. “Got my dick all hard, starin’ at ‘em.”

His hand finally moves, and the skin on her neck is cold. She misses it. But, that’s forgotten when both of his hands cup her heavy breasts.

Bliss arches her back, pushing them further into his warm hands. And, never one to refuse a gift, Ony squeezes them.

Her body is weak as he plays with them, damn-near juggling them in his hands. And as he laughs, clearly amused by her body’s reaction, she can only try to keep her moans at bay.

“So pretty,” he mumbles before pressing a a kiss to the side of her face. “Pretty ass titties.”

His hands still, only cupping them. Then, his thumbs begin slow circles her pierced nipples through the dress’s thin fabric. Its tiny netting does nothing to shield her body against the gentle caress.

She turns her head to the side, her mouth open and desperate for something to plug it before an embarrassingly loud moan leaves it.

And like her knight in shining armor, Onyankopon indulges her in an open-mouth kiss. He wastes no time, sucking on her tongue.

Around her piercings, his fingers pinch and pull at her nipples. Bliss can’t help it, moaning into his mouth. Her hips rock against his, desperate to finally get on his dick.

When he finally pulls back, they can both breathe. And it’s the first time that they notice music playing through the car’s speakers.

“Mmh, fuck,” he sighs. Ony sits back in his seat.

Breathlessly, Bliss fixes her hair, trying to distract herself from the way her body was lit on fire from just kisses and fondling.

Ony looks around the back cavern of the car, quickly finding just what he was looking for: his bottle of Don. It’s stuffed in the side pocket of the car door, calling out for him.

Securing an arm around her waist, Ony leans forward to pick it up out of the car door’s side pocket. When he’s sits back, he pulls the top off the bottle and wastes no time taking a sip.

Busying herself, Bliss grabs her phone from its spot in the cupholder. She opens up Instagram and holds her phone up to snap a couple of clips of herself.

The near darkness of the vehicle is perfect, showing not too much nor too little for the camera to see. And every last clip stays in her drafts.

Still, she’s careful not to get Ony’s face in it, only doing close ups of her face as the music plays.

When Onyankopon finally pulls the bottle away from his face, he sees what she’s doing.

As she records another clip, she zooms in on her body, caressing herself and even showing off her pierced nipples through the dress.

A quick thought puts a smirk on his face. He interrupts, bringing his hand into frame as he squeezes one of her boobs. The ring on his pinky finger glistens under the cameras low flash.

With a surprised gasp, she cuts the clip short.

“Keep recordin’,” he says in her ear, gruffly.

“Why?” She chuckles. “You wanna be seen?”

He scoffs quietly. “That’s cute.” Shifting his hips, he pushes his dick harder against her, just for a bit of spite. “This just for you, though. Don’t post nothing.”

His nose and lips to her neck, his voice in her ear, his hands on her body—she shivers.

Pressing record again. She zooms in on his hand as it gropes her yet again. Very soon after, it slides up and wraps around her neck. She stops the video.

With a giggle, she saves it to her drafts. “Should I send it to you?” She questions, tapping away on her phone.

“Nah, keep that,” he mumbles. Turning his head, Onyankopon peers out of the window, watching the city zoom past them. “Got some other shit planned.”

Thankfully, there’s no paps around. No need for them to rush into the hotel or hide their faces.

As they take their time to get out of the vehicle, Ony’s security surrounds the car.

“Wait—the money,” Bliss worries.

She’s halfway out of the car, a hand in Ony’s clutch as he’s the one helping her out.

“Don’t trip, I’ma have my people get it for you.”

As her feet land on the concrete ground, Onyankopon laces an arm laces around her waist, pulling her in close.

“Okay,” she hums, bringing a hand to his chest.

As she looks up into Onyankopon’s low eyes, the lust in them is undeniable. She practically shivers with excitement.

“You cold?” He chuckles, cracking a grill-decorated smile. His perfectly groomed brows even pull together.

God, she’s never noticed how perfect his face looks up close.

Dumbly, she nods, her lips stretching into a wide smile. She watches his eyes flick downward to glimpse at her lips.

“I’ma get you warm soon, right?”

“Mmh, okay.”

Shaking his head, he allows himself to smile wider as he follows his security team into the hotel.

As he said, two men stay behind to clean up the money at the back of the Rolls Royce. Just for Bliss.

Onyankopon’s room is on the eleventh floor. Normally, one would think that the commute from the hotel lobby to his room—by way of elevator, of course—wouldn’t take much time.

Five minutes, max.

But to Bliss, those five minutes are feeling a lot like thirty, at the very least.

While they waited for the elevator, Onyankopon was all over her. Large hands pulling her in and keeping her close—gripping her ass, too.

She’d whine his name, pushing her face into his chest. Because with the little bit of stragglers lingering in the lobby, there were still wandering eyes.

And he’d tell her, “Let ‘em watch,” because that’s the type of nigga he is.

‘Rapper’ seems like a fitting title for him.

Oh, but when they finally get in the elevator? Not even his security being there was enough to keep him off of her.

He traps her against the back wall of the elevator. His large hand grasps the junction of her neck and jaw.

There’s tongue involved, far sooner than she thought there would be. But, she’s not complaining. Their heads twist as they suck on each other.

She finds herself moaning into his mouth as he applies pressure around her neck.

Bliss is barely able to pull away with the inch of breath that she was able to escape with. Both their lips are glossed over with spit—slimy and sticky. Their rushed pants quickly dry it, however.

Before either of them can say anything, the elevator dings with the announcement of their arrival to the eleventh floor.

Only once the door to Ony’s suite shuts, is when they finally lose his security for the night.

Bliss remains near the door, her first thought to take off her shoes. She keeps a hand on the nearby wall as she unhooks the back of her kitten heel from her foot.

It should take only ten seconds to get both shoes off. Yet, she lingers in that spot well after the time is up. Why?

Well, she’s watching him.

Watching Onyankopon shrug that heavy jacket off of his wide shoulders and throw it down on the mini bar table. Watching him kick off his shoes. Watching him take a seat on a short leather couch, positioned in the middle of the circular shaped living room.

She isn’t quick enough; He catches her staring.

Her second heel finally drops to the ground. It makes a muted thud against the tiled floor—which is cold against her perfectly manicured feet.

With a tired sigh, Ony leans back against the couch, refusing to break eye contact. “Come.”

A faint smile makes the corner of her lips rise, and an amused scoff leaves her.

This time, Onyankopon watches her.

Watches the way her hips seem to perfectly sway—if even unintentional—with each step. Watches how her boobs bounce softly beneath the tight dress. Watches her land softly on his open lap, throwing an arm around his neck, too.

She throws her purse and phone down onto the cushion next to them, completely disregarding the objects.

Softly, he kisses his teeth, his eyes running over her body.

“When you gon’ take this fucking dress off?”

She laughs. “When are you gonna take it off me?”

He licks his lips as he reaches behind her to slide a hand up her back, searching blindly for—he found it.

At the top of her back, at the base of her neck, his fingers collect the small zipper and pulls. He drags it all the way down her spine, until the track stops, right above her ass.

“Now you want me to pull it off or you got that?”

Rolling her eyes, Bliss tugs at the tight sleeves of her dress, pulling her arms out. As she drags the constricting fabric down her body, her boobs spill out.

The piercings immediately catch his attention. He resists the urge to reach out for them and touch.

Pulling back her hair, she tosses the bundles over a shoulder, allowing him to see everything. For a moment, she stands, only to pull the rest of the dress down.

When she finally steps out of the pool of her own clothes, the only thing that covers her is that tiny ass G-string.

“Wish I could’a seen you at the show,” he tells her as she comes to sit back down on his lap.

Bliss licks her lips, looking down into his eyes. She hums, gazing at him. “I was dancing and everything.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is soft and hushed, like hers. “Show me how you was dancing.”

She bites down on her lip, trying to stop her smile from growing.

He shifts beneath her, if only to pull out his phone. It’s a seamless process, how he was able to connect his phone to speakers that seem to be connected throughout the entire suite.

She almost laughs, if it weren’t for how serious he is; It’s one of Ony’s songs from his recently released EP.

“Be my dancer,” he says in her ear, smiling wide.

She almost shivers.

Wordlessly, she turns her back to him and puts hands on his spread knees. Leaning forward, she starts a slow whine. And Ony is all too happy to watch her ass move in circles right on his lap.

Reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulls out a rubber-banded stack, just a bit thinner than those he had at the restaurant. He pops the elastic binding all of the bills together.

The beat changes, and Bliss shakes her ass side-to-side. Ony stretches an arm over her. The quick flick of his thumb pushes fifties and hundreds fluttering over her.

Entranced by the way the fat of her ass moves, he palms one cheek with the other hand.

As he begins to rub, Bliss returns to a slow whine before dropping it in his lap, earning a grunt from him. When she lifts her ass to do it again, Ony smacks it, gripping her immediately after.

Every time, she bounces her ass harder against him. She fights the urge to stop dancing and just solely grind against him, because at this point it’s getting hard to ignore the way he’s poking through his jeans.

Her bounces grow shorter. The pressure and friction threaten to make her eyes roll back. She’s close to moaning out.

“Shit…” He bites down on his lower lip as he grips the fat of her hip. “Sexy ass lil’ bitch,” he groans.

In all this excitement, he almost forgot what they were doing. Picking the stack back up, he resumes the money shower, allowing the rest of his bills to rain down on her.

She looks back at him over her shoulder, noting the hand in his lap, holding his belt.

Biting down on her lip, Bliss fluidly turns around to get on her knees between his legs. The fallen bills keep her skin from touching the cold tiles.

One hand is positioned on his knee. The other snakes up his other legs, heading towards the buckle of his belt.

“Oh, you wanna get nasty?” His smile is full of mischief.

She nods as she focuses on opening his pants.

“Shiiit, go ‘head.”

And he didn’t need to tell her again.

Manicured hands pull him out of his boxers. Bliss has to take a minute to cement this moment in her brain. Her heart is pounding in his chest.

He’s heavy in her hand. The very tips of her acrylics just barely touch as she’s wrapped around him. His thickness makes her tummy stir. She can’t wait to take him.

All of those nights she’s spent in bed, imagining him buried deep in her guts—now, it won’t be a toy doing the work. It’ll be the real thing.

Leaning forward, Bliss presses a kiss to the underside of his head. Quickly, she stretches out her tongue and laves it.

“Don’t try to be cute,” he says through gritted teeth. Immediately, a hand swabs around the back of her head to gather her bundles in a messy, yet tight ponytail. “Suck me up like you do with them toys.”

She opens her mouth wide. Carefully tucking her teeth, Bliss engulfs his entire tip. She keeps him between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, sucking.

Her pace isn’t necessarily slow, that wasn’t even her intention. But, she’s not fast enough, either.

The hand in her hair guides her, encouraging a smooth push-and-pull of her head.

He sucks in air through his teeth. “Oou, just like that. Yeah—relax that throat.”

Her hands stretch across his denim-dressed knee caps, squeezing tighter as she struggles to keep up.

There’s a soft clinch in her face, eyes watering, as she gently gags.

“M-make sure you get that shit wet—mmh. Get it messy … just like that, get my dick messy.”

His voice softly coaxes her on. The firm grip on her hair paired with his commands has her doing everything he wants, and probably more.

His pace picks up, his force getting rougher. And even beneath the thick fans of her lash extensions, he can see her eyes rolling back.

Her gags are heavier, louder. His dick stabs her throat, causing wet clicks every time he touches the back of it.

He groans out, his stomach clinching, as he feels her tighten around him.

“Sshit!” He laughs, her choking music to his ears. With a hiccup, a large rivulets of spit leak from her puckered lips and drips down his dick. “Yeaaah, just like that!”

As he chuckles over her, her pussy bares down on nothing. Her body is obsessed with the way he sounds.

It’s messy—so messy. Frothy bubbles of spit and cum gather at the rounded corners of her mouth. Thick globs hang from her lips, some of it even rolls down her neck. But all of it drips onto her bare chest, sticking to smooth skin.

And she doesn’t intend to do anything about it. The only goal she aims to accomplish at the moment is taking this dick without throwing up all over it.

Ony hooks a hand on the underside of her jaw as the other only tightens around her hair. All movement of her head is halted and the brief moment of stillness allows her to breathe properly—through her nose, of course.

“You gon’ swallow?”

“Mhm,” she nods eagerly. The fragile hum crackled as it left her.

Ony gazes down into her tear-filled eyes. He notes the mess clouding the bottom of her pretty face

“Sure?”

Her muffled ‘yes’ almost makes him laugh. She can hardly speak around his dick.

“Aight then.”

This time, he’s driving his hips forward, face-fucking her. Bliss lurches forward, hacking as he drills her throat. Yet she doesn’t tell him to stop. Nor does she pull away or even tap his thigh.

“C’mon,” he grunts, the deepest scowl on his face. “Take this dick, take this … f-fucking dick.”

Her body goes pliant as she allows him to use her face like a toy. However, her lips remain tight around him. She doesn’t even try to keep the spit from falling out of her mouth.

The longer he continues, his dick glides in and out of her lips. It’s all so slippery, she gags less and less with every thrust.

There is no announcement of his arrival. Only one more brutal thrust before he presses his hips to her face. They occasionally twitch as he shoots thick ropes of cum down her throat.

She almost chokes. Almost. It’s difficult to swallow his load around his dick, she lets out a gag or two.

When he finally drags himself out of her mouth, webs of spit and cum stretch between his tip and her swollen lips. She heaves, his hanging dick still in her face.

Too focused on gathering her breath, Bliss doesn’t see as he pulls his shirt off.

“Lift ya head,” he says, a soft hand cradling the back of hers.

Bliss looks up, staring into his eyes as he uses his Coogi shirt to wipe the muck off of her face.

His brows are furrowed as he concentrates on cleaning her off. “Yeah … can’t have all this shit drying on ya skin.” He even goes as far as to get her neck and chest. “Aight … there. You good now.”

He pats her cheek with a smile, earning a giggle from the woman on her knees.

“Thank you.”

He outstretches a hand, helping her up on her two feet.

“It’s nothing,” he says softly. Using his soiled shirt, he wipes down his dick and inner thighs. And when he’s done, he tosses it aside.

As Ony is pulling up his pants, his dark eyes roaming her bare body, he gets an idea—eager to have her participate in it.

“You tryna smoke?”

•

The blunt shakes between her unsteady fingers. She doesn’t get a good inhale in—can hardly even pass it back to him.

Onyankopon does her a favor, taking the blunt back as he pushes his dick back in.

“Oou—shit.” Her shaky groan is music to his ears.

Holding the thick blunt between his lips, he takes his time bottoming out, both hands on her hips.

Her pussy flutters around him, her stomach stirring. This is the deepest he’s gotten, feeling his tip smushed against her cervix. Her head’s dizzy.

“Fuuuck, Onyy—“ A weak hand, hesitant in nature, cradles her lower tummy,

“I’m deep?”

“Mh—yes.” Her breath hitches.

He lifts a hand from her skin to pluck the blunt from between his lips. A thin cloud of smoke puffs from his nose.

“You could handle it,” he rasps.

The slowly burning blunt dries his throat out, almost makes it scratchy. And yet the wetness between Bliss’ thighs makes it easy to forget the minor discomfort.

A shaky gasp slips from her mouth as he begins a slow stroke. It’s no surprise to her when—even as he’s the one fucking her—he pulls her back by the hips. The quiet clap of her ass against his pelvis and thighs cheers him on. It encourages him.

He wants her to be louder. He wants to hear more.

One minute he’s delivering slow, deep strokes, letting her body sing. Her pussy’s got a vice-like grip around him as it creams around him. Before long, she’s gripping the sheets tight and her legs tremble.

Blunt be damned; Onyankopon drops it onto the floor in favor of focusing on the woman below him.

Her moans are loud and guttural as his dick punches her stomach from the inside. Even as they’re loud, the bed’s pristine, white sheets weaken the sounds.

And that just isn’t doing it for him.

“Nah, c’mere—“

Fingers grip her hair to yank her face out of the sheets. Her neck strains as her head is angled so far back, that she catches sight of something she’d been too horny to even see before: the mirror above the bed.

She’s got a clear eye-view of herself getting fucked as roughly as she’s always dreamed. It makes her clench down on him harder, she even whimpers seeing it. In such a fucked out state, it’s a drug seeing the way her body ricochets against his.

A small part of her is embarrassed seeing the faces she makes, she’s out of it. Yet, she loves it all the same. With Onyankopon as another set of eyes, she loves it even more—being watched while he turns her out.

Moan after moan pours from her lips until her throat is sore, and even then she still continues to yell at the top of her lungs about how good his dick is.

“Yes—yes! So … fuckin’ big—oh fuck!”

It’s impossible to keep her grip on reality. Her knees can barely hold her up. The sweet pain in her lower stomach has her eyes rolling back. Ony tugs at her roots harder.

“Know you see yourself,” he grunts. “Know you see how I’m fuckin’ you.”

His smirk and breathless voice is just the cherry on top—she trembles as she squirts on him. But her release doesn’t make him slow down. In fact, Onyankopon goes harder.

“Mhm … cream on my shit. Squirt on my shit—drown me.”

Every time she tries to look at their reflection her eyes either crossed or she just can’t keep them open. All of her strength is reduced to nothing.

Onyankopon’s strokes, which hold an ungodly amount of force behind them, shakes the woman to her core. It knocks the air from her chest.

A choked noise followed by heavy breathing is all that her body can muster. Seeing his response, Ony does it again, loving how it leaves her breathless and with no sound.

He does it again. And again. And again. The clapping of skin is deafening to Bliss’s ears. Her vision blurs and all her body can do is focus on one thing at a time. All sounds begin to fade out. She can only spotlight the repeating jabs to her insides.

Every time she tightens around him, he finds it harder to hold back. But he keeps up. The faster he goes, the more sloppy and less accurate he becomes.

As they continue on it doesn’t matter, Bliss is so close to another release, that it would only take a couple of these blind thrusts for her to cum again.

“Shiiit!”

“What? It’s not enough?” He pulls out, and quickly thrusts back in, feeling triumphant when she yelps out.

“T-too mu—much,” she hisses.

He pulls out and she gasps, her body clenching around nothing. He takes himself in his hand, rubbing the head against her lips. He smears her cream around with his latex-covered tip.

She’s been stretched open, making it all too easy for him to see the creamy pinkness typically hidden behind brown lips. It’s a sight for sure, one that he can’t look away from as she pushes out some of her previous release.

However, he hadn’t realized that he was pressed for time; Bliss whines out, pushing back on him. Even her cunt clenches down, like it missed the fullness.

“C’mon,” she mumbles into the sheets.

He laughs. “You was just crying it was ’too much.’”

A brief moment of strength strikes her as she pulls her head out of the pillows to look back at him. “Put it in, Ony!”

With little to no effort, on account of how wet she was, he slips right back in, granting her that satisfying feeling of being stuffed.

She moans sweetly and drops her head into the sheets, a long groan moving past her lips and he rolled his hips. The feeling of him stroking her insides, so good, better than good.

It was great, and her eyes rolling back were evidence of that. He pulls out and pushes back in, repeating that movement at a fast pace. She sank her teeth into her lip, trying to stop herself from being too loud.

Bringing her hips up higher, Onyankopon achieves a better angle. She was getting drunk off his strokes, as well as the sound of him blowing her back out.

“Oh—oh… God,” she drawls.

The pleasure is overwhelming and she scoots up, trying to lessen the hits to her guts.

“Oh, so you runnin’? I thought you wanted me to beat it up?”

He pulls her back and holds onto her shoulders. Applying pressure, he uses that leverage to repeatedly bring her back on him, his thrusts hitting harder and deeper..

“Oh fuuuck,” she groaned and gasps, shutting her eyes to stop them from rolling back.

“You confusin’ me, mama.”

He’s reveling in the tight, warm and wet hug her body offers. He looks down, noting how her her body coats his dick in her cum.

“Shit, shit, oh fuck,” she whines.

He smacks her ass and keeps going.

“Oh shit…” he groans. “So… fuckin’ good,” he says under his breath, closing his eyes and getting lost in the feeling.

Bliss’s whimpers bring him back. Her thighs shake and her arch comes undone.

In a flash, the desire to see her face again hits him like a freight train. And what other choice does he have but to do something about it?

It’s hard, but Onyankopon pulls out. Using what’s left of his strength, he flips her over on her back and drags her body to the edge of the bed. He’s wordless in his actions, she’ll see his point very soon.

But, for now, Bliss sits up on her elbows to watch with tired confusion as he moves her.

Strong hands grabs her thighs and pull her flush against his front, eliciting a yelp from her. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his waist, giving him the perfect opportunity to lift her hips completely off the bed.

“What the fuck?” She laughs, her fatigue so apparent in her hoarse voice.

She has to make a great effort to hold herself up. Of course, Ony holds her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t doing some type of work.

“Trying something different. You good with this?”

She doesn’t think she’s ever been in such a position. It excites her, makes her giddy. It even brings a renewed sense of excitement and energy to her body. Her hair falls in her face as she gives a loose nod.

The muscles in his bicep flex as he transfers all of her weight to one hand, busying the other as he grabs himself. Just like this, she’s like a five-star meal placed before him, ready for him to demolish.

He gives himself two quick tugs before aligning with her weeping center and slowly pushing back in.

The stretch is wonderful every time, evidenced by the way Bliss throws her head back.

He fucks into her, holding onto her hips so tight that his thumbs press against her hip bones. She writhes, and her legs damn near squeeze the life out of him as he hits spots in her that she didn’t even think to be possible.

“Keep squeezin’ me like that—yeah,” he groans out, throwing his head back as well.

Her moans seem to have run out despite her mouth hanging wide open. She’s completely silent, unable to scream as he digs her out.

“Uh—fuck, I’m ‘bout to c-cum—” Ony’s resolve seems to be cracking as his voice waivers with his moans.

Her legs tremble and her pretty toes curl so tight that her feet almost cramp up.

A burning heat flashes throughout his body as his orgasm catches him by surprise. His mouth drops open and his muscles tense before he leans down, dropping them back onto the mattress as he pushes his face into her neck.

Senselessly, Onyankopon ruts into her, riding out his nut until he stops filling the condom. The overstimulation pushes Bliss over the edge as well.

Her orgasm comes crashing down around them as her pussy clenches down on him, only wetting his dick further. She hugs him close, keeping him from pulling out too soon.

“Awe fuck,” he mumbles. As his lips had moved against the skin of her neck, it tickles her.

She giggles.

“Fuck you laughing for?”

She can hear the smile in his voice.

“Tickles,” she breathes out. Shifting beneath him, she can still feel him inside of her, softening by the minute.

His chest rumbles with a deep sigh. “This shit got me … wantin’ to pass out.”

She hums in agreement, slowly dragging a hand up and down his back. His body is hot, a bit sweaty, too. She doesn’t doubt that hers feels the same way to him.

Movements filled with fatigue, Onyankopon pushes himself up to look down at her. Her makeup is definitely fucked up, courtesy of tonight’s events. And yet, he can’t stop himself from smiling when he stares at her.

“What?” She laughs, growing just a little bit shy.

“You better than a fuckin’ blunt after a show.”

She breaks into a full on laugh, giving him a much clearer view of her cute gap. “Thanks?”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I definitely gotta keep you around.”

And even if he didn’t want to, Bliss doesn’t think she’d let him go.

…

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alsofoundinpeas · 2 months ago

Text

Baptized In Fear

Summary: Spencer struggles to fight the demons that haunt him through withdrawal. You're there to remind him he doesn't have to fight alone.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Mentions of previous drug addiction/withdrawal. Mentions of sleep paralysis. Some religious verbiage in a non-religious setting. Fingering (f!receiving), unprotected P in V sex (birth control mentioned), dry humping (my beloved), some praise, creampie (fingers burning as I type that). Best friends to lovers/two idiots in love (giggling and kicking my feet)!! A little angsty (I'm SORRY).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This song-fic is based on Baptized In Fear by The Weeknd, so I strongly recommend listening to it while you read, but it's not mandatory :) God I've missed writing LMAO I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!!! :') <3 and if you DO enjoy it, please feel free to like, reblog, drop a comment, whatever your heart desires because I truly do appreciate any feedback I get on my works :) Friendly reminder that my requests are open btw okay I love you all MWAH!!

I fell asleep in the tub, I was met with paralysis

My foot hit the faucet, water started flowing in

Spencer woke with a sharp gasp, his gaze darting toward the frigid water now pouring over his skin. His fingers twitched at his sides, submerged and pruny. His eyes fluttered as he fought to keep them open. When had he dozed off?

Couldn't scream for help, I just slowly felt the pressure hit

Moving one toe was the only form of motion left

Can't breathe for air, can't breathe

It was almost as though cement flowed through his veins instead of blood, keeping him anchored to the bottom of the porcelain tub. His pulse skyrocketed at the sound of the doorknob twisting followed by a sharp bang against the solid wood, but he couldn’t move. Logically, he knew that auditory hallucinations were normal for sleep paralysis. That didn’t stop them from being horrifying each time they happened.

Spencer’s heart pounded in his throat, threatening to leap from the seam of his lips and dive for the drain if he were to open his mouth even a fraction. He was dizzy. Debilitatingly dizzy. The bright fluorescent light stung his eyes and made his head throb.

He had to get out of this tub.

Spencer focused all of the energy he could muster on wiggling his toes. He knew that once he got his toes to move, the rest of his body would follow behind shortly after. The sound of footsteps outside of the bathroom sent another pang of icy panic shooting up his spine, tightening the band-like sensation currently squeezing the air from his lungs and causing his ribs to ache. It felt like a rock was lodged in his throat, blocking his airway as he struggled to just wiggle his damn toes.

Trying to remember everything that my preacher said

Tryna right my wrongs, my rеgrets filling up my head

All the timеs I dodged death, this can't be the way it ends, no

Spencer’s eyes slipped shut, exhaustion weighing them down. He was clammy despite the freezing water steadily rising, filling the tub beyond its normal limits. The gurgling sound of the overflow draining was muted by the incessant pounding at his bathroom door, the knocks sounding urgent and threatening.

A tear dripped down his cheek as he recalled what his recovery coach had preached to him about withdrawal. Testaments about how excruciating it would be, how it would test his sanity… but it was a necessary evil. His only choice was to fight the craving for the sweet relief of the needle or lose the career he worked so hard to excel in. Lose the family he’d made from said career. Lose you.

The water was now tickling Spencer’s chin, having slumped down into the tub presumably before he’d drifted off. His body was shivering violently, yet he still couldn’t lift a finger. Memories flashed behind his eyelids as he recounted every near death experience he’d had since joining the BAU. As he recounted literally dying and coming back to life at the hands of Tobias. In a way, he found it sardonic that he’d survived everything that he had just to die in a bathtub. All because he was too weak from withdrawal to fight the crippling grip of sleep paralysis.

Figure in the corner I can't quite see

I just know the shadow's staring at me

It gets closer, it gets closer, it gets closer now

Spencer’s eyes fluttered, opening in silent protest and staring unblinking up at the popcorn ceiling above. If this was to be the only movement his body would allow, then so be it. At least now he had something to focus on besides the barrage of memories blurring together in his mind or the overwhelming guilt consuming his entire being.

His heart nearly stopped on its own accord when he caught sight of a dark, shadowy figure in his peripheral vision. He couldn’t move his eyes to bring his gaze to it directly, something he was both grateful for and terrified about. It felt as though whatever it was was staring directly at him, pleased by his unfortunate predicament.

A tear dropped down into the water as the figure began to glide forward. Then another. And another. No matter how many times he repeated to himself that this was just a hallucination conjured up during the worst episode of sleep paralysis he’d ever experienced, the figure persisted, inching closer and closer.

Figure in the corner laughing at me

Water fill my lungs, vision blurry

Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower

A low, rumbling chuckle filled the air as the water rose past Spencer’s lips now. The figure stopped at the edge of the tub now, its presence sinister. It was as though it was taunting him, gloating about its existence outside of the godforsaken bathtub he was about to drown in.

His shallow breaths rippled the water as it began to rise underneath his nose, then above it, smothering any last shred of hope he had of breaking free of his paralysis and escaping what was about to become his ceramic grave. His body instinctively began to choke, fighting with strength he didn’t have to try to rid itself of the intrusion, but it was in vain.

The popcorn ceiling blurred as muted sobs bubbled beneath the surface, his lungs burning with each failed breath. Spencer felt his pulse slow, the once frantic rhythm of his heart diminishing to a haunting lento. His eyes drifted shut as the water caressed his eyelashes, the final image his mind could summon being the first time he made you laugh, your head thrown back and your hand clutching his arm for support—the moment he’d fallen in love with you.

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

“Spencer!”

Spencer woke with a gasp, an intense wave of Deja-vu crashing into him as he jolted up. The freezing water that had surrounded him was gone, replaced by the comforting pressure of your hands on his shoulders and the blanket pooling in his lap. He blinked hard, trying to clear the haze from his vision as he took in his surroundings. The bathroom walls were no longer there. Instead, he found himself facing the plain, impersonal walls of the hotel room where they were staying while on the case. Spencer met your concerned gaze, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized not only had he woken you, but he had also worried you with his nightmare.

Hotch had paired you together to double up, since the available rooms were limited. He figured that, as best friends, neither of you would mind. And you hadn’t—if anything, it gave you a chance to watch over Spencer, knowing he wasn’t doing as well as he’d claimed. You knew him too well to believe that.

After Spencer was rescued, you started noticing the signs of addiction almost immediately. The shift in his personality was expected, given everything he’d been through. It was painful to accept, but you knew he would never be the same person he was before Tobias—and that was okay. You’d adjust to whatever version of him emerged. You were just happy that he was alive. But when the fidgeting grew constant, when his eyes seemed to drift into nothingness, when the bruises on his arm appeared, hidden under layers of long sleeves and cardigans… that’s when you knew it was time to step in.

You’d confronted him about it, promising to not say a word to Gideon or Hotch as long as he swore to get help. And he did. The following day, he joined The Beltway Clean Cops, and to celebrate, you treated yourselves to takeout from your favorite spot and spent the day binge-watching movies together, enjoying the rare day off. For the first time since facing the needle that fateful night, Spencer felt hopeful. He felt seen. He felt loved.

“Spence?”

Your hushed voice snapped him out of his thoughts, his hazel eyes re-focusing as they traced your face. Your hair was tousled from sleep, your t-shirt wrinkled and pajama shorts askew, and your eyebrows were pinched together as you studied him in the dim light. But even so, he thought you looked like an angel. His angel.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, moving your hand from his shoulder to press it to his forehead with a small frown. “You were crying in your sleep.”

Spencer nodded, sucking in a shaky breath as he felt his pulse slowing. “I-I’m sorry for waking you. I just–” He swallowed, savoring the feeling of your hand now carding through his hair to soothe him. “I’ve been having these awful nightmares, and when it’s not nightmares then it’s episodes of sleep paralysis. A-and I know that’s to be expected with withdrawal… they’re just getting worse and more frequent and it’s making me want to avoid sleeping if it means I can avoid them.” His voice cracks on the last word, a tear slipping down his cheek as his eyes flicker down to his lap.

Your frown deepened, your heart tightening at his words, until a thought crossed your mind. The room had two full-sized beds with a small nightstand between them, but that was easily movable. “What if…” you started, rising from where you sat beside him on the edge of the bed. “What if we push the beds together? I could hold you, and if you have a nightmare, I can wake you up. Would that help you get some rest?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for the right words. He wasn’t sure if it would help him rest or keep him awake, given how he'd stayed up all night just to make sure he wouldn’t pop an erection from being so close to you. From the moment he’d met you, he’d been smitten, but he quickly accepted that you probably wouldn’t feel the same. So, he’d kept his feelings to himself, never crossing the line into anything more than friendship. “U-um… yeah. Sure. We—we can do that.” Spencer cleared his throat, nodding before awkwardly scrambling to his feet.

After arguing over where to put the nightstand and a few lighthearted jabs at Spencer’s strength (the beds were heavier than they looked), the beds were pushed together and the both of you were settled underneath the covers. Spencer was as stiff as a board, staring straight up at the ceiling while you set the alarm to wake you both in the morning. Turning the lamp off and rolling over onto your side, you stifle a chuckle at how rigid Spencer is.

“Spence? Are you cold?”

Spencer shook his head, his taut face barely visible in the moonlight streaming through the cheap, thin curtains. “No, no I’m not cold at all. I just—” he cut himself off with a huff. “I-I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone. That’s all.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, propping yourself up on your elbow. There was almost a foot of space between you, leaving Spencer dangerously close to the edge. “C’mere, doc. I won’t bite.” Your voice was teasing yet gentle as you reached out, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder. “I can’t hold you if you’re about to fall off the bed.”

Spencer sucked in a breath, his eyes closing momentarily as he tries to cling to his composure before he shuffles closer to you, almost resembling an inchworm with the jerkiness of his movements. Once he’s laying a few inches away, you grin softly. You close the gap between you, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arm around his waist.

“Is this okay? Or, if you’re comfortable with it, you can be the little spoon,” you whisper, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart underneath your ear. His hands lay stiffly at his sides, picking at the sheets nervously. After a beat, he finally relaxes, sinking into the mattress with a shuddered breath before he answers.

“Can I be the little spoon?”

His voice is meek and trembling, like he’s on the verge of crying. But you don’t question it. Instead, you nod, moving so he can roll over onto his side. When he’s settled, you curl into him from behind, snuggling into his back and wrapping your arm around his waist once more.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours is more comforting than you expected, and with a soft sigh you surrender to the lull of sleep.

I've been baptized in fear, my dear

I've been the chief of sin

Washing my soul within

Spencer lied awake, the minutes ticking by agonizingly slowly while he stared at the bleak wall and counted every one of your soft breaths puffing against his neck.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sleep. Quite the contrary, actually. He was desperate for even just a few hours before you both would have to wake up and meet the others at the precinct. But he had a problem.

Somehow, in your sleep, you’d managed to shift so that your face was only centimeters from the back of his head, rather than pressed against his back. Your arm, once draped around his waist, now hugged his chest, while your thigh rested across his hip and your calf dangled in front of him. You were practically curled around him like a koala.

Normally, he wouldn’t have any qualms with that. He’d longed for the chance to be this close to you for ages. But your calf was pressing against his crotch in an infuriatingly enticing way, and he was stuck in the dilemma of moving your leg and risking waking you or letting your leg stay where it was and use all of his will-power to stay awake so he wouldn’t drift off and subconsciously hump against your leg like a frantic animal from the wet dream he was bound to have.

He finally opted on moving your leg once the feeling of your face pressing into his neck and your lips skimming across his skin caused all of his blood to rush south. Slowly–oh so slowly–he brought his hand up to gently grab your calf. Your bare skin was silky and warm in his hand, making his eyes flutter shut as he fought the urge to groan.

A murmur slipped from your lips at the feeling of his touch, causing him to pause out of fear that he’d woken you. After counting the seconds between your breaths to ensure you were in fact still sleeping, he eased your leg up, ready to move it off of him when you stirred. Your grip on him tightened, pulling him impossibly closer as your leg pressed down into him even harder than before.

The friction from your leg pressing against his now aching cock made his breath hitch, a whimper slipping free into the night air before he could stop it. He was convinced now that, for whatever reason, the universe was pulling a cruel prank on him. Punishing him with the feeling of your body pressed against his but not allowing him to actually touch you. Not in the way he craved to at least.

The sound was enough to rouse you from sleep, a result of becoming a light sleeper since joining the BAU. Spencer stiffened, his body going rigid as he felt you lift your head, gathering your bearings. Then he felt your leg press into him again, this time intentionally.

“Spence?”

Your whisper in his ear sent chills down his spine. He swallowed hard, praying to whatever could hear him that you weren’t disgusted or upset at him because of his erection digging into your calf. After a beat, he finally whispered back.

“Yes?”

Shifting again, your hand trailed down his chest to rest on his tummy. Spencer was convinced his heart did an actual somersault in his chest.

“Do you want help with that?”

If words could stop a heart, then those surely did the trick. Spencer blinked hard before pinching himself, ensuring himself that he wasn’t dreaming again. When he winced from the pinch, he did it one more time for good measure. Nope. He was awake.

When he didn’t answer, your hand slipped even lower to tease the waistband of the pajama pants he wore. His cock twitched at the sensation of your nails slightly dragging back and forth along the sliver of exposed skin there, and his lips parted in shock as you whispered into his ear again.

“The hormones released during sex help promote sleep…” Your voice was raspy still, adding a sultry edge to your already sinful offer. “...which you really need.”

Spencer swallowed, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to speak. “Y-you don’t have to offer something you don’t want to do just because you f-feel bad for me.” His voice cracked with a mix of defeat and embarrassment.

That cleared any remaining sleep from your veins as you moved to sit up. A frown pulled at your lips as you rested a hand on his shoulder, gently urging him to turn over. “Hey,” you murmured, sadness lacing your tone. “Spence, look at me.” When he finally turned over, your heart broke into fragments. Tear streaks glistened on his cheeks in the dim moonlight, his face forlorn and downright pitiful as his lower lip trembled.

“You know me better than to assume I’d ever offer something I didn’t want to do.”

Spencer knew you were right, but his mind couldn’t bring itself to accept it. To him, it had always seemed utterly illogical that you could ever feel even a fraction of what he felt for you—let alone be drawn to him enough to offer that. And yet, here you were, looking at him with a fondness that made his heart stutter.

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe his tears away. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Of course I am, Spence. I–” Sucking in a breath, you averted your gaze to the bed before continuing despite the heat rushing to your cheeks. “I know it probably wasn’t my best idea to make a move the way I did, but I’ve… um. I’ve had feelings for you for a really long time and I just figured since you were hard that that was as good of a time as any to finally say something about them.” Your fingers picked at the fabric of the sheets, your nerves running rampant now that you’d finally put your feelings out into the open instead of keeping them tucked away.

Spencer stared at you in silence for a moment, slack-jawed and doe-eyed. When you finally brought your gaze back up to his, the sight made you chuckle. That snapped him out of it, his face flushing as he cleared his throat and sat up.

“I-I feel the same way,” he said less than elegantly. Fumbling for words, he continued. “You are… everything. You’re everything to me. You always have been. I knew you would be the moment I met you.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes at his words, and a small, disbelieving laugh left your lips at his admission. Instead of replying with words (which were failing you at the moment anyways), your hands cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a kiss.

I've been baptized in fear, my dear

Like Paul, I'm the chief of sin

Washing my soul within

Spencer gasped in surprise against your lips, stiffening for half a second before melting into your touch. His lips sought yours out tentatively, his head tilting just enough to find the perfect angle. His hands found your waist as your mouths worked together, resting hesitantly there as though he were afraid that if he touched you too hard you’d disintegrate into thin air and he’d wake up alone and aching like he had so many times before.

But this was real.

Your hands slid from his cheeks into his hair, tugging gently as you pulled him closer. A soft groan slipped from his lips as your tongue brushed his lower lip, silently begging for entrance. He eagerly granted it, whimpering slightly at the molten sensation of all of his blood rushing south once more.

Spencer, in a surprisingly brazen move, pulled you into his lap, propping up against the headboard. His hands slid from your waist up to rest on your ribs, his thumbs tracing the space below your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt. He reveled in the shiver that coursed through your body, taking it as a sign that you were enjoying his touch and letting his hands trail higher until he was gingerly cupping you, thumbing over your pebbled nipples.

“Spence,” you breathed, breaking the kiss. Your chests heaved, the both of you panting and wild-eyed as your gaze met. “You can take it off. I want you to… Please?”

That one simple word was almost his undoing. Please. You’d said it so sweetly. So needy. He’d gladly give you everything your heart desired and more if that’s how you asked for it—though he knew he’d give it to you regardless, no begging necessary.

Spencer nodded, letting out a shaky breath as his fingers found the hem of your shirt. He tugged up, lifting it over your head and tossing it to the ground without a second thought.

He might as well have tossed his brain with the fabric, considering that it was now rendered completely useless at the sight of your bare breasts right in front of his face. His eyes widened in awe, making you duck your head into the crook of his neck to shy away from the intensity of his gaze.

“Like what you see?” You murmured teasingly, nipping at his skin gently before placing an open mouthed kiss on his jaw.

“There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much I like what I’m seeing right now.”

Spencer’s answer sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, fluttering wildly as you pulled back to grin at him. Your hands found his chest, steadying yourself as you shifted in his lap. A breathy groan filled the air as the movement pressed your hips together, the hint of friction feeling almost electric as pleasure zipped through the both of you.

You repeated the motion, grinding against him with a soft sigh. His hands fell to your hips, squeezing as he guided your movements. His head tilted back, smacking the headboard with a quiet thud.

“Ow!” He huffed out indignantly, but he was grinning, savoring the giggles bubbling from your lips as you laughed at him.

“Guess you could say I’m a real knock out, huh?” You teased, squealing as he pinched your side and rolled his eyes at your lame joke.

Your giggles devolved into muted moans as he leaned forward to mouth at your nipple, pinching the other between his fingers as you rocked against him. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the sensation, the desire pooling in your lower stomach growing hotter by the second. Your hands drifted up his chest to rest on his shoulders, using the leverage to rock against him even harder.

The ache between your legs was dizzying. A whine slipped free from your lips when you felt his muffled moan on your skin, his tongue laving across your nipple before he switched sides. The cold air against your warm, spit-slicked skin sent chills down your spine.

“Need you,” you mumbled, letting your fingers slide down to the bottom of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

Spencer nodded, releasing your nipple with a soft pop as he sat back just enough to pull it off and toss it to the floor to join yours. Your eyes greedily drank in the sight of the newly exposed skin, taking note of every single freckle and scar you saw before you leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, it felt desperate. Messy. Primal. Gone was the hesitation, the exploration of something new, instead replaced with a hunger only each other could satiate.

Hands roamed across skin, silently pledging your devotion to one another as your hips continued their frantic movements. Spencer’s fingers dug into your hips as he broke the kiss, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“I-“ he swallowed hard, fighting to hold back a moan as you rubbed against him just right. “C-can I please fuck you? Please?”

It was your turn to fight back a moan as you gazed down at him, the dim moonlight illuminating his features in the most hauntingly beautiful way possible.

“God yes.”

At your answer, Spencer found the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your thighs with a newfound urgency. You rolled off of him, ignoring his whine as you shimmied out of them.

“Well? Aren’t you going to take your pants off?” You arched a brow, motioning to his still-clothed lower body with a sly grin.

Spencer was frozen, his kiss-swollen lips parted as he stared at your now completely naked body. You hadn’t been wearing any panties under your shorts, a revelation that had him almost cumming on the spot. Blinking, his mouth opens and closes a few times before his brain finally catches up.

He hurriedly shoved the plaid fabric of his pajamas pants down, kicking them off the end of the bed along with his boxers. “There,” he whispered, moving to hover above you. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours once more.

A shocked gasp caught in your throat as his fingers found your core, running up and down your slit to collect your wetness before dipping into your folds. A groan rumbled against your lips as he pressed a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out slowly as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit.

“You like that?”

His question wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t arrogant. It was genuine curiosity, wonderment threaded through his hushed words as he pulled back to take in the sight of you underneath him. When you nodded, he grinned, kissing your forehead before whispering again.

“Can I add another?”

“Please do.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. He added the second digit, thrusting his fingers and curling them to try to find that small patch of nerves tucked away inside you. A smirk graced his lips when your back arched, the small cry leaving your lips letting him know he’d found it.

Your body writhed under his as he pounded his fingers into that spot, unrelenting in his mission to make you fall apart beneath him. He could feel your walls tightening, your wetness coating his hand as you neared the edge.

“I-I’m—Spence!”

Your legs thrashed, your eyes squeezing shut and hands gripping the sheets as you came hard. Spencer watched, his gaze reverent as he slowly pumped his fingers, coaxing you through your orgasm.

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your open mouth. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Trembling, you let out a breathy laugh as you finally opened your eyes. “Fuck, Spence. C’mere.” You pulled him down, threading your fingers through his hair with a dopey smile.

He settled between your spread legs, his breath hitching as his hard cock pressed against your thigh. “I… um…” His eyes fluttered shut as you angled your hips, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. “I didn’t bring any protection—“

“I’m on birth control, sweetheart. And I’m clean. Does that work for you?”

Spencer groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck and nodding against your warm skin. The idea of fucking you already had his knees weak. But fucking you raw? He felt like the most blessed man alive, favored by whatever entity existed.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to immediately cum as he sank into you, inch by devastating inch. The feeling was pleasure in its purest form. Redemption. Salvation.

A guttural groan ripped its way from his throat as he bottomed out, panting into the crook of your neck as your fingers carded through his hair. Everything about you felt perfect. Too perfect.

“I won’t last long. I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured sheepishly, lifting his head to look at you. His cock twitched at the sight of you, all flushed and spread out beneath him. He gave a tentative thrust, moaning at how your body seemed to grip him, pulling him back in as if he belonged there. He’d spend forever inside of you if he could.

You shushed him, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “That’s okay, baby. Don’t apologize,” you reassured him, dragging your nails gently down his back.

He shivered, swallowing hard before nodding. His hips began to move, slowly at first before his control dissolved completely. His hips began rutting into yours, the lewd sound of skin against skin filling the air between pants and moans.

Within minutes, Spencer was trembling in your arms, his pace faltering. You brushed his hair back from his face, a satisfied smile lingering on your face as you looked up at him through hooded lids.

“That’s it, Spence. You’re doing so good. Made me feel so good, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

Spencer’s hips jerked at your words, his mouth falling open around a moan as he filled you with everything he had. He swore his vision gave out for a second, replaced instead with explosions of color behind his eyelids. His chest heaved as he gulped down air, rolling off of you with a quiet groan before flopping onto the bed beside you.

Once he’d caught his breath, Spencer leaned over to press a kiss to your temple before urging you to get up and go pee. You whined, shoving him away playfully and grumbling the entire ten steps it took for you to reach the bathroom (and flipping him off when he cackled at your awkward waddle to try to prevent his cum from dripping down your legs and onto the floor).

Figure in the corner I can't quite see

I just know the shadow's staring at me

It gets closer, it gets closer, it gets closer now

When you returned, Spencer opened his arms, pulling you into them and whispering about how thankful he was for you and how, now that he had you, he’d never let you go. He peppered soft kisses along your jawline, then across your cheeks, murmuring about how beautiful you were as you dozed off against his chest.

For once, he finally didn’t feel the gnawing craving that usually chipped at him throughout the day. He finally felt like he could breathe.

Figure in the corner laughing at me

Water fill my lungs, vision blurry

Heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower, heartbeat slower

Lying there with you, holding you in his arms and cradling your body against his, he finally felt at peace. So much so that when he started to drift off, he didn’t panic like he usually would. No.

Instead, he simply pulled you closer, finally allowing sleep to take him. Because he knew if his demons came back to haunt him at any point during the night, you’d be right there beside him, fighting them with him.

Voices will tell me that I should carry on

Continued A/N’s: I’m a dumbass and accidentally fell asleep without setting an alarm so I’m posting this just a little later than I want to but here it is!! :’) Again, I hope you guys enjoyed 🫶🏼 -K

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x BAU!reader #Spencer Reid x self insert #Spencer Reid x fem!reader smut #Criminal Minds smut

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stomdomjock · 5 months ago

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Nick was a little surprised when he got the call that he landed the job at one of the top marketing firms in town. He had a few years of experience and had graduated from a good school with excellent grades. The interview had gone well, but they said they had a lot of applicants. The company had really exploded in representing social media influencers and they were looking for marketing strategists.

Or, so Nick thought...

The lobby seemed to be filled with a lot of other guys, all of them saying they were also new hires waiting to be onboarded. Someone called his name and asked him to follow him.

"First, we need to take a photo for your ID access badge. Look right here at the camera and..." *flash* "Great now a couple more..." *flash* *flash* *flash* "And now arms up and flex for me..." *flash*

With every flash, Nick felt his mind being wiped clean. He felt his body seem to freeze in place as he flexed. A crew of people undressed him and put him in a tank top and baseball cap. His body seemed to grow and change too as someone tapped on their tablet.

"Ok, Nick -- we are just about done -- you're new role with the company is as a online fit-fluencer with over a million followers -- you won't keep most of the profits, but then again, you won't realize what's happening all that much. A couple more flashes and you'll know everything you need to know about this important account for our firm. Welcome to the team!"

*flash* Nick lowered his arms and rubbed his eyes a little bit. Where was he? Why was he here? Then he remembered, he had to hit the gym and make some content for his followers.

#muscle tf #muscular jock #jock tf #brainwashing #dumb jock tf #dumb jock

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fflrrrtt · 8 days ago

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Recognition

(Pro-Hero Bakugo Katsuki x Reader)

Synopsis: After years of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights in medical school and residency, you’re offered the chance of a lifetime: a position as a physician in Japan. With the public interest in healthcare on the rise, the elite Medical Unit has just been established, and you don’t hesitate to accept.

You have a one-track mind: to excel. It’s expected. It’s career-focused. No distractions…until you cross paths with a certain blonde.

(total chapters: approx. 5): One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Note: This is highkey inspired by a post I read from @azzo0 where reader's a med student and I want to explore this profession for this short-chapter fic I'm cooking. I also want to take this time to say that reading the works of @ofmermaidstories , @andypantsx3 , @willowser , and @thetrashywritingwitch for literal YEARS actually pushed me to brush-off my writer's block and cultivate my writing skills. So if you see this, tysm muah <3 - from a not-so-popular fic author.

Enjoy!

“Pro Hero Dynamight surged from rank 15 to 5!” The newscaster’s voice was loud and proud, and the sounds of explosions could be heard from the television placed on the wall. Then, the screen pans to a familiar green-haired man, One for All Hero, Deku, speaking gently to the cheery live reporter as Dynamight stood by him, brooding as usual. It was the aftermath of a villain fight—a quick fight at that.

“They really got the public hooked, huh?” Dr. Miyano says before she shoves rice and curry into her mouth using the spoon she bought at a merchandise store, it was a minimalist design of Creati. The cafeteria was filled with chirpy health professionals—some were talking to each other, some watching TV, and some were ready for seconds as they stood up, went back to the cafeteria line, and already dished out their debit cards and IDs to be scanned.

“I’m not surprised,” you remarked, sloshing the ready-to-go glass of coffee you just ordered at the vending machine. Ever since the new generation of heroes rose, the crime rate plummeted and, of course, the heroes gained a shit ton of popularity, especially the U.A alumnis because they played key role in defeating Shigaraki and All for One, “they literally saved Japan and the whole world by extension.”

Lunch went by in a blur—literally because it’s only a 30-minute duration. You and Miyano walked into the physician’s lounge, greeting coworkers and putting the now-empty bentos in your respective lunch bags. “You think we’re gonna meet them?” Dr. Miyano says aloud, zipping her lunch bag.

You snide, “yeah, we’ll meet them one on one if we’re…A, we’re in the middle of a villain attack. B, we’re tending to them, and C, one of us is in the Medical Unit, which is a competitive sector. Totally easy.” you fix your white coat and apply lip gloss—you gotta atleast look presentable even though you were running on only two hours sleep from the damn graveyard shift you took last night. “Alright, I’ll see you later.” At that, you left the room to do your patient rounds, prescribe medicine in doctor appointments, and the like.

After your afternoon shift, you headed to a nice cafe—to unwind and do a quick email browse before you shut your damn brain off. Upon entering, you were met with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, calming your nerves. Soft jazz plays in the background as guests sink into plush chairs, sipping lattes and chatting beneath shelves lined with well-loved books. You greeted the barista, flashing a curt smile before stating your order, and this time, you added a pastry—you know, just to treat yourself after your tiring shift.

Sitting on a comfortable plush chair, you bring out your laptop, turn it on, and start browsing through your emails, double-checking to ensure you don’t miss a single damn thing. A notification popped up from your calendar: GUN SHOOTING RANGE at noon this Saturday. An open tab of an online shop that you’ve been browsing last night. Rubbing your eyes, you look out the window in thought. It’s easy to get burnt out when you overwork yourself, which you knew ever since you chose to be in pre-med during your undergraduate years. You honestly thought of being a hero, entering as a hero medic, but it was just never for you.

A familiar barista approaches you, holding a tray of your order, breaking you out of your stupor. You smile again as he places them on the cool wooden table. “Thanks. How’s the college thus far, Ben?” you ask.

“It’s ok! The Japanese literature class is lowkey kicking my ass.” he says, rubbing the back of his head, “Kinda started to question the major I chose, but how about you, doc? I remember you briefly brought up a Medical Unit application.”

Oh my fuck. I was literally avoiding to think about this shit, damnit. You’ve been doing a great job suppressing this feeling of what? Butterflies? No—it’s maggots, definitely. You stirred your drink, taking a sip to act unaffected, “It’s going to be released tomorrow.” You say as cool as a cucumber, but mentally? Oh girl, your mind is doing laps.

“Well, you’ll definitely get in! You’re one of the hardest-working doctors I’ve met. That’s not me trying to mooch off of you or anything. I’m just being truthful,”

“Thanks. I hope.” The conversation ended when one of his coworkers called his name, leaving you alone with your thoughts and idling laptop. After a while, you left, seemingly satisfied with the quick relaxation you had using public transit to head home.

The sun begins to set, coloring the sky a dark hue, and the stars start to fill up space, shining bright as you pressed a code to enter the condominium building. The place is neither super luxurious nor janky. Your condo is simple, yet spacious and affordable. Your mom really did make sure that you’re financially literate. You changed out of your work clothes, followed your nightly routine, and not giving a damn about the outside world. It didn’t take long for you to drift to sleep minutes after taking a melatonin pill.

“Ma, you don’t have to worry a goddamn thing. I’ll take care of it,” you grumble, phone placed by your ear, walking out of the train station with purpose, it’s early morning and your back hurts from the fuck ass mattress you slept on last night “I’ll pay for my little brother’s tuition. All I want from you is to relax! Goodness sake, I know you’re handling grandfather’s business, and it’s stressful. Just don’t worry about—” A public commotion cuts you off, “I’ll call you later.” You hang up, eye twitching because the short route you always go to is filled with crowds of people. It’s literally 7 am..what could be happening now?!

“Red Riot!! We love you!!” a man screams, people gushing over the unbreakable hero. The two police cars are there to put the handcuffed villain in the vehicle.

Red Riot chuckled, and you could just sense the signature panty-dropping shark-toothed grin he’d show to the public. Hell, even guys admit they have a crush on this guy and bought the Red Riot-themed calendar. As much as you would like to see the hero in person, you have work to do, so you briskly walk to a different path. “Hey, miss!” his voice was loud, and you thought none of it until you felt a tap on the shoulder. You turned around, and lo and behold. The hero stands before you. He’s tall as hell, clad in his hero uniform, “Oh..uh, doc, you dropped this.” he hands you your condo key.

Your brain buffered for a quick second, “Thanks,” you took the key, “I didn’t notice.” “It’s okay!” he smiles, and it looked like he was expecting something from you, but eventually settled with, “hope you have a great day!”

“Yeah. You too..!” You walked away while the crowd went even wilder. You missed the way Dynamite arrived at the scene, red piercing eyes glancing at you before calling out to him in a raspy voice.

And at the physician’s lounge? You were surrounded by your colleagues, asking so many questions about your interaction with the hero. “Omg, what was he like?”

“He’s so damn fine. Did you take pictures with him? An autograph?”

“Did you ask for his number?” “I would sell my kidney for him.”

You admitted that you didn’t ask him for anything and just expressed appreciation for picking up your house key. Of course, they clowned you, but you just laughed it off. However, the atmosphere soon shifted as everyone received a message from the medical director’s assistant about a meeting. Your heart dropped outta your ass as everyone hurried to the big meeting room, feeling excited, nervous, and curious.

Once everyone is situated, the well-esteemed director, Dr. Lee, stands unwavering at the podium. That alone has every health professional sit up and take notice. His eyes were sharp behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Good Morning. As you are all aware, the Medical Unit has announced the results for the top three ‘pillars’.” He paused for dramatic effect, and it didn’t fail. Everyone stilled; it was pure silence. You seriously heard someone gulp behind you, and you fight the urge to bite your fingernails. Fuck.

“And I’ve received a memo that one of you was chosen out of the thousands of applicants across Japan,” he continues, “It is commendable and we couldn’t be any prouder.” his assistant comes up to him, handing a small envelope. The silence stretches, and the tension is palpable. You literally felt all your senses shutting down like you’re astral projecting. “The Medical Unit is a new sector that integrates medicine in not just the hero world, but also the general, support, and management courses. This cultivates an expansive understanding.” The rest of Dr. Lee’s explanation of the Medical unit became static to you, in exchange of mulling over your brave choice of applying.

It’s not like you’re not confident in your abilities. Hell, you managed to get into a top medical school. You’re well-rounded and you know the ropes. You’ve dealt with the real shit outside academics, molding you into a strong professional that you are today…It’s just that sometimes those intrusive thoughts have their way of making you overthink and compare yourself to others. Are your credentials enough? Is this laughable? Are you stupid for believing that you have a shot at this? All you want is to excel in life and thrive. Maybe be someone in this world. Make a mark that influences those around you…

All of your thoughts dissipated when you felt a nudge on your arm from Miyano, “Dude. dude.”

“..huh?” You blinked, and all of a sudden, you felt all eyes on you, including the medical director, whose eyebrow was raised. Your eyes dart everywhere, making eye contact with everyone. “I assume you’re Dr. L/N.” Dr. Lee’s voice echoes.

“Yes. I am,” you said aloud, not showing any weakness. Eyes resolved. Posture assertive and ready, bracing yourself to be told that you’re rejected from the Medical Unit.

“Congratulations.” And that was not something you’re ready for.

Thank you for reading! Oh and I totes enjoy feedback, asks, anything!!! Keep an eye out for updates! Oh and if anyone wants to be added on my tag list, lmk!!! My ao3 is flrtt

#bakugo x reader #mha x reader #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bhna x reader #post-chapter 431 #pro-hero Bakugo Katsuki

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strwberrybils · 25 days ago

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BUT I'M A CHEERLEADER! with billie eilish.

୧ ‧₊˚ you have what most would consider a perfect life. beauty, brains, and a wild talent for cheerleading. all you were missing was the perfect partner-- and you should like this boy in your english class, the one with pretty brown eyes and soft skin, but you find yourself longing for something that's completely different-- the basketball player with long hair and a mean attitude. billie.

pairings and aus: ball player!billie eilish 𝑥 cheerleader!fem!black reader

warnings. clichés everywhere. based off of the movie 'but i'm a cheerleader', though it's pretty general plot. swearing. drugs and alcohol. suggestive content. the ending is a little dookie sorry…anyways!

gabi's quick thoughts. i'm so back with writing and i'm sooo pumped about it! i'm gonna be making a wip post so stay tuned for that hehe i'm trying to be a bit more organized

word count: 10k

masterlist ‧₊˚ taglist

“CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” your teammate and best friend squealed in your ear beside you, the sound of ruffling pom-poms filling your ears, your head shaking as you let out a soft chuckle. the pair of you kept treading down the hallway as lilia spoke, “we’re playing against the tigers for the first time! the tigers, y/n. you know they only let the best teams in LA play them– isn’t that wild?”

“no, it definitely is,” you hum in agreement, your feet trailing over to your locker as your eyes thinned into slits, focusing on the combination that you’ve forgotten one too many times. lilia rests on the locker next to yours as you swing the door open, replacing your chemistry books for stat ones. when lilia sees the over, it coaxes a groan out of her. “fuck, i forgot we’ve got a test in there today. did you take notes?”

“just sit behind me.” you pretend to be annoyed, but you didn’t really mind all that much. between you and your best friend, you were more math oriented, and she, more history focused. you wouldn’t say you necessarily favored the idea of cheating, but if it was going to keep you excelling in mr. evans’ rigorous government class, you were going to do what had to be done.

you didn’t accept falling short in anything. in your appearance, you’d spend hours perfecting your curls in the mirror or spending more than you’d like to on braids, parts clean and long-lasting. you’d spend your saturday afternoons winding down from cheer competitions and grabbing matcha with lilia, bria, and tori, the four of you getting facials or your nails done as well.

in your sports and hobbies, you definitely didn’t accept being anything but first. you were cheer captain on both competitive and sideline levels, leading the team in cheers at the friday night games and on saturdays the following morning.

in academics, you pushed to have at least a ninety-five in every class, and you excelled. your parents were more than proud of you, alongside your teachers, who granted you pretty much any academic award that could be given. honor roll, top of the class, most likely to get accepted into an ivy league– you were literally handed it all.

and although you didn’t necessarily ask for it, it landed you quite a bit of attention in school. girls longed to be friends with you, especially because of your bubbly and likeable character. you weren’t rude to anyone unless you were pushed severely, but it was rare that it would ever take place, and it hadn't just yet. boys constantly tried to see which one of them would be able to at least take you out on a date, but you would always let them down slowly.

except for once.

just a few days prior, a sweet football player named isaiah had come up to you after the last class of the day, only mere seconds after the bell had rung. you were grabbing your cheer clothes and making your way to the aux gym when he had stopped you in the hallway.

“excuse me? y/n?” he had asked you, voice a bit scratchy, but in an endearing sort of a way. you stopped in your tracks and flashed a sweet smile, “hey isaiah! what’s up?”

there was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you, and you assumed he was trying to find the right words to say to you, like he hadn’t really thought this all through in his head. or maybe he did– and was just a little more nervous now.

you took the opportunity to give him a good look. you knew of him, and had quick, short-lived conversations after football games or a rigorous test after english class, but that was pretty much the only time you’ve had face-to-face interactions with him. you did know that his father was the principal and his mother was on the school board, which would usually be used as an assumption to him being some sort of preppy asshole, but he was a lot like the opposite. sweet, smart…all the things that you had in common.

he wasn’t too bad looking, either. he had thick black curls, which fell perfectly, adorning his soft chocolate eyes. he had thick, plump lips that always half-smiled whenever he talked, and had beautiful dark skin, embroidered with patches of lighter skin that freckled over his face.

you clocked out of your staring when he spoke, “i saw you at the game the other night, doing all those flips and things.” a chuckle passed through his lips as he scratched the back of his neck, and you shared his offer of laughter, nodding at his statement. “yup, that’s my speciality.”

“it’s cool,” he says, and the silence between his statements are shorter now. “no pressure– but i just wanted to say that i thought– well, i still think– that you’re really beautiful, and if you were down for it, it’d love to take you out on a date?”

you were reluctant to answer. you hadn’t really ever seen isaiah in that way initially, but you didn’t really have an excuse as to why you couldn’t say yes. he was respectful, good-looking, and insanely well-rounded. so you flashed a sweet smile at him and accepted his offer, and he had walked you to cheer practice after that.

your date was scheduled for tomorrow, and you were feeling only half-excited about it. he planned to pick you up at 6 o’clock for dinner, and instructed you to wear something pretty formal. you still didn’t know what you were wearing, mainly because you honestly forgot you were even going on the date. but your girls had insisted on coming over for a sleepover tonight after the game to prep you and help you with your outfit, and it was also a good excuse to hangout with each other.

the one-minute warning bell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, and lilia starts to walk the other way to her own classroom, blowing you two kisses before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway. you mimic her actions and start towards the english classroom, which is what you had before lunch, followed by the upcoming math test.

you speedwalk on the way there, as you only have now less than sixty seconds to get to class, but as you’re walking, your feet cross, stepping on an untied shoelace of yours, and your books fly out of your embrace and onto the floor– and you follow them. your face hits the floor hard and you wince out, biting your lip to avoid screaming out of pain. your hands slide against the floor to raise yourself up off of the ground, and as you look up, your eyes are met with a pair of pristine and polished jordan’s.

as you stand up, you see a hand reach out, and you grab it, the person’s strength almost completely lifting you in the air. you dust off your true religion jeans and look up, and you lock eyes with a girl.

billie o’connell.

you haven’t ever really talked to her, but you did know that she was on the girls’ basketball team– a star player, in fact. she was the reason your school had the best girls’ varsity team in the whole county, quite literally undefeated. you also knew that she was always outside on the bleachers during lunch, either writing in her sketchbook or smoking, which the school board basically let her get away with, because she got suspended so many times that they no longer cared what she did, as long as no teacher for administrator outright saw it.

she lets out a small chuckle as she finishes helping you out of your dismay, “you okay, dude? you’re bleeding a little.” she points to her own chin to show you the spot.

you tapped the same spot on your own chin, pulling back and examining your finger– and sure enough, there was blood. only a little, but it was still there. but you didn’t really care all that much, what you cared about was her.

you studied her for a couple seconds longer than you’d really like to admit. she had her hair thrown into a simple yet sleek ponytail, clad in clothes that were so big, two of you’s could probably fit in them. she had on black jorts and a boxy white tee that peeked out underneath her playboy hoodie, paired with blue and white jordan’s that didn’t have a single mark on them. she had on a few silver necklaces and rings, and a tattoo that peaked out of her shirt. you literally couldn't take your eyes off of her.

“yo? you good?” billie questioned you, and the ringing bell followed right behind her statement. you scrambled for your books and darted right past her, yelling a ‘thank you’, though it’s sound disappeared as quickly as you did.

you quickly approached your classroom and opened the door, and everyone’s eyes gravitated towards you. most people looked surprised, because in all of your years of high school, never have you been late to class.

“miss l/n, do you have a slip or note to excuse your tardiness?” your english teacher asks, and embarrassment courses within you, your hands shaking as you fumbled to find the words. “um,” you started, feet shifting, “i’m so sorry, mrs. dalton– i fell in the hallway and dropped all of my books, a-and that’s how i got this–” you pointed to the spot on your chin that still appeared red, and of course, your teacher believed you. she nodded and instructed you to take a seat, and that she would excuse you.

you thanked her under your breath and sat in your usual seat, which was right next to isaiah. his eyes were pasted on you with every move that you made– putting your bag down, slipping into the seat, grabbing your utensils for class– his gaze never left you the entire time. you noticed it out of your peripheral, and for some reason, it made you slightly uncomfortable. the way he was looking at you wasn’t necessarily the issue, it was just the fact that he was looking at all.

but you don’t focus on him. you sit up straight and rest your head in your palm, eyes boring into the chalkboard before you as you try to concentrate on whatever mrs. dalton is blabbing on about, but for the first time, you physically can’t. your mind is racing, and mrs. dalton’s voice is muffled behind the thick fog in your mind, the kind that doesn’t roll away no matter how hard you squint or straighten your posture or fiddle with the cap of your pen. your page is mostly blank, except for the faint blue indent of where you pressed the tip too hard, zoning out halfway through writing the date and your name in big, neat cursive lettering. your hand rests near the bottom corner of your notebook, still trembling a little from earlier– and not from the fall, but from her.

you hadn’t even spoken to her before, but billie o’connell felt loud in your head, banging with bold print and underlined twice.

you blink down at your page and try to remember what mrs. dalton’s talking about– something about motifs, maybe tone–? but your brain is stuck on the slight rasp in billie’s voice. the way she looked at you when she said you were bleeding. it wasn’t concern like most people gave you, the type laced with pity or panic– it was observational. matter-of-fact. you’re bleeding. like she was just stating it so you’d know. like she noticed things, and maybe she noticed you.

you shift in your seat, subtly, suddenly aware of your pulse thudding under your skin. you hadn’t expected her to be that gentle. you had never really spoken to her, but people always rumored that she was mean and non-confrontational, often full of one-liners and slick comments to teachers and students alike.

however, everyone always did say that she was pretty, but that was it. no one ever made comments beyond baseline beauty, but what you saw in her was something that surpassed the vague word of mere conventional looks.

she was… captivating.

a little disheveled, but intentional about it. soft around the eyes, though the rest of her was something much rougher, though equally ethereal. she had tattoos that you probably weren’t supposed to notice because they peeked out just beneath the fabric, like they were secrets only the lucky ones got to see.

and her hands. sweet mother of pearl, her hands.

you’d felt her palm curl around yours when she helped you up, and it stayed with you– how stupidly strong she was, but not rough at all. your fingers felt swallowed by hers in a way that should’ve made you feel small, but instead made you feel held.

your gaze drops to your hand, now wrapped loosely around your pen.

you wonder if her skin was as warm as you remember, or if your brain just made it up to keep the moment longer. you were honestly so wrapped in her– in her gaze, her touch, her beauty– that it made it extremely difficult to remember what actually happened. had you imagined it all?

you okay, dude?

you replay it again, and again, and again, the syllables etching themselves into the softest part of your memory. it was only three words, but they oozed with something that surpassed surface level care. it was like she was actually somewhat worried about you, and based on what others have said, that didn’t exactly match her stoic persona.

“miss l/n?”

your eyes dart up instantly. mrs. dalton is looking directly at you, arms crossed, chin tilted, eyebrow arched in that way that means she knows you weren’t paying attention, and she’s clearly trying to catch you in a question that she thinks you won’t have the answer to.

but you’re smarter than that.

“can you tell me what the author is trying to imply in the second stanza?”

you blink once. twice. then lower your gaze to the open textbook on your desk. the paragraph is highlighted from last week– yellow and bright and sloppy because you’d been talking to lilia while you did it, but still, it’s readable. and even though you weren’t fully tuned in just now, the answer is already there in your brain, tucked neatly between test prep and cheer choreography.

“he’s using metaphor to describe guilt,” you say calmly, “he feels responsible, but he’s not ready to admit it out loud. so he masks it in language about weather. storms and thunder. stuff like that.”

a couple snaps come from mrs. dalton, and she gives you a bright smile, satisfied with your answer. “correct. nice job.”

you give a tight-lipped smile and look back down at your notes, scribbling the date again just to look busy, to at least pretend that you’re paying attention so that you can retreat back to your comfortable daydreaming. but as you write, that uncomfortable feeling returns– that gaze.

it’s isaiah’s.

“you didn’t even hear the question,” he whispers, leaning over slightly, but you already heard him. you wonder if he does that to mask the fact that he just wants to be close to you. “how’d you still get it right?”

you shrug, keeping your eyes forward. you’re not trying to be mean, but you were thinking of other things that had nothing to do with him, “i dunno, i honestly just remembered it from last week’s lecture.”

he chuckles under his breath, clearly amused, and you can feel the heat of his attention on the side of your face, and it’s not appealing to you at all.

“you’re like, scary smart. for real. i need you to teach me that sometime.”

“mm,” you hum, giving a faint nod of acknowledgment, but that’s all you offer up. out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s finding something to say to keep the conversation going, but it’s quiet for a second, and honestly, you would prefer for it to be that way.

but of course, isaiah being isaiah, he doesn’t give up yet. there’s a beat of silence before he tries again, this time, his voice a little more inquisitive, like he’s just trying to get even another small conversation out of you.

“you okay, though? you hit the floor pretty hard.”

you turn your head a fraction, just enough to give him a polite smile. it’s not necessarily a fake one, but you wished that he would just catch the hint that you weren’t really in the mood, “yeah i’m good! just really clumsy.”

he laughs a little at that, then nods like he doesn’t really know what else to say, and turns back toward the front.

you feel bad, sort of. he’s being sweet. and he was cute, if you were looking at it from an objective standpoint– but sweet and ‘attractive to most’ feels hollow right now. it’s not the kind that sticks, not the kind that really resonates with how you truly feel in the inside.

and it’s definitely not like billie.

you shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. not when you have a date tomorrow. not when isaiah is sitting literally right next to you, being soft and kind and trying to get you to talk, which you usually did, so he probably thought something was off.

but something in you is already detaching, floating a little higher in your mind, to that moment in the hallway where everything felt different. it’s nothing like you’ve had with isaiah, as those experiences were always so short-lived and bland. it wasn’t like you hated them, but the spark was only half-there. like if you thought about it hard enough, you’d feel it a little bit. but with billie, she had only said nearly ten words to you, and you were already falling. literally.

you couldn’t stop thinking about when her fingers wrapped around yours and you forgot where you were for a second. when she looked at you, really looked, and you didn’t have to smile or perform or remember how to be perfect. your face had already told on you.

you trace the rim of your water bottle with your finger. tonight was the big game, and varsity cheered for both the girls and guys’ team, meaning that you would be cheering for her tonight.

before today, that hadn’t even crossed your mind. you would habitually cheer when she made a point like she always did, but at the game later on, you’d be thinking about it much differently. you’d be excited when she scored, and not just for the team or for your school, but for her and her alone.

class stretches on, and you feel like you’ve been sitting in there for five hours with how many thoughts were crossing your mind. and when the bell finally rings, you’re practically the first one out the door, completely forgetting the fact that isaiah would always walk you to lunch afterwards. but you were dying to meet with your girls to tell them what happened, even if it was just a stupid and quick interaction.

you race to your table first, sitting down and taking out your lunchbox, placing it on the table and waiting patiently. you spot bria first, with her long dark hair and freckle cheeks, and she gives you a small wave as she smoothes out her skirt, sitting across from you.

“hey girl!” she squeals, taking out her own lunch, unzipping the box and pulling out her salad and juice box. she takes out the straw, “you’re here early. usually lilia’s the first one seated.”

“i’m itching to tell you guys something,” you remark, looking up, and you see tori and lilia walking together, approaching the table. they honestly look like twins with their matching braids and outfits, which they claimed was completely unintentional. they both wore similar jewelry that shone against their dark skin, but lilia favored gold, while tori favored silver.

they eventually reached the table, lilia sitting right next to you as always, and tori right next to bria. you perked up immediately, and before they could even dig into their meals, you blurted out in excitement, “i need to tell you guys what just happened in the hallway before fourth period.”

“well, spill it.” tori spoke, dryly, but that’s just how she was, and you could tell she was interested because of the way she leaned in, face painted with inquiry. you leaned in as well, eyes shining, “so, y’all know that girl, billie?”

“o’connell?” lilia questioned, then gasped, “no, i heard she’s mean. did you get into an altercation? i’ll jump her if you want.”

you rolled your eyes at your best friend’s willingness to always get into some trouble, but you shook your head, lifting your hands in defense.

“no, no, it wasn’t like that. she wasn’t mean at all. matter a’fact, she actually… helped me?”

that’s what gets their attention.

bria pauses mid-stab of her salad while tori’s eyebrow lifts slightly, and lilia turns her whole body toward you, already completely invested in whatever you’re about to tell the trio.

“so i’m walking down the hall, right?” you start off, your voice picking up speed, “and i trip– like fully trip– because my shoes were untied and i hadn’t even realized, which, was very embarrassing. but i fall flat on my face, and my lip’s bleeding, my knee’s all busted up– like, it’s giving very much final destination.”

bria winces, “ow, girl. are you alright?”

“i’m fine, i’m fine,” you wave her off quickly, brushing over that part because the fall wasn’t the important part of your recap, “but anyways, billie was literally right there. like two feet away. and instead of just walking past me like everybody else does, she stopped. she crouched down and gave me her hand, like, helped me up, and asked if i was good.”

tori looks unimpressed, her mouth open, lips curling downward like she was expecting some more than that, and the rest of the group shares that exact same assumption. “and that’s it?”

you blink, “what do you mean that’s it? did you not hear what i said?”

“girl,” she scoffs, popping a grape into her mouth with a laugh, “you made it sound like she kissed you or something.”

“she basically did,” you mutter, crossing your arms, and they all burst into laughter at that.

“you’re ridiculous,” bria giggles, her nose scrunching as she sips at her juice box, “you’re seriously blushing right now. i can’t see it, but i feel it.”

“i am not!”

“are too,” lilia smirks, nudging your shoulder, and then she stops, throwing her hand over her mouth, “oh my gosh, you like her.”

“i don’t,” you lie, instantly, a little too fast, and they all catch it– how your voice pitched, how your eyes did that guilty flick down to your lunchbox like it was gonna save you from this little interrogation. it was all such a dead giveaway.

“uh-huh,” tori says flatly, pointing her fork at you accusingly, “that’s exactly what straight girls say right before they end up writing poetry about their roommates. fess up, girlfriend, you like her.”

“shut up,” you groan, dragging your palms down your face. “i’m not even like… into girls. she is pretty, but everyone can recognize beauty. that’s not a crime.”

“you sure you’re not into her?”

“yes,” you huff, even though it doesn’t feel entirely true coming out of your mouth. it used to, but you aren’t exactly sure on whether it still is applicable or not.

but then there’s billie, who makes the word sure feel like a lie you’ve been keeping from yourself, and from everyone else, too.

“whatever,” you mumble out, starting to pick at your food, your appetite vanishing, but you knew you needed to eat something before the game tonight, so you grabbed your fruit to snack on. “it wasn’t even like that. she was just being nice.”

“billie o’connell is not just nice,” lilia says, picking up a grape and tossing it in the air before catching it in her mouth, and the two girls before you let out little cheers. “she doesn’t even talk to people. like, at all. she’s all mysterious and aloof and scary– but in a hot way. if she touched me, i’d never shut up about it either. so i can’t necessarily blame you.”

“okay, see, thank you,” you say, gesturing wildly, “it was weirdly… intimate? but not, like, on purpose. just… i don’t know. her voice is raspy. and she had rings on. and tattoos. and her hands were so–” you stop yourself before you say “warm.”

bria squints at you, “mm-hmm. but you’re straight, right?”

you roll your eyes, “don’t start.”

“too late,” tori says, biting into a carrot stick, and lilia leans in closer, resting her chin on her palm.

“you think she’s gay?” she asks casually, like she’s just throwing it out there, and the other girls agree before you can even share your two cents.

“i don’t know,” you say truthfully, “probably. i mean, yeah? she has to be. but it’s harmful to assume things.”

bria nods in agreement, “yeah, i agree, but she gives those vibes. there was also a rumor a while back that she had a talking stage with some girl on the soccer team, and it’s still up in the air. could be a possibility.”

“but she dresses kind of artsy?” you murmur, tilting your head to the side, thinking, “like, what’s the word– androgynous, but still femme? i don’t know. she had paint under her nails, too.”

“paint?” lilia repeats, lifting her brows.

“she’s in ap art,” tori jumps in, “i have her first period. she paints, like, music related stuff. and naked people. always girls, might i add.”

“wow. hot, huh?” bria comments with a wink, and you snort.

but then– right on cue, as always, lilia leans her head on your shoulder, dramatic as ever.

“okay, but what about isaiah?” she sing-songs, dragging the name out like it’s made of glittery taffy, “aren’t you supposed to be going on a date tomorrow night? don’t cancel, i was ready to work my magic on that beautiful skin of yours.”

tori snorts, “i think she wants someone else to be working some magic on that beautiful skin of hers.”

you groan out, trying your best not to laugh as the other girls cackle at tori’s joke. you roll your eyes, “anyways, please don’t remind me about the date.”

“what do you mean ‘don’t remind me’? you’ve been dodging his advances for, like, months.”

“and i should’ve kept dodging,” you say under your breath, grabbing another strawberry and popping it into your mouth. you pause for a second, “i don’t know, girlfriends. he’s sweet. but it’s just– i don’t know.”

“you always say that, yet you’re the smartest girl in this whole school,” tori says, “what is it that you don’t know?”

you pause.

you think of the way isaiah looks at you, like you’re already his, and it makes you feel more sick than comforted. you think of the way he walks you to lunch, remembers your coffee order, holds open doors, sends you heart emojis in every text that bubbles against your screen.

you think of how he kissed your cheek after study hall and you felt… nothing. not even butterflies. maybe a moth– but nothing electric and fiery like you thought. the gesture was warm and you did appreciate it, but it made you feel more sickly than anything else.

you shrug, “he’s just not… exciting?”

“you want excitement?” lilia snorts at you, throwing a playful nudge to your shoulder, “girl, you hate risk. you cried when we skipped last period that one time.”

“that was different,” you mutter, but they all laugh again, and you try to force a smile.

because they’re right. isaiah is safe, comfortable, liked by your mom. has a stable haircut and goes to youth group and never forgets birthdays.

but none of that made your hands sweat. none of that made your breath catch or your stomach twist. none of that felt like billie.

you glance at your phone screen, tapping it to check the time even though you already know lunch isn’t over yet.

“you’re overthinking it,” bria says, softening her tone, her voice dripping with thoughtfulness, “just go on the date and have fun. i mean, worst case scenario, you get free food and a goodnight kiss.”

“but what if i don’t want the kiss?” you say quietly, almost repulsed. the kiss on your cheek was plenty, and you didn’t know if you could take being kissed on the lips by that man. no amount of his charm or ‘cuteness’ could make you feel a longing for that.

“then you don’t have to take it,” tori says, simple and honest, like she always is, “but you won’t know until you go. still, think about the fact that you get a free steak. that’s enough for me to go on a date with anybody."

you nod slowly, looking down, and the girls go back to their food, the conversation shifting to something else– grades, the upcoming game, whether or not ms. baker is secretly dating coach ramirez.

but you drift again, unintentionally, like you’ve been doing ever since you saw billie. no matter how loud the cafeteria is, how warm the sun feels on your back, how funny your friends are, your mind can’t help but keep wandering back to a girl with a raspy voice and paint-stained fingers, and how just being nice felt like the most significant thing anyone’s done for you in weeks.

after school, the cheer locker room is buzzing with the usual before-game chaos– giggles bouncing off the walls, the slap of sneakers against linoleum, the zip and tug of uniforms being wrangled on in a hurry. the air smells faintly of vanilla body spray and warm cotton from the dryers in the back, smoothing out the wrinkles of frilly skirts and fitted shells. your duffel bag sits half-unzipped by the bench as you peel off your hoodie, chatting idly with lilia, who’s beside you pulling her braids into a ponytail.

“practice better not be full-out today,” she groans, fluffing out her bow and tilting it so it’s in the middle, “my thighs still hurt from monday.”

you laugh, reaching into your bag and unwrapping a piece of gum, popping it into your mouth, “we’re good. coach said light conditioning before the game, remember?”

“coach says a lot of things,” bria chimes in from across the room, shimmying into her crop-top uniform with a dramatic sigh, “she told me i’d be back base, and now i’m spotting. my trust issues are growing.”

everyone laughs, and you lean down to tie your shoes, nodding along to the conversation, but not really listening all that much. your thoughts drift again, slowly, lazily– to earlier that day. billie’s voice was echoing in your head nonstop, trailing back to her tone, teasing but calm. that little smirk that she had painted on her face, the one that felt carved just for you.

you don’t even hear the lock room door swing open at first, but the sudden lull in conversation pulls your attention to the entrance.

it’s billie.

she’s wearing her usual black basketball hoodie, the one that has a big logo of the school’s mascot etched on it, though the design is a bit peeled and worn, hence her having it for all four years of high school. her sleeves are shoved up to her elbows, and a pair of loose basketball shorts hang from her frame, showcasing a thigh tattoo that you’ve never seen before. it’s a mid-sized dragon with it’s tail circling around into a spiral, and there’s writing underneath that you can't read due to distance. her hair’s pulled back into a half-up half-down style, a few strands falling into her face as she scans the room with an unreadable expression. in her hand, she holds a beat-up pair of sneakers– clearly gym shoes, judging by the fraying laces and worn soles.

“just grabbing something,” she mutters, more to the room than anyone in particular, though her eyes catch yours briefly– just a second, but it feels warm. direct.

you blink, straightening up a little too fast, “oh– hi.”

billie nods, “hey.” she takes a few slow steps toward the open cubbies, and you know it isn’t because she’s trying to grab her stuff– because the cubbies were only used by the cheerleaders. she’s closer to you now, and for some reason, she lingers, adjusting the shoes in her hands like she’s killing time.

lilia shoots you a look, eyebrows arched, and you can tell that she’s trying her best not to let out a laugh or a slick comment. bria bites down on her straw with a tiny smirk, sharing eyes with tori, and they both look away in hopes that they’re acting casual.

you try to act normal as she stands in front of you, and you never realized how tall she was until you were sitting down.

“you in the gym today?” you ask, reaching for your pom-poms even though you don’t need them yet, but you desperately needed something to toy with.

billie shrugs nonchalantly, “nah, just stopping by. forgot these earlier.” she taps the toe of one sneaker against the tile, “you guys got practice?”

“light one,” you say, suddenly hyper-aware of your uniform top and how short it feels now. it never felt as exposing until you were in front of billie. you tug it down a little bit, looking down at your hands, “nothing crazy.”

she nods again, looking at you a second longer than she probably should. she gives you a light smile, “well, cool. see you around.”

and just like that, she turns and walks out, door swinging shut behind her.

the moment she’s gone, lilia lets out the loudest gasp, “what was that?”

“that was a hello,” you say quickly, hoping to avoid any pestering from the three girls. now that they had seen how you acted in front of the blue eyed girl, it was only a matter of time before the teasing started up.

bria snorts, “no, that was billie o’connell giving you the eyes.”

“she so was,” lilia adds, nudging your shoulder, “why’d you sound all breathy when you said hey?”

“i didn’t sound breathy,” you mutter, cheeks heating.

“girl, you did,” bria teases, and you roll your eyes, “you said ‘oh– hey’ like she caught you in the act or something.”

“okay, first of all, shut up,” you laugh, trying to hide behind your water bottle as you take a sip, “second of all, it wasn’t like that. we just– talked earlier. so…”

“talked,” tori echoes, walking over from the mirror where she’s adjusting her lashes, “or flirted? that’s the real question.”

“nothing happened,” you insist, “i don’t even like girls. and if i did, it wouldn’t matter, because we didn’t flirt. just light and slightly awkward conversation, but i’m assuming that’s just the type of person that she is.”

tori raises a brow, “mm. if you say so.”

bria leans on the bench, smirking, adjusting the laces on her cheer shoes, “but if you did like girls, she’d be your type, no?”

you roll your eyes, but the answer’s already in your chest, blooming quietly. billie’s voice, billie’s smirk, billie’s stupid pretty face. the girls share laughter around you, and it’s too late to try to deny anything, “i mean, i guess? she’s… she’s kinda cool. and pretty.”

“‘cool’ is the understatement of the year,” lilia giggles, “i’d literally let her ruin my life.”

you laugh, shaking your head as you start to grab your own bow out of your bag, scooping your hair into a ponytail, “okay, well, she’s not gonna ruin anything. she just came in for shoes. y’all are just overly observant.”

“yeah, came in for shoes but left with your soul,” bria mutters under her breath, which earns her a slap on the arm from lilia.

you all finish getting ready, bopping along to one of your teammates’ playlists that’s blasting on the group’s shared alexa. you pop a squat in the mirror next to tori and fix your mascara, throwing some blush and lip gloss on before packing up your things and making your way to the gym.

it was a light practice today, just some simple stunts and sideline cheers to prep for the game. but the entire time, you were far from focused, but still present enough to where you didn’t miss any moves or let anyone fall out of a basket.

the thirty minutes you were in the gym felt like nothing, partially because you were so out of focus. you hardly noticed when the rest of your team starting rolling up the mats, already heading towards the main gym. the game started in thirty minutes, and for the first time in a while, you were more than excited.

friday night games always felt like a movie. but tonight was different.

the gym’s lit up in that hazy, golden kind of way– like you know something’s gonna become a great memory before it even starts. despite the game not even starting yet, the stands are packed, loud with screams and cheap stadium snacks, and the air is thick with perfume, sweat, and clean basketball shoes. you make your way down the bleachers, greeting everyone you know before joining with the rest of the squad, pom-poms glittering under the lights, your uniform fitting just right and your hair secured with three bobby pins you stole from lilia’s bag.

you stretch out your arms, bouncing on your toes to shake out the nerves. not that you’re nervous about the routine– you’ve done it a hundred times. but it’s more the eyes, the hope that she would be watching.

you haven’t seen her yet, but you know she’s here. of course, the star-player, always fashionably late, but there.

she always is.

suddenly, you’re more nervous than ever. your girls are right beside you, talking and exchanging jokes, but you feel like you’re on the verge of throwing up. you drop your poms and slip out the door that leads to the hallway, trotting towards the bathroom as you push the door open.

you assume that no one’s in there, so you stand in front of the mirror, letting out a few pants, trying to bring your breathing back to a steady level. you’re interrupted by a buzzing in your jacket pocket, and you fish your phone out to look at the notification.

it’s isaiah, and you feel your eyes involuntarily roll, scanning the message over.

[isaiah, 6:03 pm]: i came to the game tn to watch you cheer, you’re gonna kill it :D

[ isaiah, 6:04 pm]: i brought you a little something too <3

you don’t respond, already finding an excuse to make up if he asks you why you didn’t text back, and as you put your phone in your pocket, you hear the bathroom door swing open, and you already know who it is before she even comes in.

“oh, hey y/n,” billie waves as you look up, and your eyes lock immediately. you give her a smile, “hi, billie. aren’t you supposed to be warming up?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” she chuckles lightly, running a hand through her ponytail, “but no, i am. i just had to use the bathroom, hence why i’m in the bathroom.”

that makes you laugh, though it isn’t really all that funny. there’s an interlude of awkward silence before you speak up, “i like your tattoo,” you point to her bare thigh, “it’s cool.”

“ah, thanks,” billie flashes another smile, but it’s different this time. like what you said actually made her happy, not just something routine. it makes your heart twist. “you got any?”

you shake your head, “no, but i want a few. i’m just scared of needles.”

billie nods understandingly, moving her feet towards a stall as she pushes the door open, “i get that…oh– i’m having a little party after the game, nothing huge, but…you should come.”

with that, she closes the door and locks it shut, and you can hear the shuffling of clothes behind the door, and you take that as your cue to leave. your heart is pounding as you walk back into the gym, finding your spot and removing your jacket, setting it against the wall.

you take a deep breath and scan the bleachers once. twice. third time, your eyes catch on a grey hoodie halfway up the stands, hood down, curls a little messy. isaiah’s sitting in the student section, one leg up on the bench, sitting next to a few other football players, sharing laughs. he’s got his usual giddy expression, sipping a sprite, barely paying attention to the game.

until he sees you.

and suddenly you feel like you’re not wearing anything at all.

you quickly turn away, cheeks hot, but not from embarrassment– from that weird, uncomfortable feeling that’s been following you around all week. you shake it off, twirl once to get back in focus, and pretend not to notice the way your heart jumps when you hear his laugh from across the gym.

“girl,” bria leans over, nudging your side with her elbow, “you see who’s in the stands?”

you play dumb, “who?”

“don’t be fake,” she grins at you, “your man is here. and he’s totally watching.”

“he isn’t my man,” you clarify, keeping your voice low, nothing above a whisper, “and i don’t really care if he’s watching. that’s what the audience does, they watch.”

“mmhm,” lilia hums from your other side, and you press your lips together and face the front again. they’re gonna make this whole game unbearable.

the whistle blows, and it’s time to start. you see billie and the rest of the girls’ team file out, and you cheer loudly for them as the game begins.

you go through the motions like you always do– smiling, shouting, high kicks and turns and jumps that all feel second nature now– but the whole time, you can feel isaiah’s eyes on you. or maybe you’re imagining it. either way, you wished silently that he wasn’t here, blocking him out of your vision and yelling out a cheer to start to distract yourself.

however, you focus on billie. she’s obviously playing, so it would be hard for her to look at you, but you hope that she find a way to, and you can almost feel her eyes when she scores in the basket right above you, the whole gym cheering as she runs back to the other side of the court. maybe you want her to look so bad your brain’s playing tricks on you, and she wasn’t actually looking at all.

at halftime, you make your way back to the edge of the bleachers, breathing heavy from the last round of stunts, sweat clinging to the back of your neck. you tug at the collar of your uniform and take a water bottle from the cooler, unscrewing the cap slowly like your body needs to calm down in steps.

you hear him before you see him, and you fight to make sure your face does have irritation written all over it.

“you killed it out there.”

you turn, heart jumping, and there he is– closer than you expected. closer than he should be. leaning against the railing that separates the track from the stands, his hoodie sleeves are pushed up, sprite still in hand, smirk still in place.

you blink harshly, “oh. thanks.”

his eyes drag over you lazily, but not in the way that you necessarily appreciate. you feel yourself getting mad– not at him, but the fact that you want him to go away so bad, yet he’s still standing before you. “you always look like that when you cheer?”

you raise an eyebrow, “like what?”

isaiah smiles widely, sipping from his cup, “absolutely gorgeous.”

your throat goes dry, and now you’re just fully irritated. you didn’t mean to be rude, but you didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. “well, thank you. that’s sweet.”

“you’re welcome.”

you don’t know what to say after that, so you look away, fingers tightening around your water bottle. the noise of the crowd dims behind the quiet between you two, and he eventually disappears back into the bleachers, which you thank the heavens for. you didn’t know how much longer you could pretend that you wanted him that close to you.

the buzzer warns that the game resumes in less than a minute, so you file back in line, and continue cheering and stunting, thinking back to the impromptu party that you were just invited to. you hadn’t really been to many parties, and especially not one of billie’s, but you were more than excited.

the game finally ends, and of course, your team ends up winning, even against the tigers. you and your girls share cheers and happy tears after the principal announces that you will be moving to the round of playoffs next week. the boys game ended up being canceled so everyone was released early, which you were more than excited about.

you and your girls are still in your triangle formation on the court when the announcement ends, crowd roaring behind you, bodies flooding toward the exit like waves breaking all at once. someone from the squad shrieks and jumps into your arms, and then lilia’s grabbing both your hands, twirling you in a little circle, all of you laughing breathlessly like your lives depend on it. for a second, nothing else matters but the glitter on your cheeks and the sweat in your collarbones and the way bria’s eyes shimmer when she screams, “we’re going to the playoffs, bitch!”

once things start to settle, you gather your things and start herding toward the locker room, your group trailing behind, reeling you in to take a couple selfies.

"y’all…" you say, voice light and a little coy, twisting the elastic on your wrist, “so, billie invited me to this lil afterparty she’s having.”

“no the hell she didn’t,” tori says first, eyes going wide, “shut. up. it’s tonight?”

“i’m not lying!” you laugh, glancing around like someone might overhear, “she invited me in the bathroom before the game. and yeah, it’s tonight. she said it would be after the game.”

“what kind of…” bria blinks with a laugh, “nevermind. but she wants you, girl.”

lilia clutches her chest dramatically, “this is giving strangers-to-lovers. i’m here for it, honestly.”

“okay, relax,” you say, still smiling though, “she just said it was something small, not a whole…full party.”

“babe,” bria leans in, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, “that girl has never invited someone to her aftergame hangs. ever. and you’re telling me she did it in the bathroom? alone? she wants you.”

you swat at her, but your cheeks are already warm, “can we just get changed before we miss it?”

“hell yeah, we’re going,” tori says, like it was her idea, “i’ve been dying to see what her house looks like anyway.”

“i bet it smells like weed and expensive perfume,” lilia adds.

“i bet she has a really good playlist playing on vinyl,” bria offers, “gosh, i think we’re more excited than you are, y/n.”

“okay, okay,” you laugh again, pushing open the locker room door as they trail behind you, “we’ll see when we get there, stop your gushing and let’s go.”

the locker room is buzzing with post-win adrenaline and perfume sprays, everyone peeling off uniforms and tossing hair into messy buns, your own body buzzing underneath your cheer skirt, a little on edge due to all the adrenaline. you change into your backup fit you stuffed in your gym bag earlier– a simple baby tee and low-rise jeans, your favorite earrings and a swipe of gloss, enough to look like you weren’t just sweating your ass off out in the gym.

bria’s in a micro skirt and an oversized jersey, lilia’s already brushing mascara on in the mirror, and tori’s still deciding between her jordans and her platforms.

“you nervous?” lilia asks, catching your eye in the mirror.

you shrug, lips parted like you might say more, but you don’t, instead, you fix your hair with the same bobby pin from earlier, “a little.”

“don’t be,” she says, giving your reflection a wink, “you’re hot and she definitely knows it.”

you let out a soft laugh, then sling your bag over your shoulder.

"alright. let's go."

the four of you make your way to your cars, and an unknown number sends you the address, which you assume is billie. you forward the text to the groupchat and pull off, playing faint music in the background. her house was only ten minutes out, so you and the rest of your group arrived pretty quickly.

lilia got there before you even though you left first, due to her always having a ‘need for speed’, as she would say. bria and tori filed out after the two of you, and you made your way to the front door and opened it.

the party was already in full swing when you stepped inside.

music thumped through the floorboards, some house remix of a song you only half recognized, and the scent of cheap weed and fruity drinks floated through the air like fog. someone brushed past you with a red solo cup in hand, yelling something to a friend over the beat, and you just blinked, taking it all in. the string lights wrapped around the living room ceiling cast a soft pink hue over everyone’s faces, and everything smelled like body spray and gum and heat.

lilia gave a low whistle, nudging your side. “okay, billie’s kinda goin’ all out for this to be ‘nothing huge.’”

“right?” bria chimed in, already pulling out her phone for a selfie, “we’re definitely not leaving before midnight.”

tori rolled her eyes, “we say that every time and still end up in bed by 11:30. the goody-two shoes leading the goody-two shoes.”

you laughed along with them, though you weren’t really paying attention– your eyes kept scanning the room, looking for her. you didn’t even know why. just... hoping. wondering if she’d find you first, and if you were being honest, you longed to see her again.

you were mid-scroll on your phone when someone tugged at your arm. you turned around, and your stomach dropped.

isaiah.

he wasn’t smiling. he wasn’t even trying to smile. instead, he looked angry.

“you didn’t come see me after the game,” he said, leaning down to talk near your ear, his voice was sharp, clipped, and full of fury, “you just dipped out on me. what the hell, y/n?”

you blinked, thrown off, and you had completely forgotten about the text that he had sent you while you were in the bathroom, “i didn’t mean to. i just... i got caught up. there was a lot going on and i–”

“seriously?” his eyebrows pulled together, cutting you off, “i waited on you. i brought you something and everything. you could’ve just told me if you didn’t want to see me, y/n, i get it. but i thought you were coming.”

you bit your lip, guilt crawling up your neck. you weren’t sure what exactly you should say right now, so you just told him, “i’m sorry.” but he scoffed, stepping in closer, and now you could smell the alcohol on his breath. he had been drinking.

his whole demeanor had changed, and if you didn’t like him before, you really didn’t like him now. your heart sped up when a few heads turned in your direction, nosily looking over to see what was going on between the two of you. the room didn’t exactly go completely silent, but it was enough to make your skin prickle.

“isaiah–” you started, but he didn’t let you finish. he leaned in fast, hand slipping around your waist, and kissed you. right then and there. right in the middle of the room, in front of everyone.

it happened so rapidly, and you didn’t even attempt to reciprocate. it felt disgusting, his mouth on yours, and you pulled away hastefully before things could escalate, from his side, at least.

it didn’t feel like a kiss at all. it wasn’t the kind that you hear about in the movies, the kind that makes your knees go soft or your chest bloom open. it felt wrong. forceful. disconnected.

and you knew, then, with absolute clarity, that this wasn’t what you wanted.

you gasped out, breath shaky, and stepped back away from him like you’d just touched something hot. isaiah’s eyes widened, and he started to apologize, but by the time he could get anything out, you were already weaving through the crowd, head ducked low, heart in your throat as you disappeared.

you didn’t even realize you were crying until you reached the top of the stairs.

your face felt tight and hot, your vision blurring at the edges. someone in the hallway asked if you were okay as you passed, but the music downstairs swallowed the question before it could even reach you, so you didn’t answer– or stop walking. you just kept trailing down the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall, searching for an unlocked door– somewhere quiet where people weren’t swapping spit or rolling joints.

you found a door on the right, and the doorknob turned easily under your palm, so you pushed it open without thinking.

it was billie’s room.

you recognized it instantly. the same messy tapestry hanging from the ceiling she'd once posted in a mirror selfie, the faint glow of a lava lamp in the corner, it was familiar to yo, though yo had never been in there before. the bed was unmade, blanket twisted in a half-circle like someone had just gotten up from it. it smelled like coconut lotion and incense and something that felt like comfort, so you eased up a little as you looked around, inspecting every little detail.

billie looked up from where she sat on the floor, cross-legged in front of a small record player, her hoodie sleeves rolled to the elbows and a vinyl halfway out of its sleeve. she blinked once, then frowned when she saw your teary eyes.

“hey…you good?”

you didn’t answer right away. you just shut the door behind you, backing into it like it was the only thing holding you up. you were breathing fast, and your cheeks were wet, and you could feel everything starting to fray inside you. you tried to prevent yourself from breaking down by offering billie a faux smile, but she wasn’t buying it.

“i– sorry,” you said quickly, swallowing, “i didn’t mean to just barge into your space like this, but i needed to get out of there.”

billie didn’t press you by asking questions or staring into you too long. she just scooted over, tapping the floor beside her.

“come here,” she said, voice calm, so you obliged. you walked over slowly, still a little in shock, and sat down beside her. your knees were nearly touching, but she didn’t lean in or move closer. she just waited on you to speak whenever you were ready.

you stared down at your hands and started, “he kissed me,” you said after a beat. your voice was quiet.

billie didn’t speak, she just let the words settle in, knowing that you had more to say whenever you felt up to it.

you exhaled, “isaiah. downstairs. he was mad i didn’t go see him after the game. like, really mad. like... making a scene about it.”

you felt your throat tighten again.

“i told him i was sorry, but he just looked at me like that wasn’t enough. like i owed him something for showing up tonight at all, even though we aren’t even dating.”

you blinked fast, a tear slipping down your cheek. you wiped it away with the back of your hand, embarrassed, but you kept going, “and then he just... kissed me. in front of everyone. and i didn’t stop him. not because i wanted to, but because…shit, i don’t know, i froze. it was like i wasn’t even in my own body. i just stood there. letting him do it. like an idiot.”

your voice cracked at the end, and you bit your lip hard, trying to hold it together.

“it felt gross. like... wrong. i literally felt like i was watching it happen in third person. and he pulled away like it was nothing, like that fixed everything, but all i could think was, ‘this isn’t me. this isn’t who i want.’”

you looked up at billie then, your eyes glossy, your voice barely a whisper.

“he kissed me and i didn’t feel anything. nothing. it was so…empty.”

billie still hadn’t spoken, careful not to interrupt, but you could see the shift in her expression– something warm rising to the surface.

“it’s like—” you breathed in slow, trying to explain the part that even you hadn’t admitted to yourself until now, but with billie, it felt easier. “i wanted to want it. to be normal. to be the girl who kisses the guy who likes her and feels something.”

you laughed bitterly, wiping at your cheeks, “but i didn’t. and it made me feel broken. or fake. or—”

“you’re not broken,” billie said quietly, finally, “and you’re not fake. you just didn’t want him. and that doesn’t make you wrong. you felt uncomfortable because he didn’t respect your no. even if you didn’t say it out loud, it doesn’t mean you didn’t say it. your body knew. your gut knew. and that matters. so fuck him– this isn’t your fault at all.”

you looked down, fingers twisting in the hem of your skirt.

“i think i like girls,” you said, finally, “like, i’ve known, i-i think. but tonight just... confirmed it. but i thought i couldn’t. i mean…girls are supposed to like boys, but to tell you the truth…i don’t. at all– but i thought i had to like them, to like isaiah because…well, because i’m a cheerleader. and that’s what we do.”

billie smiled, soft and crooked, “funny how that works.”

you glanced at her softly, “have you ever felt that way? like you’re pretending? or forcing yourself to like something?”

she nodded, “oh, yeah. for a long time actually, i did. but not anymore. i grew out of that.”

“what changed?”

“i stopped trying,” billie said simply, “i got tired of lying to myself, and the people that i loved. so, the second i started showing up as me, i realized i wasn’t actually alone. just... quieted down. suppressed underneath a fake me. you only get one life, so why would you spend it trying to be someone you're not?”

you leaned into her, your shoulder brushing hers, your head naturally falling against your shoulder.

“thank you,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed, your breaths finally beginning to steady out.

she nodded again, then looked at you– really looked, “can i… touch you?”

you blinked, heart stuttering. before you could even think, you spoke, “yeah.”

she reached up, brushing one of your braids from your cheek and tucking it gently behind your ear. her hand lingered at your jaw, thumb grazing the line of it, every outline and curve. and then, slowly, like she wanted to give you time to stop her, she leaned in.

and when her lips touched yours, it was soft. reverent. not performative or rushed or expected of you.

this wasn’t a boy trying to prove a point.

this was someone asking, and you were saying yes with your whole body.

when she pulled away, your foreheads rested together. you breathed in the same air and exhaled it when you shared a laugh. her hand came up to rub your hand, “you okay?” she whispered.

“yeah. now i am.”

billie sat back and opened her arms, “c’mere. get comfortable.”

you leaned into her, resting your head on her shoulder, letting her wrap you up in her hoodie and her warmth and whatever quiet truth existed between the two of you.

at some point, you both shifted onto the bed. not in any kind of romantic rush, but just a slow, natural gravitation toward comfort.

billie had her head propped up on a pillow, one arm around you while you laid on your side, facing her. her other hand rested on your waist, thumb tracing small, mindless circles over the fabric of your shirt.

the music downstairs had softened to a hum. muffled laughter and bass drifted through the floorboards, but it felt like a completely different realm than what was happening upstairs in billie’s tiny bedroom. in here, everything was hushed. calm.

you were both a little sleepy and quiet, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that’s awkward, just full of the things you already understand without needing to say them out loud.

you traced the seam of her hoodie with your finger, “this is your room.”

billie smiled lazily, “it is. my little habitat.”

“i didn’t think i’d end up in here tonight. or…ever, for the record. this wasn’t exactly on my bingo card.”

“me either,” she murmured with a giggle, “but i’m glad you did end up in here.”

you looked at her, and you swore everything else around you had slowed down. suddenly, you felt this urge– you wanted to tell her something. something real. something that had been sitting just beneath your tongue since she kissed you only hours ago.

“when you kissed me,” you started, voice barely audible, “it felt like...better than i could’ve imagined. it felt like what i’ve always wanted in my life.”

“good,” she whispered, smiling as she pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

you closed your eyes, the words slipping out before you could second guess them, “i think i’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time you said my name.”

billie doesn’t say anything, she just kisses you softly, letting your head rest on her shoulder as you pulled away and nustled in closer to her, fingers trickling over your skin lazily in big circles.

“well, why didn’t you?”

you let out a snort, looking up at billie as you smiled,

“because i’m a cheerleader.”

#gabi's works ‹𝟹 #billie eilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish imagines #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish fandom #billie eilish blurbs #billie eilish x black!reader #billie eilish x fem!black!reader

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briseroyawritingsblog · 9 months ago

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𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒆

𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒙 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒚𝒘𝒐𝒐𝒅!𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒍!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

• +18 minors do not interact. large age gap (young but legal) kissing, making out, mentions of sex, little praising, feelings, pet names. etc.

picture credits (ig: @forhjackman) / dividers by @anitalenia 🤍

𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 / 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

You’ve done this so many times yet you always felt anxious every time the cameras started to flash. You wore the most beautiful dress which was almost see through exposing your lingerie right underneath. The loud applauses filled the hall, the music blasted. That gave you strength, sitting in front of your vanity you slipped your feet in the most prettiest designer high heels. You looked at yourself in the mirror spritzing some perfume on your chest which left glitter at its wake you licked your lower lip. You’ve read that so many celebrities were attending the show, and the after party was supposed to be throughout the evening. You met celebrities and movie stars all the time especially in your line of work– The doors swung open, you gathered your courage winking towards your best friend as you started to walk the catwalk. Catching so many eyes you blew a kiss towards the camera and gave a little twirl hearing people applause you. Worldwide designers admiring your body and the exquisite pieces you’ve worn, you felt lightweight. The cameras flashed before your eyes exposing the glitters and sparkles on the dress, the lines of your lingerie and your stockings completing the look as you stopped at the edge catwalk waving giving them your best smile. Hugh adjusted in his seat next to Ryan applauding you. You noticed Blake who cheered for you right in the front row next to her husband. Your heart started to beat faster as you saw Hugh. Your eyes met, biting your lower lip you turned around to walk back making sure he caught a glimpse of your ass. After seeing his latest movie– He was your crush. For months and you finally had your chance to give him a show. Not turning back you walked backstage to only have the dress removed off you and it was your turn to present another set of lingerie this time black, with pink bows. Large black wings were attached to your back and your hair got styled in a different way. The top of your head was now decorated with a white angelic halo. While other models walked out, you kept an eye on Hugh who seemed to be chatting with Ryan and not paying attention much to the other hot models who were walking up and down the catwalk.

It was your turn to walk again, so you took a deep breath watching the doors open for you. With confidence you walked out, the heels you had on your feet were all diamonds and butterflies. The most expensive shoes you’ve ever worn in your career. As you neared towards Hugh he stopped talking–seeing you, there wasn’t smile on his face. He wasn’t applauding you– his eyes were hooded and clouded with desire. He found you mesmerising…Your hands traveled up and down your own body as you danced to the song giving the cameras excellent shots of your lingerie and body. Hugh swallowed, you giggled covering your lips making him laugh under his breath shaking his head. Giving high fives to your girls as they walked past you, you winked at Hugh and walked back to backstage. Your heart clamoured against your chest, fuck…

The afterparty was not only successful, but eventful too. Your job was booked again for the fall and you couldn’t wait to work with gucci again. Their latest collections were to die for, asking for a dirty martini by the bar with a smile swiping your card to pay– a manly voice caught your ears. You gulped, turning around to see Hugh chatting away by one of the tables shaking hands with people holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. You were brave at the catwalk; giving him a little teasing show but now you wanted to disappear. Clutching your bag to your chest you quickly sipped your martini praying he wouldn’t see you but it was too late. His eyes found yours through the crowd and you placed your glass down mentally cursing because he was coming near and approaching you. You dug away through the crowd making him wanting you more.

You hoped to disappear when a large hand tugged you and pulled you forward so your face practically hit his rock hard chest. “I’m sorry” you squealed blushing wildly. “Sorry? What for?” He finished his whiskey, giving the glass to the waiter pulling you to the side behind brown drapes. You were hidden from the crowd, you gulped as his eyes darkened looking at you. “Givin me a little show huh?” You bit your lower lip. “I’m sorry Sir.. couldn’t help it.” Hugh chuckled cupping your cheek “Sir huh? Fuck formalities darlin..” his thumb tapping your lower lip his face leaning closer to yours “you looked fuckin gorgeous up there, gave me a little show.. and this ass” he hummed groping you pulling you against his growing erection. “I’m glad you loved it..” you gasped feeling him. “Can I?” Your question made him chuckle. Your dainty hands caressed his strong biceps, moaning softly under your breath you inhaled his cologne. “C’here” he breathed pressed you against the wall, his mouth was on yours. “Been having my eyes on you all evening.. but you fuckin ran like a little mouse when you see me” he sucked your lower lip. You moaned into the kiss, parting your lips for his tongue. Heat and butterflies awakened in your belly as you moved your hands on his torso. “When can I see you darlin?” He asked planting kisses on your jawline slowly making you whimper out pulling him closer at you feeling so little in his arms. His large hands groping your butt coaxing you against him. “come to my hotel room.. please” you slipped your hotel card in his pocket. He smiled against your lips before kissing you “I will see you there sweetheart..” you nodded pulling him into another heated kiss, he laughed softly under his breath moving his arms around you kissing you feverishly with tongue and warm breaths even a soft moan from him. “I don’t like to stop.. just wanna keep goin’–“ he breathed licking into your mouth taking away your breath and you nodded letting him engulf you in his embrace and kiss you until you both were a breathless mess.

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x female reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett imagine #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman smut #hugh jackman imagine

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gingersxng · 9 months ago

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Forced To Pleasure

REQUEST: forced sex with SH

Pairing: f!reader x Seonghwa

Genre: smut 18+

Summary: a tall man gets his eyes on you walking all alone and let’s just say you’re an excellent target.

Notes: consensual, sub!reader, reader is very shy and timid, dom!seonghwa, seonghwa is rough, perv seonghwa, manhandling, forced blowjob, forced sex, public sex kinda, unprotected sex (DONT), pet names (sweetheart, doll, baby), groping, fingering, kissing, dacryphilia, marking, one slap, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, degrading (slut, whore), lots of cum, breeding kink, pure nasty. may have forgot something!

Words: 1.2k

As the sun began to set, casting an orange hue over the city, you found yourself walking home alone 10pm from a party, your heart were pounding in your chest. It was cold and you were tired (since you weren’t that kind of a party animal) everything was silent, only the night wind and the dry orange leaves made calming sounds. Getting closer to home you walked by a disgusting tight and dark alley, you always got the chills walking past it cause it was a part of the city with lots of creepy stories about it.

Hurrying fast past it, a figure emerged from the shadows, tall and imposing. It was Seonghwa, a man known for his dark allure and mysterious charm. His black hair fell perfectly across his forehead, framing his intense gaze. He gave you a nasty look and you felt a shiver run down your spine as your eyes met.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Seonghwa's deep voice resonated, echoing off the nearby buildings. His presence was commanding, and you could feel your shyness amplify tenfold. You stuttered, trying to find your voice.

"I... I'm just heading home," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You tried to run away, feeling yourself getting very uncomfortable in this situation. Without a warning, Seonghwa grabbed your wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. "Not so fast, sweetheart, I’ve got something for you” His breath was hot against your ear, sending tingles down your body. You struggled to get out of his grip, but his strength was overpowering.

Dragging you into the alleyway, Seonghwa pressed you against the cold brick wall, his body trapping you. "You know you want this," he growled, his eyes flashing with desire. Your heart was racing, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through your veins. You tried to protest, but your words were weak against his assertive nature.

Seonghwa's hand slid up your thigh, lifting your short skirt exposing your delicate white lace panties. "Such a tease," he whispered, his fingers traced the outline of your pussy. You felt your breath quickening, your body betraying you as it responded to his touch. You squirmed trying to resist but your efforts only seemed to fuel his passion.

With a swift motion, he ripped your panties aside, his fingers plunging into your wetness. You gasped, your body arching against the wall, unable to deny the pleasure he was inflicting. "Please..." you moaned, your voice laced with both protest and desire. Seonghwa's thumb found your clit rubbing it roughly sending shocks of pleasure through your body.

"You like that, don't you?" he taunted, his free hand pinning your wrists above your head. "You're so wet for me doll." His words were like poison, intoxicating your senses. Your body trembled as he worked his magic, bringing you closer to the edge.

As your moans grew louder filling the alley Seonghwa leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a fierce kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the roughness of his fingers. You responded, your innocence melting away under his skilled touch.

Pulling away Seonghwa smirked, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Now, let's see what else you can do." He released your wrists and roughly pushed you to your knees, his cock straining against his zipper.

Your eyes widened as you realised what he wanted. You hesitated, but Seonghwa's hand tangled in your hair, guiding you closer. "Suck it, baby," he demanded his voice laced with authority.

With trembling hands, you unzipped his pants, freeing his length. His dick was impressive, long and veiny, already glistening with pre-cum. You hesitated and glanced up at him, your shyness returning, but Seonghwa's patience had worn thin.

"Take it, or I'll make you," he threatened, his voice low and raspy.

Your mouth enveloped the head of his cock, tongue swirling around the tip. You moaned softly, the taste of him filling your senses. Seonghwa's hands gripped your hair, guiding your rhythm as he thrusted his hips forward, fucking your mouth with abandon.

"Yeah, that's it, take it all," he grunted, his eyes rolling back as pleasure consumed him. You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, tears forming in your eyes but you persevered, determined to please him. Your hands roamed his thighs, fingers digging into his flesh as you sucked him off.

Seonghwa's control finally snapped. He pulled you to your feet, pressing you against the wall once more. "I need to be inside you," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. In one swift motion, he lifted you up positioning your bare legs around his tiny waist.

You cried out as he entered you, filling you completely. Seonghwa's cock pounded into your pussy, his pace relentless. Your body shook with each powerful stroke, your cries echoing off the alley walls.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his lips found your neck, biting down gently. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as you surrendered to the intense sensations.

The roughness of the brick wall against your back heightened your pleasure and your body tensed as you felt your orgasm build up. Seonghwa sensed your impending release, his fingers finding your clit rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

"Cum for me, baby," he commanded, his voice thick with desire. Your screams filled the night as your body shattered, your pussy clenching around his cock, he slapped your cheek and covered your mouth for making too much noise, making you whine instead. Seonghwa's own release was imminent, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

With a final powerful stroke, Seonghwa buried himself deep inside you, his hot cum filling your little pussy. Your body convulsed around him, your orgasm burning as you felt his warmth inside of you. When he slid out of you he put your panties back in their place and his own cock in his pants, you’d hoped he was done and would let you carry on but you were so wrong. Seonghwa lived in the same building as you just two floors apart, so he dragged you with him to continue his filthy game on you.

—

Seonghwa pushed you back down onto his bed, he forced you to ride him even if the pain and fear in your eyes told him otherwise. he kept making you bounce on his cock for hours "you're gonna ride my cock like a good little slut and you're gonna cum all over it for me and i'll cum in your tight little pussy, you're gonna be such a good whore for me"

He pulled out of you and told you to bend over for him so he could breed you but when you refused he flipped you over himself and spread your legs wide, he told you that if you want him to make you cum and breed your pussy you better start begging for it, but you didn’t want it, that was the problem, your body melted from his nasty games but your mind was screaming at you to get out of there.

You cried when you finally came but he continued to fuck you hard, he made sure you took his whole cock and all his cum. Seonghwa didn’t pull out yet, he growled at you to lay down so he could keep his cum inside you so you could sleep with your pussy filled with his load. He whispered in your ear how you now belongs to him and he's going to continue treat you like the whore you are.

“you’re stuck here now”

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #kpop smut #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa #seonghwa hard thoughts #park seonghwa

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hanasnx · 10 months ago

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" GIVE ME THE SWEETEST GOODBYE THAT I EVER DID RECEIVE " — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: takes place during the events of the marvel's spider-man 2 game. WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | morning sex mention | mild exhibitionism | sex against a window.

"You forgot your lunch again." are words PETER PARKER has heard too many times. He spins in place, disengaging from his work to face you, his girlfriend, who so graciously conquered his paper bagged lunch and retrieved it for him like his knight-in-shining-armor.

"Knew I was forgetting something." he murmurs, receiving the sack from you and stealing a greeting kiss from your lips in the same motion.

"Yeah, you left in kind of a hurry this morning." you reply with an impish grin tugging at your lips, leaning your palms at the edge of his desk. You meet his eyes over your shoulder, noting his knowing smile.

He approaches you from behind, lowering his voice to speak in your ear. "Well, that's because someone wouldn't let me." The lunch crinkles as he sets it down, and he hesitates to return to his work when you're here clearly vying for some attention, bringing up this morning of all things...

"Oh, right, because it was all me." you retort sarcastically, breaking exchange of a look to spy on his monitor. You've got a good head on your shoulders, but the stuff Pete does has you at a loss. It's gibberish written across his screen that he no doubt understands and could teach a class on. The thought of his competency drifts your mind elsewhere to the more alluring traits he took on before he left for work. How curious his hands were traversing your body after waking up next to you, kneading your bare form under covers, tucking himself behind you with his morning wood until that confidence bought him some sleepy sex. You heat up, and bite your lip at the memory.

You snap out of your trance, and make more conversation before you excuse yourself so he can get back to work. "Where is everybody?" you ask, voicing your observation. Since you got in, you haven't seen anybody.

Peter pours some coffee into a paper cup, fixing it up how you like it. Steam rises past the rim as he stirs it, and he draws his hand up to suck some sweetness off of his index finger. Your chest jumps, the residual recollection of what it's like to be filled stings your insides. Shifting your weight from leg to leg gives you the subtlest of frictions, and you try to conceal your growing interest by averting your eyes. He brings you the warm cup, handing it to you gently as he looks out through the glass of his office to the lobby. "Harry gave them the rest of the day off. It was in preparation for some repairs—" He glances at you during his explanation, and when you flash a questioning expression, he clarifies. "—er, for the particle accelerator. Apparently, there was some mistake with scheduling so Harry's out trying to get it sorted. I figured I should at least get something done while I'm here waiting it out."

You enter in a well-timed joke. "You should do me." Peter eyes you thoughtfully.

It was not a joke, and it was excellently timed.

"Did you know I've always wanted to fuck in your—mm—office?" you ask, panting while he yanks you back on his dick. Pressed up against the window that overlooks the lobby, your breath fogs it up. Your hands brace flat against it, its temperature cooling your heated skin, indenting your perked nips.

Peter's chuckle through his nose sounds behind you, and it widens your intoxicated grin. "S'not just mine, baby. What's he gonna say when he sees your tit-prints all over the glass?" Some of the stuff Peter says really gets you, his words shooting straight through you as his dirty talk often does. You moan in response, sucking a breath through your teeth right after, biting your lip hard as he plows your pussy. His steady hands on your hips make sure you can't recoil too much and run away too far, he keeps you right where he wants you so easy.

"We could've kept more clothes on, Pete." you gasp, your tone reminiscent of admonishment even though you loved how he flicked your shirt up to squeeze your tits between the window and your body. Knowing him, he'd been waiting to do that since you walked in.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

"You sound like you wanna get caught."

"You think I haven't thought about showing you off?"

#tw exhibitionism #ch: peter #indy: drabbles #peter parker drabble #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman smut #spider-man smut #spider man smut #reader insert

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aperrywilliams · 2 months ago

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Only If It Makes Sense (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: You are struggling to write your report about the last case. There are a lot of things going on in your head lately, and your boyfriend, Spencer, has already noticed. An open conversation with him in the breakroom can be very clarifying for you and maybe the little push you need to think about what’s next in your life.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: More comfort than hurt. Nothing too heavy, I think. There is some reference to a gruesome case (no details given). There is a mention of the reader being pointed with a gun (once). The reader is overthinking a lot.

A/N: A self-indulgent fic, just because I need a boyfriend like Spencer Reid telling me everything is going to be okay.

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Flipping between statements transcription and evidence photos, your eyes can't focus enough to see what you need to complete the last case report. It's useless. You have been trying for the past three hours to finish it, but you can’t. Flashes about what happened to the victims and how difficult it was to catch the unsub flood your mind. Your mind replays the way the unsub talked to you when he was pointing his gun at you.

‘You think you’re better than me, uh? Do you think if you put me away, you’ll sleep better tonight? You’re wrong. You’re the one trapped here, not me. I’m doing what I want; you are doing what others want you to do. And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

You glance at the clock on your desk. It's almost 5, and you are not close to being done. Sighing in frustration, you stand and make a beeline to the breakroom. A coffee seems to be a good idea and a needed distraction.

While waiting for the fresh pot to be ready, your eyes are fixed on the dark liquid slowly brewing, drop by drop.

Why this case has affected you that much? It's not something you have ever seen before. You have worked on many gruesome cases in the past twelve years with the BAU. It's safe to say things can’t surprise you much these days, but for some reason, in the past months, you haven't felt like handling the job the way you used to.

Between the lack of motivation some days and the boost of excessive impetus on others, you still can’t pinpoint what’s wrong.

Your mind goes to that warehouse again:

‘...And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

The unsub is wrong. He has to be wrong. You don't feel empty. You don’t feel trapped. You love what you do. The BAU has been your life because you chose it to be.

“I think it's ready.”

Your mind comes back to the present the moment Spencer’s voice reaches your ears. You notice Spencer is right; the pot stopped brewing. There are no drops dipping anymore.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You mumble, quickly grabbing your mug to fill it with the precious liquid. With a tight lip smile, you offer to do the same with the cup in his hands. Spencer nods and reaches it for you.

Spencer watches your moves carefully without saying a word. He’s been analyzing you for a while now. Of course, he has noticed your change of behavior: frequent quietness, excessive overthinking, and constant retreatment. Spencer has picked on all of it, not only because he is a genius or an excellent profiler. He also happens to have known you since you joined the team more than a decade ago and has been your boyfriend for the past three years. So yeah, he has noticed.

You’re very aware he knows something is off. But you can’t bring yourself to address it with him. Not out of distrust or trying to hide something from him. The fact you are not sure about what’s happening makes you bury it in the back of your head and act like there is nothing to worry about. Maybe it will go away if you ignore it. At least, that is what you thought would happen. Weeks later, you are not so sure anymore.

“Do you need help with your report?”

His offer doesn't surprise you. It's not uncommon for Spencer to offer help with anything he thinks can lift some weight from you. You do the same for him every chance you get. But this time, you would have hoped he didn't catch your struggle.

“Uh. No, baby. I - I’ll finish it soon. Thank you, though. Actually, you can go home if you’re done. I’ll go after finishing and handing the report to Emily.” You try to sound convinced and reassuring. You know Spencer worries, and you love how considerate he is to you, but this is your job and your problem. He doesn't deserve to be the fixer of everything that happens to you. It’s not fair.

“You haven’t moved past the first page,” he says matter-of-factly. It's not accusatory. It's not mocking. It's a fact that supports the reality that you are not even close to being done, and he wants to help.

You huff a laugh. “Well, I know it's not my best performance, but I’ll survive,” you wink at him, trying to light the mood.

Sarcasm. That’s another component of your toolbox used to deal with things that overwhelm you.

Spencer is clever enough to know he can’t just confront you right away. You are as stubborn as he is, so if he pushes too hard, you’ll close in your shell. He opts for a different approach.

“Love, I know you will,” he says after sipping his coffee. “But I wanted us to go home together. I really don’t mind waiting or helping you to finish it if you’re okay with it.”

And this is where your dilemma arises: accept Spencer's offer, which will lead him to realize you have done nothing yet, and you’ll have to confess you're not okay, and he’ll want to talk about it, or refuse and hurt your boyfriend's feelings by not letting him help. Damn Spencer.

Your smile falters, followed by a deep sigh.

“I barely started it,” you admit, sort of embarrassed. “And I don’t know why it has taken me so long.”

Spencer’s eyes are nothing but understanding. He kindly points to a chair for you to take as he reaches for another for himself. You plop on the seat, tighten the grasp of your mug, and pout like a child before being lectured.

“What is bothering you, baby? It's the case?” Spencer asks, resting his hand on your knee to encourage you to relax your posture.

“No. I mean - yes. This case was awful,” you grimace, and Spencer matches your expression. You don't need to say details to agree that it was one of the most gruesome in a long time.

“It really was,” he concedes. “But that’s not all, isn’t it?” You nod. It's kind of useless to try to deny it. “Love, you know you can tell me anything,” Spencer reassures you. You nod again, sipping your coffee as you collect your thoughts, then setting the cup over the table.

“I have been thinking-” you start. “For a while now. I mean, thinking about this case, all the cases, you know?”

It is difficult to put into words something you don’t even fully comprehend yourself, but Spencer is patient and understanding. Also, above all, he knows you damn well. That's why you may have been afraid to bring it up with him.

You’re scared you would confirm something you already know in your gut but have not acknowledged in your brain.

“You have been in your head a lot lately. Is that about?”

“Yeah. Although I can't say it's something particular,” you explain. “If that makes sense.”

You feel like you are stumbling over your words and thoughts.

“What bothers you about it? Because it looks like you feel frustrated. Why?”

That's a good way to put it. You were going to say conflicted or overwhelmed, but frustrated suits better, you think, in this case. You have always admired Spencer and his ability to use words.

“Because - because I feel like I can’t do this job anymore,” you blurt out plainly, without warning. You expect Spencer to be scandalized, or disappointed, or both. You are a bit about yourself, to be honest. But Spencer doesn't even flinch. At most, he hums like you are saying something he has already anticipated.

“Is that so? Why do you think you can’t?”

It's weird having this conversation in the same place where you’re feeling off. It's almost as if you’re betraying the same job you have been doing for more than a decade. Spencer notices your hesitation. “We can talk at home if you feel uncomfortable right now. I don’t think Emily would mind having your report tomorrow instead of tonight.”

Surely, Emily wouldn’t mind, but something doesn't let you just leave the conversation on standby. For some reason, you feel the need to stay.

You shake your head no and stand from your spot, stopping to glance through the breakroom’s window. It gives a good view of the bullpen. You can see Luke's feet resting at his desk as he banters with Garcia, who is perched by his side. You see as JJ says goodbye for the day, bag in hand, and Tara exits Emily’s office, ready to go home, too. Matt is already gone, and Rossi is locked in his own office.

“I’m not saying they don’t get affected by what we do. I know everybody has their battles and their ways of handling them. But they look like they’re doing fine. And I know I used to feel and look that way, too.”

Spencer watches you carefully in respectful silence. He knows you need to unravel to clarify your head, and for it, you need to say what’s in your mind.

“And now? I feel like I lost my place here. And I’m not blaming anyone but me for it. It's just I can’t see the big picture anymore. I’m not cut for this anymore. And I’m wasting everybody’s time with me failing here.”

For Spencer, here’s where he draws the line. You can have doubts and overthink your present and future, but he won’t let you think you are not good at your job because it’s far from the truth.

“Hey,” he stands and approaches so you can turn from the window to look at him. “You are not failing, okay? Everyone can make mistakes here. All of us have made mistakes working here. Need I remind you who got arrested in Mexico two years ago?”

You roll your eyes. “Spencer, that’s different. A psychopath targeted you.”

“And I let my guard down,” he supplies. “But, I’m bringing this up because even though we could have made other choices working on cases, that does not make us bad at the job. Especially you.”

“Especially me? What do you mean?”

“Yes. Especially you. Come on, I have never seen someone so clever, tenacious, and so connected to people’s feelings doing this job.” You huff a mid chuckle.

“That’s your way of saying I’m stubborn?”

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. You never lose a chance to make a comeback.

“You can deflect joking about it, but I’m telling the truth.”

It seems that cracking jokes will not make Spencer drop the subject so quickly.

“Okay, so - if you’re right about what you said, why I’m seeing this from a different perspective?” You cross your arms over your chest, and Spencer feels your defensiveness.

“Well, due to the fact you asked me, I would say the problem is not you can’t do this job anymore; the problem is you don’t want to do this job anymore.”

You take in his words for a moment. It never occurred to you there was a possibility of not wanting to be a profiler. When the idea of joining the FBI settled in your mind at a young age, the BAU turned into your primary goal. And when you finally made it, you always thought it was where you belonged and that you would die doing this job.

Why would you feel different now?

“I do want to keep doing this,” you defend. “I mean, I’m doing something worthy for someone. We save lives; we’re trying to make a difference.”

Spencer nods, his hand finding yours to bring it to his lips. After lovingly kissing your palm, he keeps his hold to lead you to sit on the sofa settled in the corner.

Almost everyone left for the day, so the probability of someone walking on you both there is very low at this hour.

“I get what you say. That’s a huge motivation for us to do what we do, and I always have admired you for it. About the way you think about this job, like something with a purpose,” he says, softly stroking your hand.

“But there is a ‘but,’ right?” you anticipate, and Spencer gives you a reassuring smile.

“Have I ever told you what Morgan said to me when he left the BAU?”

You purse your lips, trying to remember it. “About leaving so he could be there for his son?” you ask, and Spencer nods.

“Yeah, that. But there is more to it. When I asked him what the difference was between his situation and JJ's or Hotch’s, he told me the main difference wasn’t in the things around them; it was in the way things still keep making sense or not. He wasn’t talking about the impact of doing or not something on others but on yourself.”

Your eyes go downcast to your lap. That is what’s happening to you? Does your job not make sense to you anymore?

“That means-”

“Baby,” Spencer continues, sensing what conclusion you are drawing right now. “It's not about selfishness; it is about being honest with you. You feel conflicted because you are scared of wanting something different and wanting something different means making changes you’re afraid to make. I get it; I usually feel the same about changes; you already know that. But I also think you know things are not going to be the way they used to be, and your heart is telling you to do something about it.”

Spencer is right. It's the way you feel, but the implications of acting about it scare you.

“But what if I’m reading this wrong? If the whole ordeal is only me being insecure because I’m not performing the way I used to? What if I’m overreacting?”

Spencer, who has been playing with your fingers because he knows it comforts you, stops his motion to interlace his fingers with yours giving a soft squeeze.

“Is that so? I’m sure you know it's not that.”

Do you really know? Maybe you do in your heart, but your mind runs thousands of scenarios in which you’re wrong and mess everything up.

“What do I do?” You finally ask. It's a mid-rhetorical and mid-actual question.

“What do you want to do?” he asks back. You groan, pulling your hands off his grasp.

“Jesus, Spencer. Don’t help me this much, okay?”

Spencer chuckles. He knows you are not really mad at him.

“I know you have been thinking about it. Everyone had at some point. Me included.”

You know the idea has been around for a while. You secretly have entertained new scenarios, new things to do, and new experiences, none of which involve staying at the BAU.

A lump forms in your throat. The realization you feared to face is in front of you. Unavoidable.

“You know?” you start. “I always thought the moment I would consider leaving the team would be after a big revelation, a big something. Not a slow building up of inner undetermined nonconformities.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Don’t go so hard on yourself. You say it like it’s only a whim when it’s not.”

You huff. “Isn’t? It's not me running from my commitment to the team? From the things that really matter in life?”

“And you don’t matter? The things you feel don’t matter? My love, to make a decision thinking of you is the bravest thing you can do, believe me. No one should think less of you for doing it, and if they do, fuck them.”

Your eyes widen.

“Did you just say ‘fuck’?”

“Is that really what caught your attention about everything I said?” Spencer asks in disbelief, and you shrug.

“Sorry. I couldn't just let it go unnoticed.”

Spencer is about to say something to protest, but you continue talking. “But okay, okay. I really get your point. It doesn't make it easy to follow, though.”

“I know it's not easy, but it makes sense to you?”

Hell, it does. You exhale sharply.

“Yeah. It makes sense.”

Your thoughts go to the day you crossed those glass doors for the first time, your first case, the first time you had to talk down an unsub. You think about the people you have seen leave and the ones who joined, the drinks at O'Keefe, the not-so-healthy food, and the excessive coffee intake. It's funny that, in almost all of those moments, Spencer has been there in one way or another. You are grateful to the BAU. You have learned, given, and received.

It's scary to think how things will change after you leave, but you know it's time for another chapter in your life.

Treacherous tears start to roll down. Spencer quickly notices.

“Hey, baby. It’s okay,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I know what I have to do, but I’m still scared,” you admit, muffling your words in Spencer’s chest.

“My love, you are not alone in this, okay?” he kisses the top of your head.

Spencer’s voice whispers sweet nothings that are so soothing that you have no choice but to melt into his arms. You don’t know if you alone would have reached the determination to admit it's time to move on.

When you feel composed enough, you part to look up at him. Your cheeks are flushed and tear-stained. Spencer looks at you back with just love in his eyes, as if you are hanging the moon.

“Things will change, you know?” you point, and Spencer nods, not faltering the grip of his arms around you.

“I suppose they will.”

“We won’t be working together anymore,” you continue, and Spencer lets out a melancholic sigh.

”And if you want to know, I’ll miss you like crazy. But as long as you are happy, I’ll be satisfied.”

“You mean that?” You ask him, voice small with emotion.

“Of course I mean it. I love you, and I’ll do everything in my power to see you happy. Even if it means not having you around 24/7.”

This is another proof of Spencer's unconditional love. For him, your happiness is beyond any logistic patch on the road. Somedays, you can’t believe that man is yours.

“Fuck. I’m so damn lucky to have you,” you blurt out, and Spencer's lips curve into a smirk.

“Who’s cursing now, uh?”

You roll your eyes at his comeback. “Shut up.”

A genuine laugh escapes you both and fills the breakroom. You feel relieved and mostly lighter. The dilemma never had to do with you not having options as you thought at the beginning. On the contrary, it involved broadening one's view and considering new alternatives.

“Can we go home now?” Spencer asks, and you sigh.

“I have a report to finish,” you remind him, but before Spencer’s shoulders slump in disappointment, you continue. “But I could use some help to finish it, you know?”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, faking contemplation of your petition.

“What I’m getting if I kindly offer to help?”

You scoff. “A happy girlfriend is not enough?”

Spencer’s grin is wide. “It’s more than enough, actually.”

After pecking your lips, he grabs your hand to stand from the couch and walks with you back to your desk. So you can finish what will be your last case report working with the BAU.

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x bau!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #aperrywilliams

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